Citizens of Alpharetta, I am proud to announce that Atlanta has been officially overtaken by zombies. My training has paid off in the sum of three delicious humans meeting their demise at my groping zombie hands.
This past Saturday, June 8, I ran with my fellow rotting corpses in pursuit of the Zombie Run 5K participants. Accompanied by my human (and inexplicably immune to my bite) editor Jonathan Copsey, I joined in the undead fun as I waited in line to receive the deluxe zombie makeup treatment.
Once properly zombified, I settled in with the other putrefying participants at mile marker three, where we waited for the humans who would fall victim to our deceased wiles. Runners indicated their interest in being chased by donning belts equipped with five red balloons and we zombies indicated our interest by growling and pursuing said runners in order to steal their balloons. Other participants wore no balloons and simply ran the course while they marveled at the sight of their fellow runners being hunted by the undead.
My zombie senses were tingling as I anticipated the evasive maneuvers of the 5K runners. I was a stealthy zombie indeed as I lured the humans in with my convincing limp and steady moaning; I would swipe harmlessly at participants who did not wish to be chased while I targeted approaching balloon-clad runners.
The ridiculous humans pointed and laughed, appreciating my theatrics. Then I would pounce. The runners shrieked (several cursed) as they realized my slow shuffling was nothing but a clever disguise. My New Balance sneakers served my blood soaked feet well as I sprinted madly after the humans, their pulses hammering in my ears as they high tailed it away from my grasping fingers and snapping jaws.
Some runners took the threat rather seriously; this zombie got body checked three times by panicked participants. At one point my fellow zombies and I inspired tears from little girls as they ran and we gave chase. That was by far the best defense the tiny females could have invoked, for I hate the taste of salty child.
The grown runners, however, had no such luck. I claimed balloons and scraped for brains as the herds of nervous humans passed us by. A few were fortunate enough to escape. Some begged for mercy, to no avail. Others were semi-violent in the defense of their lives. Still others simply watched the ruckus, pointed and laughed. I showed no quarter and no discrimination as I pursued them all.
My fellow zombies Elissa Greenberg and Morgana Kennedy assisted my hungry pursuit expertly. We formed an impromptu soccer team formation to corner our targets more efficiently. When asked about her hunting strategy on the motor speedway, zombie Greenberg moaned, “Uuuuuuggggghhhhhh” and snarled as she tried to bite my editor’s hand.
The screams of our victims lace my happy daydreams now that I have returned to my home, but you can rest at ease, Alpharetta, for your dominant zombie is placated. My hunger for brains is appeased. For now…