Becca's lungs burned as she ran at full sprint across the dark, deserted street, ducking quickly into an alley. By her best guess, she had been running flat out for five minutes now, and beside starting to feel a little light-headed, the lactic acid creeping into her leg muscles was giving her cramps like she'd never felt before. Becca promised herself a long, relaxing candle-lit bath and a large glass of her favourite Chardonnay when this was over. The idea instilled a welcome burst of motivation in her mind, as if the pack of infected following closely behind me are not motivation enough.

The alley was almost pitch-black, lit only faintly by the lustrous, full moon directly overhead. Had it been obscured by clouds, she might not have seen the faint outline of the overturned metal trashcan blocking her path. Shit, she thought as she hurdled, her trailing foot scraping the top as it passed over. The relative silence of the night was shattered as the infected barraged through the trashcan, the metal-on-concrete sound almost deafening as it echoed in the enclosed alley.

Focus - only 40 metres to go, she thought, trying to block out the snarling, anguished cries over her shoulder. Keep your pace steady, she encouraged herself. Her mind cast back to her high school days when she was consistently the fastest female sprinter in her year, even beating the times of most of the guys. Her mum had been so proud of her, winning the gold medal for her age group every summer in the school games. If only she were still around to… Damn it Becca! Focus!

20 metres! She felt like she was about to faint, the high sided walls of the alley closing in on her, emphasising the feeling of tunnel vision. The infected were almost biting at her heels now. She imagined she could smell the stench of decay preceding them, reaching out to her like tentacles, ready to pull in their next meal. Becca fought the cold fingers of fear reaching into her mind. Focus girl! This is only a race, and you don't lose races, she commanded.

10 metres! The infected were almost on top of her now, their hands - some broken and twisted, some missing fingers - reached out to Becca, trying to grip any part of her they could.

Suddenly, the deep rumble of a diesel engine appeared out of nowhere, and a high sided vehicle screeched to a halt, blocking the exit of the alley. Almost instantaneously, a powerful searchlight on top of the vehicle seemed to explode into life, illuminating the alley with its powerful, blinding light. The infected, acting upon primal instinct, stalled just ever so slightly, giving Becca the split second she needed to dive sharply into the open fire exit to her right.

"Shit! That was far too close!" she yelled, as the heavy door was slammed shut behind her, the infected immediately hammering and clawing at the door, trying to force their way in.

The doorman clicked on a large torch and shone it directly in her eyes. "You ought to earn a medal for that run, my girl," his deep voice boomed heartily. "Come on! Let me buy you a drink." He lowered the torch from her eyes and extended his other hand to help her up from the ground.

Becca's shoulders slumped as the adrenaline in her system fell back down towards normal levels. She felt elated, grateful to be alive, and a small grin etched itself across her petite face. She looked up and gripped his hand tightly with hers. "Make it a bottle of Chardonnay," she grinned. "I've got a date with my bath... Sir!"