I'm sorry. Those were her last thoughts.

As a decrepit, filthy body stumbles down the highway, those words play through its mind once again: I'm sorry. Not a thought for themselves. All for that guy Tommy. Lucky guy, that Tommy. Or maybe not, since the kind of person that would think about him as they took their dying breath is now dead and gone.

Eating humans, what a disgusting notion. Whenever the teeth break skin, predator and prey become one. Perhaps it plead right along with its meal, but its body understands only the feast as it keeps digging deeper and deeper.

The term "zombie" certainly comes into play. No goal, no reason for existing. Nothing but a shambling, rotten, belligerent shell that used to be a human being. A wandering, slave. A mindless host.

The highway stretches seemingly forever, the creature does not deviate from it. Perhaps some remaining shrapnel of humanity compels it to stick to roads. Or perhaps it's easier on the feet. Cars lay on the road like corpses of animals long silenced. A shrine to a great fallen civilization. The monster feels no exhaustion, no boredom, no desire, no destination. Its shell can work for weeks on end without anything happening. Without encountering a single soul. Living or dead.

***

"Come on! Hurry up!" 

"Where are you?! I can't see you!"

"I'm here! Follow my voice! Come on!"

The sound of rushing feet filled his ears as he struggled to reach my partner. His rifle bounced uselessly at his side, his knife pouch hung empty. The two figures sprinted from a darkness that seemed to close in, panic alight in their eyes. They hurtled into the subway train as the doors snapped shut. Falling onto a heap into the ground. 

"DRIVE!" Screamed the woman. 

Something smashed against the other side of the window. A ragged hand pounded uselessly against the glass, angry snarls filling the air as faces as cold and emotionless as ice pressed against the sides of the vehicle with inhuman force. The glass began to give as the wave of pursuing monsters slammed against the train. 

I slumped against one of the chairs, reveling in a break. A familiar face crouched down and placed her hand across my forehead.

"Equator, are you okay? Hey!" She slapped me lightly on the cheek. "Stay with me, chief."

I took a deep breath, trying to calm my heart. "I've seen better. All those hours of running really paid off, huh?"

She smiled in relief and got up, her black hair swinging somewhat majestically "The sergeant would have given you an earful, that was some sloppy running." 

"Squad leader South, everyone okay?" Another familiar face popped in from an adjacent compartment. "Equator looks like he's in bad shape."

"I'll be fine, West. Speaking of which, you've got blood on your face." I pointed out the flecks that looked curiously like freckles over his cheeks.

"This? This isn't my blood." He scrunched up his nose. "If anything, this might be ketchup, I tripped into a hot dog stand on my way here." 

I raised an eyebrow. "Hot dog?"

He tossed the godsend to me, and sat down with one of his own. "I've only got one bag, so eat them carefully."

We all ate together. reveling in our first non-canned beans based meal in seven days.
South, West and I had been part of the Squad South, dispatched with the intention of uncovering any potential survivors and bring them back to the shelter.   

It had been one week after our dispatch, having found no reported survivors, that we learned that the shelter had been infected and that we were on our own. 

Back then, we had Falcon, the sniper. He was the first to turn. He took North with him. That sweet, caring medic. She didn't want to leave anyone behind. It cost us and her dearly. And Howitzer, the man built like a tank, as his codename suggested. He'd always seemed so strong, so indomitable, so confident and trustworthy. He seemed like a hero of a zombie story. Proves that it really does just take a small bite to break someone. 

Now, it was just four, South the squad leader. West the pickpocket. East the mechanic. And me, Equator, the one that should be left behind as bait. It was always that way, back at elementary school, high school, military school. It was always me. The weaker one, the slower one, the one you don't want on your team in dodgeball. 

South was strange. She definitely didn't look like the military type. Her short build, long black hair, and soft Asian features made her look more like a girl idol band member. If I were to describe her in one word, it would be "delicate". She was far from it. Maybe the toughest woman I'd ever met, she would have your scalp if you so much as passed gas without her permission, but she cared for all of us deeply. 

West didn't look like anyone special. He was the kind of guy you would cast as Villager 1, 2, and 3 in a video game. His hair was average curly brown, his nose of average size, his eyes an average, light brown. He was all around so average that we used to joke that everybody in the world was his twin or long-lost sibling. His looks betrayed his skill, though. He could steal just about anything from anyone, ranging from your wallet right out of your pocket to your new convertible, right under your nose. 

East was driving the train up front. In truth, he could drive, fix, build and decrypt just about everything. His burly physique went with his square jaw, dark eyes that never seemed to smile and constant scowl. He barely ever spoke and mostly communicated via occasional grunts. I loved the guy.

I swallowed my hot dog, but couldn't taste anything. It was like dust. The feeling of happiness vanished from my mouth and my sight went grey. South leaned over, her dark hair falling into her face, and asked if I was okay, but it sounded like her voice was coming from beyond a tunnel, echoing off the walls until it sounded like it belonged to the voice of a giant. Guttural, deep, dark, raucous. Dead.

My vision swam until the road came back into view. I looked down at my hands. Decrepit, rotten, and hot-dog free. 

Why did this have to happen? 

Why could I not stop?

Why couldn't someone just make it end?

I dropped to my knees and put my head in my hands. My empty chest heaved and jerked. My throat heaving dry sobs. My eyes spilled no tears. 

The dead could not taste, feel, smell, touch...

We couldn't even cry.