The nearest of the zombies grabbed Hans by the arm and threw him across the lawn. He landed on his butt with an oof and screamed, “Ruf die Polezei! Bitte, hilf mir!”

Dan dodged a lazy swat from the fattest zombie and screamed back to Hans. “I think I know why they want to eat you! Speak English or die! Speak English or die!”

The fat zombie was on top of him, staring down at Hans’s left thigh as if it were a 16-ounce porter house a lot on the rare side. The zombie screamed in a deep, demented voice. “I love’s me some German food!”

Hearing Hans’s words, the remaining zombies lurched toward him, their arms outstretched in a cross. “Hilf mir!”

“Speak English or die,” Dan screamed again. “They want German food. You’re German! Speak English or die or just shut up!”

Thinking fast, Dan screamed the only German words he knew. “Meine Milkshake,” he chanted, attempting to buy enough time to scoop up the remaining milkshake off the ground. Hearing this, the zombies turned around and headed in his direction.