Professor Terrigan Snow<br/><br/>The man kept walking, sparing nary a glance for the torrential downpour that thundered down outside his campus' windows. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose as a series of what could be assumed were human phrases echoed down the hall, too far away to be discerned.<br/>A final<em>"Fuck!"</em>reverberated through the hallway, and the professor picked up his pace, walking briskly, the undeads' silent forms silhouetted outside every time lightning crashed. He finally reached where he heard the cries coming from; the wing's nurses' station.<br/>A long, wavering, mournful moan carried itself to Terrigan's ears, and he turned to listen; other walkers picked it up, a cascade of the dead calling out for companionship, warmth, the soft, yielding taste of human flesh. Turning aside, he pushed open the door with his left hand, umbrella held in his right.