Zombies of Washington D.C.

You don't remember...much. You rise slowly, stiffly from the floor and stagger forward. Actually, you don't stagger so much as you shuffle. You walk through what used to be your stronghold. All around you are the bullet-riddled bodies of beings that are disturbingly similar to yourself. You did that. You killed them all. In fact, your hand is still holding a gun. It feels hot. You look at it. In another lifetime, it was a weapon, a tool for self-defense. Now it is alien to you. You drop it on the bloody floor.

You venture outside, through the hole that was breached by the Horde. The building front door got ripped off its hinges. This is what the Horde does. It's time to join the Horde. A Horde that you destroyed...in another lifetime. You stumble down the steps through the building that was once your last redoubt. In another life, you lived here with your wife and son. They're gone now. Once upon a time, the thought of them was painful. Now, it means nothing. Absolutely nothing. Onward you march, driven by hunger.

You make it downstairs, through several flights of stairs. Your bloody hands push against the front door. It gives way, not because you are strong but because the Horde damaged it on its way in. Finally, you are outside. You see other beings like yourself. A tall blonde girl with half her face missing. A chubby Asian man dragging himself across the pavement. Like you, they are dead yet moving. What drives them? It's not the vaunted zombie virus. It's the hunger.

The streets are crowded with others like yourself. You walk past beings that used to be friends and neighbors. You are still wearing the Walmart uniform you had on when all hell broke loose a few days ago. Your nametag says Steve but that name means nothing to you. Names are for people. You're not a person. You're not even an animal. You are a thing. You never made it home. You hid in this building that used to be full of people. Someone got infected. That was all it took...

"Steve, all hell is breaking loose," said your manager Carole. You showed up at Walmart that day and found all your co-workers huddled around the TV in the breakroom. Men, women, black, white and brown, everyone was glued to the TV. The news anchor spoke about people exhibiting violent behavior in downtown Washington D.C. and the Capital police being backed up by the National Guard. The President commented on the sad state of the affairs in urban America. Same shit, different day.

"Dammit, even in the Caribbean, people didn't maul people," you replied, causing your co-workers to chuckle. You keep walking. Where are you going? No place in particular. A group of the others swarm over a truck. They drag a man and a woman outside. The couple is devoured within minutes. You don't bother to go over there. There won't be anything for you to eat when you get there. The Horde gathers to lay siege to the Meat but they don't like to share.

"Careful out there when you finish your shift tonight, Steve, wouldn't want my favorite Jamaican brother to get eaten by cannibals," Carole said, laughing. You laughed along with her. All you wanted to do was get through the day. You and your wife Mandy have been having issues. Your son Aaron has been acting out in school. You took the job at Walmart after losing your job with the government because you had to make ends meet. You already had a lot on your plate...

"Plate," the word slides out of your mouth. The others turn to gawk at you. Whatever you are now, speech isn't part of your repertoire. Communication among zombies occurs in the form of moans and grunts. The others surround you and sniff you. You are not human. You are not an animal. They don't bother with animals since humans are the only meat they crave. They stare at you through confused eyes. You are dead, like them. You are hungry, like them. You are somehow different from them. How could that be?

You continue to shuffle along. In the skies above, airplanes and helicopters race out of Washington D.C. The President of the United States is being evacuated to a secure location. Soon, the U.S. Air Force will bombard Washington D.C. They will sacrifice the Capital to preserve the rest of the country. You don't know any of this and you don't care. You are hungry. As you walk around, you see cats and dogs on the streets. You ignore them just like you ignore the trees. The only meat you want is human meat. Nothing else matters.

Without realizing it, you walk through suburbs and highways, through overpasses and fences. It is cold. It is snowing. You do not care. You don't feel the cold. You only feel the hunger. You wander through what used to be familiar territory. All zombies do this. Upon being turned, they are drawn to places that were once important to them. Without even thinking about it, you are finding your way home. There is truly no place like home.

You walk along Riggs Road, and spot the Walmart. Tons of zombies walk about, haunting the place. One of them is your former manager Carole. You look at her. There is no recognition in Carole's eyes when she looks at you. She is still wearing her uniform and name tag. You walk past her and go back outside. Time to go home. There is no place like home. Not long after, you find yourself in your neighborhood. Willard Street. Home sweet home.

Your front door is open, and there are bloody handprints on it. The Horde has been there. A mangled corpse lies on the floor. You recognize Sam, the overly friendly male neighbor that your wife Mandy told you not to worry about. Sam's brain is partially eaten, which is why he is dead for good and not a zombie. You continue walking. This is your home. There are pictures of your former self on the wall, along with your wife Mandy and son Aaron. This was the domain of Steve, devoted husband and father. The home of a man, not the dwelling of a flesh-eating monster like you.

Out of the shadows they came. Mandy, your wife, and your son Aaron. You sniff the air. They are dead and yet up and about, like you. You look at them and see no recognition in their eyes. They are dead, and mobile, and hungry, and yet...they are not like you. You shrug and go back outside. Something comes toward you. It's Marquis, the family dog. The doggo hid even though zombies like yourself ignore animals and plants, preferring to hunt humans.

"Good boy," you say as you pat the dog's head, and Marquis the dog licks your hand. You walk through the streets with the dog in tow. The others stare at you. They sniff the air. They typically ignore animals. You are walking with your dog like a man would. You pat the dog's head as you walk together. You head out of Washington D.C. with Marquis the dog. As you cross into Delaware, several days later, D.C. is bombed. The other zombies are done for, but you remain.

The U.S. military has created a Quarantine Zone around Washington D.C. and special units will be deployed to wipe out those zombies that weren't killed by the blast. You don't care about any of that. You walk around with your dog Marquis. You feed him squirrels and rabbits that you catch. You are quick of foot now. You don't shuffle any longer. One night, you satiate your hunger by feasting on a woman who got lost in the snow. She saw you with the dog and mistook you for a man. Big mistake.

There are three of you now. You, the dog Marquis, and that formerly homeless woman, Sophie. Sophie is tall, pale-skinned and red-haired. You are a towering, dark-skinned man. Like you, Sophie is different from the other zombies. She walks instead of shuffling. She can utter a few words here and there instead of moaning and growling. You walk through the woods of Delaware, and share the zombie virus with every human you encounter. The dog Marquis is the perfect camouflage. People see the two of you with the dog and from a distance, they think you're people. Big mistake. A smarter, quicker type of Undead has replaced the slow-moving, dull-minded ones that got wiped out in Washington D.C. Let the world beware...