"Oh, you can't tell 'me about the flesh! What I did. . . they'd kill me if they knew."
The door to the cell flung open, sending harsh light directly into his eyes. He shrieked pitifully and looked away. It had been some time since had seen any source of light at all.
"Stuhlinger," a deep, guttural voice uttered calmly. "It is time for your final test."
"T-the test?" he uttered cautiously. "What ceremony? You mean to tell me that this isn't the test?" he gesticulated wildly at the grimy cell he had called home for three days. "I can't even remember the last time I've eaten."
"And you've passed with flying colors," the man confirmed, a real warmth in his voice. "You've proven yourself a master of endurance, a master of temperance," the man declared, coming closer. The man smiled at him, taking him by the shoulder and leading him out. "In these trying times, Stuhlinger, one has to be willing and able to do anything to survive, even things of, well, let's just say dubious nature."
"As you've told me for days since I came here," he acknowledged with a frustrated groan. "Look, I just want a place to belong, a place away from those walking meatbags outside."
"And you will find just what you are looking for here," the man replied. "Come, walk with me. It is important that we maintain a vigorous screening process for members of our community. We stand to lose everything if we admit the weak, physically or psychologically, into our ranks. Some may call us Social Darwinists, but they are fools to think any other kind of people can survive an apocalypse of this magnitude."
"Right," he said with a nod, not really listening. He was too hungry to listen. Whatever this final test was, he hoped a banquet would accompany its aftermath.
The corridor they were walking through eventually opened up into a pit, surrounded by a small amphitheater of men and women he briefly remembered when he found this place. They gazed at him silently, expectantly. As he reached the center of the amphitheater, he thought he saw caked blood on their lower faces. His eyes widened. He opened his mouth to question what was going on, but another sight caught his eye. Off to his right, restrained to a small pillar, was a single zombie. Stripped naked, it snapped and growled at everyone its sinister blue eyes could see.
"What the hel-"
"Ladies and gentlemen of The Flesh," the man began to address the crowd. "Another man seeks to join our ranks, a man we have tested and deemed physically rigorous and psychologically determined. Now, only one final test remains! Once Samuel J. Stuhlinger consumes his first course of the damned's meat, he will have proven himself worthy of surviving the hell that our Earth has become! The ceremony begins now!"
"I have to what!?" he exclaimed over the cheers of the crowd.
The man drew a butcher knife, sliding it into his grip. "You've been waiting for a feast like this for a long time. Go on. You may give in to your carnal urges at last.
Hesitantly, he approached the corpse. Three days. Three days without food, without water. It was getting to Stuhlinger's tired mind. Even then, eating zombie flesh was far from what he considered himself capable of doing. Just what exactly had he gotten himself into with these people?
The zombie snapped and hissed and spat at him, but it was no use. Wrapped around its wrists and ankles were several knots of rope. It had about as much chance of eating him as jellyfish to a whale. Still, despite that very real truth, he gulped.
Beside him, the other man placed a hand on his shoulder. "Go on, Stuhlinger," he politely encouraged. And yet, the way his hand clutched at him was far from gentle.
Shaking, he gazed down at the butcher knife in his hand. Briefly, he entertained thoughts of turning on his fellow man, cutting his throat, and running away before the rest of these heathens could get their hands on him. But then, he heard the cheering, the roars of a bloodthirsty audience, and any hope of escape vanished. His stomach growled ravenously. He was so hungry. So hungry...
He brought the knife down on the zombie's neck. It shrieked as though it could somehow still feel pain, but there was no turning back now. He drew back the knife, watching as blood spewed from the sliced jugular. Then, whether an act of mercy or an act of pragmatic finality, he swung again and decapitated the beast.
The crowd roared with a passion that made him feel sick. Now, however, hunger overpowered all sense of human decency. In spite of the stench of decay and the metallic scent of blood, his animalistic senses delighted at the scent of meat. Before he could stop himself, he dove onto the corpse and tore a piece of flesh off with his bare teeth. He relished in a taste not too dissimilar to barbecued chicken, then swallowed it with a wicked grin.
The crowd absolutely drowned out all other noise. "Stu-ling-er! Stu-ling-er! Stu-ling-er!"
He didn't care. Hell, he barely paid attention to them. It was time to eat. He returned to the corpse, tearing chunk after chunk until his appetite was satiated. When that was finally the case, not much was left.
Suddenly, the man took him by the wrist and lifted his arm triumphantly. He almost growled at the man.
"Samuel J. Stuhlinger has been assimilated into The Flesh!" the man proclaimed to the crowd. The cheering didn't stop. For some reason, he didn't want it to anymore.
"We are the living, and we are the dead!" the crowd declared in cult-like synchronization. "We are the flesh, and the flesh is us! We will not starve. We will thrive!"
And through it all the noise and confusion of the ceremony, he heard that voice in his head for the first time.
"Ooooohhh, wunderbar! You're mine, now!"