Unless this thing performs gymnastics befitting Yetti's ultimate miniature Balkan bride in the last third, I'm willing to proclaim it the worst film I've seen since Natural Born Killers.
[Edit.--Now, if Flynn would have actually called for "Code Grape Nuts" just shy of the 1 hour mark, this whole thing could have at least attempted tacking in a more salient direction.]
[Edit 2.--Here's a fucking hint, genetico-epidemiological poseurs: Male-female siblings don't just team up to grow pairs of uppy-slanty noses that bear no resemblance to those of their parents. CNS agents do not hide in giant blobs around the corner only to manifest as impenetrable fog once their lair has been disturbed.]
[Edit 3.--Listen, sassy, somebody's gone to the trouble of push-starting the car and being immolated as a result. Turn on the wipers already, as the ending in which you unknowingly plow into a concrete pile to wrap things up is already looking like an improvement.]
[Edit 4.--I am going to feel dirty in the morning. Now, that can't be an IR scope, because you're looking at months-old corpses in a long-abandoned subway station. On the other hand, it can't be a low-light scope, because you're also in pitch darkness. Maybe it's just fucking magic created by incessant shrieking.]
[Edit 5.--In other news, month-old radios left over from helicopter crashes pick up random AM signals, as a prelude to a zombie-themed riff on Last Tango in Paris. I have found this entire experience very dispiriting.]