Another new fic and I'm still not finished with And The Stars Shone Brightly. I just saw the Warm Bodies movie today and wanted to write this fic. Idk how long it will be, how long it will take but my muse won't leave me alone. So... enjoy?

SHERLOCK

I don't know how it began, no one does and anyone that did is too far gone to tell us. One moment everything was normal, there were no zombies, no skeletons, life was probably good. Probably not boring. And then something must have happened; a virus perhaps, radiation is unlikely, a scientific experiment gone wrong? Honestly no one really knows. But then most of us have little cause to care about the reason. If any of us care at all. Being dead does that to a person.

I don't remember how I died, if it hurt or if there was anyone in my old life that cared for me. But, if I try really hard to remember I can recall a word, I wasn't sure what it meant at first, I'm still not certain but I decided to adopt it as my name.

Hi, I'm Lock, I'm a zombie and its been one week since my last meal.

I live in the dead part of London. That's supposed to be a joke. But I'm not good at jokes. It's dark and empty and boring. Everything's boring. That's death for you. You spend all day slowly moving around, some bodies have set routes they follow every day. Others explore new places. Theres an old woman in the park, who keeps walking around in a circle. We walk all day and then go home at night. Most zombies don't have a place they call home. They might have an area they spend time in at night when the skeletons, the Bonies come to hunt, but as soon as the day breaks, they shuffle along to do whatever it is we zombies do all day. Which isn't really much of anything. We don't have jobs. Though some of us still think we do.

I live at 221b something street. There used to be a sign but it's long gone now. I think someone else used to live here as there is another flat below mine. A woman, middle aged or older. I'm not sure why but when I look around in those rooms that's what springs to mind. The same thing happens with people. There's a man at the end of this street, I can tell by his left thumb that he was a pilot, he had an allergy to peanuts and at the time of his death was thinking of leaving his wife. I can tell this simply by looking at him. And yet I don't know how. Or if anyone else can do this. It just seems so obvious to me.

My home is cluttered with things I bring home. Zombies don't sleep so I occupy my time when not shuffling and groaning through London, by collecting various objects. Old books and papers, curious artefacts, a harpoon. There's also a skull. But I think he was a friend. I own a violin that I can't play. Zombie fingers aren't exactly conductive for playing music. I'd call it frustrating except I don't exactly have emotions.

I usually spend a few hours in my home until the sun comes up. My morning routine is to leave the house, limp through the streets of London until I get to a hospital. Hospital's are good sources of food as the living make the stupid mistake of looking for resources there. This one seems to hold significance for me because I always seem to end up there unconsciously. I like to sit in the morgue. There's no longer in any bodies there anymore.

It just feels like I am supposed to be there. Ha, feels. I'd laugh if I could remember how to.

The rest of the day is spent wandering. None of us have anywhere to be. And the only time we do something on purpose is when we get hungry and go on a hunt. We usually group together, not sure why, it seems to make more sense then going alone. I don't particularly enjoy going on a hunt, I feel like a freak, a monster when I bite into the flesh of a living person. But it's the only way to survive. And I am a freak, I'm dead and my brain won't shut up.

I don't know where I am, I don't think I've wandered out this far before. I better turn back.

JOHN

It started five years ago, a fucking zombie apocalypse. I'd just returned home from war to walk straight into another one. At first it was small and now it seems like the whole world is coming to an end. It's funny, all those zombie movies I used to watch have now come to life. Except theres no turning off this movie and returning to reality. This is real life. The zombies here aren't special effects or actors in a costume. They were real living people once. Friends, brothers, sisters. Parents and children who are now re-animated corpses. Although for the dead their bodies are remarkably in good condition. I guess Hollywood got that one wrong.

As soon as I returned home from war, myself and the others with me were whisked away to safety. We were immediately put to work protecting the survivors. I was relieved to see my sister was among them. Plus a few old faces. As an army doctor I spend much of my time in the makeshift hospitals, taking care of the sick and the wounded. Even though we are walled off from the zombies in London, we still get survivors who make the long trek from the suburbs in search of safety. They have to spend a week being screened and checked over and over again. Until we are sure they are safe. Those in charge won't tell us what happened, so we have to be sure no one shows sign of having been bitten.

In those sad cases where they have we give them a choice while they still have enough brain power to make it. Stay in the compound and tidy up your affairs and then be shot, or take your chances outside the wall. Most don't want to take the risk of escaping and attacking their loved ones and opt for a quick death. Our lives here are dismal. Theres no life among the living. Children don't laugh and play in the streets, we have electricty but theres never any music playing outside, no tv's in the windows. People run their errands and then escape to their homes at night. We are lucky we have room. This part of London has underground shelters and tunnels from the last big war. Many of us live above the ground if theres room.

My sister and me live in a small flat with two other doctors and a nurse next to the hospital. Her alcoholism is no more. Turns out being in an apocalypse can either scare you straight or break you down. She's a secretary for one of the storage rooms. She helps organises the supplies for each sector. There's five in total. Government, Military, Medical, Supply and Food. Civilians can live in all five but most live in the large two. Each is colour coded. Government is White, Military is Black, Medical is Red, Supply is Blue and Food is Green. Me and Harriet, my sister, live in the Red Sector.

And this is as good as it gets.

We've worked out there are two types of zombie. Theres the ones with flesh and the ones without. It's the ones without you have to worry about. You can outrun a flesh zombie, but you are pressing your luck if you try and outrun a bonie. And they travel in packs. All zombies in the end turn to bonies. The last pieces of humanity are ripped from their bodies.

I've fought my fair share of zombies and a few bonies even and am still here to tell the tale. It's stupid I know, to venture out into the unknown in search of resources. But I'll tell you a secret. I enjoy it. I miss the thrill I got from war. I'm not a bad person, war is terrible. But it's an adventure nonetheless. And I need that. So any chance I get to leave I take it. Harry hates it.

But without it we wouldn't be able to survive as long as we have. I usually try and bring something back to cheer her up. It's important to stay on good terms with your family. So many of us have lost people. Theres a silver haired police officer who guards the medical area and sometimes supply that always has a sad look on his face. I think he lost his son, at least thats what I heard. He used to be a Detective Inspector for Scotland Yard but theres not much need for that now. But he likes to feel useful. Theres also a government official I've seen drive past a few times towards the White Sector. Once I saw him sitting in Cafe Z (black humour, don't you love it?), his eyes were dead, like all hope was lost. He looks as if the world wasn't ending, his suits are always perfect, his hair never and inch out of place and he carries this umbrella everywhere.

Like he still has everything. But when people aren't looking, he sighs and you think he's going to cry but his stiff upper lip never quivers. I asked about him once. He was pretty high up in the Government before everything turned to shit. But he lost his little brother and he's given up hope of ever finding him. For his sake I hope his brother died a quick death and stayed dead.

The sirens crying, I have work to do, theres a lot of sick people here.