The zombie paused, confused and repelled by Bert’s flavor. It was clear he didn’t quite know how to continue, as the infection had limited reactions to moving things. They were either ignored as already dead, or food. Bert sounded like prey, and moved like it as well. He did not taste at all like warm blood and fresh meat. At this point, he was starting to look and smell worse than Roger’s fresher corpse. A spark of anger compelled him to pursue the thin man, hissing in rage. As if Bert were denying him a meal by being inedible.
Raising his hands again, he staggered at Bert once again, aggressive but less enthusiastic this time. The mess in the apartment worked to the immortal’s advantage, as the undead tripped up on a pile of clothing that had spilled over off a ratty armchair.
With a yelp, Bert was leaping over the flailing walking corpse, landing heavily and clumsily as he managed to dart toward the window again. Sack of supplies over his shoulder, he whirled around, rebar weapon at the ready to swing- to put an end to this- but stopped himself with a lump in his throat.
It was still Roger. He couldn’t. He couldn’t do it. There was something wrong with him, something wrong with the world and he wasn’t about to contribute to this mess- he was no murderer! Dead or undead or walking dead or eating dead or whatever they might be… it was still his dear friend.
Wounded leg and all, he quickly pushed himself out the window and onto the fire escape. “G’bye, Roger…” He managed to whisper, but before the man could lunge again, he slammed the window closed, trapping him inside. “I’ll… I’ll figgur’ out a way t’sort this out, mate, don’ you worry!”
But Bert himself was worried. Severely worried. And that worry ate away at him as he clambered down the fire escape as quietly and quickly as he could while not thinking too long nor hard on the gaping wounds that would not heal.
Pushing himself up slowly, Roger snapped at the retreating offender to no avail. He pushed against the window with clammy hands as Bert made his escape. Brief impressions of thoughts flickered through what little was left of his mind. For a moment, he wondered why Bert was going and why he felt so strange. He might have even felt a resigned sadness, groping at the truth of the situation as his friend disappeared. Almost as soon as the other man had vanished from view, it faded.
Time passed and he could no longer keep track of it by any means. The city changed rapidly and eventually the draw of his own kind, the sight of prey dashing from the other zombies instilled a need in him. He needed to be out there, free… Roger pushed on the window, moaning. When it did not yield, he began to push. Harder.
The shattering of glass went unnoticed below. The crowd was too busy feasting.