But don't worry we've got plenty of antibiotics at the base, let's help him out." He looks light on his feet, his face has changed, his arms are limp. Paul cheers, but as Craig makes his way back, I notice something is off. "I got this," says Michael, before icing his target with meticulous precision. He kills one, two, three zombies, before being floored by a fourth. Michael fights by my side and before long, we're flanked by an English chap named Paul, and a Scotsman named Craig-and the latter nominates himself to take on a swell of baddies that have gathered at the far side of the square, so long as the rest of us can provide cover from above.Įquipped with sniper rifles, Michael, Paul and myself duly climb the apartment block to the west and follow Craig's path. I grab a baseball bat and, like Negan from The Walking Dead, start battering the blundering undead upside the head.
As a newbie to this whole end-of-the-world thing, I decide to follow his lead and set about clearing the immediate vicinity of roaming zombies by his order. Once at Legion, I strike up a conversation with a young Russian fellow named Michael, who describes himself as a veteran of the apocalypse.
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