The human bodies that littered the streets wouldn’t stay deceased for long. I saw them lift themselves from the pavement and stretch their limbs. They stumbled around for a while before becoming stable and walking around town. When the infected are reanimated they act almost… normally. They converse with one another, and they’re able to function properly despite their injuries. Others even made phone calls to what I assume were their friends and family. The point was null though. After all, who would ever believe what was happening in this town? Certainly nobody sensible, be it family or the police.
As the days passed by and the survivor’s resources ran low, some brave folks would attempt to sneak through town and to the stores to gather supplies. The infected wouldn’t even attempt to give chase to the looters, instead, they stared at them with their cold, dead eyes. Disturbingly enough, it seemed like the infected were completely aware of what was happening. They could be heard sobbing at times. Some even crumpled to the ground and angrily pounded their fist into the ground until their fingers bent backward and their hands tore open. They showed no reaction to the pain, however. Instead, their lack of feeling sent them into a further rampage. Before they could injure themselves more, they stopped. They sat there, motionless for several minutes, as something took control of their actions and prevented them from sustaining greater damage. I also saw the infected lose control of their movements as they attempted to exit the town. Something was keeping them there, and something was preserving their bodies as well.
A few days quietly passed, and the infected remained dormant and harmless. Their bodies grew malnourished regardless of how much they ate. I felt sorry for them in that regard. My body was growing thin as well, and I had been quickly running out of food. They were having their energy drained, something which was evident considering their sunken faces and colorless skin. Those who attempted suicide found it a fruitless effort. They simply wouldn’t die, and their actions were halted by what was keeping them alive. It was the contagion. I remembered how it slivered into the mouths of the infected. It moved on its own as if it had a mind. Some sort of primitive desire to remain alive. The infected, no matter how much food they consumed, grew thinner every day. The contagion was draining them of their energy until… until it was forced to move onto a new host. That’s why it was keeping them around. So it could take over their bodies and spread themselves further. It’s why the infected were allowed control over their actions unless they attempted to harm themselves or leave town. The infected who chowed down on every last morsel they could would only serve to sustain the infected even longer. They needed to feed, and they knew they had to be transmitted one way or another. I suppose they simply wanted to make their meals last as long as they could.
The infected appeared as drained as possible now, and although they couldn’t feel themselves degrading, I could tell they understood what was happening to them. They didn’t even walk around town or talk with each other anymore. They simply sat down and stared into the ground. They were hopeless and fearful, many of them bawling their eyes out for hours on end, filling the air with their distraught howls. Most of all, they felt helpless to stop what they knew would soon happen, and they understood that ultimately, they no longer had free will.