Killing him hadn’t quite been our intention though of course, it could be argued we actually had nothing to do with the murder at all.

I mean, when 195lbs of pure muscled zombie comes lumbering after you, taking the weapon to hand – in this case the electric garden shears – and chopping him to pieces was purely a matter of self defense.

We had to take him completely apart too because any joint that remained together insisted on trying to reach us.

Trying to explain all this to a sickened bunch of Floridian homicide cops – who see this sort of drug killing on a daily basis – was like trying to talk to a brick wall whilst being gagged with duct tape.

So, unless we found a mighty smart lawyer who knew a bit about supernatural creatures, we were looking at maybe, life to life sentences if we didn’t get the death sentence.

A man in a snappy Armani suit walked up to us.

“Hi, I’m Alan March, I’m a lawyer, I’d like to be your defense attorney,” he said. “I understand you killed my zombie brother…”