Zombocalypse Now Read online

  An evil laugh comes from the creature, and you begin to regret your decision. Ernie makes a little whimpering noise. “You have done well,” the zombie says in a booming voice that cuts to your bones. It reaches out and brushes its hand against an oak tree, which instantly rots through and starts moving unnaturally, dripping ooze as it sways. There is no breeze.

  “Now bow down before the Zombie Lord.”

  What evil have you wrought? If you charge at the Zombie Lord and desperately try to beat it back to death with your monkey wrench, turn to page 144.

  Are you kidding? That thing made a zombie out of a friggin’ tree. If you obediently bow before your new master and hope he decides not to kill you, turn to page 255.

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  39

  You dismantle your makeshift barricade and crack the door open a hair for the tiniest peek outside. The room is dark, so you smell them before you can see them—the stench that was a dull reek in the kitchen stings your nostrils the moment you sniff the air coming from the other room. You open the doors just another smidge and gasp.

  Zombies are packed in shoulder to shoulder like undead sardines. Your surprise alerts their dull, pickled brains to your presence, and soon they’re pushing through the swinging doors like Play-Doh being squeezed though a Fun Factory.

  You’re not so much killed as utterly devoured. In minutes, there’s no trace of you to be found outside of some happy zombie bellies.

  THE END

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  40

  As you drive away, the figure on your trunk falls and hits the curb with a crack. Yowtch. If you’re wrong about this whole zombie thing, you may have just killed a guy. You look back through your rear view mirror, however, and see him stand up on twisted legs and immediately attack the driver of a passing ice cream truck. That makes you feel . . . ew. Mixed. At best.

  Ernie lives on the far side of town, but with some creative driving that involves more than a little reliance on sidewalks, you manage to clear the heart of the zombie infestation. When you finally get to his house, you’re startled by your friend’s appearance. He already looks like he hasn’t slept in days.

  “Zombies,” Ernie says carefully after you explain what’s going on. “Okay. That makes sense.” He rushes to his window and peeks through the blinds. “Are they crawling out of graves or being helicoptered in? Did anybody see you come here?”

  “I don’t think so,” you say, not sure which question to answer first. “It looked like they were making more zombies by biting regular people. I didn’t see any helicopters. Or a lot of soil or anything.”

  “Okay. Okay.” Ernie is deep in thought. “I have some theories. They could be military. I know for a fact the army has been working on classified experiments on cadavers at an underground facility in the New Mexico desert. Who knows what could come from that?”

  Government experiments. That sounds pretty bad. “What else have you got?” you ask.

  “Well, how much do you know about para-religious suicide cults?” Not a whole lot, you confirm. “Basically, there are forces in the world that defy logical explanation,” Ernie continues. “I’m not prepared to rule out Satan worship or ancient pagan black magic or contact with extra-dimensional beings. If people have tapped into any of these forces, zombie infestations are the kind of thing you might expect.”

  Extra-dimensional pagan devil worship. You feel a little pale. “Anything else?”

  “There is one more theory,” Ernie says. “You’re not going to like it.”

  “What is it?” you ask.

  “You have to promise not to laugh.”

  “Ernie, just tell me.”

  “Fluoride.”

  You laugh. “It’s not fluoride, Ernie.”

  “No, I have a whole file!” your friend insists, grabbing a bunch of papers out of a desk drawer. “They used it to pacify the anti-war population in the sixties! What if it’s been building up or something? Can you get too pacified? Like, zombie pacified? I don’t know. What do you think we should do?”

  If you decide to follow up on the military experiment angle, turn to page 90.

  If you think it all sounds more like ancient dark prophecy stuff, turn to page 153.

  If Ernie really won you over with his carefully-reasoned fluoride argument, turn to page 224.

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  42

  You head south to drop off Billy, and although Prudence tries to explain to him that she wants to return to her own family, it doesn’t seem to get through. Finally when you reach his property, he gets out of the car and you and Prudence simply drive away, leaving him there bewildered.

  “Are you sure you want to leave it like that?” you ask.

  “Oh, it’s okay,” she says. “He doesn’t know where I live.”

  Prudence’s home is much farther, and way off the beaten path—it’s almost dark by the time you reach what turns out to be a small, dusty community of simple folk in well-worn clothing. One woman rushes up to you as soon as you pull up.

  “Thank Heaven!” she says. “Prudence, I thought we’d lost you, too! The Prophet left with most of the menfolk to fight off those things. They never came back. Who will lead us now? What will we do without a Prophet?”

  “You have a Prophet,” Prudence says, remaining completely calm and surprising you as much as anyone. “Look into your heart. You know this to be true.”

  The woman doesn’t seem convinced, but is grateful to you for saving Prudence and offers you a place in the compound. She kind of gives you the willies, though, and you’re not sure how appealing you find the whole cult lifestyle. On the other hand, this might wind up being the safest place you’ll find to weather the zombie storm.

  If you accept the offer, turn to page 271.

  At this point you’re already halfway to the large, metropolitan city to the north, and it may have fared better than your town did. If you decide to head toward the big city instead, turn to page 83.

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  43

  Afraid to fall asleep, you curl up in the corner of Ernie’s kitchen with your back against the refrigerator and your eyes peeled wide. Needless to say, when your friend comes downstairs, you’re not looking your best. “Yow,” Ernie says. “Are you okay?” You assure him that you just had a hard time sleeping.

  “Here, you should eat something,” he continues, opening up a cupboard and grabbing a donut. “Are you hungry?”

  Yeah, hungry for brains.

  “No! No, I ate already,” you say. Everything’s getting foggy, though. Where are you? What are you doing here? You can’t be certain if the confusion is due to the lack of sleep, or if the sickness is starting to take hold. Don’t think like that! Just calm down. Clear your mind. Go to your happy place, and think about the one thing in the world that can make you content.

  Brains.

  Oh, crap. “Ernie . . .” You’re losing it. “We . . . need to talk . . .”

  “Yeah, I know,” he says. “Listen, about yesterday. I’m sorry about all that fluoride stuff. You’re right, we should go find your aunt Candice and see what she can tell us. Or at least make sure she’s okay.”

  “No,” you stutter. Brains. “Need to . . .” Brains. “You . . . go . . .” Brains brains brains. “BRAAAAAAAIIIIINNS,” you finally moan as your thoughts fade away into blackness.

  By the time Ernie figures out what the hell you’re talking about, it’s too late for him, too.

  THE END

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  44

  What’s the worst thing that could happen? To be honest, you’re proud of yourself. Instead of just fighting or fleeing various undead threats, you’re going to do some scientific research, hopefully saving the life of this poor animal, and maybe the rest of the world to boot. You make a comfy little bed for it, grab a few slices of cold pizza from the fridge (you never did eat anything at dinner) and set about learning all that you can from your new friend.

  The first thing you discover is that the little guy is stronger th
an you thought—that overturned laundry basket sure didn’t hold him like you thought it would. The second thing is that he’s way, way faster than you. And the third thing is that when he gets hungry, that kitten doesn’t screw around.

  Zombie victims only become zombies themselves if they escape their attackers with at least some of their brain intact. That’s not the case here. The cat leaps onto your face, chews through your skull and devours the gooey gray matter in about a minute and a half.

  You get eaten by a zombie kitten.

  THE END

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  45

  Actually, the spot where your family used to go camping isn’t too far from here. And better yet, you’re pretty sure there’s a ranger station somewhere in these mountains that you might be able to hole up in.

  It takes you another day, but you find the cabin (right about the time you start worrying that you both might seriously die of thirst). It’s abandoned but well-stocked with food, water, and a rifle. Billy gives you hunting lessons, and you start to settle into a routine.

  After a few weeks, though, Billy is starting to go stir crazy. He decides to head out alone to reunite with Prudence, his lost true love. You’re not terribly sad to see him go, since based on the enthusiasm he displays cleaning game, there’s something not quite right with that kid. His absence leaves you all the more isolated, but the gun training serves you well, particularly later that winter during a close call with a zombie deer.

  You never find out how the rest of the world fares, but no one ever comes to check on the ranger station, so that can’t be a good sign. You live out the rest of your days in solitude. Bitter and alone, perhaps, but hey, you survive.

  Consider it a win.

  THE END

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  46

  Why not? You give it a shake to dislodge as much residual zombie as possible, throw the bag over your shoulder, and head out. It’s been a long time since you’ve tried to locate a specific address without Google Maps, but you decide to give it your best shot. The first house you find has a full mailbox already. If they haven’t even ventured to the curb since the outbreak, you figure it doesn’t bode well for the aliveness of any potential occupants, so you just cram the new mail in with the old and keep walking. At the next house, however, you’re accosted by a middle-aged man in a bathrobe. “Uh, U.S. Mail,” you say, handing him a stack of letters.

  “You came all this way to bring return address labels from PETA? That’s not even how you spell my name,” he grumbles, looking at you like you’re stupid. He may have a point. “And my cable bill? The cable doesn’t even work anymore. I’m not paying this.”

  “I’m not with the cable company, sir . . . ,” you start.

  “Get the hell off of my lawn.”

  You make your way back down the road, feeling a bit foolish. Before you get far, though, a little round woman comes running after you. “Wait!” she says, panting. “Are you really with the post office? Our son lives on campus in the city and we haven’t heard anything from him since all this started. Can you get him a letter?”

  She’s staring at you with big, sad mom-eyes. If you agree to look for her son, turn to page 100.

  If you try to nip this thing in the bud before it turns into some kind of unbearable Kevin Costner drama, turn to page 215.

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  47

  You wanted to get this group of yokels to safety, and you suppose you’ve taken care of that. Daryl seems particularly torn up about your departure, but neither he nor any of the others are interested in leaving their newfound paradise. They’re as happy as pigs in an air-conditioned supermarket stuffed with canned and packaged goods.

  You hit the streets, but now that you’re on your own, you’re kind of at a loss. Zombies are everywhere, and although they don’t move terribly fast, if you’re not careful, they could box you into a corner, especially since you’re not familiar with this part of town. Maybe you should head west, you think, back toward your apartment. It might not be suited for a long-term stay, but at least you can regroup, get a change of clothes, and try to find something to use as a weapon.

  Then your eye is drawn to colorful posters of men and women in skin-tight outfits beating each other up in a nearby store window. A comic book shop! It’s been a while since you’re gotten any new comics—if you can get in, why not stop by and pick some up?

  If you think taking comics from the store basically boils down to looting and head straight home instead, turn to page 17.

  If you’re okay with the looting, and figure that since the world’s going to end you might as well have plenty of reading material, turn to page 132.

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  48

  The truth is, with everything you’ve witnessed over the last 24 hours, you trust Ernie more than a bunch of toothpaste guys who couldn’t figure out that grinding up dead animal brains was a bad idea in the first place. “Stay away!” Gary shouts as Ernie approaches his desk. “You’ll never learn my secrets. My password is like a zen koan beneath a layer of unbreakable encryption!”

  “It’s ‘passw0rd,’ with a zero instead of an O,” Ernie says, fiddling with the keyboard. “That’s like the most commonly used CEO password since the IT guys started making them use numbers and letters combined.” It doesn’t take your friend long to find what he’s looking for. “Look here,” he says, pointing at an undecipherable flow chart on the screen. “When they did the test samples they just added smartening crystals to the already-made toothpaste. But in the manufacturing process, it goes in earlier, before the fluoride,” he pauses, giving Candice a glare, “and before they activate the extreme whitening compound. That’s why they didn’t catch it earlier—the chemicals react differently when combined in a different order.”

  “So how does this help us undo it?” Candice asks.

  “It doesn’t,” Ernie replies. “It’s lethal poison. Those zombies are literally dead before they rise up again, and I don’t think we can do anything about it except kill them more.” Gears in your mind start to turn, however. The paste seems to pacify the undead completely, at least for a while. If you could mass produce it, re-killing them would certainly be a lot easier. Ernie checks inventory levels (the information is accessible, but the plant itself, unfortunately, is located off site), and finds that there should be an ample supply of raw materials there.

  “Once we start production, we could ship it all over the world!” Candice exclaims. You know that guilt over her part in spreading the zombie plague has been eating your aunt alive, and you’re delighted to see a glimmer of hope return to her eyes. “Ernie, I take it all back,” she says. “You’re a genius!”

  Candice insists on rounding up survivors on the way out, and although Gary refuses to budge from his office, you see the speaker phone on his desk that he’s been rambling on about and take it with you. It turns out that the remaining employees have completely lost touch with reality and are worshipping his disembodied voice as a god. They’re pretty far gone, sanitywise, and in retrospect you’re glad that you didn’t count on them for scientific support.

  Using the last of your toothpaste water, you manage to get the crazies out of the building. The question is, what do you do with them now? They aren’t in any shape to take care of themselves, and turning them loose will almost certainly mean leaving them to become zombie food. On the other hand, the manufacturing plant is miles away, and you don’t like the idea of two dozen loose cannons mucking up your last ditch attempt to save humanity.

  If you decide to take the Crogaste employees along, since you can’t bear to tell your aunt that you want to sacrifice what remains of her co-workers for the greater good, turn to page 202.

  If you decide to leave them behind, since the fate of humanity is just too important for you to be messing around with this bunch of nutjobs, turn to page 142.

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  50

  Calm down. Relax. Everything’s going to be okay. Everything’s NOT going to be okay—you’ve go
t zombie guts in your eye! No, no, just stay cool. You manage to navigate the crowd without losing your head, then start pounding on the police station door.

  “Let me in!” you scream. “I’m not a zombie, but I’m disguised as a zombie, and I got zombie in my eye, and I need a shower really, really bad!”

  The door opens and an officer lets you in. You’re saved! Then he handcuffs you (what?), brings you downstairs to the police station basement, and turns a fire hose on you. The force is incredible, and you very nearly drown, but at least it gets you clean. After about five minutes he shuts it off. “You still not a zombie?” he grunts.

  “Glurb,” you whimper.

  “Guess I’ll take you to see the chief, then.” The officer uncuffs you, hauls you back up the stairs, and brings you into a cramped little office. “This one was pounding on the door outside,” he says. “Not sure what the protocol for that is anymore.”

  The police captain, spinning around in his chair, turns out to be a stuffed crab. Wait a minute. You’d recognize those beady little eyes anywhere.

  “Clampy Pete,” you say. “The last time I saw you, you were about to wash out of police academy.” The two of you go way back, and regardless of the way things may have started between you, they got fairly ugly before the end. How did this guy ever wind up running a precinct? You realize that you’re not going to get any help here. “How’s Sarah?” you sneer.

  “None of your damn business,” Clampy Pete retorts. “And the last time I saw you, you were a deadbeat slacker with a smart mouth. I see not much has changed.” He turns to the officer who brought you in. “Protocol is what it’s always been. We take the civilians’ statements and send them on their merry way.”