Familiar Faces

We’ve suspected that the infected follow patterns when they move. Nothing spectacular, but they seem to ebb and flow at least. This guy, who we’ve named Eric 3, has been going to work every day. Or something like it. He walks up the street and waits outside of a door of a nearby office for an hour or two, and then walks back to the neighborhood. It’s not a long walk, and he’s easily distracted, but he does something like that every day. He’s not the only one. Several of his friends do the same. They walk up and down the street and meet there. I’m guessing they’re just the ones that live close. Perhaps that is the extent of what’s left in their heads. Rote memory. Faces of loved ones and favorite experiences are gone. Now what’s left? The daily grind. The things committed to the subconscious because they were too boring to actually think about.
That is not to say that they don’t run after living things, and just today, Eric 3 ate his friend, who fell over on the steps of the office. This is just what they have left when nothing else is going on. This is their neutral. It’s sad. I almost wish that they didn’t do anything at all. I wish they were just up against fences all day, or standing in place. But some of them still have something left that humanizes them. It makes them harder to kill, for sure.

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