Wilbur couldn't remember anything. His old life was a distant, faded blur. Now the world is different… Cruel and unforgiving, overrun by the living dead. Getting infected was a death sentence. There was no cure. So why did Wilbur still remain slightly conscious? It was like a constant fight for control in his own skin.

His brooding was interrupted by the sound of cabinets slamming. The undead man stumbled over to peer around a corner… The sight of a human caught his eyes. “Pardon,” Wilbur called out in a raspy voice “You smell... Fresh.”