It was the birds that Carrie noticed first, rising from the ground in a squawking flurry and streaming away so fast that, a minute later, all that was left was a few feathers floating in the breeze.
Carrie turned towards the horizon, already knowing what she would see: a dark cloud advancing rapidly, lit by bright flashes of lightning. It would hide a horde of things that had once been men, their teeth filed to sharp points and their jaws distended, led by the Dead King on his red horse.
In the ruined house where they’d camped for the last few weeks, the baby started crying, a thin wail that tugged at Carrie’s heart even though it wasn’t her baby crying. She wasn’t anyone’s baby, except those who had found her. Carrie took one last glance at the advancing cloud, before turning away to rouse her people and get them running again.