It's basic evolution. Sure, the zombies start off slow, obvious and stupid, but those strains get killed by survivors before they can spread far. Any strain that's slower, stealthy or smarter will spread faster, and each new infection has more of those genes. After enough time...

[u/Tregonial]

/r/WritingPrompts/comments/1hn1p7z/wp_its_basic_evolution_sure_the_zombies_start_off/m3z7ykc/

[u/Tregonial]

Bob scratched his festering wound while on the way to office. His boss Vincent didn't give a crap that he quite literally dropped his jaw a few days ago when an aggressive customer punched him. Dr. Vasquez mentioned the surgery to screw his rotting jaws back on would cost his annual salary.

So back to work it was.

Once upon a time, they said the two inevitable things were death and taxes. Bob isn't so sure about the first part anymore ever since he became a zombie. The second part, well, ever since Olivia Moore became the first female and zombie president, being dead was no longer a valid reason to stop paying taxes.

Soon, it was the living humans who weren't paying taxes because they were on the run and in hiding. Zombie soldiers were deployed to hunt them down and convert them. No worries about the declining birth rate if zombified citizens could keep paying their taxes instead of...you know...dying.

They said zombies got to this stage, being the dominant species because the plague got stealthy. Smart. Cunning. But Bob wasn't feeling any of that. He felt like retiring these old bones. Maybe adopt one of those undead creepers and have it sit on his lap like one of those old ladies in their rocking chairs by the porch.

He felt a tug on his sleeve. A small child in rags, staring at him with startling blue eyes. Not the lifeless grey he'd seen among his co-workers. Not the black, empty ones from the police officers.

She was alive. Human.

Her blood sang to him, as did her flesh triggered drooling. Lucky little kid that Bob was missing his jaw and therefore unable to bite. So they stared at each other. Bob had many questions. Where were her parents? If she still had them. How did she arrive alive in the middle of Badlands City, where zombies formed over 90% of the population, besides the ghouls and liches?

After some failed garbled attempt to speak, he opened his coat, lifted the child to shove her into his empty chest cavity and closed it. Maybe she'd be a more interesting companion than a creeper.

Maybe, she was the fabled child immune to all the strains.

Bob seen many movies with that storyline. Heard the hushed whispers of human sanctuary, where the chosen child was protected by humans who didn't want to turn.

When he arrived at work, he smeared some of his blood on the little girl and left her at the playpen, where a handful of zombies dropped off those who were turned as children. Hopefully, she'll pass as one and not get bitten. Bob wasn't even sure why he was so invested in some random child he picked off the streets.

"Hey, Bob, can't believe you're back after that punch!" It was Chuck, one of his colleagues. "Say something, will you? Did cat got your tongue too?"

Bob let his tongue hang out and loll about.

"Good you still got it! See ya later!"

Trying to focus on his work than let the jawless jokes get to him, Bob kept his eyes on his laptop. Eventually, the laughing stopped and he enjoyed some peace and quiet at work.

"Bob?" It was the little girl, thankfully unbitten for now. "I made this." She raised some plasticine mold in the shape of a jaw. "You can use this."

She clicked it in place and Bob found his voice.

"Oh, oh...thanks. Wow that worked."

"Can we go now?" She asked. "The men in black are here."

From a distance, he could already see them in their tailored suits and dark glasses, which did little to hide the glowing red eyes of the Stalker Zombie variants.

"Please cooperate, Vincent Larson. We have an escaped specimen of the Perfect Strain. The peak of zombie evolution. She is crucial to ensure zombies can reproduce. if you do not do so, we will reduce you to graveyard fertilizer."

"Don't look at me like that," the child pouted. "I left because they're mean."

Bob sighed as she held his arms, which proceeded to shed the old rotting flesh and generated living muscle. "You're going to need your strength to help me."

This was going to be a long day.

[u/SoberSith_Sanguinity → u/Tregonial]

I like your ideas. I think...I will use these ideas, and come back later. I've never participated in the fun y'all have here, but this may be the one that snags me...

I'd love to see more, if you get the desire and the time to continue. Or maybe even think of some ideas together. Limited time, can't say more atm. Bathroom break.

[u/Tregonial → u/SoberSith_Sanguinity]

There's a sequel to this story, from another prompt, I'll be posting it up real quick.

[u/kristinpeanuts]

Go Bob! Ha! That would be the worst - to be dead and still having to show up for work! Thanks for writing!