- By Zombie Rob

Cillian Murphy, all bewildered and baffled, stumbles across the striking image of a deserted and almost silent Westminster Bridge. A desperate band of survivors battle their way over a tropical island as the horror of their situation unfolds and worsens before their very eyes. The undead wobble around the very essence of modern Americana because when hell is full, the dead go shopping. Witnesses recount their experiences of a decade-long war against an overwhelming, ferocious and spectacularly cannibalistic foe from every corner of the globe. A regular Joe flees a mayonnaise factory, where he’s a mayonnaise taster, to find his daughter as zombies over-run the north west industrial town of Runcorn - armed only with a paddle primarily designed for stirring mayonnaise and his enthusiastically profane mate “80s Dave”.

Errrrrm, what was that last one again??

Peter McKeirnon has written a book of extraordinary events, set in the most ordinary of environments. He brings us the main band of survivors led by the unremarkable John Diant as he shows up for work and everything changes forever. A meteor has streaked through space, only to land in a Russian nuclear dump and the results are, well, bad. So very bad. So bad in fact, it’s triggered a global zombie apocalypse which now insidiously infects the furthest reaches of earth. The live population is swiftly shifting towards total undead saturation and this, of course, is happening with biblical violence and single-minded tearing/snapping teeth.

John’s daughter, Emily, is at school but God only knows how she’s faring, so John and the aforementioned 80s Dave have to cross town to rescue her. On the way they see how things are shaping up and the tension grows with every second. Next on the agenda is to get to Butty, John’s benignly insane brother. Butty has been both expecting and preparing for any apocalypse you can think of: vampire, robot, alien but this new situation finds Butty almost gleefully invoking the zombie protocol. He’s been stockpiling weapons and supplies and his feeling of vindication is almost tangible. Hundreds of tins of Spam will fortify this merry gang, and if they fancy a drink they can sink a flagon of Butty’s home-brewed cheese beer. I always knew the zombie apocalypse was going to be grim but I had no idea the catering was going to be so disagreeable.

“Splosh”

Throughout we meet further survivors, all with different approaches and opinions as to how this apocalypse will impact on their lives. We’ve got the chipper pisshead, sequestered in a tower block with a couple of children who’s father was set upon & infected by zombie geese & ducks. There’s the psychotic & vengeful gangster still sociopathically going about his business and doing whatever he pleases but now without consequence. There’s a one-armed zombie transvestite and there’s Barry, the local newsagent who has kept his shop open in case anyone (dead or undead, no-one is excluded) requires a copy of the very specific cake-related porn mag “Splosh” and a packet of Starburst.

The most striking aspect of Welcome To Dead Town is the characters and their reaction to this seismic shift in everything they have previously known and taken for granted. These people aren’t highly trained Navy Seals, sent in with decades of training and heavy artillery to contain this minor problem. These are simply people, you and I, having to adapt as quickly as possible or have their heads chewed off and their entrails dragged out of their arses. The purity of their humanity is charming but as this humanity becomes eroded by the violence and death they witness at every turn, there’s a poignancy which I didn’t expect. The unconditional love John has for daughter Emily becomes almost sacred within this horror - and the destruction of Emily’s wide-eyed teenage naivety & optimism by the circumstances around her is heartbreaking. The emotional punches they have to take in the process of survival would flatten them in more normal times but within this context, if they stop to reflect or grieve or rage for a moment, they die. This is a love song to the fortitude and sheer persistence of the human spirit, as they rescue and kill and rob and comfort instinctively and just maybe, they’ll live to see the sun rise over the arching Runcorn Bridge again.

The “zombie apocalypse” genre has gone through many incarnations and locations but it’s always been rare that any of this was actually relevant to me. This feels like it could happen because it’s within such a familiar environment. Of course it never will happen but if it does, I’ll see you at Butty’s.

Bring Spam.

- By Zombie Rob