Zombies, man, they really creep me out

Find yourself some time to read Tim Cavanaugh’s terrific “We the Living Dead: The convoluted politics of zombie cinema.” It’s a great piece, easily the best thing you’ll ever read about gut munching and surviving a zombie holocaust.

TRUE STORY: I was attacked by a zombie after watching George Romero’s latest living dead epic, Land of the Dead. It was opening night, shortly after ten. My girlfriend and I left the theater at Union Square and started walking down Broadway. Somewhere around 12th street we see this dude shambling in our direction, doing that unmistakable zombie walk. “Oh my god, a zombie!” my girlfriend jokes. We get about ten feet from the guy, who’s still weaving and stumbling, when he lets out a sound somewhere between a moan and a growl and lunges at me. We grapple a little and I sidestep him. He turns around and attacks again. This time I sidestep but grab his back, using his weight and momentum (tall, beefy frat type) to throw him to the ground. He hits pretty hard and his head smashes the curb. There is a very loud and disturbing thud.

But it isn’t over. He gets back up, blood streaming from his forehead. He seems to be contemplating a third go, then some sound from the street draws his attention. Off he shambles into traffic. Now, this is Broadway in New York City on a Friday night--cars, buses, etc. etc. This zombie dude squares off in front of a big tour bus and starts banging and punching the front window. Several witnesses rush to inform me that the guy has been walking up the street, picking one fight after another. I learn he was punched out just moments before attacking me. (I’ve since theorized that he got into a bar fight, was ejected, but was so drunk that he just continued to fight as he stumbled up the street.) We hear sirens coming and my girlfriend and I split before any more living dead show up.

It took less than a minute, but I remember distinctly thinking while it happened, “If this guy bites me, I’m fucked.”