Day 1,236

At first you thought the radio broadcast was leading you to a safehouse, possibly the last on the continent by your reckoning. It was so utterly isolated that the chances of the plague reaching it were low enough for you to take the risk and trek across the frozen landscape to the heart of the melting forest where it apparently was.

Places like this were rumoured to be ground zero for the world-ending virus but the last batch of survivors you'd encountered said otherwise. In the moments you spent with them they told you about the laboratory they'd hidden in for a few days and the reports they found detailing the creation of the super-virus that was meant to be the ultimate test for some miracle cure to influenza.

Obviously it got out somehow, though no report said how, and kickstarted the beginning of the end of everything as you knew it. Of course now, nearly eight years post patient zero, survival was the new norm and those old-fashioned plague doctor suits from 17th century France were back in fashion! Mostly for all the plague victims who had been right at the heart of the disease's breeding grounds in their overcrowded hospitals and the shredded hazmat suits they now wore. Finding those in one piece and not being worn by a plague victim was like finding the loch ness monster.

So to save yourself you listened closely to the radio broadcast and spent the next eight months gradually making your way to the safehouse that they promised was clean. By the time you got there the front doors had been busted down, bloody handprints trailed across the windows right before your eyes as the last of the survivors succumbed to the undeath.

With no more broadcasts left to trust, no safehouses in sight, you sat down by the gate and waited for the end.