Panic. It's Good For You.
Overturning a stigma.
It was 1873. In Shreveport, coffins lined the streets. There were real zombies out and about, wandering in delirium as their organs failed after days of vomiting blood. They were already dead. They just didn't know it. Later, their bodies would be scooped off the pavement and taken wherever there was space. Especially in the deep south, everyone was terrified. People ripped up railroad tracks and threatened to burn bridges to stop the spread. Towns imposed "shotgun quarantines," taking up arms to keep away outsiders. The city of Shreveport lost a quarter of its population. The local newspaper stopped reporting on anything else. They simply printed obituaries. Even then, they didn't want to name the disease killing everyone. They were afraid of the economic impact.
Walk through town. All you could see were hearses. All you could hear were the sounds of the sick and dying.
It's ironic, isn't it?
I've lived in the deep south for most of my life. I was there for the beginning of th…