The Dead Meat Orchestra
The city didn't fall silent with a scream, but with a constant, rhythmic clicking.
At first, Julian thought it was hail hitting the window. The sky was crystal clear, and the air had that distinct, old-iron smell. He looked out onto the balcony and noticed them: they weren't running, they weren't roaring.
They were just walking in a macabre dance of lifeless bodies, their jaws moving in a rhythmic clack. Clack Clack Clack Clack Clack Clack Clack Clack Clack Clack Clack Clack Clack Clack Clack Clack Clack Clack Clack Clack Clack
That constant, dry buzzing was driving you mad before they finally caught up.
Elena, his wife, was peeking out from the next room. Julian rushed to wake her, but when he nudged her shoulder, he felt her skin was cool and smooth as marble. She turned at a calm pace. Her eyes were like two large bowls of white milk. She didn't try to bite him.
Immediately, his jaw opened and, with a precision that could only be described as mechanical, he aligned his upper teeth with his lower ones.
From the street, thousands of mouths opened together. No more car horns or sirens; just the ticking reminder that the party was on and Julian still had no idea about the compass.
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