Ren stands in the middle of the street looking at the once beautiful neighborhood. Before the bombs hit and before the war started life for her was peaceful. Not long after the war started people had gone missing, there were riot's in the streets and people were killing each other for food. Ren had gathered as much as she could before going back to the safety of her makeshift home. It's been a week now and people that were dead had started coming back to life. They walk the streets of Mesotropolise making on freshly killed people. Children and families torn apart, hords chase people and every now and then, they get in and Ren has to kill them. The days get longer as time passes. It's been about a month now. Ren has grown a little since the chaos started. Food is running low but we still have power. Hours tick by as screams could be heard outside. We hear the tearing of flesh right outside the door. Someone was trying to get in but the horde got her before we could open the door. The city smells like death now. The horrid stench of the living dead was worse than the smell of burning bodies now. Human society or what remains of us have started burning the freshly dead people that have recently died. We've noticed hords stay away when there is fire near. Can they still sense danger? Can the dead still feel? Ren shook her head, her soft voice whispering in the dark "I don't think they do. They are dead after all." Even though they are dead I wondered if part of them was still human. A year has passed now and the hords grow smaller. They are dying off do to the lack of flesh around or at least it seemed that way. Ren has turned 10 now but she hasn't spoken since our mother passed. It's been hard without her. Scavenging for food has gotten harder. Stores are running low and all the meat has gone bad. It was 3 months in when the power cut out and everyone was stranded in the dark. The winter was rough without heat. We used the stove as a fire place to warm the house. Hords are just as bad in the woods so getting wood was pretty hard. Mom used to gather the wood but late in winter she died of pneumonia.