It had one arm which hung limp and useless, swinging without purpose as the thing shuffled across the blacktop. What had become of the other arm couldn’t be known, not anymore.
“They look worse lately.”
“It’s been hot.”
It tripped on something, a rut or a groundhog hole or a tangle of weeds, and fell face-first to the ground. A person would have paused, waiting to feel for injury; the zombie felt nothing, and thus immediately began twisting and writhing to try to find a way back to its feet.
“Would you shoot it already?”
“Can’t get a clear line. Wait a bit.”
After a few minutes, it managed to turn over onto its back, then bend at the waist until it was sitting upright.
Crack.
“Happy now?”
“Ecstatic. Let’s go look.”
They stood over the zombie’s remains, half the forehead now missing. The skin was leathery and tight where it had been exposed to the sun, but under the collar they could see horrific bug-eaten rot.
“They can’t last much longer. They’ll be falling apart by winter.”
“Maybe.”
“What ‘maybe’? Human body can’t walk around forever when it’s dead.”
“People are still dying, all over. Starvation. Cancer.”
“Aww, hell.”
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