Well, once a zombie, always a zombie. There was some truth to the jibe. Even after a cure, when the treatment was done, you were never exactly who you were again. Sure, a few memories, often unpleasant, returned. You might remember loved ones, and, if you were lucky, they weren’t memories of you killing them. Food doesn’t taste right; that’s fine: all sensations are dulled, even hunger. No pain, no gain; just limbo. At least you’re useful.
Wrestling another zombie out from the crowd, I start dragging him back to the van. They don’t attack us, but sometimes they bite.
Tale Told 