The world had fallen. The mostly vacant cities were silent now. For those who had not been turned or consumed, remote locations proved the best chance to live a while longer before the inevitable end landed its teeth marks on their flesh or its disease in their blood.
To eat or be eaten was the last imperative of the once noble species. All the accoutrements of being the most civilized of creatures had faded away and the human beast had been returned to the savagery of the primordial forest.
This was the truth everywhere in the world, except one place—a small island, forgotten before and after the fall, a place where the sun yet shined down onto hopeful souls, 117 souls, the children of the Eden Project, who lived all their days until now in a great, glass dome.
They were the children of light, pure blooded, uninfected, but they all knew (down to the smallest among them) that these hours of eternal incandescence were numbered.
They all knew, every moment they breathed, that their destinies awaited them outside the glass, where darkness forever reigned.