Check out the update to The Eyes of God:

I gazed upon my hand and the scar which had been a great swelling sore until I drained it. I looked to these invaders. Shambling through the cold water, these animate bodies—soulless corpses—swaggered and thrashed through the small pond. Their sickness had gone longer than mine. Where my flesh was dotted by the premature exile of those festering eyes, theirs correspondingly bore the full perdition. Mine had been something like a divorce, I had hated these things and they me, but before us was the ripened fruit, the consummation of an ill and malformed nurturing, a love. The dead had been the womb for these monsters, and like some tired mother followed after her children.

The half rotted corpses shrieked as they plowed through the mire onto the shore, with outstretched arms conglomerating upon their helpless children. The ax man raced between them and the net of eyes. Its polished form still catching the firelight, the glimmering steel flashed through the night, hacking at the porous bodies. I followed after, standing before what had surely been some farmer, his frayed, wet, and dirty clothes still recognizable, the same I wore.