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It’s 19:03 and I’ve been gasping for a cigarette all day. Jonny lit one earlier, but then put it out when he realised that the room is rigged with smoke alarms and sprinklers.
The phones have been dead for the last four hours. No signal, no Internet, not even a landline.
Something’s up.
The power’s still working, so at least we’re not completely cut off. The TV is on but with the volume all the way down. We’ve had to resort to reading subtitles to find out when this nightmare will be over. So far, all they’ve said is: there’s been a breakout of Necro-Morbus in the stadium (No s**t Sherlock!), and that the government has managed to contain the spread of the disease. According to some dickhead from Disease Control, they’re close to finding a solution to the problem, but their primary
