The Lost Corpse

Prologue

Warning: Extreme gore. Cannibalism. Insanity. Self-cannibalism.

Grunts, rasps and snorts echo down the deserted street.

Shuffling footsteps herald the horde that is to come.

They sway, gasp and choke on breath.

Their grey eyes, to which most humans speculate are blind and others otherwise, can only see a monochrome of grey.

Visions fading in and out, becoming ever blurrier by the hour, scouting for signs of the living. Even a rotting carcass if they must, for they are hungry. Starving. Craving the taste of flesh.

Their thoughts are pure instinct. The zombie boy's no different.

Hungry. He thinks. Hunt. Eat.

A quick movement has his body trying to twist that way, but his neck spasms and muscles clench in place.

Meat. Eat. Hungry. It becomes his mantra. The zombie boy tries to catch a living scent.

Meat! He's caught it, now he follows. As he draws closer to the scent, his mouth fills with saliva.

Before him is the shadow of a creature, upright standing, tall and substantial.

Mmmmmmeat. Meat! Hunt. Feed. Hunt, hunt, hunt, hunt, hunt, hunt, hunt, hunt, hunt, hunt.

Like a predator he crouches with cracking knees and creaking hips, he prowls forward with slow aching limbs. His muscles coil, hunger rises and he readies himself for a fight. From habitual instinct, his body knows that they always fight.

With a drawing of lips and baring of teeth, he pounces on his prey. His solid, hard feeling prey.

Regardless, he bites down and holds limbs to the ground. But, his teeth do not sink in. His taste buds are not dancing on his tongue.

Rotten. Not eat. He groans and groans, until the noises steadily start to raise to wails.

HUNGRY! Hungry. His stomach is eating itself. A slight perspiration begins to layer his skin, with it is the smell of meat waiting to be eaten.

The zombie boy glances at his flesh covered arm. He can't quite grasp that the arm is his own. Nor would he care either way. He's so hungry.

With a solid lick of his chops he's leaning forward and tasting the sweat on his arm. With heavy breaths that rasp and burn his throat, he opens his jowls wide and clamps down hard on his own waiting flesh.

Whimpers of pain and pleasure alight from his lips, the taste so good, the pain so worth it.

Meat! Meat, meat. Hungry. Eat. His instincts are sated temporarily, thus his mind stops pumping out anxiety for a moment. He latches his teeth in harder and rips his head back, taking his flesh with him. It brings an indescribable, wet ripping sound and an unbearable agony. The boy drawn between whimpers of pain and throaty groans of satisfaction. His sensory nerves having a flare of hypersensitivity, swaying from its predominant hyposensitivity, as it often does.

The slow sound of shuffling from outside draws the boy's senses. The zombie boy forgets that he's feasting on his own arm, as his instincts urge him to alert the pack to the meal he's eating. Regardless of whether it meant the zombies would tear him apart or not.

Meat. Pack. Eat. Hungry. He starts grunting, his rasping getting louder, a call to his comrades.

"Shit." The zombie boy stops, head snapping to his left. Three figures are there, not mannequins this time, by the swaying and sweat permeating the air.

He begins a stuttering crawl in their direction, moaning getting louder. Hunger coming back.

One of the meat bags steps forward, the boy can see a shadow making the hand longer and more box-like. There's the sound of static as the human gets closer. The zombie boy forces a foot into the ground and propels his body forward, determined to get food.

The box hits him square in the forehead, the figure still holding it in place. Without being able to feel the electric shocks spreading throughout his body, the boy isn't concerned as to why his body seized and spasmed, thinking it to be one of his normal body movements.

Flopping onto the ground with body twitching and muscles clenching, the figures step forward and tie his hands behind his back and loop a rope through his mouth.

"Well, fuck me. What do we do with this thing?" To the boy, the voice is a noise stuck under water and bogged down with mud. Illegible and not of importance to him. He tries to snap his teeth and growl with the hunger he feels, but his body is uncooperative.

"What do ya think, stupid? We open it up and examine it, then use it as target practice."

A sigh. "We'll let the doc choose what to do with him."

Zombie boy's sight goes black at last, but his hearing gets clearer with it. Voices tunnel into his ear.

A/N: Short, sorry