November rain had drenched the land with ice cold water, still, mist rose from in between the graves. Some had been opened from inside, but only the freshest. Their former inhabitants were lying in front of the funeral home at the end of the graveyard.
The moon was peeking through the nebula illuminating a lone undead man standing underneath an old, but bare tree. His one seeing eye was fixed on the funeral home and the pile of bodies in front of it.
The last months had seen him stumbling from the city, attacking the living where ever he encountered them, and what ever the living where. Small mammals, birds, humans.
He was missing a foot from the ankle down, a pack of dogs had gotten it, but since he then attacked one of them and ate its flesh they had not returned for more.
A shot hit the tree next to the undead man, fired from a window of the funeral home.
The dislocated jaw moved slightly, a long moan arose from the undead man.