I’m sitting in a wheelchair in a dimly lit hospital. In a room across the hall, two mysterious strangers argue about whether or not I’m going to be a liability. My hands are bandaged. My legs, not quite all there. The female stands up for me, promising not to leave me behind. The male begrudgingly agrees, and sets off down the hall to find us an exit.
As the woman grabs the handles of my wheelchair, I take in my surroundings, even going so far as to notice my amputated leg lying still on the operating table beside me. There’s blood everywhere, and I’m not convinced it’s all mine. Papers litter the halls, while broken glass and upturned gurneys make quiet traversal a challenge. The hospital has seen better days, but it’s clear those days are long gone. Besides the three of us, there doesn’t appear to be anyone else left alive. It’s not the living people you should be worried about though, it’s the undead, and they are everywhere.