We are panting. Adrenaline and fear washing over the circle of runners pinned up in the dead end. The survivors, maybe 10 of us, are catching our breath as we look the imposing obstacle of the three story garage before us. Out in the street, we can hear the screams unlucky runners racing from their doom. Some of our friends are missing, they will not make it. I imagine them turned, spawn-like raising their voices in a cry pointing out our location. Time is short. I put in words what we all should be thinking.."we have to move". The swifter of us begin climbing the side of the fence, up to the second floor, and then, they hope over, to the roof. My son, among the eager, attacks the fence which is swaying and unsteady under the weight of panicked runners. Looking into the dark I notice the garage angles into the building next to us, a short hop to the second floor, a pull up and a shimmy. I am on top. As I bend over to pull my son onto the roof, I smile..."what took you so long?" He laughs, "its more fun this way, Dad". We run away, safe..