It begins with a guy with a shotgun turning zombie heads into salsa. Of course, the cops think he’s a serial murderer and arrest him before he can shoot himself, because seconds before the cops bust in, some zombie goo backwash splattered in the guy’s mouth. Those of us who have seen zombies in action know it’s game over, man.
They haul the guy away to the Harwood Maximum Security Prison (conveniently located on a main downtown street) and take him to the prison doctor because he’s coughing, drooling and throwing up all over those spotless prison floors. He sneezes on the docs face and spits up black blood on other prisoners. That is so unsociable as to be downright rude.
Like dominos, those now infected with the biotoxin virus are converting to a new religion: the incarcerated dead. From here on out it’s tired zombie meat ’n eats, although the gore is plentiful and looks a lot like the gravy surprise they serve at the prison every Friday.
FEMA calls and puts the prison under quarantine. A CDC representative (i.e., chick with matching blouse and skirt) is stuck inside, along with the warden’s plump ’n juicy son, who looks like a menu item at the next zombie prison picnic. Guts are liberated from torsos; blood vomit decorates the walls like an abstract painting (possible Dali); prison guards are being eaten and turning into prisoners of their own skin gobbling hunger.
As true with all zombie flicks, everyone dies. As will a part of you if you forfeit above ground time watching the paint-by-numbers Dead Men Walking (2005).