Blood. A lot of it. Well, might be blood. Color wasn't clear anymore. Grey, his world was grey. Dark, hazy, dull grey.
Crunch. Another bone popped out of place. Crack. His leg bent at an odd angle. 'Pain. Miss it. No good.'
Click. He heard it, then saw it. Gun, darker than the grey around him. He felt no fear. He dropped. A growl, low and threatening. 'Go away. Not hungry. No eat you.' Eyes widened in surprise.
They never saw it coming. Thump. The body dropped next to him, growls from the three others feeding. Their eyes blinked accusingly up at him. Feral expressions. Not human. 'Not like you. No more.' If his stomach still worked, he would retch. He limped far away, miles from where the human remains were. He took the gun.
Rain. He wanted to feel it, but he could only hear it. Hands outstretched to the heavens, he wondered. And waited. 'Why not die? No one but me.'
Another crunch, louder than the first. He'd lost his right arm. No matter. He didn't need limbs. No sense of direction, only smell. More blood. More death. More nothingness.
He remembered. He didn't like remembering. He couldn't feel pain, but memories hurt. Eating made him forget, but not eating made him remember. He stopped eating two weeks ago.
"Go! Save yourself, take Sarah and run far away from here!" Their barn was on fire, chaos and mayhem everywhere. Sam decided to stay behind to defend their home. His wife clutched their baby girl in her arms, tears streaming down her face.
"I'm not leaving you! If I do, you'll..." She couldn't finish her sentence.
He hugged her, knowing it was for the last time, kissing her on the forehead.
"Find me. I know you will, but you need to go now."
He didn't look up as she disappeared through the back door. His heart couldn't bear it. He might've changed his mind if he had and begged her to stay. Clutching his gun, setting his jaw, he shot at whoever came through the door.
Wet. It could have been hot or cold, he didn't know. Sallow skin, tattered clothes hanging on a decaying body. He was the shadow of his former self.
He knew that his wife and child were dead. He couldn't mourn them. Their memories were locked into his slowly dying brain. Why was he still here? This existence was neither life nor death. Just grey.
He'd seen it all. He'd smelled it. Burning flesh. Felt his skin melting away. The first bite. The hunger. It ate him up inside, decayed his body, destroyed his soul.
There was nothing else. He didn't belong. Feeding the bottomless pit that was his stomach made him feel. He wasn't supposed to feel. The living hated him. He didn't know why. Survival was everyone's goal. How they did it shouldn't matter.
The ground was cold. Sinking deeper into the mud, letting the rain fall into his dead eyes. He could pretend he was crying. He felt nothing.
'No more. Tired. Need sleep.' The gun slid into his mouth.
Bang!