I Don’t Know What This Is, Part 5

Here’s a spoiler alert: zombies are tied to their lands, like feudal serfs in Medieval Europe. If their “lifeland” is doing well, they are going to be coming at you like strongmen. They draw energy from prosperous earth. A solution: drop every dead body far away from where they died so they will end up totally confused. They can’t assimilate well, but they don’t get assaulty or rapey like Syrian refugees—they’ll just stalk and eventually eat you with no pretense of shame or inhibition. I don’t know which is worse. If we’ve deported them enough distance (the zombies, I mean), they’ll have a hard time of all of it. Maybe drop them onto Antarctica? Google Maps fetishists will clamor for more coverage in the area to see the folly for themselves.

Not a spoiler: you wind along cramped, old-city streets, not necessarily running from zombies, but possibly. You end up at a narrow courtyard where lots of hip, young, attractive types are lounging in the spring sun. There’s a low-lying terracotta roof bordering at the back of the courtyard. You make your way onto it with your lover but you can’t seem to get physical with her. You both can’t stand the sight of having your carnal indulgences on display for the starved undead. Maybe it’s like a mirror for you. Or them. You’re pretty much content with just sitting there.