Zombie apocalypse scenario, but it’s been a pretty good long while since everything fell apart. Most things are fairly overgrown by nature’s recmation these days.

  We’re scavenging through a tool shed/garage/warehouse. Daylight cuts through the gloom in beams through holes in the ceiling and leaks in around the doors and windows.

  We hear noises of something entering and we all hide.

  The zombies have a tendency to mutate and become inhuman looking over time, but we’ve not seen ones like these before. They look like hunchbacked, bipedal, eyeless mole rats, yet are still clearly once-human if you look for it. More strangely, they seem to be moving with purpose. Sifting through the mess and gathering up tools.

  What is going on? Any that we’ve seen before appeared to be basically mindless and, well, zombie-like.

  One of the creatures moves aside the box I’m hiding behind. I freeze, hoping it won’t be able to tell I’m there without eyes. It cocks its head and I get the distinct sense that it knows I’m there. It turns away and resumes its gathering. I didn’t hide. It knew I was there but chose to ignore me.

  The creatures huddle together and begin speaking in low voices. Not moaning. Not chittering. Not clicking. Speaking! I can’t make out the words but there’s an unmistakable cadence of nguage. Of discussion. Of intelligence.

  The creatures turn to leave the way they came in. I step out from my failed hiding spot and call out to them. I can hear my fellows whispering to me. Expressing disbelief. Telling me to be quiet. Telling me to hide. I want to listen to them. I’m terrified now that I think about it. But my curiosity is stronger. If these things can talk, we can communicate. We can learn something.

  The creatures turn to look at me.

  I ask what they are.

  They are The Ones Who Work.

  I ask why they are gathering tools.

  So they can work. So they can repair their vehicle. So they can build. So they can care for The Ones Who Rest.

  I ask who are The Ones Who Rest?

  They sleep in eternal bliss, never to awaken. They are the lucky ones. They are the ones who have earned their Rest through their Work. They are who The Ones Who Work all hope to one day become.

  A scene fshes to mind. Row upon row of body-sized cocoons of human flesh. Occasionally one wriggles. Where did I see that before?

  I ask if they have ever intentionally hurt a human.

  They have not and would never wish to.

  I ask if they have ever turned a human into One Who Rests.

  They have.