Dead on the Inside

"What of the living dead?" Markham sat back and sipped his glass of wine.

Rotheske did not move, save to follow Markham's hand. "The dead are just like the living. They can move about. They can speak as fluently as they like. They can eat and drink, if they wish. The sole difference is that they are dead; an internal and private affair."

Markham's lips twisted. "Then what separates us from them? You make it sound as though there's no telling!"

He paused, then, his gaze fixed on the buzzing fly that had just landed on Rotheske's unblinking eye.