MicroHorror

The first zombie apocalypse fizzled pretty quickly. Major cities were hit pretty hard, but once people organized and figured out the symptoms, things got wrapped up before the military even got to there to help.

Humans just aren’t meant to be effective zombies, you see. We’re almost entirely reliant on higher thought that is lost upon zombification, giving normal humans an absurd advantage over zombies. Also, as bipeds we require more balance and motor control in order to run than a zombie is left with. The zombie menace had only confusion on its side, and when that wore off they were wiped out.

Zombie animals, on the other hand, are a special kind of hell. While not quite as agile as healthy animals, they retain enough motor ability to run, and their instincts are not as badly impaired as humans. During the first outbreak only a few animals were ever turned, but those that were posed a massive threat. Stories of zombie dogs were famous, as well as the infamous killer sheep of Scotland. But human zombies could almost never catch animals.

After it was all over, though, someone got the clever idea to try and cure the virus. Started infecting mice for test subjects. No one will ever know how they got out; we lost contact with that entire city in one night. Rodents outnumber people eight to one in the city, and once the infected mice started biting other rats and mice in those dark places in the cracks of the city, there was no hope of containment.

Not that any of that really matters now. I can hear the zombies pounding on the front door downstairs. Much closer, I can’t hear the constant, inexorable gnawing. They’re slowly bringing the room down around me, with a mindless determination that only zombie rodents could possess. Somewhere outside, a long moaning yowl rises from an undead cat. An old enemy recruited by the rodent hordes.

The room that I’m now sure will be my grave is starting to fill with the stench of mice and rotting flesh. They’ll open a hole into the room soon, there’s no avoiding it. I resignedly reach for the can of gasoline I’d brought with me. At least I can know that mine will be a quiet corpse.