The local news team assigned to parade coverage were reporting live from the parade route. Perched in a bleacher barricade constructed along the street, the two news anchors, one male and one female, and the weekend weather man were all slightly pink with inebriation, which was par for the course. What wasn't so typical, however, were the expressions of wide-eyed terror that they wore or the shaking evident in their voices as they reported on the scene around them.
The parade floats had stopped rolling, stalled in the street, parting the sea of carnage that stretched out as far as the eye could see. The newly risen dead, decked in all the splendor of their colorful Mardi Gras costumes, chased parade spectators to and fro, catching and devouring them here and there. Near the television crew, a blood soaked woman with half a face stumbled by, lighted Mardi Gras beads flashing, twinkling festively against her exposed and torn bosom.
The throng of dead were thick against the news team's bleacher box, pressing in around them as they nervously reported on the events around them.
"And, over there, Barbara, I think I'm seeing a clown eating another clown." said the male anchor.
"No, Tom, I think that clown is eating a pirate."
"Ah, you're right. So it is."
"Oh, the humanity..." sobbed the weather man.