I’m in between.
One of them bit me. The bastard took a chunk out of my upper arm. The fool probably didn’t even acknowledge it was an arm. He probably saw me as a walking turkey leg or something. Oh, but he got his dues. I whacked his useless head off with a crowbar i stole when shit got serious.
It got serious regarding a month ago, and let me tell you, it took place just the way every one thought it would take place. A little “contained” outbreak, then boom, every one i acknowledge is staggering around like kangaroos tripping on dextro. Not me, altho. I knew i was going to fight it. I did well until regarding a week ago when mr. Slobbermouth munched on my bicep.
It amazes even me that i’m so coherent. God, i wish i wasn’t. I’m not like them, but i’m exactly like them. I’ve the hunger they have, but i have all the guilt feelings and love of humanity that is going to keep me from surviving.
I’m not even sure that i want to outlast anymore. I see them do horrible things, things that are starting to drive me mad, and i either get sick to my stomach or find my mouth watering. I don’t want to live whether or not living means i’ve to watch the destruction of my kind every day.
But then, this means no more hiding. It’s as whether or not they can sense something in me, like they scan for a zombie membership card and find it on me. They leave me alone. I can walk freely amid them.
You know how i said i’m exactly like them? Well, i’m better than them. I’m smarter and have the ability to gain the trust of people . I found one yesterday, i acknowledge where all the good hiding spots are, you see, and lord was it happy to see me. It grasped my arm and looked into my eyes, saying it was happy to have found an individual to fight with. Making sure none of the no-brains were around, i took it with me and hid with it in a storm cellar. I let it fall asleep, then i broke its neck, busted open its head like a coconut, and tore into its meaty brain. The blood complimented it nicely.
For a couple of moments, i felt bad for what i had done. I saw his body in that stagnant pool of blood, looking as whether or not he was still sleeping, and felt a heap of remorse for the poor, trusting boy. I wondered regarding his life before the tragedy. Was he happy? Did his family love him? Would he have pulled through anyway?
That acidic guilt feelings rose in me, a never-ending reminder of my humanity. But there’s leastwise one thing zombies and persons have in mutual: the will to outlast. And i’m about to do a much better job than either one of them will.