37% is not gonna cut it. A 37% is yourself lying face up on the ground with most of your face missing, two hours into the first day.
Will retry until I can get at least a 68%. A 68% is barely getting the car to start as the glass of the driver’s seat window shatters, giving way to a half-decayed groping hand, which you frantically lop off with a rusty hacksaw. Steering with your other hand, you bang your way past other cars stalled on the road, trying your best to ignore the screams coming from within, swerve once abruptly to shake off a putrid body that was still clinging onto the hood, and make for the main road towards the nearest gas station. You may or may not still be breathing when dawn breaks, but you know you’ve got a fighting chance.