His eyes might be a weak point, but they were always covered by that face plate - Zabzug even wore it to sleep. His skin was covered with scales, and though they looked moist, they were hard, almost metallic, to the touch.

The vulnerable point was his mouth. It was crammed full of sharp teeth, but maybe I could jam something down his throat and into all the soft parts inside.

At the first peek of sunlight I'll go to Zabzug's ship with my spear.

What does alien lizard taste like?

Voice Module 195585 Record Mode: He didn't come out all day, and I couldn't find a way in. There isn't a seam on the entire ship. No cracks or ridges or anything to pry or beat open. After several hours of trying, I decided to just wait. He'd have to come out eventually.

He wanted the same thing I wanted.

Voice Module 195586 Record Mode: The b.a.s.t.a.r.d ate my hand.

Chomped it off at the wrist. I fell asleep, waiting for him to come out.

But I got him...haha...I got him...jammed the pipe down his throat, into the soft stuff.

Dead. He's dead.

Zabzug, my friend, is dead.

I used my belt as a tourniquet for my hand, but it didn't stop the bleeding.

I had to use the solar matches to close the wound.

The pain...so much pain in my wrist.

But the hunger...the need...is even stronger.

I'm going to cut him open now.

Voice Module 195587 Record Mode: I'm full! What a wonderful feeling! For the first time since I landed on this planet, I've eaten until I'm ready to burst.

I'm so happy I don't even notice the pain.

Voice Module 195588 Record Mode: Zabzug lasted for a whole month.

Some parts were delicious.

Some parts, not so delicious.

I ate everything. The inedible parts were boiled into soup until every calorie and nutrient was leeched out.

I even gained a few kilos.

And now, with the last of the soup gone, with the hunger pangs returning, I am afraid.

Voice Module 195589 Record Mode: Four days since I've eaten anything. Zabzug had stretched out my belly, and I drink a lot to keep it full, to try and fool it into feeling sated.

My belly isn't fooled.

I've managed to get into Zabzug's ship, using a key. It's a tiny sphere he'd been keeping in a pocket. When it touches the ship, the portal opens.

I've fully explored the interior, trying to gain an understanding of how it works. The vessel is a marvel of engineering, with a navigation system light-years ahead of ours. The technology is even more valuable than the iron-rich planet I'm stranded on.

If I can get off this rock, I'll be the wealthiest man in the universe.

The first thing I'll do is get a limb graft...no, the first thing I'll do is have a banquet. A feast that will last a month. I'll gorge myself like the ancient Romans, purging between courses so I can cram in more food.

Such a beautiful picture.

Voice Module 195590 Record Mode: My wrist isn't healing right. It doesn't seem to be infected, but the wound keeps opening.

I think it's a symptom of starvation. My body is conserving its energy, and deems healing unnecessary.

I'm so weak it's an effort to even stand up.

I have to do something. If I stay here, I'll die. Perhaps there's food somewhere else. I've scouted at least fifty kilometers in all directions, but I need to pick one and keep moving.

I decide to follow the sunset. I'll leave tomorrow.

I have no other choice.

Voice Module 195591 Record Mode: I don't know how far I've traveled. Perhaps a hundred or a hundred and fifty kilometers. I'm in a desert now, and ran out of water a few hours ago.

My tongue is so thick it's hard to speak.

I fear sleep, because I don't think I'll wake up.

Voice Module 195592 Record Mode: I can't move another step. Thirst is worse than hunger. I'm hallucinating. Hearing things. Seeing things. I even had a fever-dream, imagining a s.p.a.ce ship crashing in the distance...

Voice Module 195593 Record Mode: A week has pa.s.sed.

Obviously, I didn't die in the desert. I was rescued. Well, sort of.

That ship I'd imagined I saw - it really did exist. A salvage ship, which had made a run at retrieving the trailer full of ore we'd lost.

They also got sucked into the wormhole, and were spit out here.

Their ship is damaged beyond repair. They'd been here for only a few days, and saw my Voice Module unit glinting in the sun.

They listened to it, unfortunately.

Marta, the woman, said she didn't judge me. She understood.

The man, Ellis, didn't say a word to me.

I received fresh water, medicine for my wrist, and synth rations.

"We have enough synth rations for a month," Marta told me. "And we're hoping for a rescue."

But all three of us knew that a wormhole rescue has never been attempted. It's suicide to go near those things.

I eat, and drink, and try to regain my strength.

I'll need it.

Voice Module 195594 Record Mode: I got them while they slept.

Ellis, with a large rock to the head.

The rock made a mess. I smothered Marta. Not b.l.o.o.d.y, but it took a while.

One month rations for three people equals three months rations for one person.

I'm sorry I had to kill them. I truly am.

I'm not a monster.

Voice Module 195595 Record Mode: Is this thing still working?

Play Mode: Is this thing still working?

Record Mode: It's been...how long has it been since I used this? Many months. Perhaps years.

I stopped shaving, and my beard reaches my chest.

Where did I leave off? I think it was with Marta and that guy, I forget his name. The one I killed with the rock.

It was for their synth rations. I paced myself, ate small portions, but still finished them too quickly.

I knew what was next. I knew it from the beginning.

When the rations were finally gone, I ate the people I'd murdered.

Humans, it turns out, are the best meat. Better than dog people. Better than alien lizards.

They sustained me for a while, but then they were gone too.

I began to starve again.

Days, maybe weeks, pa.s.sed, and I began to whither away. Though I knew hunger well, it didn't make the pain any easier.

At night, I watched the skies. Watched them with a yearning. Hoping for another ship to crash on this planet.

And one did.

Astronomical luck?

Hardly.

Only one survivor this time. Angela something. She explained.

The ore-filled trailer from my ship, the Darion, didn't become lost in s.p.a.ce. It's in orbit around Wormhole GG54, daring salvage ships to try and take it.

Many ships have tried. None have succeeded. They get pulled into the wormhole and pushed out here.

It's a giant, baited trap.

According to Angela, five ships have already been lost.

There's a good chance they're somewhere on this planet.

I asked Angela how large her crew was.

She told me there were seven. All dead.

When I killed her, that made eight.

Eight.

Mmmmm.

But that's not enough. It's never enough. I always run out.

I need to find those other ships. And I think I can. The Organic Brain on Angela's ship is still functioning, and it created a partial topographical map of the planet.

The map pinpoints the other crash sites. Some, only a few kilometers away.

I need to move fast. There may be survivors.

The longer I wait, the thinner they get.

Another flash fiction piece for Small Bites. I'm a huge fan of zombie movies, especially the Italian gut munchers. It's pretty obvious with this piece.

"Finish your brains, Phillip."

Phillip pushed the jellied hunk away, using his stump.

"I don't want any more."

Mom squinted in his general direction; her eyes had long since dried up and fallen out.

"Don't you like brains? All little zombie boys need to eat brains. You want to become rotten and putrefied like Dad, right?"

"Arrgghhhhh," said Dad. He didn't have a bottom jaw, so p.r.o.nunciation wasn't one of his strengths.

"You know I do, Mom. It's just..."