Plug Time!
The street is quiet, the corpses long since rotted away. Even the bones are nothing more than white dust scattered upon the wind. Nothing moves but drifts of dust and long dead leaves. The curtains in the windows, the doors in their frames are long gone.
At the head of the street a soldier appears. An American. A marine with his dog. He holds a rifle in his hands. The beast pads by his side. Their movements are slow and halting; they shamble down the byway, moving their heads side to side in search of a long vanished enemy.
The man's fingers are worn down to the bone. His ribs show through holes in rotting blouse and dessicated flesh. A spider rests in one eye socket, the shrunken remains of an eye the other. His movements are stiff, deliberate.
The dog walks upon the splintered remains of toes, a shattered spine forming a macabre crest near the shoulders. The fur is patchy, the skin beneath rent by cracks and fissures.
A sound. A brief interruption of the quiet that lays upon the street. The marine signals the dog to halt. In a rough parody of affection he strokes the animal's head. The dog responds, more because it's what he did in life. He cannot feel his master's touch anymore, but even after more than 20 years a shadow of the affection he once held for the man remains.
The sound is not repeated.
He straightens up and signals the dog to resume the patrol. His orders were to search for the enemy. Search for the zombies, ghouls, wights and wraiths that infested the city. Death did not change those orders. He will search, he will destroy. With his faithful dog he will rid the city of the foul unalive. Not even the destruction of his body will sway him from his goal.
They shamble on, two corpses on a futile mission. Soon they are gone, hidden by a twist in the road, a bend in the street. Once again long dead Hue seems empty, only the zephyr tormented dust to give it a satire of life.
(Not what you'd call a vacation spot, is it?

)