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"I made Night of the Living Dead to scare people, not to give the government a damn playbook. But here we are—half the country fighting for its life, the other half shopping like nothing’s wrong. Zombies outside the wire, milkshakes and matinees inside. It’s not the end of the world, just the end of pretending we’re one nation." — George A. Romero, 1969.21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡB72BFg1LoU
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Unlike the mindless hordes they were up against, the average soldier was a walking ad for the latest offshoots of NASA. They were looped, draped, or hung with the newest Western tech—gizmos designed to give them an edge against an enemy that never slept. Meanwhile, just beyond the barricades, civilians strolled through supermarket aisles, filling carts with goods the troops could only guard, never touch. Mail-order catalogs taunted them too, pages filled with comforts they weren’t allowed to order, for reasons no one ever explained.
They were equipped to do a job: command had all the big toys to support them, plus the computers telling everyone—especially themselves—that they were winning or at least glimpsing some light at the end of the tunnel. I always wondered whose tunnel, since Eureka had a network of underground ruins stretching out past the edge of town—no one had ever mapped them, and no one who went in ever came back. People only heard the rumors, the ugly whispers about what moved in the dark. The rotters relied on sheer numbers, mindless hunger, and something else—something no one could quite explain. The LAPD had Anton LaVey, self-proclaimed High Priest of the Church of Satan, under surveillance, convinced he knew more than he let on. There were stories, wild theories about rituals and occult forces, but nothing anyone could prove. And yet, somehow, there were those who insisted the rotters had the right to win. After all, wasn’t it Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. who once said that even the living dead, in their own tragic way, were still our fellow human beings?21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡEAcGYsCms5
