He is starving.
And bored.
His stomach never growls, but there is always this tormenting wave of hunger so immense that he wants to clench and rip anything with his nails, latch his canines onto any piece of skin and wrench out the veins, or pins a creature down before smashing him into a mash and shower in his blood.
That escalating craving. That insatiable need. That exasperating thirst.
He needs flesh. Or blood. Or both.
Or just a touch is fine.
He is pale, so pale a beam of light can penetrate his skin and it becomes translucent, sometimes glistening. His eyes used to be a blend of sapphire and amethyst, but now they are often a darker shade of navy. They seldom blink now. He can stare into the void for a whole day without a flutter. Unless stimulated by peril or threat, the balls don't roll at all. His angular face is stiff and pallid, his slanted nose constantly sniffing awaiting his next prey. His lips are as white as his rumpled, pale feather-like hair with wispy fringe. He haunches forward whenever he walks, his arms swaying on two sides. He trudges, usually, unless he is hunting. Occasionally a grunt escapes his chapped lips.
He looks ill and frail, as his brother always says. Even when they were still alive, his brother would force him to eat more and exercise to get rid of that pasty face and laid-back posture.
Right now, he is tottering towards the spectators' stand. Oh, so very slowly.
The stadium is occupied by lots of his kind. They wander just like him, with hollow eyes and ashen faces. They waver, hobble or crawl. Some look more hideous than others with missing body parts or limbs. When a prey is spotted, they scramble and lunge towards the poor soul.
He vaguely remembers that his name is Elis and nothing else. His brother is Johan and his eyes are cerulean, also dull and unblinking. He is slightly taller than Elis, with short, platinum blond hair, bangs parted to the left, a random curl sticking out of the same side of his head. He has higher cheekbones and a stronger jawline. His cousin, Mateo, looks livelier than all the others, probably because he used to be an extrovert and lie in the sun a lot. His hair is of a darker blond and spiky, resonating with his glee and optimism. He is tall, often with his lips curved slightly upwards. His eyes are droopy but open wider than the others. His brother's two friends, Noah and Tonni, often creep after them. Noah wears glasses and has a long, grim face. He often looks as if he is glaring at someone. His hair is trimmed short and he stands even taller than Mateo. Tonni is small and slender, with a plump, babyish face and round, hazel eyes. There are freckles around his nose and his lips seem to retain a faint shade of pink.
They wobble in a group. Time ceases on their side. Every day is just the same. They don't ever sleep. They starve, but never die, because they've already died once. Their hearts have long stopped beating and there is no exchange of gases in their lungs. They feel numb most of the time, but their other senses remain intact, or even amplified. They can see without a blur, detect the smallest sound within fifty metres, feel rejuvenated upon smelling the first drop of blood and the meal, oh, the human flesh is delectable. They go for hunts together. There are various types of them, some more bestial, aggressive and prone to hunger.
The BEASTS were the first batch of carriers when the virus broke out. Overnight, they multiplied into hordes of bloodthirsty, flesh-craving monsters with bulged eyes, sharp teeth and spider veins. They have been infected for a long time and as time rolls on, their internal organs decay and their blood is drained. They lose their human streaks completely, no longer possessing the intelligence of a man but only instincts of a feral animal. They are incapable of perception, empathy and communication. They constantly look emaciated and shrivelled, their eyes growing more sunken and emptier each passing day, their cracked lips reduced to a thin line. Some or most of their hair has been lost and they are always growling. They have to feast on human flesh to regrow their own and fresh blood is their main source of nutrients. They bounce on any creatures that come in sight. They don't select, plan or think.
The IDLES are the slothful type, simply impassive, uninterested in hunting or slaughtering humans. They are partially or slightly infected, but the virus plunges them into a permanent coma-like state. Most of them retain their human appearances and can stand motionless for days, still standing even when a bat collides with their face or a bullet pierces them. They don't bite, grunt or bounce.
The third type, also the most inconceivable and erratic type, is the MUTANTS. They are either partially or completely infected but their powerful immune systems, in the midst of counterattacking the virus, induces a severe mutation that results in enhanced body strength, speed and agility. There are very few MUTANTS, occupying approximately 0.1% of the infected population and they retain most human characteristics except the transformed diet, coupled with the loss of memories and feelings. They crave for blood and flesh just like others but don't see them as necessities. They are capable of thoughts, scheming and simple conversations. They can go for days, or months or years without food with their immense stamina. They feed only when they are in need; hunt when a prey fascinates them.
Elis and his fellows are the MUTANTS. He has eaten a human brain before. When they consume a body part of the living, they will gain access to their memories and feelings. He remembers cracking open the teenage girl's brain out of curiosity and sucking out all the juice before slowly chewing the folds. The girl was already bitten then and the moment he tasted her brain, all kinds of images flooded into him like a fast-flowing river in summer. He lived through fragments of her memories and learnt that she was born in a single-parent family, often bullied at school, got turned down mercilessly by her crush in the school prom, fled with her mother and her only sister during the outbreak but eventually got separated from them and attacked in the airport. He has never tried a heart though. It's a rare delicacy, according to Johan. He has eaten one inadvertently and a human heart grants them emotions. Johan was overwhelmed by the massive flows of sentiments and he got the chance to re-experience those lost feelings of love, hatred, grief, sorrow, anguish, terror, regret and more. Some of them die missing somebody or regretting a lost opportunity in life; some die loathing the world or embracing their ultimate relief; some die mourning for the loss or squirming in agony. All these emotions play out like a tape. Be it a piece of memory or a feeling, it is incredible. It's as if they're revived. They live again.
Other parts of the body don't evoke as much excitement and connection. Some bite a limb to gain more strength and some bite an eyeball to see more clearly. Human bodies contain all the nutrients they need to survive, no, to keep passing days as an empty shell.
Elis wants a brain. He's forgotten most of his past and he wants someone to live through, even if that person is haunted by painful and horrendous memories. He wants to feel them all. He needs to feel something.
Or he is going to fade into darkness.
He turns to his brother and groans. Johan stares at Elis nonchalantly and grunts back. Elis nods.
And just like that, the two boys turn to Mateo, Noah and Tonni and make the same grunting noises, shifting their gaze to the exit of the stadium. The boys lumber down the spectator's stand and cross the crowded field. The place is crowded with their kind, so they have to squeeze their way through. Most of them are sedentary in order to save their strengths for the next hunt. It's hard to make them give way. They will try their best to dodge and not to crash onto each other.
Once they are out of the stadium, they plod down the street. Every now and then, stacks of rubbish and corpses come into sight. The cement is stained with blood everywhere. Some stains have dried and faded into darker brown. Some blood is fresh and comes in puddles. Occasionally, they will stumble over torn limbs but they seldom eat them, not when they have a choice. A normal bite will transform a healthy human being into their kind within half an hour, and if they ever need to feast, they will need to rip and consume their victims within those thirty minutes, before their infected bodies begin to stiffen and rot. Corpses are difficult to bite and there is no way to suck out their frozen blood. They don't make as a scrumptious, satisfying meal as a freshly killed wiggling body with blood slopping in all directions from its open wounds.
They enter a neighbourhood filled with what used to be colourfully painted houses but now most paints have peeled or tainted. Almost all of the houses have been ransacked. Glass shards are scattered everywhere and most doors are unhinged or shot full of holes. They sniff hard.
Clank.
Something has dropped to the floor. A kettle maybe.
Bang.
A glass or a tin this time.
Whispers.
Elis smells it first – a refreshing, arousing scent.
Gel and caramel.
A prey in 100 meters. The group glances towards the abandoned three-storey cottage not far away.
Mateo groans, who is apparently more attracted to the gas station where a couple of lost boys are scavenging the convenience store in another direction. He is out for pure fun though. Sometimes, they don't kill or bite their victims but they will make sure to frighten them senseless.
Elis insists on the house. Johan always tags along with him, so Mateo follows begrudgingly.
They let out an intimidating growl and dash towards the target at full speed.