It’s devilishly and depressingly fitting that 2026 begins with a film set in an unstable wasteland. In those lost fields, the dead walk among the living. And yet, the living don’t seem to do much actual… living. They’re alone and afraid, with empty stomachs and hearts. At this point, everything is out to kill you, and the more pleasant opponent is the dead. Because for them, at least you know it’s strictly business, a primal instinct that the virus has made uncontrollable. For the other humans, you never know what you’re going to get.

People want leadership, and in the absence of genuine leadership, they’ll listen to anyone who walks and talks the part. On this British isle, that’s Jimmy Crystal (Jack O’Connell, not doing a great job for Irish public relations between this and being the head vampire in last year’s Sinners), the boy we briefly saw being inducted into this newfound hell through the devouring of his vicar father during the cold open of 28 Years Later. Now, as you guessed it, twenty-eight years later, he’s weaponized that trauma into a religious fervor to cleanse the land in the name of Satan. Following him are his “fingers,” wayward youth in desperate need of guidance, willing to also be called Jimmy and wear a blonde wig to fit in. There can only be seven fingers, so a person must kill their way into the club, which is what Spike (Alfie Williams) inadvertently does once he’s given the ultimatum.

The human-induced grotesqueness within this franchise is a steady concept in the recent work by screenwriter Alex Garland. Beyond the script for the previous entry in this franchise, the most pertinent work he’s done has been the one-two punch of A24 military actioners, Civil War and Warfare. While I didn’t like the former film upon its release, I’ve slowly come to appreciate the shock that it sends down our nation’s system. Unfortunately, time is becoming its own asset, no longer needing to be rewatched in order to be experienced. But I digress.

Zigging instead of zagging, Garland doesn’t continue to pile on, nor does he take the easy route of making the next installment bigger than the last one. The Bone Temple slides down a register, containing all events within a few days and only a couple of hundred yards. That titular location is where the good Dr. Kelson (Ralph Fiennes) still lives. Through a shared curiosity with local alpha, Samson (Chi Lewis-Parry), he’s inching closer to a cure for the virus. Morphine seems to help vaporize the clouds over the beast’s mind. ‘90s British pop also appears to have an alluring amount of power, everyone knowing that a little Radiohead goes a long way.

There is still a place for Iron Maiden’s “The Number of The Beast,” with director Nia DaCosta shifting away from the iPhone scrappiness and towards something a little more traditionally cinematic. Everything is still visually washed out, and rushing zombies have the camera pushed in front of their snarling faces. This is hardly an action film, making every stroke of violence even more punishing. Hildur Guðnadóttir’s score transplants the breathy vocalizations from her work in Hedda (also directed by DaCosta), almost as if there’s an underworld chorus.

Initially, 28 Weeks Later was my favorite in the franchise, thanks to its ability to pull back the lens and take a macroeconomic look at this epidemic. Now, The Bone Temple has ascended to the top by doing the exact opposite. Garland and Danny Boyle have coyly teased a third entry in this new series, something this film supports in its conclusion. Both the creatives and the audience deserve to see this through, not becoming a memento mori of what could have been. The ball is entirely in your court, Sony.