Agent Smith’s spell being broken

If you hadn’t nailed him to the perch,” repeated the thin man, getting back into the part, “he’d be pushing up the daisies! His metabolic processes are now history! He’s off the twig! He’s kicked the bucket, he’s shuffled off his mortal coil. It’s run down the curtain and joined the choir invisible! This,” Shaun declared emphatically, “is an ex—”
A railroad spike slammed into George’s skull. Just before the pain forced his eyes closed he saw Karen’s hands fly to her own head. He heard her shift in her chair, and a faint grunt of pain.
His skull cracked and let in a brilliant light. It was so bright closing his eyes did nothing. Covering them with his hands made no difference. No matter what he did, he could still see it.
He forced his eyes open against the searing pain and looked at Karen. She was already staring at him. Her eyes were wide. He slid his hand across the bar and she seized it with a grip like a vise. George felt blood run across his lips, enough that he heard it splash on the bar.
“Hey,” said the bartender, “you two okay?”
Memories poured into George’s head like molten steel, burning everything else away even as they cooled and hardened. He saw himself. He saw his world. He saw them.
The undead.
The zombies.
The ex-humans.

Excerpt From Ex-Purgatory, pg 330-331
Peter Clines
https://books.apple.com/us/book/ex-purgatory/id676938479