A Fool and His Life Are Soon Parted
You grab a shotgun and some shells, leave the room and take the elevator to the lobby, which is empty. When you head toward the door, you spot a couple of zombies sniffing around the truck. They start after you, so you find another exit and head back out onto the streets of Austin.
A stagger of zombies fans out across the street ahead. You turn back just in time to see the zombies from the hotel headed your way. OK, OK, so this might have been a mistake. But the streets are wide, the zombies are slow. You can get out of this, right?
You manage to evade the two zombies from the hotel, but just barely. I don't remember them being so quick, you think. Now they seem to be coming from everywhere, and to make matters worse, your leg has stiffened up considerably and you're having real trouble getting up any speed.
Alright, so dodging them isn't going to work this time. You've always got the shotgun. You wait for one to get close, and then blast it in the head. Shoot. Reload. Shoot. Reload. You can do this. Yeah.
It might have worked out for you if only you hadn't dropped that shell. You had trouble picking it up, you kicked it around a little, and when you finally stood up, you immediately felt a pair of cold hands around your neck. You wheeled around and found yourself face-to-face with a woman who on any other day could have passed for a soccer mom, but at that moment had glazed, unfocused eyes and a waxy grey pallor. You tried to get off a shot, but you were too close and the damn thing just wouldn't let go of your neck. And there, just before the others closed in, you got your first and last look into the eyes of a zombie: the eyes of something completely indifferent to your existence.