SHERLOCK
Everyone's unusually active today. That must mean a hunt. When we are hungry, we're more restless than usual. I can't describe the feeling. When you are living, your stomach reminds you when you're hungry, when you're dead your stomach can no longer provide that response. You just...know. I always put it off, it serves no useful purpose except to keep me undead and not deaddead. Sometimes the brains are nice. Which is disgusting really. But when you eat the brains of the living, you acquire their memories. It seems ridiculous but I have experienced it myself. It's the only time I feel alive.
My door makes a thudding sound. Zombies can't knock. Or at least they don't have the manners to anymore. I stumble over to the door and open it. It's A. Sometime after I died he found me. I think we used to know each other. He used to be a cook, before that he was in prison for a short time. I'm not sure how I know this. I look at him and it pops into my head.
"Hhrng." A inquires, gesturing his head towards the street. Come outside?
"Nrngh" I reply, nodding. There is no reason to stay inside.
A grunts approvingly and leads me down Something Street and around the corner. Thats about as vocal as we get. Sometimes theres a bit more body language. We try and form words but it's difficult. Every so often we can get one out.
"H-hurng-ree"
I stammer, pleased with myself. It's not an easy word to say with a dead tongue. Most zombies can only manage one syllable words. I've mastered two. A nods, A can't speak. I think I'm one of the few who can. It must be so boring in their funny little brains. Do they think? Do they think like me or do only simple things cross their minds? People have the misconception that zombies are mindless eating machines. It's not quite true. Zombies think of food, they think of moving. They think of moving and eating.
A pokes me, I had my thinking face on again, he doesn't like it. It's understandable. The bonies leave us alone because we're dead, but if we were to start doing something out of the ordinary they might change their minds. If they had minds. Bonies are true, ruthless eating machines.
The usual group is waiting for me and A at the corner. It's larger today. Food's getting scarce. Animals will do if theres no human flesh around, truthfully we don't need to eat as often as we do. But when we sit and do nothing for the rest of our deaths, the changing from zombie to bonie comes quicker. It starts with getting thinner, the flesh clings tightly to the structure beneath. The eyes get hard. Most zombies have a vacant look, this look is anything but. Then they tear away their own flesh. It's horrific and theres no coming back from it. Once you're a bonie you stay that way. I don't ever want to become one.
I've spent so much time thinking that I realise we've arrived at my hospital. We usually venture out further but one of us most have caught the scent of fresh blood. I sniff the air. It smells wonderful. The smell of iron and warm flesh and a beating heart. It's the smell of food. And theres more than one. At least five. I follow the other's inside.
The usual residents ignore us, there are not many that stay here. There are a few doctors and ex-patients that occupy the higher floors. They don't come down often. Stairs are difficult and no one can remember how to operate the lift. A points towards a storage room. The smell is getting stronger and I can hear muffled voices.
This is the worst part of being a zombie, the killing. But anything is better than being a bonie. Anything.
JOHN
I shouldn't be happy for another chance to leave the comfort and safety of the compound, but it gets too stuffy and I can't breath. I want to run in the open air, down the empty streets and be free. But it's not an option. We are low on penicillin and a few other things, so myself and a few others are off to collect more supplies. Stamford is with me this time, it's his first time out, he really shouldn't be here, but there were no other doctor's to spare. With us was Mandel, an orderly, Rory, a nurse and a few soliders. The detective inspector from before was with us this time. He's never joined us before. I learn his name is Greg.
"They told me to get out, it's my turn I guess. Makes sense, I barely do much as it is. Not much crime these days." We get to talking and he seems like a nice bloke.
"The thing is I don't know why we stay here, yes we're safe behind the wall but the country is free of zombies because theres no food out there."
"Guess the blokes up top have their own reasons John, we have to believe they know what they're doing." Greg was probably right. Still, I couldn't help feeling that we were only waiting for the inevitable.
We visited another hospital before Saint Bart's to collect more bandages. We were lucky so far, the streets were deserted. It was eiree. There was a back entrance to Saint Barts that we had to unlock. I always feel safe with a key, Zombies can't pick a lock. I can hear feet shuffling upstairs. Ex-patients turned zombies moving about with no purpose. Mike Stamford jumps, knocking over bucket filled with something rotten.
"Jesus Mike, watch where ya walking." Mandel growled. Just because they were all upstairs, doesn't mean they won't come down if they smell meat.
"Sorry, sorry."
The storage room is right at the end of the corridor before it bends. The soliders keep a look out while we enter and collect what we need. Theres so much of everything still but we only have a limited amount of time and its not advisable to carry to much. The heavier you are, the slower you are. I collect as much as my bag will hold and wait for the others.
Until I hear the sound every supply group fears.
The sound of dead feet running.
