Max was a wreck. He had always battled depression, but this was a new low. The past few hours he had sat alone, in a corner of the room, rocking back and forth. He couldn't get the image of Lizzie screaming out of his head, screaming as Joey tortured her, making her pay for his mistakes.

Since his brother had died, and he assumed Joey had met the same fate, Max never thought he could be close to anyone again. He knew how close he had come to trying his luck with the gun on that bridge before he met Lizzie. He would surely have met his end eventually.

Then he met her, and he felt like his life had started over, like he had been given a second chance. She needed him and he needed her, even if neither of them would ever admit it. He had finally found a reason for living again, and now it had been snatched away.

What was he thinking? Snatched away from him? It was Lizzie who'd had her whole life snatched away from her. Max couldn't help but feel responsible; if he had left her at the Jennings' as he'd planned, she would likely still be alive. Maybe unhappy, but still alive. What was better? To be dead, or alive and unhappy?

Max didn't know anymore. He couldn't think of anything but her. Her face was etched in his brain like a tattoo. Her laugh and sarcastic comments replayed on loop in his ears. Her wide smile was there every time he shut his eyes.

Max stood up.

"We're leaving tonight," he announced to the group with a hollow tone.

All conversations stopped and those sitting down took to their feet.

"What about Paulo?" someone asked.

Max had thought about Paulo. Not because he missed him, or even because he was worried. He just needed to know more. How did Lizzie die? Was she in pain? What were her last words?

He hoped that Paulo had survived. The two men had become close, but Max had to be realistic. He had to get out of here.

"He left for the pit hours ago, and it's dark now. He's not coming back," Max mumbled. "Get your weapons ready and clear your heads; next time they open that cell door, we move," he stated.

"But what if-" Someone started to argue, Max didn't turn to see who.

"But nothing. I'm going, you can follow me or not. It's your choice," Max growled, pacing back and forth, waiting for his chance to escape.

Max didn't even know why he wanted to escape. He didn't know where he'd go. Maybe it was finally time for him to escape life altogether, because once again it felt like a trap to him. Part of him felt that he should go on, for Lizzie, but he wasn't sure he could. He wasn't sure he was strong enough to do it alone again.

An hour or so passed before the prisoners got their chance. Max didn't think it would come so soon to be honest, but the cover of darkness was ideal. As soon as they heard the key in the lock of the main door, everyone got into position. Max had told them to sit down and look casual. The last thing they needed was the guards noticing something was off.

They each jumped to their feet, moving closer to the cell door so as to make sure they could force it open if given the chance. The hallway door finally opened and three guards rolled in; less than Max had expected. The night shift always meant a dwindling number, but this was great news. One of them carried a large drum of water for the water cooler, the others sacks of bread.

Max's heart began to beat faster as he saw the water. It meant they would definitely be unlocking the cell door.

The joy was short-lived however, as he noticed that the weapons hanging from their sides for once did have ammo clips. They had obviously taken extra precaution seeing as they would have to enter the cell. Max didn't linger on the detail; his mind was still made up. The likelihood was that people would die tonight, but how much longer would they have really lasted in the pit?

The guards' keys jangled, the prisoners' ears eager with anticipation. The lock clunked open and the door swung on its hinges. Before the first guard could even toss in the drum of water, a man to Max's left let out a lung-busting roar and charged at him. The guard was thrown onto his back, the drum rolling away harmlessly to the side. Within a split second, more and more of the group began to make their charges, brandishing their makeshift weapons. Max followed.

The first guard was still on his back, overpowered by the charging prisoner who was now hacking away at his stomach with a sharp piece of plastic. The two guards behind dropped their sacks of food, before fumbling for their weapons in a panic. They aimed and fired before the main group of charging captives could meet them; bodies fell, but more arrived. A man to Max's right fell to the ground, blood spraying from his head and covering Max. The bullets rained down again. Another woman fell, and then a young man, but no one stopped running. No one hid or held back.

Max was the first to reach the guards, grabbing the end of the gun in one hand and thrusting it up before landing a bone cracking punch to the guards jaw. The guard flopped to the floor and was instantly surrounded by prisoners, stabbing, punching and kicking all they could.

The last guard had met a similar fate, screaming on his back as his chest was punctured over and over again. A lot of the prisoners had gotten carried away with a thirst for revenge, but that wasn't in Max's head. He wanted to escape as soon as possible, and there was no way the rest of the guards hadn't heard all this commotion.

He snatched up the keys from a fallen guard and hightailed it out the door. He didn't know the compound too well, only the places he had been marched through between here and the pit. For now, that was where he wanted to go. All his weapons were still locked away in the pre-match room and he intended to retrieve them while he could.

Max sprinted as fast as he could ever remember running, and within a minute he was at the door. He forced the key into the lock and swiftly turned it before barging the door open. His head snapped left and right, trying to remember where his things were kept, but he spotted them after a second or two, still sitting on the shelf.

He bounded over and plucked up Lizzie's bag, swinging it over one shoulder. Then he reached down to the bottom shelf for his own.

"Well what do we have here?" a voice giggled behind him.

Max's heart sank. He had been so close.

He slowly turned his head around, cursing as he saw Otto standing in the doorway, pointing a gun at him.

"Are you not enjoying your stay here?" Otto joked.

"Get out of the way you fucking bastard!" Max cursed, moving to get to his feet.

"Ah ah ah, stay exactly where you are, Max my friend. We wouldn't want you to end up like your little girlie friend now would we," Otto mocked.

Max's blood boiled at the mention of Lizzie but he tried to keep a level head, slipping his hand into his backpack as he spoke.

"I should have known you'd be the one smart enough to know I'd come here," Max said, his hand searching the bag desperately.

"Ooh, flattery; this is a side I haven't seen yet. I like it," Otto sniggered.

"I never understood why you let someone like Joey run the show," Max questioned, his fingers finally touching cold metal.

Otto pondered on the comment.

"If Otto wanted to take charge then he would!" he snapped.

Max didn't have time to check the chamber of the gun. He couldn't without drawing attention to himself.

"I don't know man, just seems like you're kind of his...bitch," Max said, waiting for Otto to take the bait.

"Bitch?! Otto isn't anyone's bitch!" he snarled, his concentration dropping for a split second.

That was all Max needed.

He span on his haunches, raising his hands to aim as he did so. Otto desperately tried to aim and fire his gun off first, but Max squeezed the trigger once and that was all he needed. The bullet seemed to move in slow motion, carving through the air before nestling between Otto's eyes. The bang echoed through the room, before the soft squelch of impact, and then the silence that followed.

Max didn't linger. He threw his bag over his shoulder along with Lizzie's and chucked the gun back inside. He paused only for a second to look down at Otto's dead body on the way out; he couldn't help but feel a sense of enjoyment.

"Bitch," he spat before walking out the door.

Max stopped instantly, hearing footsteps running towards him from around a nearby corner. He ducked back into the room, softly pulling the door almost shut. He peered out through the crack, seeing a large group of guards scrambling in the direction of the cell room.

Max waited for them to move out of sight before exiting the room and sprinting in the direction the guards had come from. At the far end of the road, Max could see the exit and the guard post next to it. There was no one there; his path to freedom was clear. It seemed that every guard on duty had rushed to the cell to round up the prisoners.

Max hoped that more would make it out, but he could only think of himself now. He put one foot in front of the other, forcing his tired body into a run. He half expected a guard to pop out of nowhere, or a gunshot to ring out from behind him, but there was nothing. The exit got nearer and nearer, and Max got faster and faster.

At no point did he look back. He leaped over the guard post and ran into the darkness. He had no idea which direction to run, he just wanted to get as far away from there as possible.

He needed to get out of sight of the compound, so he took every turn he could. He doubted the guards would bother to follow, with all that was going on, but he was taking no chances. After his legs could run no more, he doubled over and paused to catch his breath.

The streets were quiet, void of all life; the only noise was the rain as it spattered against the road. Max's heart was beating out of his chest, but he knew he couldn't afford to rest for long. He glanced towards the end of the road, wondering which direction to take now.

As he looked off into the distance and began to move into a steady jog, he noticed a lone figure shuffling towards him. A soft clicking noise broke the silence, but Max continued to run. One clicker wouldn't be a problem, and he couldn't head back towards the pit. No way would he do that. The lone clicker shuffled closer, as Max stopped to retrieve his machete from his bag.

When he looked back up towards the lonely undead attacker, he cursed loudly.

"Fuck!"

A couple more clickers rounded the corner to join their friend, then a couple more. Soon enough there was a whole group of them heading towards him, the smell of human flesh thick in their nostrils.

They must have been attracted by all the noise at the pit, he thought, but there was nothing he could do about that now. With any luck, hundreds more of them had overrun the place and killed Joey and all those sick freaks.

Max couldn't turn back now; instead he pushed on, bursting his lungs in order to make a left turn onto another road before the horde cut it off. He just about made it, but the clickers were hot on his tail and Max wasn't sure how much longer he could keep up the pace.

The rain lashed down, stinging Max's face like viscous droplets of lava as he sprinted through the darkness. He stumbled and fell to the floor, slicing open his knee and crying out in a mixture of agony and exhaustion. The puddle beneath him turned a deep red as he agonizingly pulled himself back to his sodden feet with his last remaining energy. The glistening drops of blood danced through the water like branches on a tree, painting a picture of death and misery. He snapped his head back up, not daring to linger for a second longer. They wouldn't linger. They never stopped. He wasn't far from safety, but as he limped heavily down the shadow-filled street, he could hear the groans and the clicks behind him growing louder. Growing closer. He did not dare look over his shoulder, he knew they weren't far behind.

The undead were on his trail, and Max was on his last legs. He stumbled down the next street to his left, praying that he'd finally escaped them, and desperately trying to stay on his weary feet. As he rounded the corner, barely able to catch his breath, he stopped dead in his tracks as yet another horde of undead lay waiting for him menacingly. They were everywhere. Max felt like he had been plunged into a never-ending nightmare.

For a moment his heart stopped, time stood still and gut-wrenching fear swallowed him whole. His way was blocked, he didn't have the strength to outrun these creatures anymore. Turning back, Max took the only other available road, scampering down it as fast as his legs would allow. His legs knocked against each other and his feet scraped along the ground as if he was a car with an old engine, struggling to splutter into life. He chanced a quick glance behind him, regretting it instantly. They couldn't be more than ten seconds away. He felt sick to the very pit of his stomach.

His mouth was dry and he could taste the unmistakable metallic tang of blood in the back of his sore throat. Tears began to form in his eyes, joining the heavy rain in pouring down his fear-stricken face. He clenched his teeth and forced himself onwards, turning his head back to drive himself onwards. Max was frozen with fear once more, the sopping wet soles of his shoes glued to the road.

Beyond him undead poured out of gardens to either side of the street, sweeping onto the road like deadly assassins. Each undead body thumped into the one next to it, violently competing to be the first to sink their teeth into the soft flesh of Max's body. And that's all he could think of, standing there alone, frozen to the spot. The images of teeth and claws tearing him limb from limb, his warm blood flowing down the throats of these monsters. It would be a slow and painful death, and that petrified Max.

He was now enclosed in this nightmarish circle of the undead. All exits had been closed off. They were herding him like sheep. Herding him like prey. It was so organised, almost as if it had been a trap, set for him all along.