Beep. Boop. We are about to make an emergency landing.

I hear voices around me whispering, feet chattering, a faint, oily smell of anxiety pervading the cramped area of pairs of seats arranged in rows. I knew this was going to be the last vacation I would ever take, a trip that was unremarkable in its commonality - seeing a family friend - but absolutely unprecedentedly terrifying on the way back. We can only hold ourselves until the plane settles down. I open the window. Outside I see vague traces of a wide open circle of green with trees bordering it and water on all sides of it. My stomach tightens as I realize that it is possible that there is nowhere else to land, and with the window having been shut all this time, I don't know how we are going to get home. We land on the sand and there's zombies and we stream out running for our lives. People get bitten. I see some people swim away, and I don't bother to see if they're able to continue on without drowning. More and more keep coming for the trees, and the zombies go after the swimming people. I, with others, go inside the plane and barricade the entrance. That's when I see a bomb with a stopped timer.