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Amy cast her eyes around her small group of friends. None of them dared meet her gaze. She knew she loved them dearly, knew she trusted them, but she could barely remember them. She glared hatefully and tried to rise. A strong hand forced her back down.

"You're sick, Amy. You're not going anywhere until we can get help."

The voice was familiar. Male. Unwavering. Michael, perhaps? Or was it Rob?

"It's dangerous out there right now. We're going to make it better. Promise."

Female, a bit unsure. Oh, this was definitely Jessica.

Amy felt as though she'd been here for years, trapped beneath her sweat-soaked blankets. The fever had taken hold a few days ago (right?), but the agony seemed unending, eternal. She wanted to bathe, she wanted to eat-

Eat.

Eating is good.

She wanted food.

"Jessica. I..."

Speaking was a chore for her; her throat was tight and dry.

"I need food," she finished soflty. "Hell, you don't even have to cook it, just give me something... anything... I feel so empty..."

Jessica rose and nodded.

"I'll cook you some eggs. Keep her down."

A different voice replied- the slightest hint of an accent. She couldn't place it. European? Eastern? Ah, yes, it might have been Eastern. It would make sense; Mohana, her fellow coffee-pusher, working his way through college just as she was. She loved the rich darkness of his skin, the way her name rolled off his tongue. It felt good to have him there.

The door closed; Jessica had left.

There was only silence for the longest while, silence and the sound of heartbeats.

"Mo, can you do me a favor? I need you to run out to my car and grab the cooler out of the trunk. It has some ice packs and cold water in it; I think it might help her." Amy heard the sound of her bedroom door closing once more. Mohana was gone. It was just her and this Mike-or-Rob, alone. Her stomach growled. She was hungry.

So hungry.

"I've always thought you were beautiful, you know. But you wouldn't give me the time of day. I was too creepy. Funny, coming from the token goth kid, but I can understand where you'd get that. I memorized your schedule, left you notes in your favorite seats... I even got the apartment across from yours, so I could watch you when you came home- some call it stalking, I call it admiring from afar. Hell, I even tried scaring Mohana off. He must like you something fierce, because-"

Oh shit. It wasn't Michael. It wasn't Rob. It was Caleb. Caleb, the freak she had gotten a restraining order against. Her friends didn't know about him, even Mohana didn't know- he was a shameful secret, something she wanted kept private. The police knew, of course, and her family, but the thought of telling her friends she was scared of a scrawny creep had made her keep it hidden from them. So of course they didn't know not to let him in.

"-worried neighbor, we had made a lunch date and you never showed, hadn't seen you leave your apartment... they bought it. So here we are, alone. Jessica's cooking, and Mohana won't be back. I've dreamed about this, you know, about us. You, being too weak to fight. Me, strong, forcing you down again and again, cumming on your bleeding face, biting your breasts... I'm going to enjoy this."

Caleb threw the blankets back and yanked down his pants. Amy felt a wave of revulsion as she saw how hard he was- he wasn't lying, he had never wanted consensual sex from her. He had always wanted to take her by force, rape her, strip her of all her independence; now there was nothing she could do about it.

As he climbed atop her, she drew in a breath. He leaned in close as she whispered.

"Oh? Oh now what was that? You'll have to speak up, I'm afraid I don't speak mumble." "I said... I said you're a sick fuck, Caleb. "

He laughed as he brought his hand down to grip her throat.

"Believe me, Amy, you have no idea how sick I am. When I get through with you, if you're still hungry, I've got something you can put in that belly of yours."

"If you put that thing in me I will tear it off with my teeth."

With his free arm Caleb punched her, hard in the face, and he heard bone snap. As he wrenched her legs apart she willed herself to kick him, but her body would not respond. His eyes burned with madness and lust as he forced himself into her, parting her painfully. She tried to scream, to call for help, but he held her tightly. She could barely breathe, let alone take enough air for that. She lay there helpless, glaring at him, letting her hatred fill her as he pumped into her again and again. His body was as hot as hers, though not from fever, and every time he entered her she felt as though her pussy was dying. She was wracked with pain, spasms of agony that he seemed unable to feel. She was bleeding. He was tearing her apart.

Caleb seemed oblivious to the destruction, lost in his own sick fantasies as he raped the shuddering girl. His member was drenched in blood and bits of flesh, but he didn't see. All he could see where Amy's small breasts, flecked with her sweat and his spittle, bouncing with the force of his thrusts, and her dark brown eyes locked on him. As he watched her pupils seemed to dilate, slowly drowning out the rich earthen color of her irises. He felt his hands slipping. A glance, a single glance, but that was all it took. Her flesh was stretching, tearing, turning to putty beneath his fingers. He opened his mouth, foam flying from his lips as he sucked in air. The bitch felt great, he could feel her suffering, but this was disgusting. He was so close, almost done with her, if he could just finish and leave no one would-

Amy's body began to jerk violently.

She was so hungry.

He came, hard, and the breath he was holding was loosed with a great howl of pleasure. As he spurted his seed into her he drew his hand back from her throat. Caleb's fingers were caked with a light pink slime, and he was briefly reminded of a rotting corpse he and his brother once found before Amy sat up and shrieked.

She moved fast for a girl who was unable to move only moments prior. Her legs wrapped around his waist like a vice grip. He couldn't move. He couldn't escape. She grabbed him by his dirty blonde hair and drew him close, sinking her teeth into the tender meat of his shoulder. Caleb screamed in pain. Amy began to chew, grinding the muscle as she drove her face deeper and deeper into his skin, swallowing chunks of skin and tissue as his warm blood flowed into her mouth. It tasted coppery, like licking an old penny, but it was also salty. Was that the sweat from his skin? She didn't care. She felt as though she hadn't eaten in years, hollow, empty, and her stomach craved more of the man in her grasp.

Caleb fought, but her limbs were like steel. He could not break free. As he teeth scraped bone she moved to his neck, tearing a sizable bit out and drenching her bed in his blood. She chewed on the tough chords of his windpipe, relishing the flavor on her tongue. For someone so vile, he sure tasted delicious. He was growing cold, his life ebbing away, but she was not done with him. Amy gripped him by the chin and stared into his eyes. They were growing dim, she'd need to hurry.

She lowered her head to his fleeing erection. His penis was drawn up tight, mostly inside his body as though it was safe. Oh, no. No part of Caleb was safe. Holding his head in place so he could watch, she placed her split lips around his dick and began to suck. It was an automatic response, in his defense. Even dying, he was hard for her. She wiggled her tongue, knocking a few of her teeth loose as she twisted around his cock. He was almost gone, almost out of her grasp, but he would feel this. He had to. She bit down and yanked her neck to the side, ripping his member from his body. She chewed quickly and spat it into his face, spit and blood dripping into the gaping hole in his throat. He died trying to scream. Good. It was good. He got what he deserved.

She stood, and made her way toward the door. She was slower, a bit stiff, but at least she was out of that bed. She hoped it burned. She hoped the whole city burned. She needed to find Jessica, they needed to leave as quickly as possible. Amy could smell something. It smelled like ashes, like poison. It was disgusting. Jessica had said she was making eggs. Eggs? It was food, but not food she could eat. No. It was good for them, good for her friends but not her. She needed warmth. She needed a pulse. She needed living things.

Jessica didn't look as Amy entered the living room. She was frying something. Meat once, yes, but no longer. Blackened. Sickening. But once it was breathing. Once its blood was shed upon the ground. Now it was unfit. Unworthy. A waste.

"The bacon will be done soon, I'll take it in to her. Is she doing okay, Kyle?"

Kyle? Oh, of course he'd lie, the sneaky bastard.

"Jessica..."

This wasn't her voice. She could barely form the name. it sounded almost like a growl, or a moan. This wasn't her! What was wrong with her? Was she dehydrated? Was it from the fever? Jessica turned slowly, her fist tightening around the handle of the frying pan. When her eyes fell on Amy she screamed and flung the pan toward her. It missed, but the hot grease splashed onto the cloth-covered couch and began to burn. The girl was running, bolting, crying for Mohana, screaming prayers to a god she didn't believe in. Amy gave chase as quickly as she could, reaching for her best friend.

No, she tried to say, I don't want to hurt you. Help me, Jessica.

But the words eluded her.

There was only the moaning, the rasping, the screeching.

Amy lived on the third floor of her building. The electricity had been out for a... a while, she couldn't remember how long, hadn't she just gotten sick yesterday? As such the elevators weren't working. The sun was shining brightly, and there was plenty of light in the halls as she followed Jessica to the stairs. She didn't realize it, following her, that the stairs would be dangerous. All she could focus on was her best friend fleeing from her in horror. Was she contagious? Had she remembered to put her pants back on? Had Caleb really wrecked her that badly? There was no reason for Jessica to run, none whatsoever.

She didn't think about how dangerous it is to take the stairs in a blind panic.

Neither, apparently, did Jessica.

As she placed her foot on the fourth step her sock slipped from under her and she fell. Jessica rolled end over end, her arms wind-milling madly as she tried to catch herself. From around the corner Amy could hear the snap of her wrist and she cried out to her friend once more. The moaning was more urgent, more savage. No, I'll just scare her more! But Jessica didn't hear her horrible sound. She tried to get to her feet- she couldn't stand. Her leg was broken. The bone pierced her jeans as she lay there sobbing, trying to claw her way down to the second floor. She was halfway there. If only she could move faster, damn her arm and damn her leg! She should have been paying attention to where she was going, she should have-

Amy cried out again, this time almost forming her name.

"Jesssssscaaa..."

Jessica screamed and screamed, her wits gone again, her only goal being to escape the horror that followed her. Her hand closed around the first step and she pulled, dragging her useless body behind her, she was almost there, just a little harder... She didn't think about what would happen when she crested that first step. She couldn't catch herself in time and she fell once more, head first down the stairs. There was a sickening crunch as her skull collided with the pretentious marble statue Amy's landlord insisted on placing there. Amy took the stairs carefully, trying to whisper her friend's name, afraid of what she'd find when she reached her. She wanted to cry. She knew she couldn't. She wanted to take a breath and scream until she passed out. Her lungs refused to work. There was nothing she could do as she looked upon the broken form of her best friend, laying in a pool of blood and gray matter. She got to her knees and crawled to her, mouthing her name soundlessly, overcome with grief.

And desire.

Her stomach roared.

She was hungry again.

Something smelled amazing.

Amy stuck out her tongue and began to lap at Jessica's skull wound, slurping up the blood that dripped from it. She pressed against her brain gently, testing it, before ripping off a small bite. She chewed slowly, thoughtfully. It was amazing. She swallowed and began ripping at the bone, wrenching it open further, scooping out handfuls of the gray muscle and cramming into her mouth. It was ecstasy, it was magic, it was two orgasms and an ice cream sundae afterwards. Nothing she had ever experienced in her life had ever been this mind-numbingly perfect.

She felt no disgust at running her tongue inside Jessica's skull. There was nothing wrong with eating to survive, right? She pulled back and rested her head against Jessica's breasts, giving her a wordless thanks before rising once more.

There was still work to do.

She needed to find Mohana.

She needed him most of all.

Luckily for her, the door below opened. She could hear the slosh of ice. It was Mohana. He was back. She took the steps slowly, gripping the guardrail as tightly as she could. He was on his way up. They met halfway and he dropped the cooler, sending ice scattering across the floor.

"By the gods, Amy, what happened to you?"

She reached for him. He was streaked in gore, and a pistol hung from his belt. Had he killed someone? Why? He stepped back, down a stair, and she halted.

"Mooo...na..."

"Amy. Let me go. Please."

His eyes were beautiful, his accent sensual. She wanted him now just as much as she ha before the sickness, before the fever, before the rape. She needed him, needed him to want her again. There was too much unsaid, too much undone.

"Down... Lay..."

Mohana climbed to the bottom of the stairs, his eyes never leaving her. She followed, though he stopped backing up.

"Amy, I'm begging you. I'm sorry we- I'm sorry we couldn't help, but please..." She took another step. She could smell him, all fear and sweat and sorrow. There was another scent, something vaguely familiar... his aftershave? No, the tiniest hint of spices. He had eaten recently- at least within the past few hours. A curry, maybe? He liked to joke that it was stereotypical of him, at the... some sort of store? Did they make food for the others? Something disgusting. The memory was fuzzy, but she still liked the scent.

Closer.

Mohana licked his lips, and Amy couldn't wait. There was the hunger, of course, it would not fade. It was always stronger in the presence of the healthy, the clean, but there was something else too. She remembered being terrified of something, being forced into something painful and terrifying, but she was warm below. She lunged, grabbing him by the shoulders and forcing him down onto his back. He did not scream, but tears trickled down his face. He was scared. It didn't matter to her.

She wanted him.

Amy ripped his slacks away and stared at the musculature of his legs. He was beautiful. She ran a hand along his inner thigh, leaving a slight trail of skin behind. He fought the urge to vomit, but only barely. She snaked up and lifted his shirt, running her tongue along his abs. Oh god, he tasted so good. She climbed on top of him, grinding her pelvis against his. It was an automatic response, after all.

Mohana was disgusted to find his cock hardening beneath Amy. She was covered in blood, some of her teeth were missing, her flesh was sliding around as though it was rotting, she was naked and he could tell something had forced itself upon her. She was decaying, but he knew that if he closed his eyes she'd just be Amy again, Amy with the black pixie cut hair and the nose ring, Amy who loved to play Jadeclaw and listen to Nick Cave, Amy who once told him that he looked like a god come to earth. Not this horrible creature. His friend, the woman he often fantasized about, quiet and shy and pretty.

The sickness had taken her at work, on a day off. She came in to see him. They had made plans for dinner tonight, this night. Eric made her a Spiced Cider, gave it to her with a feeble smile. His bandage was leaking. He claimed he put his arm through a window while drunk, but they learned. Jesus, did they learn. The whole world went to hell just a day later, and poor Amy was the unknowing victim of one of the infected.

They couldn't stand to tell her what was wrong. They took care of her for a week and a half, trying to feed her, trying to break her fever, but nothing helped. She got sicker, she became less coherent, and now it had taken her. She wasn't human. She still had memories, he could tell, and she still had feelings. Those would fade. They always did. And then there was nothing but the hunger, the drive to kill.

And sometimes, to fuck.

He opened his eyes.

Amy slid her wrecked cunt down on his cock, digging her nails into his shoulders as she began to rock. Her jet-black eyes were focused on him, intent to watch him. He didn't think she'd kill him, but he was still afraid. He reached up and placed his hands on her hips, tightening his grip as much has he could without tearing her skin off. She rose and fell, moved back and forward, grinning her ghastly, gapped smile as she moaned and sighed. She wasn't breathing. He didn't know how she could make noise. She rubbed her clit against him as she rode him, his rotting cowgirl. Inside she felt warm, soft; it was like fucking mush. It felt good, though, the danger getting him more aroused than he wanted to admit. The stench of blood and death was cloying, but he couldn't take his eyes off her perky tits, bouncing up and down, the skin tearing In the corners. He wondered if he would turn, if he bit her nipples off.

Amy arched her back and he moved his hand to her ass, gripping tightly, feeling the flesh give way. He didn't care. He was lost to it, the lust, the madness. Still she bounced, still she tightened around his muscle, still he felt the edges of an orgasm creeping up through his veins.

The zombie girl pressed down against him, hard, and he moaned.

"Come for me," she rasped, pulling the remnants of her vaginal muscles tight around him, "fill me... Want this... want you..." She seemed unable to speak any longer.

He balled his hands into fists, tearing out two handfuls of her ass as he thrust himself hard inside of her, piercing her like a spear. He exploded, his eyes rolling back in his head as he sprayed his cum inside of Amy's corpse- no, no, that made it sick. Amy. This was still Amy.

She came close to finishing, her legs locking on his like iron, shuddering as the pleasure neared its peak. Mohana sat up and pulled her face to his, gently, so as not to disturb her flesh.

"I want to be with you. Let me take some of you. Infect me, dammit! I don't want to be the only one left. I want to be with you, killing and fucking and eating for the rest of our days. Let me drink you. Let me finish you. Please, Amy."

She seemed to understand. She rose from him, cum dripping from her pussy as she moved to his head. She lay down, slowly, and he began to wipe away his fluids. She made a noise, a moan of urgency.

She understands. She wants it too. I can do this.

Mohana rolled over and lowered his face to her crotch. He began lapping at her clitoris, sucking gently, rolling his tongue along the tiny mound. Amy gripped his hair and shoved him down, arcing her back and rubbing herself against his face. He could feel her blood flowing, could feel the flesh rubbing away, but he didn't care. It had to be done this way. He needed the infection.

Amy began to shiver and he knew she was close. As she began driving herself up again and again he snaked a finger beneath her and traced the contours of her ass. Yes. She would finish, alright, and she would finish hard. He slipped a finger into her soft anus and began to stroke, pumping his hand as her legs tightened around his head. She came, letting out a shriek of pleasure, wordless and primal from her dead throat. Her juices flowed down and he caught them, lapping at them, letting them drench his face. Bits of tissue came with it but he didn't give a damn. He wasn't going to miss this chance. He wanted to live, it was true, but there was something he had to admit- the sex was great, the fear was great, and Amy meant the world to him. He would feel it in an hour or so, the first chill that meant his body was dying. Within a week he would be like her. He stood, wrapping his tattered slacks around his body. Amy stood as well, sky-clad and without a care in the world. He took her hand. She looked at him and smiled, almost sadly.

She was hungry, and dammit, he was too.

"Let's go find something to eat," he whispered, and began heading for the exit. He could hear the flames above the, growing stronger. It was time to leave.

The two opened the doors and exited the apartment, a sea of shambling bodies greeting them. Hundreds soaked in blood, bile, and cum, shuffling past burning buildings and cars, paying Amy and Mohana no mind. The world had indeed gone to hell while the girl was huddled in her bed, dying, and Mohana found himself wondering if there even were any living people left. There was him, at least, but not for long. The foreign man reeked of rot, and the infection was coursing through his veins- the other zombies would pay him no mind. They were safe.

Amy tugged on his hand and led him to one of the smoking cars. There was a woman inside, screaming and slamming her fists against the glass. With one quick movement Amy shattered the barrier and yanked the woman out. She sliced through her blouse with her nails and tore into her beasts, ripping the nipple off with her teeth and sucking the blood out through the hole. She tore at the glands, digging her fingers into the woman's back as she chewed on her tits.

Mohana dropped to his knees and yanked off the stranger's skirt. She wasn't wearing panties. Good. He nuzzled her soft southern hair, drinking in her scent before slamming his teeth down on her cunt. He shredded her skin with his teeth and began to chew, blood and piss covering his face as she screamed in terror.

After all, you can't stop the inevitable, and no one wants to be the only person not eating at a buffet.