A few days ago we sent reporter Luke Lythgoe into the zombie-infested basements of east London for a new immersive theatre experience, The Generation of Z.

He hasn’t been seen since, though a battered GoPro camera and this half-finished blood-spattered draft copy were later recovered from the scene.

It was an unexpectedly pleasant spring evening in east London – even Mile End Road looked soft and serene. The perfect evening, then, to have volunteered to spend an hour in a basement full of bloodthirsty zombies.

I joined the queue outside Dept W, full of eager – if slightly on edge – young Londoners, decked out in checked shirts, skinny jeans, and the occasional waxed moustache. The air was filled with nervous laughter and the occasional amateur zombie impersonation.

As we descended two musty flights of stairs we entered a world of foreboding shadows. Having played every zombie videogame in the book, I recognised the setting immediately – and caught myself peering into the shadows under the stairwell just to be sure.

The Generation of Z
The zombies wouldn’t always be at arms length… (Luke Lythgoe/SNAP.PA)

The walls of the grimy holding pen were stained by graffiti, with clothing, bedding and possessions left behind by previous occupants littering the floor.

There were about 50 of us milling around in there like we were waiting for a gig to start – except we didn’t know where the stage was or, more pressingly, which shadows the zombies might burst out from. I asked one burly guy with a beard and a flatcap how he was feeling – “totally bricking myself” would be the polite response.

Suddenly, action. Five bellowing soldiers burst into the room and started shouting orders. They levelled their guns at the crowd and had us line up against the walls.

The Generation of Z
(Luke Lythgoe/SNAP.PA)

As I pressed my back against the grey sheets draping the walls I remember thinking: “Is this where the cold grey hands are going to spring from?” Paranoia had truly set in, and as the soldiers barked orders I realised how tightly coiled I was.

With the floor cleared, the soldiers started bantering with each other. Everyone had clearly been expecting zombies rather than jokes, and nervous titters could be heard on the sidelines. That was until the soldiers suddenly turned on a supposedly “infected” person, shooting them in the head. That was the first spatter of theatrical blood I saw, and the first confirmation that things were about to get gory.

The gunshots were soon followed by a blood-curdling scream as a sprinting zombie threw her (its?) self against some metal fencing at the far side of the room. More followed, until there was a horde clawing to devour us all. Now I’ve watched George A Romero films, 28 Days Later, and The Walking Dead, but you’ll never be prepared for the unearthly wall of noise a crazed swarm of the undead makes in real life.

The Generation of Z
(Luke Lythgoe/SNAP.PA)

The soldiers quickly filed us into an adjacent corridor, and even though I was meant to be there to film this thing with my trusty GoPro, I found I really didn’t want to be the last person to leave that room – nothing but empty space and a flimsy fence between me and the undead.

As we wound our way through dank hallways, the soldiers siphoned us off into smaller groups. I realised that until then one of my big consolations had been safety in numbers. Those numbers were now dwindling. It was worse for others though, as friends were split from friends. “Did you know that guy?” I asked the woman in front of me. “He was my husband,” she replied, already talking in the past tense of the apocalypse.

Our small group set off down a dark passage, the moans of the undead echoing too close for comfort. The soldier leading us said we needed to find a medical bay. The cold determination in her eyes confirmed to me that we really did. After clearing a few more passages, we reached a ransacked ward.

The Generation of Z
(Luke Lythgoe/SNAP.PA)

As we filed in, a demonic screech pierced the air, followed by pounding footsteps. It was all the group could do to slam the door and barricade it with a hefty filing cabinet. Outside we could hear the frantic corpse hurling itself against the wood on the other side.

What started as a jolly jaunt through sunny east London has ended with me and a ragtag bunch of people I don’t even know the names of huddled in a gory, dark operating theatre, rolls of bandages and soiled instruments littering the floors and work surfaces, two pints of blood sitting in an unrefrigerated fridge.

The soldier is telling us we need to distract the thing outside if we’re ever going to escape. For some reason I’ve volunteered to help her do this. Now I know it’s meant to be theatre, but I really don’t want to go out there…

The Generation of Z is currently showing until July 5 and tickets can be purchased here on their website. 

All the blood will come out in the wash.