Dawn of the Dead 1. Chapter 1

What to do, what to do...?

He wandered through the bare rooms that made up the top floor of his 'fortress'.

Countless times he checked the debris-strewn stairways; the only way in or out, up and down from where he had made his impromptu home.

He heard them down there even if he could no longer see them. Getting down on hands and knees he pressed an ear to the bare boards that made up the floor. He heard the sounds of distant movement from the floors below and could imagine that it was fairly well wall-to-wall rotten meat down there now.

Just for the hell of it he slammed the flat of his palm down hard.

He was rewarded a moment later with the sound of a million dead voices raised in agitation.

A deep resonating moaning.

Closing his eyes he could picture a multitude of hands and faces raised to where the noise had come from.

They knew he was still there.

They would never give up, never wander away until his body had been picked clean and the marrow sucked from inside his bones.

He stood with a groan of his own and brushed himself down then retrieved the battered and stained baseball bat from where it rested against wall close-by.

He continued with his inspection.

He walked past offices that had been systematically stripped of furniture and everything else not nailed down. All of it had become part of the impassable mess that now clogged the stairs on the east and west sides of the building. Empty vending machines taunted him from around every corner and hallway, their glass fronts laying shattered on the carpets in front of them, their insides having been picked clean by the last people to have been here. His stomach grumbled loudly and he was sure that the sound could be heard by the dead downstairs.

He had checked and re-checked everything and everywhere when he had first arrived on the off-chance that he could find something to eat. So far he had found exactly zip, butkiss...nada.

Water hadn't been a problem as the plumbing was still working as it should; cool clear water still pouring into cisterns and flowing from taps.

It would soon drip to a standstill however, of that he was certain, so he had started to gather every drop that he could in every container that he could lay his hands on. He had enough to last weeks.

But that would do him no good, it wouldn't be enough.

Without food it would only be a matter of time before his body would be too weak to do anything.

He could have all the water in the world but, in the end, without regular food it wouldn't matter at all.

He was trapped...

Slowly starving...

Alone.

The vending machine had been emptied thoroughly, not even the smallest of snacks left for him to eat. His stomach gave another rumble, he could feel himself wasting away even as he stood there.

In frustration he lashed out at the inert machine, his foot connecting solidly with its front. Several shards of glass that had had stayed in its face fell to the floor breaking into smaller pieces. There were a series of clanks and thumps from the very guts of the machine and in the next second a small, red-wrapped candy bar fell into the tray underneath. It must have been stuck somewhere in the workings, his angered kick jolting it free.

He just stood there looking at it thinking that at any moment it would vanish from in front of him in a puff of smoke.

He reached out for it, his fingers seeming to take forever to get to where it lay.

Even after his fingers had closed around its solid structure he was sure that it would still disappear. But, it stayed.

The bat fell from his other hand to land with a thump on the floor. He heard the moaning start up from under his feet once more.

He didn't care.

Hardly even breathing he tore the wrapper from the bar and shoved the entire thing into his mouth. His teeth sank into and through the solid chocolate as he bit down. His mouth at once filled with saliva as he bit further into gooey caramel and crispy wafer. His teeth started to gum up with the sweet candy taste. He sat on his ass in a state of pure bliss, the chocolate taste overcoming all thought that he may have had.

He could say, beyond any shadow of doubt, that it was the best candy bar that he or, indeed anyone else, had ever eaten.

He continued chewing until it was all gone then he grabbed what was left of the wrapper and licked the foil clean.

All too soon it was over.

The bar had just managed to take the edge off his hunger. He dropped the glinting wrapper in among the shattered glass at his feet.

Sighing heavily he stood once more, regretting the decision to scoff the bar down in one go, but his hunger had been so acute that he had no choice but to wolf it down. Regret had no place in times of need.

He started walking again with his lonely vigil.

As he walked he got to thinking; when was the last food he had eaten?

For that matter, disregarding the food for a minute...when was the last person...the last living, breathing human he had seen?

He tried to think, the sugar from the candy after so long making his thinking slightly fuzzy. He couldn't remember. He knew that time had been strange. Seconds had turned into minutes, had blurred into hours then days. Days had become weeks.

How many weeks.

Could it have been that long?

Had it been that long?

The light was starting to grow dim outside heralding the start of another oncoming night. The sky outside the windows starting to cloud over, starting to look like the start of another moonless night. A long, long night at the top of his tower.

He awoke to the sound of bird-song drifting through from the outside world. He was laying on the rough wooden boards of the large open plan office space, unconsciously falling where he could see every direction at a glance.

He had been unaware of falling asleep but it must have been quiet late. His body ached and he was still tired. Either that or the lack of any serious food was starting to tell on his body. So far he had had to put several new holes in his belt. His shirt was little more than a sweat-stained collection of rags hanging from his shoulders.

He forced himself into a painful sitting position and crossed his legs hanging his head low. He was going to have to find food and soon, he was going to...

What the hell was that? His head snapped around to the side. A noise, he was sure of it.

He struggled to his feet and grabbed the bat from his feet.

The light was starting to change outside, the birdsong clearer and clearer. The moaning started from downstairs once more.

He walked on unsteady feet to the closest corner and flattened himself against the wall, the bat held low but ready to swing up at a moments notice.

There...another sound, a furtive step on the wooden floor.

How the hell did they get up here. The stairs were blocked and the windows were sealed shut. They must have broken in somehow. Something nagged at the back of his mind but he ignored it. He inched his way down the corridor towards the area of the noise. As he got to the midway point he saw a door swing slowly shut on a silent hinge. He stopped when he got there trying to control his breathing. Across from the office a window stood open, smashed glass littered the inside under it. The nagging doubt kicked in...dead things don't break windows, maybe it was...he pushed the thought, with some effort, to the very back of his mind, and threw himself through the door raising the bat as he did so.

The intruder looked shocked then slightly weary... then its face broke into a huge grin.#'At last...someone...'

He saw none of this, heard nothing but the groan of a dead man...the visage of a rotten cadaver in front of him. Even as the figure lifted a hand to ward off the blow some part of his mind still insisted that zombies don't have that kind of motor control.

He swung the bat.

It whistled through the air and smashed the hand aside thumping into the figures skull with a wet thud. He followed the initial swing with a quick second hitting the others head on the back-swing.

He watched as the figure hit the floor in a crumpled heap, the whole side of its head caving into a concave mess. One eye flew from its orbit and hung there on its cheek. He quickly stood and readied the bloodied bat again.

'Pl...please...don't...'

He heard the thing still trying to moan (his brain still failing to make the obvious connection) and laid into the writhing body.

He hit it again...again...again.

Finally it stopped moving and the man sat down on the floor in an exhausted heap breathing and sweating heavily.

He looked at the bloody mess that lay in front of him; looked for the dead skin, the wound that had killed it.

He saw no sign of the first but instant signs of the second.

His eyes went wide at what had just happened.

He screamed.

The dead on the floor below sang along with him

**A.N**

**Okay, so this was intended as a one-shot kind of deal, but then inspiration, as it is known to do, crept up from behind and smacked me with something heavy. Anyway, I hope that it doesn't detract from the story and adds something towards the mind of our survivor. Hope you like it...if you don't please let me know.**

**Rhoades**


	2. Chapter 2

He came to on the hard wooden floor next to the rapidly-cooling body, the sun already to dip low in the evening sky.

He was still confused and weak from the lack of food but not so much that he didn't realise what he had done earlier. He willed his limbs to move and, inch by inch, moved away from the corpse leaving the blood-soaked bat where it lay.

His stomach heaved, convulsing in an attempt to expel its contents and deposit them on the floor. He felt hot acid bile in the back of his throat but nothing else came up. He dry-heaved for several painful minutes, feeling as though his insides were coming loose somehow, then collapsed back unto his hands and knees.

His wasted muscles failed him and he hit the floor face-first. He felt his nose break and his upper lip and mouth were instantly covered in his own blood. He absently sucked the salty, slightly sticky fluid from where it dripped.

His stomach, now given up trying to throw up non-existent food, growled with hunger. His head swung around and his gaze came to rest first on the rapidly cooling puddle of blood that had poured from the intense wounds he had inflicted on the others head. It had formed an irregular puddle around the remains; still slightly tacky and now almost black on the hard wooden boards of the floor.

His eyes lifted and started to rove across the rest of the body.

It wasn't just a dead man any-more … a corpse ...It was a chance to live.

A chance to survive.

People had eaten each other all over the world. Cannibalism had still been practised in remote parts of jungles for centuries even before the balloon had gone up on the end of the world.

He didn't see a dead man …

He saw venison, pork, meat.

He saw a nice fat juicy steak just waiting to be carved from the bone just waiting for his teeth to rip into.

He felt the saliva spring into his mouth aware that he had started to drool in anticipation, his hunger overcoming all reason and compromise.

In the back of his mind the last rational part of his humanity snapped and died, its yell of denial fading as it was sucked into nothingness.

In the end everything came down to a simple question...

How far would a person go, to what depths would they sink, to survive?

He hauled himself to his feet, a new purpose lending a much needed energy and vitality to his muscles. He walked on shaky legs towards one of the kitchens he had passed when he had arrived so long ago, remembering several large carving knives he had seen as he dumped draws on the floor looking for anything useful. He felt now that he would be better, stronger, after he had eaten something.

A steak...yes...a nice steak.

A large, blood-soaked steak.

He had always loved his meat rare.

At first he hadn't known what he was doing, but his hunger had been so...large, so all consuming that he had dropped the knife he had found and had fallen on the body with tearing teeth and clawing fingers.

Some part of him, some very small part, had still realised that this was wrong...inhuman. He hadn't listened and that part that still rebelled had sunk even farther into the recesses of his mind.

* * *

He stood at one of the windows looking out at another brightly-lit, glorious day.

He could make out his reflection in the clear glass as he stood close...it was a less that encouraging sight.

An unkempt beard obscured his lower face. It was almost matted, matted as it was with days-old dried blood and gore. His eyes were sunken in his skull, his skin pallid and unhealthy. His hair was long and unruly; some of it stuck up at odd angles, clumps of it were thin and lank. He had patches missing and the skin there was blotchy and red.

His torn jacket had been discarded days ago; his body streaked with dirt and filth.

He absently dismissed the creatures below him and lifted his dinner to his mouth.

Most of the fingers had already been eaten, the muscles and sinews chewed through and the bones cracked to get to the marrow within.

He sank his teeth, now cracked and rotten, into the slightly greasy flesh of the wrist and bit down hard. He gripped and pulled, the greying meat parting and pulling away from the bone. He chewed slowly and methodically.

He didn't notice the taste any-more.

It had been hard at first; the knowledge that he was eating another person, but now it was just food.

The body was still where it had fallen, the remains getting less and less.

The head had been pulled from the body and cracked open like an egg, the semi-jellied contents having been consumed early on. The remnants crawled with life now; a cloud of flies and maggots crawled through the dead necrotic flesh.

The stomach was a hollow cavity, the contents torn out and ravaged. It was a shell now, a butchered carcass ripped apart by a wild animal.

He took another bite from the arm some of the parasites within bursting between grinding teeth.

Fluid squirted between his open mouth and added to the mess already on his face and beard. Raising the arm once more he took another bite savouring every morsel.

The day outside was normal and clear, the sky cloudless and the sun bright. He turned suddenly and walked over to the broken window where the stranger had gotten in and rested his free hand on the frame.

He looked down and a sea of faces looked back.

His other arm went outside with the remains of the arm and, in one smooth motion, opened his hand. Dead arms reached for the meat as if fell towards them.

It bounced from the side of the building into the masses. Instantly a group of the things fell to the floor, fighting over what was left.

He watched from where he stood as the dead tore the thing apart. It took less than a minute...that was all.,

They weren't satisfied.

As one body, with one voice, they turned towards the window. A million arms reached for him, voices vying for the right to be fed.

He lifted his arms too and smiled through blood-flecked, gore-streaked teeth.

Look at me he thought...king of the world.

On a planet full of the dead, the half-dead was king.

He was one of them now, one of the monsters. He had left humanity behind and had embraced the thing that he had become. He no longer needed to be alone in the world, he had others that he could be with, others who would never abandon him, would always welcome him.

He stepped onto the sill of the destroyed window.

The sound from outside intensified until it was almost deafening.

The rock crowd chanting as one for the stage-dive...

The onlookers waiting for the building jumper to gain some nerve...

He stood up and lifted his hands to his sides. He looked up at the sun where it hung in the clear sky, And with a smile still on his lips ...

... he took a step.


End file.
