She's still herself, though shocked from her senses

"Oh, god..." I groaned as I stood in the shower, letting the water wash over my face and pale naked body. I didn't know what to think anymore, and just tried not to look at all the gory mess that spattered every inch of the bathroom floor, and even most part of the walls. Only the far wall in the shower was somewhat clean, as the curtain had covered it from most of the stuff.

I focused on that wall and just tried not to think at all, but then my curiousity and my fascination with old zombie movies eventually got the better of me. What the heck had just happened, I asked myself, and looked to the broken bodies on the floor again. Among them was my own dad, who I noticed was still twitching a bit, and the things that he - and the rest of them - had done to me came rushing back into my mind.

"Why didn't they eat me?" I wondered out loud, as if asking my poor undead old man, but figured that he probably didn't know, even if he'd been able to answer me. Those weren't like any other zombies I'd ever heard of, and as I pondered I realized that there was no other women among them.

"Only the males are affected?" I figured, with a frown to my face, and found something morbidly funny in the thought that all men had suddenly degenerated into even more single-minded creatures than they already were. It made sense somehow, if they'd all been bereft of everything but their most basic feelings.

So why had my daddy tried to defend me, only to violate me just like the others? Why didn't he just join them in my taking, and why did they **** me at all? Wasn't all zombies just about feeding, and how did one get infected in the first place?

Almost like if hearing me asking those questions, my old man suddenly moved again and lurched back onto his knees beside me. He growled a little, while I froze in fear, and then turned his head at me as if wanting to say something. We just stared at eachother for a moment, and I almost wanted to throw myself into his arms to let him comfort me, before I realized he still wasn't looking at me like my dad at all.

"So you want me...?" I hissed back at him, feeling surprisingly courageous as I looked for something to arm myself. The only thing sharp enough was my razor, of course, which was dropped on the floor to the other side of my zombie-dad. His mallet was another option, though I doubted I was strong enough to use it with enough ****, and it was also washed with blood and gore so that it would certainly slip in my hands if I even tried to lift it.

No matter what happened, I had to get out of there somehow, and currently the only way seemed to be over the body of my dead old man...