back.

Shoot 'em, maim 'em - doesn't matter: unless you destroy the head -

they'll just keep coming.

The living dead saturate cinema, television, and games - a cultural phenomenom that seems

impossible to stop.

An unholy congregation with limitless appetite:

It's not a matter of if they'll get you -

but when.

So, how did zombies become a mainstay of pop culture?

What games ensured their massive popularity today?

And when will this never-ending trend finally die?

The living dead first emerge in folkloric tales out of African culture: powerful Vodou

magic capable of raising corpses as undead servants.

Such tall tales made it to American shores during the interwar occupation of Haiti - quickly

finding cultural fascination.

Talking pictures hit their stride around this time, and ushered in a new era of horror - Dracula,

Frankenstein and The Mummy.

The first feature-length zombie film was made in such a mould: White Zombie, in 1932.

Its treatment of the living dead is far removed from modern expectations - essentially a new

twist on vampire legend, with the voodoo master's thralls serving as an obedient workforce rather

than a brain-craving mob.

Early zombies were tales of possession - the horror derived from loss of control: comely

white women swayed by the unchristian values of Vodou.

Often repeated, this formula eventually became stale, and more optimistic science fiction

stole the limelight by the 1950s.

Save for a few B-movies - the zombie fad was over.

No rest for the dead, however - and almost as soon as they were consigned to the crypt,

a new era dawned under the direction of George A Romero.

'Night of the Living Dead' in 1968 rewrote the rules; revived the genre; and influenced

every zombie that emerged thereafter.

The cobwebs of classic horror were dusted off - and the shackles of Voodoo were shed.

Instead, a full blown zombie-apocalypse: a thoughtless horde; unrelenting, unexplained

- yet believable.

This was coupled with a bleak, nihilistic tone - with no real heroes nor a happy ending.

A risky proposition, but it worked - it was the most profitable horror film of its era:

and as audiences queued up, so too did Romero's imitators.

Most were awful: subtlety stripped away in favour of exploiting visceral thrills: gore,

rotting flesh - and buckets of blood.

Not everyone has the stomach for it, of course - and by the mid-80s, Hollywood horror had

gone in another, more gothic, direction.

Once again, zombies returned to their grave -

but the dawn of a new artform had already begun.

The arrival of the home microcomputer democratised game development, and allowed the imagination

of hobbyist programmers to roam free.

It was only a matter of time before someone made a game about zombies.

The very first is difficult to pin down: an obscure origin amidst a primordial soup of

type-in BASIC and amateur games which never saw distribution.

Perhaps the first commercial release is 'Zombies', for the ZX81: derived from an earlier BASIC

game called Chase, the idea is to lure a crowd of zombies into potholes - their behaviour

simple, but their numbers rife: Clearly influenced by Romero's slow, stupid mobs.

Early machines struggled with numerous enemies - with each vying for CPU time and occupying

vital RAM, the rendition of convincing undead mobs was some distance off.

Despite these limitations, 1984's 'Zombie Zombie' was a solid attempt at an isometric

city-based zombie apocalypse.

Armed with an air-cannon and helicopter, instead of direct violence, the goal was to lure the

undead off high buildings.

At this point, the concept of a 'zombie game' was ill-defined: they normally found themselves

part of a spooky ensemble cast: rubbing shoulders with vampires, mummies, ghosts and goblins.

The late '80s were an era of excess, not suited to subtlety: action films, guns and increasingly

gory action.

As 16-bit machines took hold and graphics became more realistic, games could start to

mirror the lurid scenes of horror.

Arcade titles like Beast Busters had endless parades of zombies to shoot, with huge sprites,

unprecedented levels of on-screen violence - and exploding body parts.

Blood-soaked coin-ops of this era would be a key inspiration for early first person shooters:

indeed, Wolfenstein, Doom and Quake all feature zombie-like opponents - and gibbing aplenty.

There's a certain irony in all this: Once designed to deliberately offend Christian

values; Now ersatz human targets that could bleed, be dismembered and slaughtered by the

dozen: But it's alright - they're just zombies.

However, horror can be more sophisticated than a splash of red pixels.

With deft pacing, tone and atmosphere - you can exploit the psychological aspects of fear.

To be effective, the shoot 'em up had to be discarded and the player left disempowered:

combat should be scary - and every bullet should matter.

Survival horror begins with games like Capcom's Sweet Home: an RPG not afraid to punish the

player, with limited resources - and character permadeath.

Infogrames' Alone In The Dark was another stab at domestic horror: this time, taking

an action-oriented, cinematic approach.

The world was 3D, to an extent: To limit polygon count, static backgrounds were used - fixed

camera angles and awkward, voyeuristic composition imparting a sense of dread.

The elements for the perfect survival horror game were starting to fall into place - and

zombies would prove just the glue to hold them all together.

The mid-90s saw a return in focus towards console gaming - and an identity shift towards

a new adult audience.

The Sony PlayStation was making moves, and boasted a line-up of attractive titles like

Wipeout, Tekken, Tomb Raider - and Resident Evil.

It did for games what Romero did for film.

Resident Evil threw out the clichés of reheated zombie horror: distilled its essence; and

became a new prototype for future games to follow.

An unlikely origin, too - considering zombies were never particularly popular in Japan:

Widespread cremation and reverence for the dead largely excludes walking corpses.

Titled 'Biohazard' in its native market - instead of mystical force or voodoo magic, the zombies

are a deliberate act of terror: a mutagenic bioweapon called the T-virus.

A spontaneous idea that was likely influenced by the 1995 Sarin gas attacks in Tokyo.

Resident Evil marks the maturation of video game horror.

From the time you encounter the first zombie to the ultimate escape - the tension was held

in ways no game had ever done before.

Its enemies were varied: rather than a shambling homogeneous horde, the introduction of multiple

monster types prevented players from becoming complacent.

Innovative enough to forgive its slightly awkward controls and camp dialogue: it spurred

a golden era of survival horror.

The PlayStation era is defined by such games: Silent Hill, Parasite Eve, Dino Crisis, Fatal

Frame.

Knowing a good thing when they see it, Sega took zombies to the arcades - adapting the

light gun action of Virtua Cop into horror shoot-em-up, The House of The Dead.

It wasn't quite as nuanced as Resident Evil, with a less serious style and a pace on rails

- but when you have full polygonal graphics and non-stop action blaring from its impressive

cabinet - atmosphere is less important.

Western games also took inspiration: the darkened corridors of Doom 3 and its choice between

firearm or flashlight - or the limited ammo and multiple zombie types introduced during

Ravenholm in Half-Life 2.

Most of all Resident Evil proved that zombies could be cool again - and that you don't always

have to stick to the rules.

By the time of the PlayStation 2, 3D performance had become more confident: twin-stick control

the norm; and action-oriented games dominant.

Capcom had muddied their own market with countless spin-offs - and what was originally refreshing

became cliché.

Survival horror had had a good run, I suppose: and as military, sci-fi and crime-themed games

took hold -

it looked like - once again - zombies had expired.

The new millennium was quick to shatter any optimism the 90s left behind.

9/11: Anthrax; SARS; the war on terror - a culture of fear, magnified by 24-hour media.

During all of this, something unusual happened: normally, video games borrow from cinema -

but this time, the debt was repaid.

Released in 2002, 28 Days Later was a surprising success: fusing classic Romero with a twist

of inspiration from Resident Evil.

Its zombies were different: they were fast.

A biological aspect was there, too: a blood-borne virus that quickly infects: turning the slightest

scratch into a tragedy.

Genuinely scary: a new approach that reinvigorated a dying genre.

As more films shuffled out of production (including an official adaptation of Resident Evil, and

the comedic-yet-serious Shaun of the Dead):

a trickle of zombie games turned into a flood.

Another generation of consoles had begun: new hardware and new possibility.

Capcom remained at the forefront of zombie games, with the success of Resident Evil 4

and its shift towards more action-oriented gameplay.

They also invested in a new, less-serious franchise: Dead Rising.

A sandbox game filled to the brim with zombies, its sprawling mall taken from Romero's Dawn

of The Dead.

The then-new Xbox 360 could handle more zombies and larger maps than ever before - a convincing

realisation of a full-blown zombie apocalypse.

An affection for free-roam gameplay would define the generation - and Rockstar were

the kings of the category.

Red Dead Redemption: Undead Nightmare is a standout for DLC of the era and a rare sighting

of the lesser-spotted Zombie Western.

Call of Juarez developers Techland made a similar leap with Dead Island, its trailer

promising emotive drama amidst a tropical setting.

What was delivered proved slightly disappointing, but its blend of brutal melee combat and crafting

hinted at greater potential.

Dying Light would better realise the concept: Parkour makes traversal of its world more

fluid - and a stark day/night dichotomy means running is often necessary to escape doom.

Zombies aren't always so sombre - sometimes they're seen with a sense of humour.

The more light-hearted efforts tend to exploit the campness of B-movie horror - and what

they lose in visceral impact, they gain in comedy.

Plants vs. Zombies is a franchise firmly tongue-in-cheek, with an unlikely botanical match-up.

The static plants suit the tower-defence gameplay, and while motivated by brains, the zombies

end up eating a vegetarian diet - an intrinsic irony of its all-out garden warfare.

Zombie survival serves co-operative play perfectly - and the increasing popularity of online

multiplayer meant that a union was inevitable.

Left 4 Dead arrived in 2008: a cinematic 4-player journey through zombie-infested levels, punctuated

by safe-houses.

It evokes classic horror while taking notes from newer sources: fast zombies, and special

infected types.

Valve's usual polish and extensive playtesting helped set the bar for 4-player co-op - and

its dynamic reshaping of game intensity under an AI Director meant that even seasoned players

might be left surprised.

The perennially popular Call of Duty was in full swing by this point, and while its primary

draw was as a military shooter, World at War would venture into the crossover realm of

zombie horror and war.

Originally added as an afterthought - a reward for completing the campaign: Nazi Zombies

would prove one of the most compelling features of Treyarch's entries to the franchise.

With escalating waves of challenge, 4-player character co-op and surprisingly complex easter

eggs - the zombie aspect went from strength to strength, with a string of DLC and sequels.

Similar is the spin-off from Sniper Elite: Nazi Zombie Army, now a horror co-op trilogy.

Shooting reanimated fascists is reward enough, but Sniper Elite illustrates the destruction

of grey decaying organs with gratuitous slow-motion and x-ray vision.

Between undead mobs and survivor factions, it's in a massive scale of multiplayer where

zombies can really stretch their legs - the survival sandbox.

Indie games are a cornerstone here: Perhaps small teams without a publisher are more willingly

seduced by already-popular themes - where larger budgets might not bank on the continued

success of an already long-lived trend.

An early browser-based example is Urban Dead: not much to look at, but within its simple

elements lie a surprising complexity: the chaotic influence of so many players coalesce

into a living undead city.

Independent games excel at simplicity: and the elementary blocks of Minecraft are an

origin point: first designed with survival in mind, base building by day and a zombie

onslaught by night.

Its block-by-block approach is arguably more successful as a LEGO simulator - but the limitless

freedom to build and roam is compelling.

Larger, more detailed worlds are tempered by technology: and while consoles lay stagnant

late-generation, the PC's potential took the lead.

DayZ started as a mod for milsim ARMA 2, and from its outset its goal was to portray a

zombie outbreak as realistically as possible.

With supplies scattered across its massive map, and a host of variables to manage - hunger,

thirst, temperature, blood pressure: staying alive requires careful management of parallel

demands.

Throw in a handful of other survivors, and zombies become the least of your concerns:

much of the drama and emergent gameplay arises directly from player interaction.

Minecraft and DayZ are both definitive survival sandbox games, and have each inspired many

imitators.

Between abstract block-building, crafting and realistic needs: it's a genre that indulges

both player creativity - and a competitive side.

Zombies are not a necessary element of these games, but they do underpin the common themes

- a breakdown of society and a consequently hostile world.

A seductive idea that's the perfect vent for modern-day frustrations: no more daily grind