BITE ME

[NOTE:  THE NEXT FEW WRITING EXERCISES WERE ACTUALLY SUBMITTED TO AN ANTHOLOGY THAT WILL REMAIN NAMELESS (FOR REASONS THAT WILL BECOME OBVIOUS WHEN I POST THE LAST STORY IN THIS BRIEF SERIES).  THE CHALLENGE WAS TO WRITE ZOMBIE STORIES NO LONGER THAN 500 WORDS.  I HOPE I CAME UP WITH SOMETHING NEW AND INTERESTING FOR THOSE WHO ARE TIRED OF THE ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE.]

Heathcliff took the girl because she looked weak.  He thought she might have been fourteen, but his hopes were dashed when he later checked her ID and found out she was twenty-three.

Still, he could pretend.

Amy Standish didn't look as bad as the others.  Heathcliff didn't think she'd been dead for very long, no more than a day or two.  He'd been on a food run when he came upon her milling about in a 7-11 parking lot.  Upon seeing how well she'd held together, he knew he had to have her.

There was no struggle; all he had to do was stuff her in the trunk and drive away.  When he got home, he forced a wooden spoon into her mouth and tied it into place.  He then bound the rest of her and dragged her inside.  Just in time, he thought.  The others had begun showing up, and by the time he'd locked and braced the door, they were like a crowd at a concert.

He envied them.  All they did was eat flesh, and they were nearly invincible.  Only a shot to the head put them down.

Heathcliff waded through the bones at his feet, meals of the past.  Before the zombies had come, he'd never been able to indulge his desire to eat people, but since the rules of civilization had been canceled, finding a victim was never a problem.

He'd never eaten the undead before, and he was curious.

Soon, the creature that had been Amy Standish was restrained on the kitchen counter, her dead gray gaze locked on his movements, waiting for him to slip up.

He was hungry, so he chopped her foot off with a cleaver.  After examining the meat, he seasoned it, basted it, and popped it in the oven.  A pleasant aroma spiked his senses, and his mouth was suddenly wet.

A half-hour later, he discovered that spoiled meat did not taste very good, no matter how well one cooked it, but it was enough.

Days--and half of Amy--later, Heathcliff started doubting anyone living would come along, and his hunger for real food had grown so much that his undead captor was no longer doing it for him.

At noon, a middle-aged man with a rifle tried to make it to Heathcliff's front door, but the zombies got him before he reached the porch.  The rifle had to be empty, since the man was using it as a club, and when he was torn apart and consumed, Heathcliff couldn't help but notice how happy the zombies were.

He wished he could be that satisfied with a meal.

Then, looking at Amy's slimy, yellowed teeth, he realized he could be.

Heathcliff removed the spoon from her mouth and held his hand in front of her necrotic, malodorous face.

"Bite me," he whispered.