Without thinking, or with really fast thinking I couldn’t track, I bolted from the portapotty. The woman had noticed the gate and the undulating mass of eager hands emerging from behind it.

“Run left!” I screamed as I sprinted to my right, a sad, desperate, and vague plan in my mind. At least the smell hadn’t affected my thinking.

She started, then hesitated, “Wait, my left or your left!?” She had to duck a particularly beefy pair of hands as she asked.

“Your left!” Sheesh, not too bright, is she, I couldn’t help but think, and not nearly as cute as I had initially thought. That shouldn’t matter though, should it? I guess it’s only the movies that the hot guy and gorgeous woman are the only survivors. I had to curse myself for hoping we came across a minority guy; they always die first in horror movies.

The things between us faltered, unsure which of us to follow, or unsure of their own existence maybe. Do zombies get existential? Either way, our existence hung by a thread and my dumb plan.