You and the group had finally made it to the Center of Disease Control in Atlanta, Georgia. It was a last resort kind of thing – no one really thought the doors would open, let alone there only be one man left inside.

Everyone celebrated that night; there was a big feast and almost everyone had at least one drink. There was finally hope, hope of a cure. They had no idea.

You were getting ready for bed; making a make-shift pallet on the floor of one of the supply rooms. You hear the door click open and look up. It's Shane, drunkenly wandering into your room.