"This is CEDA Frequency 2.2.1.3," a frantic voice crackled. "If you can hear this, the extraction point at the Savannah galleria is compromised. The infection has mutated. They’re... they're working together."

Should we continue the story with a setting like the Parish, or focus on a final stand at the rescue vehicle?

Coach tightened his grip on his chainsaw, looking at the weary faces of Ellis, Rochelle, and Nick. They had survived the mall, the carnival, and the swamps, but the world was getting colder and the "common" infected were becoming anything but.

"Multiplayer," Nick spat, lighting a cigarette with trembling hands. "The damn monsters finally learned how to play as a team."

This wasn't just a dash for a rescue chopper anymore. According to the garbled data Ellis had scavenged from a fallen soldier, wasn't a vaccine—it was a patch to the Green Flu's genetic code. It allowed the Special Infected to coordinate. A Smoker to pull you into the path of a Charger; a Spitter to box you in for a Tank.

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