Hungry World

Keys jangling, Dmitri walked between the rows, watching his charges as they paced relentlessly.

They knew that something was wrong.

He shook his head and absently pulled from the last cigarette, the butt hanging from his lips as he exhaled the final fruit of smoke into the night. Last fucking smoke. He pulled it from his mouth and stared at the cherry absently, the red glow of it the only light. His hands were crimson in the glow. With a sigh, he flipped it out through the fence and watched it trail through the air like fireworks, finally striking a small girl in the face, scattering ash on her cheek and falling to the ground.

Not like she cared.

He heard the great cats off to his right, growling with hunger, and the gorillas baying, coughing their odd symphony of grunts. They were anxious and angry, and hungry. The last of the food had run out five days ago. The sound of their desperation had almost penetrated the low moaning, the sad cries from beyond the fence.

He walked over to the gate and stared out, into the darkness. They reached for him, but her was just out of their reach, skeletal hands grasping, dirty nails raking the air.

He almost laughed. "Everyone's hungry tonight," he whispered.

For two weeks, they had gathered there, numbers growing, but the fences held. They were built well. Hundreds of bodies pressed against them, but they were wrought iron. The things that pressed in on all sides were just flesh. Dmitri knew that it was, however, just a matter of time.

Dmitri had been a keeper for 30 years - just because the world had ended, that was no excuse to let his charges suffer. When the plague started, his friends had left, gone to fulfill the last few things left undone, to see their families. He was the only one that remained. There was nothing, no-one for him out there. Here, he was the hand that fed, the voice that soothed. He spoke to the animals, the giraffes, the gators, but, most of all the big cats.

There were two lions that he loved the most, a mated pair, and with them he felt a great kinship. He knew that they they couldn't return his feelings. They were alien minds, with their own plans, their own way of thinking.

Each step that he took back to his office was like walking through a vast and rushing stream. It was time. There would be no heroism, no last minute rescues. Outside, the zoo, the world was dead. It just didn't know it.

He sat and rested, and behind his closed eyes, he saw the dead falling on the animals like locusts, tearing them apart. Their screams would be, to him, like the screams of a dying child to its mother. It was inevitable. They would starve, as would he. Or the things, the world full of monsters, would finally topple the fence.

Reaching into the desk drawer, he pulled out his pistol. It shone blue and black in the moonlight through the office window, shining with a sickly deadliness. Placing it on the desk, he pulled out a box of shells. It was full. He placed these things in his pocket, put on his hat, and walked out to see the animals for one last time.

It took him close to an hour to kill them all. All except the lions.

He sat at the entrance to their pen, great, fat tears streaming down his face. Placing the gun in front of him, he whispered to them.

"You're the only ones that have a chance. But you need to eat. You need to be strong."

He stood, brushing the dust from his hands and the lions went mad with hunger and the smell of blood in the air. They weren't the only ones. All around the zoo, the dead gathered, now in the thousands, drawn by the bloodsmell and the popping of his pistol.

"They'll be here soon."

With shaking hands, he placed the key in the lock and turned it. The great door opened and he saw feline eyes burning in the night.

They were on him in moments.

After they ate their fill, licking his warm blood from their fur, they wandered out to the gate and paced again. Soon they would be free. The world belonged to the hungry now.