Oh happy day, you just got a promotion at work and finalized the purchase of a swanky penthouse apartment located on the 30th floor. It comes with all of the creature comforts a penthouse can offer. A fabulous view, lots of light, a dishwasher and a private access elevator. All of these things are great in a living breathing world but not in one where zombies roam.
Your home sweet home soon turns into a death trap. The fabulous view just let's you witness more of the chaos and carnage taking place at your feet. What is the point of having a dishwasher when you can't dirty any dishes? Your food supply rapidly disappears and you wish you had stocked your shelves with food instead of eating out all the time and using the shelf space for fancy plates and glasses.
A week passes and you can't get anymore drinking water from the toilet. You have to leave this lap of luxury soon or else... But how? There are 30 floors separating you and the ground. Who knows how many of the people that lived below you are dead, dying or re-animated. If you lived just one floor down you would have a small terrace like everybody else that you might be able to climb down. Instead, you only have one option, the stairs. The elevator doesn't work. Walking down the stairs, in the dark, with no other escape route looks like an obvious suicide path. Best case scenario, you meet some other survivors in the building who happen to have guns and food. They have been "clearing" the building of the undead for the whole week and gathering survival stuff from all of the apartments. Their plan is to stay in the building a while longer before venturing outside. You shake your head because this option sounds like a movie and this isn't a f*#@ing movie!
The more realistic outcome of taking the stairs is that you might make it down a few flights. The dim glow of the few remaining safety lights that work and your small flashlight cast shadows all over the place. The hallway is hot and moist. A strong small of decay surrounds you and it takes everything you can to not vomit every five seconds. Maybe you've made in down 15 flights before you hear a door open and slam shut somewhere above you. Keep moving down, faster, you heart starts to beat harder, adrenaline is high. You stop and listen, now it sounds like there are more footsteps not just above you but below you as well. Panic sets in and you head out into the hallway of apartment doors. The hallway is clear but traces of several bloody fights still remain on the walls, ceilings and floors. Something crunches under your foot. It's two severed fingers...
The doorway from the stairwell starts to open. You wish the emergency doors didn't have those easy access push bars. Every apartment door appears to be locked, except one. Without thinking about what might be on the other side you swing the door open. A woman in a business suit falls out of the apartment onto your chest. She immediately starts biting through your shirt. Perhaps you should have taken kickboxing all these years at the gym instead of Yoga.
The old man who always would hold the elevator for you appears behind you. Pieces of his scalp are missing and his right ear. Someone must have tried to re-kill him but failed. He sinks his teeth into the soft flesh of your neck between your collar bone and your shoulder. The pain is unimaginable and you're hoping death comes soon but it doesn't. You feel every tooth pierce your skin and watch helplessly as blood pours from your body.
Neither of these two scenarios is appealing or entirely realistic. Well, living on the 30th floor might be good for one thing. You throw a chair through the big picture window in the livingroom as the sun comes up. The fresh morning air feels wonderful. You take several steps back from the open gap and take a running leap towards your breathtaking view. Thirty stories down and you are guaranteed not to feel teeth or come back as the undead.