My name is Ernesto. I remember the drive back to the hotel from a business meeting. Incredible that my daughter and fiance back home were on my mind and I was still able to frantically reply to emails. Another two days here I thought to myself ... then I'm on the first flight out to the states. I managed to drown out the driver who was going on about the current political discourse in this country or some nonsense. I didn't care. One more hour on the clock and I could finally disconnect from the business world and venture out to some pleasantries around the city. I've been here almost a week and I haven't even bothered to get a drink at the local bar.
Something seems off. I managed to take my eyes off the laptop to look up at the driver to ask why we've stopped. He ignores me, frozen, pale, appearing lifeless almost ... like a statue. I lean into him and register his eyesight. I trace it slowly straight ahead ... my God ... cannibals! I didn't have more than a second to react before our car was rammed from behind. I don't know how long I was out ... but I remember flashes of people screaming out for help, racing me past hordes. I remember a safe place in the darkness ... I remember hearing voices, a woman feeding me? I can't remember her name. The last thing I remember were the gunshots, the agony in the screams. I've awoken ... alone. Where am I? How long has it been since the accident? What has happened? I need to get home ... is there anyone out there that can help me make sense of all this? I venture out in hopes of finding answers ... of getting back home.