On a deserted road in the dead of night, the moon peered through the edge of the clouds, casting a deathly pale light over the ground. A line of white figures moved slowly along the road. At a closer glance, they looked like a group of people. Leading them was an old man dressed in loose robes of pitch-black cloth. In his left hand, he held a pair of copper bells tied with red cords; in his right, he waved a triangular yellow command flag. The bells rang out, and the flag swept through the air.
A line of strange-looking figures silently followed the old man. Their movements were so unnaturally uniform that they seemed like a single person, and every one of them walked with the same arm and leg moving together! Their steps were also unlike those of ordinary people. Each one landed stiffly, without the light, springy stride we use when walking. Their faces were even more startling. They were pale, mottled with gray-black and iron-blue, and dotted with a few dark red spots. Their eyes were sunk so deep into their sockets that no eyeballs could be seen, only two black hollows. Their cheeks were sunken too, with yellow talismans pasted on them, apparently marked with spells. All wore white robes, their arms held straight out in front of them. From time to time, drops of murky fluid seeped from their robes, filling the air with a foul stench.
These were definitely not people. They were zombies!
And the old man in black was a corpse driver.
