The world had ended at 3.17 pm with a phone call. Not just one though or a hundred but a thousand or ten thousand. Ten thousand phone calls placed at precisely 3.17 infecting half and killing the others. Some called it Miranda, some called it Romero, some called it a computer virus except it didn't infect computers... it infected people.

Andrea called them Walkers but she called them Flocks. Birds of a feather flocked together, it was something Alfred had taught her a lifetime ago. A lifetime or twenty eight days, she didn't know which felt longer. Twenty eight days running, half starved and dirty. Twenty eight sleepless days, twenty eight long nights in which they ran.

They'd lost Dean in the escape to the outskirts of the city, they'd lost Clem at the farms... it had been bloody. Violent. They moved, they always moved trying to keep ahead of the flocks as the creatures moved through the day always searching for them. It was after the farm that Andrea had started screaming in her sleep. She didn't stop until Sam covered her mouth each day they slept and held her, she didn't stop until Cass started killing to keep them safe, she didn't stop until Cass had pressed a rifle into her hand.

The world ended twenty eight days ago at 3.17. She'd never get used to this.