I killed her. I really did. I had no choice.

When I reached the kindergarten, I found only children and one elderly babysitter with her husband. I asked about my son and they pointed to a locked room. “She came for him in the morning,” they said, ”but she was acting strangely. She looked sick”.

They’d tried talking some sense into her, but it was already too late. The infection had entered her body and tainted her mind. My wife had locked herself and our son in one of the kindergarten rooms and there was no way to make her come out. I’d come too late... I kept convincing her that it was me, that I came for our son. That I prepared a perfect hideout and we must go there ASAP. Her gibberish told me she wasn’t thinking straight anymore. She was sick and time was against us.

I broke into the room. My wife was cowering in the corner, our son watching her with terrified look on his little face. When he saw me, he threw himself into my arms mumbling “Mom’s sick, mom’s sick...”. Yeah, mom was very sick. She looked at me, but her once beautiful face was now deformed by a monstrous grimace. Her eyes struck me as empty, bestial even. As if she’d been no longer human, just an animal.

She leapt at me. I protected my son. I fought. I killed her.

I killed her like a rabid dog. I had to. But she got to bite me. Now I’m running out of time and have to decide. I can go to the Stadium and have myself examined. I’ve heard they’ve got many doctors there, with advanced medical equipment and everything. But I’ve also heard people who go there disappear. Or I can reach the quarantine wall and beg the soldiers on the other side to let my son out.

Where to go? Stadium or the wall?