Rotted Away Without A Second Thought

The sun set in the distance leaving behind a faded red-orange blotch across the sky that was surrounded by the expanding dark blue night sky. Shadows crept across abandoned buildings that were once occupied and full of life. Even the streets, day or night that were a breeding ground for activity by this city's inhabitants were empty. An abandoned city, dead silence, and dark shadows that cast their embrace on something that once was.
Yet, it's not completely dead or quiet.
A soft hum is echoing through the streets. It's low almost unhearable, but it's getting louder and more wide spread. Looking down the street inbetween the landscape of brick and stone buildings, and cars that were left abandoned across the street an unintelligible wail has risen.
Out of the shadows and from behind corners wierd figures are emerging into the open. They don't acknowledge each other by waves or nodds just that same thoaty moan. The streets are beginning to get crowded with them as if they didn't care where they walked. Where are they going? The city is alive with activity, but these people are strange. Why are they gathering together and marching in unison? Dragging their feet or shuffling across they move. Society has vanished, at least here, and these people are all that's left but had long been forgotten.
As we look closer we find one of them lying on the ground in an alley. A shambler walks by and doesn't even look or care that he's there. He's been long forgotten so one wouldn't even care if he was alive or dead. However, he is alive by the twitching in his jaw and arms.
He's decided to come out again and search the streets around his resting spot. Lying motionless on the ground next to a large garbage container he rose. He wailed in a long and low almost guttural voice, it was time to feed. Sitting up right he looked around letting his eyes adjust to dark, shadowy alley way. In the distance he could hear the voices of other beings calling out in the same tone. Was it time to eat for them? What about him? He didn't care as he looked at the bony forearm lying on the ground next to him.
There were still bits of tendon and muscle attached. It should be obvious what this thing is, a zombie. He was human once but not any more, hadn't been for several months now. The smell of shit and decay all around him, but again he didn't care or think twice about it as he picked himself up. The taste of blood and raw flesh was still in his mouth. He wanted more, he could eat all day if he had the chance, and depending on whether he could find prey.
To this zombie, we'll call him Terry, nothing else mattered except to feed his unquenchable thirst for flesh or warm blood that still pumped through a very much alive and screaming victim.
Terry walked out into the open street and saw others like him. Others that wore the same wounds of infection across open puss filled facial tears that bled. Blood covered clothes that hid exposed dangling intestines or other organs. The overpowering smell of rotten bodies, the stink of vomit and shit induced road kill covered these people like a naturally fragranced human odor. They just continued marching forward to some unknown destination oblivious to the state of their physical being or foul offensive decay.
Terry joined a small group of shambling corpses that marched down the road and voiced their moans of hunger into the night. It was a monotonous cycle of walking, moaning, and feasting. At no moment did any of them stop to think or even look at what they were doing to reason and ask why. Terry behaved the same way, like all the others that were walking along side him, he didn't care. He just did because he had to, he wanted to kill and eat to satisfy himself.
Something pushed past him almost knocking him over. Terry hissed and gnawed his teeth in irritation. He was about to give chase when he realized it wasn't food, but one of his more mobile brethren. Another ran past him followed by another, suddenly rouge packs of zombie sprinters filtered through them. Terry watched as one of them stood for a moment and twitched in different directions looking for food. The sprinter or Rapture zombie sniffed the air then hissed with irratated anger before joining the other runners up ahead. Terry growled and wailed after them. They must have found something.
The night sky was pitch black as the few street lights that worked illuminated the path ahead of them. Gun fire erupted from around the next street corner. It was a loud procession of automatically fired weapons that sounded like spurts of ricocheting metal. The other zombies around Terry started walking faster, the hunger in their agonized wails filled him with excitement. That sound usaully meant food was near by.
Around the corner stood a giant wall of metal and debris that blocked the way, a barricade of sorts. The sound of gun fire continued more loudly now, closer. Terry looked up and saw spurts of white and yellow flashing from the dark, shadowed areas of the buildings around the large metal barricade. It was a forified trap by the living to exterminate any of walking diseased that dared to venture into this location. He didn't know if there was any food ahead of the large mob of rotting cannibals, but his own blind hunger to feed himself lured Terry further into the massacre and extermination of his bretheren.
Bullets pierced through frail decomposed skin. Body parts were torn or left hung by small strands of flesh and ligaments. Others dropped to the ground like heavy sand bags. Their dying wails were drowned out by the loud echo of metallic death machines that fired with only a single purpose. Terry stared with an amazed blank expression on his face at the lights that killed off his brothers. He looked up at the dark sky and moaned into the night never feeling or understanding the round that punched a hole in his chest.
Another round ripped through the right side of his forehead. Bits of his skull shattered and dark gray tumorous portions of brain were shredded into wet paste. It was fast and he never took his gaze off the dark sky above him. Terry's zombified corpse hit the ground among a landfill of dead rotten corpses. Those who could escape did, mostly the sprinters, the others were left for target practice.
Without a second glance or thought it was over, another win for the living. As for Terry, lying there a battered and faceless body no one would give a shit that he had just died for a second time in his existence.