E is for Existential

Without thinking, or with really fast thinking I couldn't track, I bolted from the portapotty. The woman had noticed the gate and the undulating mass of eager hands emerging from behind it.

"Run left!" I screamed as I sprinted to my right, a sad, desperate, and vague plan in my mind. At least the smell hadn't affected my thinking.

She started, then hesitated, "Wait, my left or your left!?" She had to duck a particularly beefy pair of hands as she asked.

"Your left!" _Sheesh, not too bright, is she,_ I couldn't help but think, and not nearly as cute as I had initially thought. That shouldn't matter though, should it? I guess it's only the movies that the hot guy and gorgeous woman are the only survivors. I had to curse myself for hoping we came across a minority guy; they always die first in horror movies.

The things between us faltered, unsure which of us to follow, or unsure of their own existence maybe. _Do zombies get existential?_ Either way, our existence hung by a thread and my dumb plan.