The moniker was coined by Melbourne’s Sea Life Aquarium after their resident scientists played a major role in using determined, high-quality science to breed — from just a handful of the species — an army of 500 juveniles which were released last month near Kerang.
One could therefore give Sea Life well-deserved license for re-naming the fish whatever they wished, and while there are very strict taxonomic rules around the scientific naming of species (one of the reasons for the Brontosaurus being changed to Apatosaurus), common names are driven by the winds of change, popularity, media exposure and sometimes misdirection.
And with no strict rules, there is considerable overlap and a very broad church for some species.
For example, there are three completely unrelated species named green tree frog, several more tree snakes, and ask any flower grower about columbine confusion down at the nursery (it has four names).
The risk with common names lies in the sharing of one between something safe and something dangerous.
A native shrub in north-eastern Victoria that produces blueberry-looking fruit is, thankfully, only called that by very few locals.
Eat a handful of those and you might not make it out of the bush.
Clarifying the taxonomy of one of Australia’s worst rainforest weeds, lantana, has helped research trying to find a suitable biological control agent to keep it at bay.
Lantana may be a common enough name, but after the taxonomists were finally called in, scientists found they were dealing with a melting pot of different varieties which all respond differently to insect and fungus attack.
And how many different colours and patterns are carried by the two species of tiger snake in Australia?
Sticking to one common name in this case is wise — they will all kill you without need for the pesky question: ‘but which tiger snake?’
The ‘zombie’ fish carries no such threat, and the advantage of this catchy name is its appeal with the younger generations to make them more conservation aware.
However, it loses its shine in the context of fictional zombies looking particularly unwell and covered in blood as they drag one leg behind them around apocalyptic streets, parasitising their own species.
In addition, the name ‘zombie’ has been reserved for other living things that come very close to this behaviour.
A worm, a fly and an ant-fungus each have the common name ‘zombie’ and for good reason given their unsavoury habits — not least the zombie fungus which literally changes the behaviour of an ant to do its will.
The southern purple-spotted gudgeon does none of these, instead slotting into its place in the food web, eating insect larvae and small crustaceans, while hiding under fallen branches away from predatory birds.
It might scoop up a few of its own kind as part of its fish egg diet, but then, which fish doesn’t?
Proper resurrection species, termed the ‘Lazarus taxa’ involve those organisms which have been assumed extinct across the planet, not just in one catchment.
The gudgeon’s breeding program also chose the word ‘apocalypse’ to celebrate the mass release of the 500 fry back into the water with reference to waves of the living dead appearing from everywhere.
This choice is a little less forgiving in my opinion because apocalypse is a biological term to describe specifically the mass extinction of one or more species due to a catastrophe.
The gudgeon is not expected to wipe out anything else in its way, nor can the mass-release be likened to a mass-wipeout.
In fact it is the very opposite that’s being celebrated here — bringing to light something even more rare: biological irony.
Andy Wilson is a Country News journalist and has a PhD in ecology from the University of Queensland.
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