Following the Herd

The zombies surged at the humans like an ocean wave at a wannabe influencer about to lose their phone in the water.

Gavin Jenkins’s heartbeat thumped faster. It was happening. He was going to kill and eat someone, another human being. But what was a man to do? It was either fit in or stick out. And look at where sticking out got you – this poor couple was a minute shy of evisceration. No, he needed these zombies to believe he was one of them. He didn’t want to die today, but it was hard when most of the world had an interest in eating the living. Mum and Dad would be so disappointed if they could see him now. ‘If all your friends jumped off a cliff, would you do it too?’ they’d always chanted. Well, if you swapped ‘your friends’ for ‘the zombies’ and ‘jumped off a cliff’ for ‘ate a person alive’…

Gavin shambled forward, dragging his left foot behind him. He stretched out his arms like a man trying to avoid the coffee table while getting up to pee at night. He groaned, twisting his lips in a rictus of post-mortem sadness mixed with a hint of the munchies.

The horde swallowed the one guy. His screams rose in pitch like a karaoke singer fighting for their life through a tricky key change. His friend held onto his arm and pulled, trying to free him. ‘Jackson! NO!’

Damn it, why had Gavin ended up near the front of the crowd? Fake zombie walking was tricky to get right, especially the speed. But if he didn’t do this, someone would do it to him. He pulled Jackson back by the shirt and tore into his belly.

Jackson’s midriff opened, spilling his guts out onto the pavement. ‘Brian!’ shrieked Jackson. ‘RUN! SAVE YOURSELF!’

Gavin’s stomach rolled, and bile raced up the back of his throat. He swallowed hard and held it down. Zombies ought to salivate at these things, not spew. He reached in, snarling, and yanked out ribbons of innards, pulling harder as they got caught on the ribs.

But Brian didn’t let go, nor did he save himself. He was brave, he was noble, he was heroic.

He was dead.

They swarmed him, grabbing in spots only a masseur should touch. He emitted piggy squeals, which was fitting, seeing as he was now becoming bacon for the undead. He faded into the crowd like a kid sinking after losing their inflatable armbands.

Gavin groaned and moaned. It was easy to do because the task at hand was nasty. But he would not become a mindless zombie. He yanked and tugged, trying to ignore the acidic taste in his mouth. Links and links of slimy purple sausages spilt out.

The commotion had all died down now that the humans had died. The horde had split into two groups, encircling the remains of Jackson and Brian. The zombies around Jackson stood there, swaying and wailing. They watched Gavin with undead eyes, each reaching for their slice of the pie.

Oh God. Killing the victims was only half the deal for the undead. They didn’t kill for pleasure; they killed for food. But was he going to eat this handful of intestines? His innards shrivelled at the thought. But if he didn’t get this into his stomach soon, he’d end up in someone else’s stomach in a few seconds. He grimaced and brought the steaming pile of guts up to his face.

The smell was overwhelming. The intestines glistened in the evening’s fading light.

Gavin hesitated. He didn’t have the stomach for this, but the eyes of every single zombie bored into him. ‘Why isn’t he chowing down?’ he imagined them thinking inside their rotten domes. ‘Them’s good eatin’s!’ He whimpered, glancing at the horde around him. He opened his mouth wider and wider, like Scooby-Doo about to eat a sandwich.

The zombie to his right stopped groaning, and the stiffness bled from his limbs. His eyes shifted back and forth, and then he coughed. He shuffled closer. ‘Uh, hey, buddy,’ whispered the dead man. ‘Are you also not a zombie too?’

Gavin’s eyes widened. His pulsing heart slowed a little. Oh, thank God, he wasn’t alone here. But still, they both had to keep up this act, or they were apt to become the desert to this banquet. He shut his trap and lowered the guts. ‘Oh, man, I—’

A dead woman shambled closer, holding a segment of the man’s spine. After hesitating, she dropped the act. ‘Wait, you guys aren’t zombies either?’

‘No,’ said Gavin, ‘but we ought t—’

A bespectacled man smiled and waved with one of Jackson’s amputated hands. ‘Hey, I’m human too.’

‘Well, that’s great, but—’

‘Hey!’ said a waitress with bloodstains on her dress. She was still carrying a serving tray. An eyeball floated in a martini glass. ‘Likewise!’

Gavin frowned. He turned to survey the crowd.

The crowd, in turn, stared back at him. They were each holding bits and pieces of Jackson. It seemed that none had started to munch.

Gavin waved the guts like a flag. ‘Excuse me! Is ANYONE here a zombie?’

People shuffled, looking at their shoes. A couple of people coughed, and a few muttered. The consensus was: ‘Well, no.’

‘What about you guys?’ he asked the ones pulling apart Brian.

A postman holding a leg spat out a mouthful of calf meat. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve. ‘Aw, you’re kidding me! I broke thirteen years of vegetarianism for this?’

Man, talk about the blind leading the blind. It made you wonder whether there had ever been any zombies. Had someone whipped up the zombie hysteria, and the rest all decided the best course of action was to act? People would do anything to save their skin; it didn’t matter if the threat wasn’t real.

People started dropping body parts, wiping the slime from their hands. They all grimaced, teeth bared, noses wrinkled. None could make eye contact with their neighbour. One or two mumbled apologies.

It was going to be an awkward walk home, that was for sure. Gavin regarded the still-warm entrails he held in his hands.

Going against the grain, he realised – even if it was right – often took guts.