As they crossed the river they held their breaths and prayed that the last ones to try had made it to the other side. Though it pitch black, the rope was slick with a metallic smelling oil, the pulleys made no sudden sound and for the first time in a long time, they felt hopeful enough to silently smile.
Their smiles quickly faded as they heard several loud, heavy splashes to their left and right - the sounds of at least two large beings walking into the water. With any luck they'd end up either parallel the whole while or the walkers would head away from them altogether.
Tonight there was no such luck as a clawed hand descended from seemingly nowhere and tore one of the elders from the raft and straight up into the perfectly dark sky. It was merciful enough to tear out his throat before he had a chance to scream and bring more trouble to the group.
Unspoken understanding passed between them all as everyone who could grab the rope soon did, all working to pull the raft to shore before it had the chance to take someone else. With an almost clockwork level of precision they pulled themselves further along and ducked away from blood-soaked hands until they hit the pier with a gentle thunk.
They spilled from the raft, intending to lose the creature in the tall grass and broken cars only to trip and land among the bodies of the last group. Bodies so fresh that rot hadn't started to set in yet and flies were only just gathering around the gruesome scene.
Holding back screams of pure fear, they carried on, hoping the scent of blood wouldn't attract anything worse.
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