Not Going Out

They stood, hand in hand, looking out of the hotel window. Below them, on the seafront, the undead milled around, bumping into one another. Their moans drifted up and penetrated the double glazing.
'Daddy, what are they?' the girl asked innocently.
'They're us...that's all' replied her father.
Small groups of the cadavers were attacking each other, tearing and gouging. Some of them fell down, torn piles of ragged, once human flesh.
'I guess we're not going to the beach today, are we?' she enquired, resignedly.
He shook his head. 'I don't think we're going anywhere soon, darling' he told her.