HEY, GUYS, DON'T POST YET UNTIL I SAY "BRAINS" OR I'LL EAT YOURS. THANKS.
You still don't know what happened.
It didn't matter if you'd lived on San Serimo for the past ten years, hoping to leave your old dreams and nightmares behind, or was just another tourist here to see the beaches and gamble away their kids' college money. You could have been in your car, stuck in rush hour traffic, or lounging on the beach like everyone did, or just arrived from the airport and still red-eyed from jet lag.
What does matter is that, wherever you were, someone – or something – comes up, skin gray and molding, huge pieces of flesh torn off or dragged behind it, bits of bone jutting out here and there – comes up and tears the throat out of the nearest person.
Next thing you know, you're running for you life, barely avoiding getting bitten yourself. By the skin of your teeth, you avoided the shambling, rotting creatures that used to be your neighbor, or your drinking buddy, your best friend, or the man on the street.
That's all your mind can focus on – and focusing on anything else would be worse.
Those things are behind you.
If you had been in a better building when it went to pieces, you wouldn't be on the street, frantically dodging flaming wreckage, cars, people, and... other people. You don't want to say it. Zombies, seriously? Things that nerds kept having fantasies about over and over when they ran out of ideas? Things that walked around because of a virus, that, by common knowledge, shouldn't be able to do what it does?
The waterfront that you had been strolling along twenty, thirty minutes ago had long since turned into Hell. Half of it, the cars, the hotels, the trees, the docks, everything you can think of – is on fire, something out of a bad disaster flick. All it took was an overturned tanker there, or-
There's a dome in the distance, visible as the thick smoke wavers. It's the San Serimo convention center, and it was hosting some nerd's convention or something like that - hope fills you as you pause. At the same time you spot it, the waterfront is miraculously clear of wrecked cars or fallen power lines or burning wreckage. Ignoring your tired feet screaming at you, you run.
Closer. There are a few police and soldiers on the steps, the look of shock already upon them, manning barricades and roadblocks. A man in camo waves to you, and screams for you to get inside.
You can hear the crowd before you get in...