Ten blocks by nightfall

I'm hiding on a rooftop.

In the twenty-first century, in America, on a pleasant summer night, I'm hiding on a rooftop. No connection here, I'll send this when I can. How did we come to this? We were masters of the world.
Here's a random fact: they're too stupid to look upwards. I know, how do they see anyway? They can't see what's behind them, I know that. They turn their ragged faces towards what they see or hear. There's a big stack of bricks on this roof and I've been dropping them quietly on dead people. So far, burst or crush the skull and they stop moving. What's inside those skulls? Anyone tried to look?
I sneaked as far as I could before one noticed me. Horribly, it was once again someone I recognized; a chubby fellow who was one of my neighbors. He had blood in his crummy little mustache and was wearing a HOOTERS t-shirt. Here I am, hobbling along with my cane, and he trots right up to me and starts grabbing. I gave him the cane in the face, then kicked him hard with my good leg. He fell on his back, my cane went up and back down and his head hit the concrete with a popping noise. There were two more already, and I hit the female hard and backed away. They both bent over the downed one and I took my chance. There was a smashed-in door to an office, and I went in. Bloody carpet showed that it had been a deathtrap for someone, so I hobbled down the hallway and into a staircase. Leaning on the railing, I dragged myself up two flights. When I found I could get onto the roof, I put my cane through the door handles so no one could come out behind me. Then I shook and cried for twenty minutes.
When I was better, I went to the edge and looked down. Three dead bodies were eating a fourth body. The fourth body was wearing a HOOTERS t-shirt. My vomit sprayed all over them and they never even looked up. It took me ten bricks to get all three of them; the female was the hardest to hit. I kept flinching.
The sun is going down. A beautiful sunset, but philosophically horrifying. The light fades, and only the dead remain. I'm shutting down to save power. I can see my apartment from this roof; I only got ten blocks. At this rate I'm going to die of hunger or thirst. Not today, though; I've still got my pack. And there are lights towards the river as the sunshine fades.

And how was your day?

Under Siege

I can't save anyone else.

I've found other survivors. They're dead now, and I'm still alive.

I'm alive because I ran like a rabbit, ran until I tore my hamstring. Now I've got a cane and I hide in the shadows.

There were a lot of them at first. Now they're scarce, and that's worse. They sneak up on me. They look in my windows. They sit down and just wait, and that's the worst; when you think they're really dead and they start up again, rattling like bags of bone.
How are they doing this? What's metabolizing in those dead muscles, that gives them strength to walk and clutch? Their body cells are popped like meat balloons. They're closer to cheese than meat by now, and still they stagger. When they look in my window, what are they seeing with? The eyeballs are deflated, clouded, rotted, gone. How do they hear us? Those vibrating organs in the ear are cushioned in filth, or fallen away completely, but put on a CD and watch 'em come lurching around.
I'm not alone, or I don't think so: the internet is still live. No one's talking, but the servers are answering my pings. Zombie network admins? I doubt it.

Anybody out there?