Being in an airport terminal is as close to experiencing a Zombie Apocalypse refugee centre as it’s possible to be. People herded together, their only belongings crammed into a single case or carry bag; sweaty and tired, people move from one place to the next, searching for a place to rest among the masses. People group together into ill-fated tribes in an effort to survive. Stairwells and food courts become bedrooms. Pockets of tension errupt into arguments. Children swarm like urchins.
The only food comes in packets and swiftly runs out, prices hiked up to maintain some rudimentary economy which soon degrades into a barter system as people trade for sustainance. And the hopefuls, clustered to the huge windows, praying for salvation to arrive from the sky and carry them beyond the infection.
It’s a bleak, soul destroying place. The only thing missing is the Zombies. And that’s just a matter of time…