12 months later
The Crave took hold of Jack — it was the one thing that he was completely powerless to control. His body trembled, his hands jittered, and his mouth foamed.
There was a whiff of something sweet in the air. He could smell it from miles away.
Jack had an inkling that he should try to resist it — some shred of humanity still alive deep within him. But once the Crave took him, it rushed in like water through a broken dam. He imagined the taste of crimson liquid dancing on his palate, the perfect texture of fluid smoothness mixed with the tender meat of human flesh. Oh sweet flesh.
The rest of the zombie horde could smell it too. It wasn't just any flesh that they smelled — this was human flesh.
Jack's eyes glowed yellow as did the eyes of his horde. Dozens of glowing amber bulbs lit up the night like fireflies during mating season. It was beautiful, from far away at least. Once one drew near, there was little more horrific than the mangled, necrotic face of a half-decomposed human. If they were still human anyway.
But that didn't matter now. Not when there was food to be had.
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The sound of teeth gnashing and bellowing moans pierced the night's silence like a discordant tone in an otherwise perfect symphony.
The intoxicating smell of blood ran filled the supernaturally enhanced olfactory senses of Jack's company, invigorating their desire to eat. Jack felt so alive.
They all felt it. The need to feast on the living drove them insane. They'd gone nearly two weeks without human flesh, and the Crave was as strong as it had ever been. They needed to eat.
That was what it meant to be alive. Wasn't it? Feasting on the flesh of one's adversaries, consuming it and making it a part of oneself, breathing life back into a decomposing corpse that straddled the line between life and death.
There it was.
Off in the distance, he saw the flickering light of a campfire burning hot. A slight trace of smoke permeated the air even from their distance. Jack's mind raced. Would it be a lone hunter? Or perhaps a traveling troupe? He hoped for the latter. They were a big group to feed.
He imagined eating a dying traveler begging for his life, the man's blood sating Jack's Crave, granting him a brief period of respite that followed the ecstasy. It wouldn't last, of course. The Crave would return, more vigorously next time.
That was the way it worked.
When a person turned, the Crave came in strong. That first taste of human flesh like pure, unadulterated pleasure. After each feast, the Crave briefly abated before coming in stronger the next time.
It was like a muscle that grew with each use, but this muscle demanded to be used.
And there was nothing Jack, or any other zombie, could do about it.