David says as we walk down the center of a concrete road. Weeds grow up through the cracks, some of them reaching over shoulder height. We’re less than a mile into the suburbs, and already I’m feeling trapped. I feel as though we’ll never get out of here alive. Everything about the city screams dead-end, and the eyes staring at me are unnerving. “You’re sure they can’t get us?” I ask, glancing at the dead eyes staring down upon us. We walk up to a hotel on the outskirts of town. There are easily a hundred zombies on the first floor pressing themselves hard against the glass. The sign reads White Creek Inn—Conference Center. Like me, Steve can’t help but look at the gaunt faces in the window. They turn slowly, moving in unison. Dark eyes watch us intently as we walk by. “I’ve been here half a dozen times,” David replies. “They’re harmless.” They don’t look harmless to me.
