You sequester the police car you saw earlier and drive it to the highway. After a few miles, you spot a barricade ahead. A line of soldiers aim their rifles at you. You stop 50 yards shy of the barricade, get out and wave your arms. Thankfully, the soldiers don't shoot, the way they did last time. Must be the presence of all the TV news cameras.
In fact, it's a sedative, and within a few minutes you're sleeping on the floor. At some point, you're dimly aware of the truck starting up and driving away. The truck drives through the night, while you toss and turn, your mouth dry, feverish visions haunting your dreams.
Later that night, you arrive at an underground facility in the desert. You are carried inside and dropped on a filthy cot in a bunker-like room.
When you awaken sometime later, there is no "you" anymore; only this desire for...flesh. Nothing but an obsessive yearning to sink your teeth into someone, to feel their blood run down your throat. Somewhere, buried deep in your mind, is a self, an identity, but you can't access it. Just when you're starting to remember who you are, the memories fade away, like a radio station with bad reception. Your senses are heightened, but your movements are more spastic. There's a rage boiling over inside you, and you want only to get at the people watching you from behind the glass and...consume them.
If you were capable of a rational observation and thought processing, you might have seen the official story on the TV news. They're saying the outbreak was caused by a mysterious virus carried by illegal immigrants from Mexico. The border has been closed while Centers for Disease Control personnel investigate. You might have believed that account. Or maybe you would have suspected something else: a government experiment gone wrong. You might have found your way to the FVZA Web site, and read of the Santa Rosa Institute. Perhaps you would have speculated that a worker there was bitten by one of the mice they were using for experiments with vampire and zombie DNA. And maybe that worker had gone home without telling anyone. And then he turned and began hunting.
But it's all moot. You're a zombie now. A guinea pig in a secret lab, observed, poked and prodded until you're no longer of any use. Your final resting place is an incinerator out back.