The jog through the store turned into a mad sprint. It was about a mile to get from the store to the beach, and we didn’t have time to stop for zombies. If we kept running, they would lose us, but the harder we ran the more blood was pumping out of Joey’s arm. He refused to stop running, and it got to the point where we had to continue to run or we would never get him any help in time. The sun was moving down the sky and his face was only getting paler. The heat of the jackets on my back made me want to vomit, and I couldn’t imagine that Emery was doing any better. Margaret was screaming at nothing while she ran. Jerry was going to have a fucking field day with me after seeing how upset Margaret was. This was all going to my fault and the only thing that gave me hope was that maybe I could fix it. Maybe we had enough supplies at the camp. Maybe Joey’s cut was smaller and shallower than we thought. Maybe Margaret was just so happy to be running that she could only cry tears of joy. The rough outline of the camp had started to become clearer. My lungs burned as I screamed for someone to get the medkits ready. For someone to meet up with supplies. For the alcohol pads to be prepped. For them to know that it was bad. Sweat dripped into my eyes and everything became blurry, but we couldn’t stop running. There wasn’t enough time to stop. We had run out of time.