"Yes, sir!" the zombie underling barked, then turned and sprinted off to relay the order.
Dreadpaw stood there, pacing back and forth, his brow furrowed deep in thought. The whole thing was just too bizarre. He'd only met Hank once—how the hell did that guy pull this off?
Losing that much fresh meat was a serious blow. Zombies that went too long without feeding... they didn't just starve. They turned into Black-Skin Zombies—feral, mindless, and uncontrollable.
Luckily, the pig farm wasn't his only food source.
Dreadpaw still had a decent herd of cattle.
For now, at least... they could hold out.
. . .
The entire corpse nest stirred to life the moment Dreadpaw's command went out.
Like a kicked anthill, the zombies poured out in droves, flooding the desolate wasteland. Their howls echoed across the sky, a chorus of rage and hunger.
Among them were several Zombie Kings, each one monstrous in their own way—hulking, twisted, radiating raw power and barely-contained fury.
