Two summers followed a relatively short and mild winter. Intermissioned by a longer and harsh winter. The undead pleague had decimated the world population by two thirds, but the winters had decimated the undead numbers, along with blunt force and well targwted shots. Only in remote parts of the world were still undead to be found.

Zed sat on a hill above a former city. Surely some undead were still roaming around somewhere in it, but he did not care. The life he had led in the last two years had made up for all the missed opportunities, the atrocities he had witnessed his body committing.

He had saved living people from other undead.

Lately though he noticed that his seeing eye was loose. It wouldn’t stay in its socket.

So he sat on that hill, lying down as the sun was setting.

One by one the stars came out. The city beneath his hill had not got its power back. Probably wouldn’t get it ever back, since people wouldn’t want to live in an area that got terribly cold in the winter, and that was terribly radiated from the nuclear power plant nearby.

Concentrating on the stars above he smiled. Whenever Zed did that, it had looked as if death himself was grinning.
But not that night.

That night when a dead man, drenched in gasoline, lit himself on fire, while staring into the stars.
That night there was an enlightened, peaceful smile on his lips.