The broken, desolate streets of South Park were bathed a bloody red by the sinking sun. There was a breeze, high and cold, the shrill whistling sounding with prominence in the absolute silence of the abandoned town. Surely it had been ages since any sort of civilization had inhabited this place. There was a tension in the air, glistening like wires pulled taunt. It would be almost peaceful, mused Stan Marsh, if it weren't for all the bloody corpses cluttering the streets.

Expertly, the boy pulled the steel baseball bat hanging from his belt. His movements were cautious and graceful; he surveyed his dismal surroundings like a dancer. Mangled bodies with gaping mouths and horrible, blank eyes lay in heaps, twisted over one another like discarded clothes. When Stan walked through them, a chorus of guttural moans rose into the air, and he realized that despite all appearances, these bodies were not dead. He gritted his teeth, advancing towards one and swiftly flung the weighted head of the metal bat into one groaner's brain. There was a sickly cracking as the skull shattered, dark liquid splattering like a dropped water balloon onto the streets and Stan's sneakers.

His actions heightened the noise as the undead picked up the scent of shed blood. They howled and reached for him weakly like starving children. Most were too decayed to even crawl, anchored by rotting limbs. The smell was putrid, thick in the air. Death. In the ten years since it first tainted the earth Stan had still not grown used to it. He wrinkled his nose, pulling the orange bandanna loosely tied around his neck over the lower half of his face. Continuing with a light step, he took great care to avoid the flailing bodies as he searched the abandoned streets for anything of use.

Water was first. Shifting the weight of his backpack from one shoulder to the other, he heard the precious, singular bottle of cool liquid slosh in its plastic container. It was too little for Stan's liking, especially with the recent circumstances. His throat was sore, he rubbed it anxiously with a gloved hand. Any other food would be good too. Medicine would be a godsend. There was a cut from a rusty fence that was beginning to look raw and infected on his forearm. If Stan hadn't died from a bite yet, he might just drop dead of disease. He coughed, mouth dusty and raw from thirst, but as long as he felt he was able to resist, he would not take a drink. Tomorrow could always be worse, Marsh.

A bitter taste rose in Stan's throat when he caught sight of one disfigured body half stuffed into a rusty garbage bin. The torso was rotted and writhing with maggots, whitish pieces of bone visible and protruding through ragged grey flesh. Scabby arms reached out, swiping at the air mindlessly. The face was sunken and half eaten, but still recognizable. Shock rooted Stan to the spot as his eyes darted over and over the grotesque thing that once was the father of his childhood friend.

The corpse of Gerald Broflovski snarled, teeth visible through missing pieces of skin. In death his beard was tattered and torn like a mess of cotton. Where his nose once was there was now a gaping, triangular hole. Horror amassed in Stan as he stared in disbelief. This was a face he had known as far as his memory went back. To see it so twisted and sickly brought Stan to gag. He stifled the sound in his glove and stepped back, retching. Memories flooded through him, seizing his consciousness, and behind his eyelids flickered the faint image of a smiling young boy with wild red hair and hazel eyes…

But no. The luxury of reminiscing was not one he could afford, not in these times. Forcing himself, he looked directly into the blank, milky eyes of the undead creature. This was not Gerald Broflovski anymore, he told himself. He could not bring himself to think about what might have, what must have become of the other residents of South Park. Familiar faces everywhere, but not a soul in sight.

This is not Gerald Broflovski

The words rang through Stan's mind as he hoisted his baseball bat with both hands high over his head, and brought it down with a sickening crunch.

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