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Zane Norrison · **01-14-2019, 10:52 PM**

IIt had been a long day at the morgue. An accident on the expressway resulted in a six car pile up and an overturned elementary school bus, with very few survivors. The "dead house" was a circus of activity, with both the police department and the local news media eager to uncover answers, that only myself or Will, could give. Everyone wanted to know what caused the accident in the first place. Thanks to the media coverage, controversy ensued and spread like wildfire. Sparking the public's curiosity, it soon led to a crowd forming outside. Naturally, this only increased the insistence of the police and their need for information. Will and I never seen a moment when we were alone. Which meant that I couldn't seize an opportunity to stock up on a fresh supply of brains. Not that I had much of an appetite. Something about tending to the corpses of over a dozen children, completely killed my hunger. My often times, insatiable craving was replaced by consistent, undeniable nausea.

I would remain sick to my stomach, until I had to go home. Right after handing over my finished toxicology report, apparently the man that caused the accident, whom everyone assumed was drunk or on drugs, died due to an infection of an unknown origin. That's not all, from statements given by the units that first responded to the crash, it was noted that the man seemed to lose consciousness. Then "wake" back up several seconds later. Despite his injuries being quite severe, he managed to writhe around and free himself from his automobile. That was absolutely totaled and first response units surmised that the jaws of life were needed to otherwise, free him from his confines. He crawled and scraped his body along the pavement, before slowly rising to his feet. Staggering about briefly, while dragging his left leg behind himself, like it wasn't even his own limb, rather a thing that was unfortunately attached to him that he was forced to pull around, until a medic rushed to assist him. The gentleman would then attack. Savagely. Knocking the medic to the ground as he clawed and snapped his teeth, like a wild animal gone rabid, he literally, frothed at the mouth and snarled. Or so it was stated by first response units.

A rookie cop on the scene reacted by firing multiple rounds into the man, with little to no result, till he took a shot to the head. It was thought that the rookie acted hasty and her actions would eventually lead to an investigation. Especially, when she said that she truly believed, that she put down a zombie. My report would confirm her story. A small part of me wanted to fudge the documents, for fear of shining light on the proof that zombies were real and it coming back to haunt me as a direct result but I couldn't do it.

What if somehow, I was to blame? What if one of those people that I bit during my debut wrestling match, became a member of the undead and then they bit someone else and so on and so forth, till the dude that caused the accident somehow came into contact with an individual that was infected? What if in a roundabout way, this was all my fault? I deserved to be discovered for being the abhorrent creature that I undoubtedly am. Questioned and quarantined. Locked away where I couldn't bring harm upon society. Ever again.

However, when I handed my report over to the chief of police, he merely scanned it and said nothing. A little while later he would release a statement saying that the guy was high on bath salts, even though the toxicology report that I gave him, clearly showed that I didn't find any illegal drugs in the man's system, whatsoever. Even worse, when I went to look up my initial report that I had stored a hard copy of on our computer, it would seem to have vanished from existence. Later Will would admit to erasing the file, after the chief of police gave him strict orders to eliminate all known saved documentation on the man who caused the accident. Will would go along and not give a fuss, to protect me. Protection. The very thing that I believed I wasn't worthy of receiving, Will chose to decide differently and without a second thought, he'd do what he had to do in the name of safeguarding me. While I was touched by what he did for my sake, I still felt awful. I left work, feeling incredibly heavy, weighed down with guilt and plagued with uncertainty. My day would only get worse.

Upon arriving at my apartment, I became instantly overwhelmed with dread. With each step forward increasing the sensation of unease, I approached my front door with caution. For the living, this might be described as having a strong psychic intuition or being extra sensitive to the forces of energy around you. For the "living dead" and other unholy creatures that go bump in the night, it was merely a supernatural awareness kicking in, sinful abominations can usually detect each other, even before casting our sights on one another. Walking up to my front door, mirrored approaching a nuclear hot zone. With the dial on my internal monster-o-meter, stuck in the red, practically busting off, there was so much energy. The hair on my body was practically standing on end! The air was so charged with the electricity of anticipation.

When I reached the door, I noticed immediately that it was open. Standing, slightly ajar, it stood as a final piece of confirmation that my apartment had indeed been infiltrated. I nudged the door to open further, with my boot and slowly entered. Cautiously, moving through my apartment, I checked every room. Yet I found nothing lurking in the shadows, laying in wait to pounce or attack. Confusion set in as I shut my bedroom closet; the final stop of my search, only for it to be abruptly replaced with panic, when a loud bang came from the kitchen. I rushed there as fast as I could but found the kitchen empty. The back door, standing wide open. Swallowing hard, I ambled onward through the back door and stepped out onto the porch to be greeted with... nothing. Nothing except the sounds of the city and the brisk, night air.

Doing an immediate about face, I returned to my kitchen, locking my back door behind me. That's when I noticed that my refrigerator and freezer were both opened all the way. With only one vital component removed. My leftover brain supply. There wasn't much that remained from my previous reserves, just basically enough for the night. Which is why I could afford to leave work without my usual supply. With it gone, I was now forced to go hungry until my next shift. By the time that came around, over twenty four hours would have passed since I fed.

The start of the countdown would begin. With time not favoring the side of the coherent, rational version of myself, the monster within would gradually start to surface. The cravings would grow as my hunger spiked, pushing the boundaries on my ability to control myself and keep my mind in check. I would be stuck in tunnel vision, with one bare basic need, fueling me forward. Brains. My only hope would be getting to work, where I could crack open a cadaver's skull and feast. And be able to do this before I went completely primal.

My body sank to the floor as I stared at my fridge and freezer, utterly numb. I was terrified of what was to come. What I would become. Overtaken by fright and trembling, I dragged myself toward the appliance on my hands and knees. Sticking my head straight inside the fridge, I held my face inches from the spot that I stored my plastic tupperware container of brains. Closer inspection only established the reality that I witnessed from afar, my leftover brains were no more. Groaning, I flopped face down inside the refrigerator, my face colliding directly with the bottom shelf. From there, I proceeded to lay there, motionless. Half my body inside the fridge, the other half on the kitchen floor. As a hollow moan escaped me, authentically befitting the undead horror that I have become. Then, out of nowhere, a crash permeated the air.

Instantaneously, I am on my feet. But not before cracking my skull into the top of the fridge. Hard. So hard, that when I backed up in order to rise fully to a standing position, I staggered and almost fall. My head throbbed and my vision faded in and out. Nausea swelled within as I fought off an urge to pass out. A small trickle of blood seeped from a spot on the top of my head, I felt it ooze down my cheek before it left a black drop, splattered on my floor. That's right. My blood is black and far thicker than a human's. It resembles toxic sludge and has the consistency of molasses. I am repulsed by the mere sight of it. Every. Single. Time. Shaking my head, I grabbed a towel and held it over my wound, to stop it from leaking.

Following this, I allowed my eyes to pan around the confines of my apartment. At least, the parts that are visible from my position in the kitchen. Directly across from me, in the living room, a huge hole, stared at me starkly from one of the windows. It looked like something was chucked straight through it by someone outside. Not an easy task, considering that I live on the fourth floor. A bowling ball shaped object, wrapped in a garbage bag, now sat in the middle of my living room floor, surrounded by glass. Gingerly I walked over to it and kicked at the bag, causing it to roll over but other than that, nothing else happened. So I kicked it again and pretty much the same thing occurred. That's when I decided to pick it up and look inside... I have never screamed that loud in all my afterlife.

Inside the trash bag... was a human head. Consequent to seeing this, the bag fell from my hands, due to my grip failing from sheer shock. It hit the floor and the head rolled out somehow. Stopping, with it squarely looking up at me, its cold, lifeless eyes stared at me accusingly, while its mouth appeared to be frozen open, agape in a silent shriek of torment. If I could breathe, I would have been hyperventilating. If my heart still beat, it would've been pounding within my chest, so hard and fast, I'd more than likely feel as though I were having a heart attack. However, those organs haven't worked properly, in over two years. Still, this did not mean that I went unfazed.

In that instant, I felt like the ground was caving in beneath me. Shortly after this, I found myself on the floor again. My whole body collapsed underneath me and I lost consciousness. When I came to, I opened my eyes to the sight of a decapitated head, laying on the floor in front of me. It's frigid, death stare, aimed towards the heavens. I pulled myself into a tight ball, wrapping my arms around my legs. Fear swallowed me whole and spit me out a broken, inconsolable wreck. What was I going to do? Who does a zombie call when it's being terrorized? Was I safe here? Who did this and why? Was it a gift or a warning? What exactly was the message being relayed here? Who did the head belong to before it became a present for me? What sort of being gifted the head to me? As my mind spiraled out of control, my front door burst open, revealing two policemen, with their firearms raised.

"Freeze! N.Y.P.D! Don't move!"

Fuck me....

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