That guy in the suit summed it up:
Holy shit, zombies.
And here Rochelle clutching a little wooden bat to her chest, killing mutated... things. Blood was soaking into the wood of her weapon, not exactly helping the producer trying to get used to red already splattered across her clothes. Why she wasn't freaking out and hiding in a corner, she wasn't sure. She was definately shaking, definately terrified, and doing a bad job at hiding it as much as she wanted to.
Zombie apocalypse or not, she didn't want to be damsel in distress.
It wasn't even fifteen minutes since they left the hotel and it was getting smaller in the distance. She guessed that was a good sign. Or something. Within a mere couple of hours she was setting up cameras, got seperated from her crew, climbed up a building, met a few people, and climbed back down with the building ON FIRE and INFECTED. Her mindset wasn't exactly positive. More like fighting it away from complete panic mode.
Not a good day.
After giving one particular infected a rather nasty concussion, she looked over her shoulder to see who was following.