It wasn't until he'd joined the circle and gotten his paper plate of charred meat and heartburn-inducing sauce that he thought to check.
Undead, all of them. Skeletons. They didn't realize he'd picked up on them.
“This is pretty good,” he said, taking a bite of the barbecue. “Where'd you guys pick it up?”
“We know a man named Bill,” one said, his voice somehow at once guttural and hissing.
Another nodded sagely. “Bill makes the best barbecue.”
He stared at the nameless lumps speared over the fire. The zombie turning the spit grinned at him.