Of all the places to wake up in, the morgue is the probably most disconcerting. It’s especially bad when you’re inside one of those body bags—there’s no way to open them from the inside. Apparently, the best way to escape is to tear a hole in the lining of the zipper and push your way out.
But once you’re outside, you’ve got another problem. Several, in fact. First, you’ve got no clothes—the morticians undress you before they perform your autopsy. Second, you’re probably freezing. Morgues have to be kept relatively cool so the living-impaired occupants don’t spoil, much like a carton of milk would if left in the sun for too long.
And third—and this is arguably the most troublesome of all—you have just awoken from the dead. That tends to upset a lot of people, most especially the ones who liked you better that way.
That is how I found myself at the start of this whole thing: cold, naked, and alone. And, as I’m sure you’ve already heard on the news or read in the papers, it only got worse from there.