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It had turned back towards the front of the store when it was suddenly confronted by the clerk. In his hands, the man hefted a baseball bat, and took a wild swing.

"Hey, you know," the Zombie of George Romero protested, "this kind of thing won't do at all." Fortunately, it had stumbled at the exact moment the bat had swung at its head, so that it had escaped unscathed. "I haven't done anything to you."

The clerk didn't seem moved by this protestation. He'd already set himself to take another swing. The Zombie of George Romero reluctantly decided that it might be time to take steps to protect itself. Pivoting awkwardly, it swung a hand at the clerk. It caught the man a glancing blow just above the elbow.

The results exceeded all expectations. Howling in terror, the clerk threw down the bat and jumped back, colliding with display of breakfast cereal boxes. The cereal and the clerk collapsed in a heap.

The Zombie of George Romero decided to leave while the leaving was good. It had warmed itself up with the exertion, and was able to move more easily, so it made its way to the exit. As it left the store, a couple of wild-eyed young men were coming in. The Zombie of George Romero stood aside politely to let them in.

His politeness had no more effect than his protests earlier. One of the two men had been in the act of pulling a stocking mask over his face, but paused, his eyes bulging. "Grawp!" he gasped.

"What?" The other man was in the act of pulling a gun from his jacket pocket, but stopped, his eyes bulging too. "Zombie!" he said.

"Shoot it!" The first man yelled, pawing desperately at his own pocket. "Shoot it now!"

The Zombie of George Romero was growing distinctly annoyed. Everyone seemed to have it in for it, no matter what it did. After all, it hadn't asked to become a zombie, had it? Irritated, it stepped forward and shoved the first man in the chest. It wasn't a hard push, but the man, off-balance, fell on the second. There was a muffled gunshot. The first man fell writhing to the ground, flopped about for a little while, and stopped writhing.

"Oh my god," the second young man yelled at the Zombie of George Romero. "He's dead. Look what you made me do!"

The Zombie of George Romero was, of course, not the personal deity of the second young man - now the only young man. Nor had it the slightest desire to be the personal deity of anyone. But it had no opportunity to tell the man so, because he was pointing his gun at the Zombie and trying to shoot it. It was, again, only the Zombie's instability on its legs that saved it - it staggered and stumbled erratically, and the young man's shots went wide.

Distant, but closing rapidly, there were sirens approaching. It seemed the police would be there soon. The young man glared around and took off at a run, pausing only long enough to squeeze off one final shot at the Zombie. The bullet crashed into the wall by its head.

Once again, the Zombie of George Romero had to walk off down the street in the cold. By now, however, it had learned to be a little more careful, and had also gained some amount of co-ordination over its limbs. Staying in the shadows, it ducked down the first dark alley it found, and then down another. Soon it had left the sirens far behind.

After a while, it began to feel cold again. So, choosing a spot behind a dumpster, it settled down to rest.

"Look at this!" someone's foot poked the Zombie of George Romero in the chest. "Wake up, you!"

The Zombie had, of course, not been sleeping, because being undead it didn't have the ability to sleep. It had, however, kept its eyes closed in order to protect them from the weather.

"What do you want?" it asked, sitting up. The moon had come up in the meantime, and enough light came into the alley for even its dim eyes to be able to see something of the four people standing over it. The first one had drawn back a foot for another kick, but now paused.

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