This Mortal Flesh

The world has died. Maybe you noticed the fires, the crashes, and screams. The zombies. I was one of them, just another mindless goon - then I woke up. Looked around. Noticed the scarcity of prey, the abundance of predators. Even a dead man can do that math. I made a plan. Gathered weapons and gear. I put down crowds of goons, walking among them, bullets to their heads. Made hot meals of survivors who mistook me for salvation. When I found a group of humans hiding in a junkyard, my plans coalesced. I began leaving them piles of food and supplies. Fattened them up. Built their trust. Promised them I would lead them, one at a time, to a safe haven, a zombie-free zone. The dead can't be trusted, of course, but they don't know I'm dead. Others in the city also prey on the weak - humans who treat their own kind worse than goons ever could, and more of my kind slowly awakening to a new consciousness. None complicate my schemes more than Jane, the human from the junkyard who hunts and scavenges in my city like a jungle cat. But I have only one imperative, one goal, one desire burning like fire in my brain: This Mortal Flesh.