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It was just as he was swallowing the last fragment of a toadstool that he heard a sound. His hearing had grown sluggish in recent times, with his auditory canals having grown clogged with debris, so it was a moment before he reacted. Just a little bit too late to run.

"Don’t be scared," a little voice said behind him, soft and feminine. "Don’t be scared, Mr Zombie."

Slowly, still chewing the last fragment of mushroom, the zombie turned. The human woman was very small, and at first glance he thought she was a child. Then she stepped closer, cautious as a deer, and he saw that she was at least in her mid-twenties and perhaps older.

"Mr Zombie," she repeated, in her little-girl voice. "I’m not going to hurt you, Mr Zombie."

"How strange you should say that," the zombie replied. He hadn’t spoken in years, and his voice was strangled with disuse and masticated mushroom, but she seemed to be able to understand him. "Your folk usually seem to think we are going to hurt them." He paused, working his tongue to loosen it. "That’s what they say when they’re killing us," he added.

The girl actually winced, as though he’d slapped her. "I know," she said. "Will it do any good if I said I was sorry?"

The zombie shrugged. "What difference does it make? Now that you’ve found me, you’ll destroy me, and then what use will your apology be?"

"Destroy you?" the woman gasped. "Oh, no. I’m not going to harm you, Mr Zombie, or any of your people. I’m here to help you all, if I can."

"Help whom?" The zombie waved. "You talk of my people. There are no more – I’m the last of the Zombie Horde, the last zombie in the whole wide world."

"Oh, you poor thing." Before the zombie could flinch, the girl had reached out and caressed his cheek. "How terrible it must be for you."

The zombie had begun to tremble with terror at the closeness of the human, but somehow managed to keep himself from bolting. Apart from other considerations, if he fell over something he might break into pieces. "What?" he said, suspiciously, through his chattering teeth (or, rather, the teeth that would have chattered if he had dared to risk them being dislodged). "Why do you call me that?"

"Why?" The girl was still stroking his cheek. "You must be so terribly sad. And lonely."

"It’s something I have come to terms with," the zombie said. "I’ve been alone for a long, long time – longer than you’ve been alive, I’ll warrant."

"But that doesn’t make it any less sad, Mr Zombie." In the moonlight, the tears glinted as they flowed down her cheeks. "I should have come to you before."

"Don’t cry," the zombie said, stifling an urge to wipe her tears away. She would probably have been disgusted at the touch of his hand, he thought, and immediately felt ashamed when he remembered how she had touched his cheek. "How could you have come to me before? You didn’t know I was here."

"I’ve known for months, Mr Zombie," she said. ""I’ve been coming out each day and checking tracks and signs of feeding, so I knew there was at least one of you. I didn’t come to you earlier because I didn’t want to disturb you, seeing as it was zombie mating season."

If the zombie could have laughed, he would have. His ribs heaved with the effort. "Mating season? There’s nobody left for me to mate with. I’m the last of the race."

"I’m sorry. You can’t believe how sorry I am." The woman peered up at him, a tremulous smile appearing through her tears. "Shall we walk a little bit? If you don’t mind...?"

The zombie shrugged again. "If you want." If he survived the night, he would have to go away now, he knew, travelling through the day, even though it would be dangerous and the light would hurt his eyes. He couldn’t risk staying, now that she knew. But for the moment, it felt good to have someone to talk to after so long. They wandered through the forest in the general direction of the old quarry. "You came alone?"

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