True love is saving the last bullet for yourself.

When your significant other’s skin starts to turn yellowish-green, the other members of your group became concerned. John, your bassist turned self-appointed leader of your group has been doing a lot of whispering to Big Mike, one of your roadies. They cast wary glances in your direction. You know that it won’t be long before one of two things happen: One, they force you and your significant other to leave the tour bus/rolling fortress; or two, he/she turns into one of the infected and attacks the entire bus. You know that once that happens you’ll be dead regardless of whether or not you’re with them. While you were fleeing the hotel you made sure that you left one in the chamber of the police officer’s pistol.

They don’t know that, though. During the escape, they were all too busy trying to fend for themselves. If it wasn’t for the infected cooking staff, you probably could’ve holed up on the top floor until this whole thing was over. Unfortunately, the crazed Asians running about made that pretty impossible. For all they know, you still have a full clip in the gun, and that’s what all the hesitation is about. John may barely be smart enough to give your band, AwesomeSauce Omega, a killer bassline, but he knows better than to mess with a freaked-out dude(or lady!) whose loved one just got attacked by some kind of deranged bellhop.

They talk it over and finally John clears his throat to get everyone’s attention. Damn bassists, thinking they’re the glue that holds everything together. You know what he’s going to say. You know you’re outnumbered. Exit the bus quietly, and take your partner with you. The night sky is lit up and clouded by refugees’ fires. You hear a sound in the distance—moaning? You look at your partner and you realize it won’t be long now until he/she turns. You could end the misery, but then you’d be left alone without any means of defense (you’re a drug-addled rocker, after all). The sound is closing in all around you now, and you grip the pistol tightly. You know that if you’re going to put this bullet to the best possible use—hey, you’re selfish!—you’d better do it quick. At least your partner, what’s left of him/her, anways, won’t have to live with the knowledge that it killed you. There are others like it. It won’t be alone.