Zombocalypse Now (18 page)
“No,” Daryl says, strangely calm. “We were never getting back from this one alive, anyway.” His eyes are peeled open wide, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. “Now it’s about taking as many of those sons of bitches with us as we possibly can.”
He’s right. If you’re going to die, you’re going to die fighting. If you buckle in for one last suicide run,
turn to page 216.
He’s wrong! If you’re going to die, you’re going to die hiding! If you bail out now and pray that you find somewhere safe to hunker down,
turn to page 151.
159
Your journey to the gated community is fraught with peril, but with every fallen enemy your confidence swells. You are a warrior. And the geekweapon hungers for the fetid flesh of the zombie masses. This is fortunate, because the zombie masses seem to be growing exponentially. By the time you reach the main entrance, there’s an army of undead behind you, and some guy armed with a taser stands at the gate. Though you doubt the zombies would even notice 25,000 volts coursing through their already-dead carcasses.
“St . . . Stay back!” he stutters. “There’s a lot of unsavory characters hanging around, and we don’t want any part of that business in Pleasantvalley Hills!”
“They’re not ‘unsavory characters,’ ” you insist. “They’re the living dead. And that taser is useless against them. If you let me in, I can help you fight them off!”
“I’m the captain of the neighborhood watch!” he squeals, apparently unconvinced. “You and your friends just go back where you came from!”
“The situation is dire,” you say, raising the geekweapon above your head. Time for an inspirational monologue. “This is the moment of truth! Together, we can fight the invasion and keep Pleasantvalley Hills safe. Together we can—”
Aaaaaand he tases you. You had several strategies worked out for fending off the approaching zombie horde, but flopping around on the ground unable to control your extremities was not one of them. They make short work of you.
Needless to say, after that the captain of the Pleasantvalley Hills neighborhood watch is on his own.
THE END
160
You’ve got a chainsaw and what’s left of a Toyota Celica—not the ideal makings of a big damn zombie apocalypse action hero, but nevertheless you figure you’ll stick around and do what you can to rid your city of the slouching dead. It may be a fool’s errand, but you feel that you need to do what you can.
And you know what else you need? A freakin’ cigarette. You swipe a pack from the gas station convenience store—although you’ve held off on smoking since this whole undead business started, at this point, why not? After everything you’ve seen today, lung cancer is actually one of the more pleasant ways you can think of to die.
Alas, one of the least pleasant is still going up in an enormous ball of flame, and a lit match plus all the gasoline you’ve been slopping around for the last half hour equals bad news all around. Seriously, the resulting mushroom cloud consumes you, your car and most of the gas station before you even get your cigarette lit.
Mom always said those things would kill you.
THE END
161
You thank Billy for his offer, but decide that holing up for who knows how long with a group of survivalists doesn’t sound like your cup of tea. His dad is kind enough to let you lock yourself in his garage for the night, however, and gas up from his fuel stockpile. By the time morning rolls around, he and Billy have disappeared, hidden away somewhere underground.
You take the scenic route on the way to Ernie’s place, doubling back again and again as you run into groups of undead. It’s late in the day when you finally arrive, but the suburbs around his house seem zombie-free. Maybe the outbreak isn’t so bad after all.
Ernie is thrilled to see you and clearly hasn’t slept in a week (which is curious, since the business with the zombies didn’t start until yesterday). “I have some theories,” he says. “All day yesterday, I was sure it was fluoride. That’s crazy, though, right? Fluoride is terrifying stuff, but after going over and over it in my head, I don’t think it could turn people into zombies.”
Oh, Ernie. “I agree,” you say. “The culprit is probably not fluoride.”
“That leaves the military/industrial complex and magical forces beyond our understanding,” he continues. “I think they’re both worth looking into. What do you think we should focus on first?”
Magical forces. Why not? If you tell Ernie you think it’s probably evil witchcraft,
turn to page 153.
Then again, maybe with Ernie’s help you can find some real answers, and Big Brother sounds like a good place to start. If you tell Ernie you want to look into the government conspiracy angle,
turn to page 90.
162
“I think he’s full of crap, too,” you say. “Catholic church or not, something here doesn’t add up.” Mittens agrees and starts poking around Fat Jimmy’s office. As she fiddles with a curtain that obscures a large portion of the back wall, Jimmy starts becoming noticeably upset.
“What’s this?” she asks, pulling the curtain down to reveal a locked door. “You got a key to this thing, Jimmy?”
“That’s got nothing to do with you!” the mobster stutters. “You just stay out of there.”
“Bingo,” Mittens smiles. Inside is a large room with wood paneling and a group of mannequins in cheesy ’70s attire. Wait a minute . . . four blond female figures and four dark-haired males of various ages. Suddenly you recognize the room, and the family that goes with it. Is this the freaking
Brady Bunch? Th
e only thing missing is a ninth mannequin dressed up as . . .
Sure enough, a large, powder blue maid’s outfit is hung up on the wall. “What the hell, Jimmy?” Mittens says, astounded. “You dress yourself up like
Alice?
” His face turns crimson with rage, but Mittens just laughs. “We don’t care about any of this,” she says. “Jesus, we thought you had zombies in here or something.”
“I told you to leave it alone!” Jimmy yells, producing a handgun from somewhere and firing before Mittens knows what hits her. He keeps pulling the trigger until his clip is empty, and you and Mittens both fall to the ground with a thud.
“It’s okay Jan, Marcia, Bobby,” you hear Fat Jimmy weeping softly to himself as you lose consciousness. “
Alice will take care of you
.”
THE END
163
The downtown farmer’s market is only twenty minutes away on foot, so getting the crowd there will be a lot easier than trying to find a way to haul them across town to the sporting goods store. Nevertheless, the group starts to complain about the walk almost immediately. In addition, a spirited discussion breaks out about the zombies being a plot by Republicans and Democrats to wipe out librarians (you assume they mean Libertarians, although this still makes almost no sense). The conspiracy gibberish actually reminds you of your friend Ernie, who has always suspected that a global meltdown or paranormal apocalypse was only moments away.
Come to think of it, Ernie might be a good person to consult with in a situation like this. You check your cell phone, but service has been down since you left the restaurant.
After the second longest twenty minutes of your life (still not as awful as that blind date at the bowling alley), you reach the market. Alas, the zombies beat you to it, and a dozen of them are roaming the otherwise abandoned stalls. It seems a shame to pass on all the fresh food and various sundries—perhaps you can create a distraction to draw them away while your wards raid the market for supplies.
On the other hand, that plan might be dangerous. And, you think as you look back at your wide-eyed followers, possibly way too complicated.
Supplies from the market could prove invaluable. If you try to acquire them,
turn to page 110.
Then again, the gang has proven worse than useless so far. If trusting them to carry out part of any plan sounds like a bad idea,
turn to page 13.
164
Since the elevators are out of service, Candice leads you up six flights of stairs to the floor where the research department works. Out of breath, you push open the door from the stairwell and are surprised to see a woman in a lab coat sitting on the floor disassembling an office chair. Not nearly as surprised as she is to see you, however. She looks up, leaps to her feet, and runs screaming down the hall.
“Wait!” you yell after her. “We’re not zombies!” You see a speaker phone propped up on a filing cabinet with office supplies arranged around it in what appears to be some sort of shrine. A moment later the woman returns with several other technicians, one of whom is a man wearing horn-rimmed glasses and carrying a clipboard. You start to explain that you know about the toothpaste, but they are unwilling or unable to listen to you.
“There is no toothpaste!” the clipboard guy shouts, as much to the heavens as to you. “The Voice is mighty and commands all! Lionel! Prepare the sandwiches!”
“Don’t touch me!” Lionel yells back from the other room. “I can’t feel my skin!”
Things seem to have deteriorated rapidly on the sixth floor. The clipboard guy spouts some more gibberish of a vaguely threatening nature, but you’ve been fighting zombies all day, so a handful of geeks in lab coats doesn’t seem terribly intimidating at this point. You search for a computer that might contain some relevant information, but the offices nearby are in shambles. All the computers seem to be unplugged and stacked up in the main hallway, built into a rudimentary fort.
Candice walks toward the speaker phone shrine. “Maybe the office intercom system is still working,” she says, reaching for the handset.
“No!” Clipboard Guy screams. “Do not disturb the Voice! Its wrath is infinite! It will kill us all! Stop them!”
A few more lab-coated crazies rush into the room. What are they going to do, science you to death? They’re followed by several more, then about a dozen, and then a whole slew. You notice that a couple of them are carrying long pikes with the
impaled heads of their enemies
, and realize with a shock that you’ve made a horrible mistake. The scientists wash over you, beating you to death with keyboards, flat screen monitors, the aforementioned head-pikes, and their bare hands.
You did not see that coming.
THE END
166
It’s possible that this horrific nightmare is not bringing out the best in you. You feel guilty, but step on the accelerator and keep driving. If these are the end times, then it’s every man, woman, and stuffed bunny for him- or herself. Directly in front of you is more zombie insanity, so you hang a right, hoping to find an easier route. Just as you peel around the corner, a woman steps in front of your car, holding out one hand like a traffic cop. You screech to a halt, and before you know it, she’s opening the driver’s side door.
“I’m a police officer,” she says, “and I’m commandeering this vehicle.” You start to protest, but she grabs you by the collar and pulls you unceremoniously out of your seat, dumping you on the pavement, where you smack your left knee hard on the curb. You roll over and open your eyes, watching the woman drive off in your car.
What the hell just happened?
You stumble to your feet, but your knee goes out and you collapse in pain. Yowtch! You think it’s broken. To make matters worse, up walks the young couple from the previous block whom you abandoned to meet whatever fate awaited them.
That fate, apparently, was to be bitten, die, and rise from the dead as flesh-hungry zombies in the two minutes it took you to lose your car and bust your leg. You desperately try to crawl away, but it’s too late.
Karma’s a bitch.
THE END
167
Well, fortune favors the bold, they say. Hopefully also the stupid. You grab a baseball bat, a rollerblading helmet, and a full set of football pads and get ready to make the plunge. Daryl is decked out in an umpire’s uniform and is wielding what appears to be a kayak paddle with a hunting knife duct-taped to it. There are no other volunteers.
You light one last Pall Mall and toss the rest of the pack to the woman in the pink track suit. You have a hunch she’ll be needing them more than you will.
“Lock up behind us!” you bark as you throw open the door, immediately bashing in the head of the zombie that was pressed up against it. Daryl follows right behind, screaming like a banshee. The first few zombies fall to your well-placed blows, but now you have the crowd’s full attention. They swarm around you, making it difficult to swing your bat properly, and you feel clammy hands grabbing at you all over. This isn’t working! “Retreat!” you yell. “Back to the store!”
“No!” Daryl shouts back. “The queen! That’s her! Look!”
You can’t see where Daryl’s pointing, but you glance over your shoulder and the wall of zombies behind you now seems as impenetrable as the one in front. Should you turn around? Or could there be something to Daryl’s harebrained theory after all?
If you attempt to retreat to the relative safety of the store,
turn to page 58.
If you follow Daryl’s lead and press on to the theoretical zombie queen,
turn to page 177.
168
If you’ve learned one thing over the past months, it’s that the soulless, drooling creature in front of you is not Phillip. You won’t let your grief twist you into a mockery of the stuffed rabbit you once were. First you decapitate your former assistant and give his remains a proper burial. After that, you set about leveling the place you’ve come to call home.
