The zombie followed me through the desert, over the dunes and sands. Through the cold night when heaven glittered with uncountable stars and on and after me, relentless, through harsh days and deadly noons, he followed. He followed through raging winds full of sand that tore at my eyes, and through dry and rocky steps when the buzzards circled overhead. Here, his faithful promise, he would fight them for me; I knew, if I fell, he would keep me from their tearing beaks. What a great companion, what a tireless love, has the zombie.
I do not think I would have made it through the desert without him. I would have collapsed, given up long ago, but no, he spurred me on to inhuman will. Fear drove me on. I thought I was in Hell. The day was hell, but the nights, those blessed cool nights—the stars would sing to me in gentle chorus, and I was not afraid.
I made it to the well and stopped to drink. I could make no reason why I was still alive, but I knew I needed water. He came at me, slow and steady, as I fought to draw the bucket out of the earth. I knew he was too close, that if I stopped to drink, he would have me, but I had to drink. I kept my gaze on him while my weary arms worked the wheel. I did not look away until I turned my head up and poured the water into my mouth and over my head. He was just an arm’s length away then, and I expected his deadly touch at any moment.
As I blinked the water from my eyes and gazed over the sands of that great desert, my companion, my lover, my pursuer, my terror, was gone, and all that was left was the empty waste and the burning sun and the smell of his rotting flesh still in my nose.
Tale Told 