I have survived by myself for a little over two months. I filled my bathtub with water, along with every fillable container I could find. I rationed my cupboard food and kept myself quiet and busy by reading the copious amounts of unread books on my bookshelf. Now, I’m down to my last bottle of water. My rations ran out days ago. It’s time to go on a supply run. So, Here I am outside the farmhouse, making sure every inch of my skin and clothes are covered with dark sticky flesh and congealed blood. I didn’t know if it would work, but it’s better than being stuck in my house with my own piss and shit, slowly starving to death. Living in the countryside on a farm has its pros and cons. I’m far enough from civilisation the zombies here were a handful, most of which rotted into decay and died from lack of food. I step with caution through the courtyard, I notice the field of cows—all alive and kicking. My stomach growls loudly. If I make it back alive, I’ll kill one and feast. The smell of death buried itself in my nostrils. If I had anything in my stomach to throw up, I probably would have. The rancid stink will be forever implanted in my brain. My painful stomach and weakened limbs make me appear zombified. My first stop, the vets a mile and a half walk away. There might be medicine that will come in handy at some point. My second stop is the Amazon warehouse. When it was in operation, Amazon had everything you could think of. Hopefully, they’ll have some useful things. Solar panel battery packs, first aid kits, who knows? Food was a different subject. The supermarkets would undoubtedly be chock full of zombies. I’ll need to keep an eye open and play it by ear. The walk to the vet’s is uncomfortably silent. Not even the birds sing. I don’t know why I expected hordes of the undead all moaning and groaning as they shuffled along. I reached the veterinary clinic without encountering one. There was one zombie inside the building, and my heart fluttered with fear and my body ran ice cold. My already shaky legs are even weaker. Even though I wanted to avoid eye contact, I stared at his awful sunken eyes that were yellowing and skeletal. Every breath it drew rattled dryly. It froze, it had seen me but remained still. I ambled towards the back examination room and pushed the door open. I can hear my new friends rattling breath and staggered footfall following close behind. I almost felt his breath on my neck. Could it tell by my actions I wasn’t one of his own kind? Or was he too brain dead to know the difference? Crouching to lower my backpack to the floor in front of a cabinet stuffed with medication, I unzipped it and began to take two of each item. There’s a growl. I’m unsure if it is my stomach or the watching zombie who is now standing still just behind me. But it’s enough to make me freeze. I expect something bad to happen, when it doesn’t I slowly rise. The zombie moves so quickly I can only let out a squeak as he grabs my wrists and pins them above my head, pushing me back into the cabinet of drugs. I’m sandwiched between his fetid corpse and the cold metal of the cabinet, forced to look into his dead eyes. He leans closer, he sniffs along my neck with long rattling exhales. Then the dots connect, and I fight back the tears that threaten to come. The lead vet in the village, this man, had a wife who worked on the farm where i live. Usually milking the dairy cows or sheering the sheep. Could it have been the vet’s wife that I covered myself in? The male's yellow eyes flicked wildly over mine. Undecided whether to eat me or… His free hand tug at my trousers. Ripping the denim from my skinny hips. His putrid fingers make their way between my legs. The flesh peels from the bone in sinewy strands brush against my labia.
Tensing, I shriek. If I had been strong I could have pulled free. But, did I really want to? Was there a way to escape this? Was there a way to survive this outbreak at all? Stinking of his wife’s corpse, he works those bony fingers into my core. We always assumed zombies were brain dead and unable to operate a door, let alone recognise loved ones by scent. His finger bone and rotting flesh drive into me harshly. Curling inwards so sweet spots were pressed. My first time being fingered is thanks to a zombie, how ironic. The vet continued to plough his undead fingers into me until my juices coated his darkened flesh. He lifts me up and slams me onto the veterinary table in the centre of the room. Spreading my legs and dragging me to the edge of the table. I try and claw myself away as he’s preoccupied with removing his trousers. He drags me back to the edge. His fingers digging painfully into my hips. The cold of the table bites into my back through my clothes. He bucks into me. Misses. His stiff dick slips over my mound. He leans forward, moving his hands up my shirt, peeling the fabric away to expose my bare flesh. He draws his head down and bites. Teeth rip my flesh away, amputating my breast; he eats the meat as his cock finds my entrance and sinks inside until his hips meet mine. Agonizing pain courses through me. I scream, wriggling under him in desperation. His hips draw back and crash back into me with a jolting rhythm. His hand wraps around my neck tightening, cutting off my air, and stopping my screams. His mouth, void of lips, laps up the freely flowing blood from my wound. The metal table rocking and creaking under our moving body weight. Does he think he is putting his wife out of her misery? Does he know it’s another human wearing his wife’s guts like lavish perfume? Adrenaline pumps through me, taking the edge off the pain of my missing breast. He continues his feast. Bowing down to eat and drink the oozing flesh and blood. His hips clap viciously into me as I can do nothing now apart from be this guy’s meal and plaything. Before the darkness envelopes me, I see the vet pulling out my intestines with his teeth, holding them in his mouth like a rope of raw sausage as death consumes me. In death, I am free. My consciousness returns after what feels like an eternity of floating around in a warm darkness.
Waking, I am not myself. I have a deep hunger. Hungry is all I can think of. I look around, setting eyes upon a male. A handsome male, with no lips and the most gorgeous rotting flesh I have seen. Looking down, I set eyes upon my own rotting flesh. If I could smile, I would. Instead, I let out a happy groan. My half-eaten stomach and chest are beautiful. I reach my hand out for the male to take, and together we exit the building to have our first hunt as a pair....