Putrid and oozing, Jack Hamlyn’s The Squirming drags the zombie genre down a new alleyway to feast on its flesh. High and slug-laden, these zombies are no less hungry than any other zombie dopes, but, thankfully, these zombies have dimensions and purpose. Such a rarity. There is effort and skill in spades when it comes to these particular nasty buggers under these gruesome circumstances.
From the very beginning, The Squirming stamps a foot against the accelerator and does not relent until the waning final pages where the dog is basically dead anyway, awaiting just that final kick. This story is gory and descriptive in a way that pins everyday knowledge alongside imagination in order to tug at the strings of disgust. Some of the most effective use of commonality to push a thought that I’ve ever read. This is the literary equivalent of blindfolded children reaching hands into bowls of wet grapes and soft spaghetti at a Halloween party.
If this wasn’t enough, rounded and humanistic characters tear this from the typical expectation of the zombie story and slam a home run of worthwhile, ooey-gooey, scum-laden, pus-bursting prose. The moment I finished this story, I thought to myself, if The Walking Dead was even half this good I would’ve kept watching past season three.
Fan of the sub-genre or not, this is absolutely worth a read.