The Grave: A Zombie Novel by Russ Watts

and bone. The burning plane had left behind a smoky trail in the evening sky, a sweet burning smell from the spent aviation fuel, and so the Deathless took flight. More joined them as they marched through the valley across green lush fields and through the small forest ahead. Pieces of the doomed plane were strewn across the valley, but it was only the prospect of flesh that drew interest and curiosity from the dead. Rarely were they interrupted from their scavenging and feasting. The forest floor was alive as animals and birds scurried away from the approaching death. Rabbits buried deep into their hollows, mice and voles scuttled into riverbeds and the Kakapos and Kiwis hurried quietly to hide in their nests. All through the forest, the birdsong and mating calls of spring ceased. The animals had learnt to sense when danger was near and how to avoid it, mostly.
    Not all were quick on their feet and successful. A young woman, ageless, thin and dead, grabbed a skink as it tried to run. She shoved it into her mouth as it wriggled and squirmed, unable to escape her grasp. Her teeth crunched through its bones and tore its flesh as she ate it alive. Nothing was left of the creature within a minute and the dead woman carried on, following the flock in search of more. Their hunger was insatiable and their existence pitiful, though they were pitiless themselves. Men, women, children and infected animals existed only in that place with one intention, to consume flesh and to eat the living.
    The Deathless did not consider their position on Earth as consequential, for they did not consider anything. The bodies of the dead moved and walked, occasionally summoning up the energy to what could be described as a jog, but little more. Muscles had long since wasted away and they had no need for speed in the same way that they had no need for sleep or rest. They desired no material things, nor suffered from pride. They had no need for procreation or love, no maternal or paternal instincts, and had no knowledge of their neighbour. The corpse walking next to them was as pointless as the moon rising or the sun setting. It could rain or snow and they would not take shelter. The fiery summer sun could burn the land and fry their skin, but they would not attempt to find shade. They simply existed, their senses attuned to one goal: a never-ending search for food. Usually, they hunted alone, although occasionally they sensed a migration such as this one. When a flock of them moved, it signified a food source ahead and so they joined the others in the same direction. There was no hive mind or sense of togetherness and certainly no willingness to share or feeling of brotherhood as they walked. A Pilot fish will live beside and follow a shark through the oceans, not because of any kind of kinship or kindred connection with the shark, but because it knows, it can sustain itself if it stays close and find a constant source of food.
    For so long now, many of them had lost their clothing to the elements and time. The seams had split and the cotton had torn, and many of the dead were half-naked. They did not care, as they did not know they were naked. Breasts hung low and limp, and putrid flesh sloped off the older ones. The dead children ignored the bare flesh on display. Male and female, black and white, they were all oblivious to their nudity. Their skin was discoloured and damaged; there was no longing, embarrassment or self-awareness. The walking corpses simply carried on every day, roaming wherever they wished across the land. If they caught an arm or a leg on a spiky bush, they would simply tear the limb off and continue. If they fell and broke an ankle or a bone, they felt no pain or suffering. If they could walk, they walked. If they could no longer walk, they would drag themselves along on their hands. If they could no longer drag themselves anywhere, they would wait for food to come to them. They could not die and so would lie still for weeks,