ABSTRACT
It’s a Saturday afternoon at the end of October in the city centre of Bristol, England. Without warning, hundreds of zombies emerge from the underpass. They lurch toward the main shopping centre, leaving bloody handprints on shop windows, pawing at the sides of buses and cars. Traffic slows and then halts as the zombies cross the road. A van of people handing out free samples of drinks is mobbed; the quick-thinking volunteers scramble onto its roof and throw drinks into the horde, who gather around it, arms raised and calling for ‘braaaaaains’. Passers by watch, some happy to interact, others not so sure. Those who play along are dragged into the pack, mauled, and ‘bitten’. The mob keeps moving, slowly, with low moans and shuffling feet. The danger, it seems, has passed … until next time.
