The end of the world is a feast. A liberation. A long-awaited vacation, finally here, for an indefinite period – what a childhood dream!
The machine has finally stopped. The unbearable repetition of days abolished.
Disorder reigns, and a wave of Dionysian pleasure sweeps through the world of the living, who deep down don't care if they're alive for much longer.
The ancestral community is reformed: the men hunt and the women prepare a feast for them. The heroes parade about, proud to kill and die.
If the end of the world is the necessary condition for depressed monads to reconstitute themselves into tribes - the most elementary and stupid form of society, but a society nonetheless – and for cities designed for unhappiness to be finally deserted, abandoned for what they are, places of death, and for the Hinterland to be repopulated, however briefly...
... then this end of the world is desirable.
A country populated by zombies is also a "ghost country". Even when these zombies are metaphorical zombies, i.e. living people wandering through existence, haggard, greedy and alone.
It's a question of killing the zombie within oneself – that is, the haggard, greedy, lonely being, even when in the midst of a crowd of fellow creatures – to become a member of a tribe once again. The primitiveness, the neo-barbarism of these over-armed, beer-filled rednecks is only apparent. Their relief is that of becoming human again after having been zombies themselves.