The zombies had evolved.
Fucking brilliant; they occupied the intelligence of whatever learning tissue existed on them from time of death to last slithery drop or crackling erosion.
We were individually strung with our arms folded across our chests, like straight jackets, hooked to a walking post across our backs. There was a three-piece zombie sentry carrying the bastard leading us to what I could have sworn was a soda machine, but towered with it was a blender quite capable of devouring a fully grown human being, with room for pets.
The fleshy outcomes drizzled, curved downward into the machine where it filled the bowl of the Smart Zombies’ queen. When filled, the bowl is hoisted onto Smart Zombie Drones’ shoulders, and the bowl is handed to Smart Zombie Queen so she might feed as heartily or lightly as she hoped. She still wanted to have a figure….yuh know...Something manageable.
Could always give Smart Zombie Zumba another try.
No comments:
Post a Comment