Day: 12 Brains:1

Viscera dripped from its mouth. It looked at the open socket before it, disfigured hands grasping it by the jaw. None left. The corpse faded from its mind. There were no brains here.

It moved on, following the sounds of gunfire and screaming, the hordes of other undead, the scent of the living. It recognized none of this, not really. It merely reacted.

Nothing had changed.

Day 168, Brains: 23

It licked its lips, making sure to get every scrap. Its missing fingers irked it, as did its crumbling rib cage where most of the bullets had hit it over the months. It blinked its remaining eye, looking up from its meal, eyeing the trend of its herd. None were hurrying, and what fresh meals lay about the place were untouched. Already devoured.

Tall blocks surrounded it. Where before it had wandered woods and fields, it was now in a city, though such words were still beyond it. Only vague sensations, little better than instincts. Follow the herd. Follow the scents of the living. Even a small sense of self preservation.

It was still an animal. Little had changed.

Day 488, Brains: 94

Seven in one sweep. The Corpse, for it knew what it was now, stepped back from its final meal, a smaller Meal than the rest, the one the rest had protected. A tough old place to break into, lots of long sitting-spots, and a stone slab to hide behind at the end.

A refuge of seven Meals, ill equipped. The Corpse had spotted them weeks before, broken off from its herd and located their hideout. After that, all that remained was to... herd. Once the fighting was over it emerged from its spot, blocked the entrance and used the Sharp it had discovered on a meal. Its near-skeletal hand gripping it with newfound understanding, and dispatched the other Corpses inside before they could spoil its meal. They didn't matter.

Meal complete, it unblocked the entrance and stepped outside. Its herd idled nearby, calm now that the sounds had stopped, the smell of Meals getting weaker. Some still piled past. But its herd was large, and now that one lead had been lost, would be easier to lead.

It scratched at its exposed spine, discarding a scrap of flesh that would soon have fallen in a few days anyway. It stopped a moment, wondering if that was a good idea. IT was already falling apart. Better not make it worse.

After all, things were changing.

Day: 749, Brains: 223

The Corpse pondered the armaments miles away. Binoculars helped. A few of its smarter fellow corpses had eaten enough to use some of their own as well, and as the defacto-leaders of the still mostly mindless horde of Corpses, near three-thousand at its last count, hidden in a valley miles away. Though none had consumed as much as it, they could still comprehend orders and even had opinions of their own. None more sternly stated than what it had planned.

No, Tall-Smart-Corpse wrote in the ground, for most had lost their tongues long ago. No talk. Die.

Die anyway, The Corpse wrote in response, dumbing down its ponderings. Not many. Thirty-eight guards at all times by its count, weaker on the right side. Not that it should matter, if things went right.

This get brains. It wrote, and underlined for all to see. It pointed sternly, and caught the eyes of all others there, daring them to argue. They knew what happened during fights with the Corpse – Head-Corpse, now that it thought about it. They knew that guns hurt. They did not know how guns worked. Head-Corpse did, and it had one at all times, should any try and turn things on him.