Searched the flat, no sign of John. No note, nothing. He's got no insulin so he's got to come back soon. I hope. Outside the zombies have started to gather. They must of followed me. I watched them all day. Shambling randomly around. Groaning, bumping into things, falling over. Standing, staring, decaying.
They've got no sense, they don't communicate, they can't reason or solve the simplest problem. Can't open doors or climb or dress themselves. They don't notice or even care that their arms are missing or guts are dragging alone the ground. They only walk and kill.
Late afternoon saw a living guy come stumbling down the street. He was exhausted unable to carry on, he must of been running for hours. Stumbled and fell against a skip on the road. The zombies surrounded him, slowly and just engulfed him. About ten of them just dragged him down and tore out his insides. Slowly eating him as he wriggled and twitched and stilled. I knew him, Will Robinson, was a plasterer, I often spoke to him in the Club. Had a couple of greyhounds, wonder where they are?
Later he got up and started shuffled around, he'd become one of them. I had just stood and watched him get killed and eaten. I was hypnotised by what I'd seen. I'd made no effort to try to help or save him. Felt numb, empty, what sort of man am I?