He skidded across the concrete floor, gasping for air. The heavy metal doors slammed shut with a definitive thud , leaving the screams of the night outside.
He grabbed the Antizin vials, stuffing them into his pack, when a sound like tearing silk echoed from the alleyway behind him. He froze. It wasn't the clumsy shuffle of a zombie. It was fast. Rhythmic. A Volatile. Crane didn't look back. He bolted. Articles on the topic: "Dying light"
He reached the crates just as the first siren wailed—the city’s mournful warning that the sun had dipped below the horizon. The transition was instant. The ambient groans of the "biters" below sharpened into something more predatory. He skidded across the concrete floor, gasping for air