Running. Always running. First it's life. Then the voices. Then the bottle, and throughout it all, the people. Settle down and for an instant, things look good, only to go up in flames once more. And then it's on the run again. Always running.
Madness string 3441
Then there's the question of what to do with your corpse. I mean, sure, burying it is the right thing to do. But the fucking virus can survive in a corpse for years. You could kill every rabid animal on the planet today, and if two years from now, some moist, preserved, rotten hunk of used-to-be brain gets eaten by an animal, it starts all over.