The Hungry by Steve Hockensmith, Joe McKinney, Harry Shannon, Steven Booth

thought you did," Terrill Lee said. He managed to glare razor blades without turning toward her. In response, a small potted sprig of succulent he'd placed near the kitchen window seemed to lose a hard on. Score one for Miller.
    She studied his back. How well did she know him, when it was all said and done? Once she had considered Terrill Lee loyal and loving, but she'd gotten suspicious about seven years into their marriage. She'd read his phone texts and discovered that he'd been banging his new veterinary assistant. The shit had run through the fan and festooned the flocked wallpaper. They'd raged about it all weekend long. Seven year itch? Bullshit! All men are assholes. Why, why and why? Finally, desperate to defend himself, Terrill Lee had blamed it on Miller, saying she was withholding sex to be in control. And that's how he phrased it at their mediation, too. The rat bastard. Fact of the matter was, he hadn't made a pass at her in nigh on two years. Well, even now, she couldn't have sworn in court as to how she would have reacted if he had, but surely it wasn't all her fault for ignoring him. Not really. Well… No, there was no sense dwelling on this.
    "That fancy thing work?" Miller asked. She pointed to a new, widescreen LCD TV sitting on the kitchen counter.
    "Remote's right there," he said. The slim black device was sitting on the breakfast table next to the salt shaker. Miller found the power button. The first channel that appeared was pure static. So were the next two. Not a good sign at all. The third one was the local news channel. A reporter spoke in low, urgent tones. Her words came out pressured, and stumbled over one another.
    "… Have a visual on about three dozen of the individuals. At the moment, they are making their way from the Elko area toward Flat Rock." The frantic station showed a long, telescopic shot, evidently taken from a helicopter or small private plane. A large group of what appeared to be zombies were seen shambling away from the camera in search of food.
    "Do they pose a threat to you?" asked the faceless anchor.
    "Not at the moment," said the reporter. They showed her now, a petite redhead woman with curly hair. She wore a pilot's headset. "But if we can roll that earlier footage…" The excited woman turned away from the camera. She whistled, then signaled the technician in the back of the helicopter. "No, not that one, Bobby. Number four."
    Someone else, a man, said, "Ladies and gentlemen, stay in your homes. Believe me, these are real events. This is not a hoax or some B movie. We must warn you, the video you are about to see is truly disturbing."
    Terrill Lee and Miller exchanged glances. It was hard to believe all this was really happening. The TV screen flashed white, then settled again. The same group of undead was seen swarming around a gas station. The picture twitched and danced because the cameraman was a long way off, using telescopic equipment, shooting down from the chopper. A woman came out of what appeared to be the bathroom. She was firing a pistol, running as fast as she could. There were too many of the things. She wasn't going to make it. She knew it, even from far away, her eyes wild and her mouth open in horror. She fired and fired but quickly ran out of ammunition. Miller wanted to scream a warning. The zombies fell on her. They tore her to pieces, that soft flesh rendered and ripped. They devoured her, all in tight close-up. The woman struggled on, still screaming, until one of the zombies bit her neck, a fountain of blood sprayed the others chewing on her body. It was over. Miller nearly sighed aloud with relief. The poor woman could rest in peace.
    The zombies moved on. The camera stayed on the corpse. The woman lay still.
    And then she moved again.
    "Son of a bitch," groaned Miller, Terrill Lee, and the anchor—all simultaneously. Terrill Lee and Miller exchanged a look of horror. The butchered woman sat up. She somehow struggled to her feet. The newly