Zombocalypse Now Page 6

  63

  “First things first,” you say to the crowd. “Let’s get a few blocks from here before somebody gets bitten.” You pause for a moment. “Actually, before that: Does anybody have a smoke?”

  You had every intention of remaining a non-smoker when you got out of bed this morning, but with things being all apocalyptic and whatnot, the last thing you need is the jitters. A middle-aged housewife in a pink track suit has a pack of Pall Mall unfiltereds, which you commandeer for the greater good. Then you corral the group to a nearby parking lot that seems zombie-free. For now, at least.

  “All we have to do is find the queen,” Daryl insists as you finish checking behind cars for hidden threats. “Then all the drone zombies will turn back to normal. I totally saw this in a movie once.”

  Hmm. That doesn’t sound right. In any event, the sun will be setting soon and what you need is a good place to hole up for the night. It turns out Daryl works at a sporting goods store, which would offer security and plenty of makeshift weapons. A retired hippie named Isabelle, on the other hand, proposes the local farmer’s market. She seems to believe that, despite not having any background in herbal medicine or the vaguest grasp of zombie metabolism, she might be able to whip up an all-natural remedy for the “poor, stinky, moaning people.”

  If you lead the group to the farmers’ market on the off chance that Isabelle isn’t completely insane, turn to page 163.

  If you think holing up in Daryl’s sporting goods store sounds like a better plan, turn to page 68.

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  64

  All the organic supplements in the world aren’t going to save you from zombies if you’re collapsed on the floor puking your guts out. And another sniff of Isabelle’s concoction convinces you that attempting to eat it can’t possibly end any other way.

  “Have you looked out there?” Daryl says, entering the room. He looks as if he’s been up all night but is strangely chipper. “They’re everywhere.” You peer out the window, and, sure enough, the zombies are piled up outside. You recognize the pink sun hat from last night, which means that the original group has been waiting patiently for you since sundown. And apparently they’ve called all their friends. “This is it,” Daryl says. “Our final stand. Tonight we dine in hell!”

  You take a glance back at Isabelle, who is trying to get a spoonful of stew near her mouth without gagging. Better than dining here, you think. Still, you have other plans. “Let’s get up to the roof,” you say. “We might be able get across to the next building.”

  Daryl has been up all night trying to make explosives from organic fertilizer and begs you to reconsider his “blaze of glory” plan. “Seriously, dude,” he says. “We could blow them all to smithereens!” Once on the roof, however, you discover that the neighboring building is built adjacent to this one, and break the news to Daryl that he’ll live to explode things another day. You get the group across and then down the fire escape on the far side. Once on the street, you organize a forced march away from the town center. It takes you until mid afternoon, but you eventually herd the group to the edge of town, moving slowly and carefully to avoid any zombie deathtraps along the way.

  You remember camping in the woods with your family when you were a child and figure that the farther away from civilization you can get at this point, the better. As a matter of fact, you recall a lush valley with a stream and plenty of wildlife. Your group could probably live off the land for quite a while if you absolutely had to.

  The group, of course, is appalled at the idea of sleeping outside, even in nice weather. Thinking it over, you also remember a ranger station part way up the mountain that might be a little cramped for the whole group. It would certainly have more amenities, though.

  If you lead the group up the mountain toward the ranger station, turn to page 107.

  Then again, if there’s no running water at the station, you’re screwed. If you go with your original plan and head for the valley, turn to page 268.

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  66

  You crash for the night, figuring that tomorrow is another zombie-fighting, survivor-rescuing day. It turns out that the astroturf of the soccer stadium isn’t quite as comfortable when you’re not actually unconscious from loss of blood, and you sleep fitfully. Morning eventually comes, only to reveal a second flaw in Daryl’s disaster shelter plan.

  There isn’t any food in this place.

  A small subset of the people you rescued last night has recovered three bags of frozen french fries and some undiluted cola syrup from a concession stand, and is refusing to share their bounty with the rest of the group. Tempers are rising, and it looks like things are going to get ugly. Seriously, there are like fourteen people in the entire sports arena—if they’re turning on each other already, it doesn’t bode terribly well for humanity as a whole.

  You look for Daryl, but find him conspiring with a retired couple and a fourteen-year-old girl to overpower the french-fry hoarders and claim the precious foodstuffs for themselves.

  If you attempt to defuse things and convince the small crowd that pulling together is your only hope for collective survival, turn to page 74.

  Screw that noise—it’s clearly every man for himself now. If you decide you’d better join Daryl’s crew and GET CONTROL OF THOSE FRIES, turn to page 251.

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  67

  Three drinks generally leave you seconds away from picking a fight with a nun, so attacking the undead monstrosities is almost obligatory. You’re on top of the first one in a heartbeat, pummeling it in the face until it hits the floor. Ow! You forgot how much face-punching hurts your hand. Fortunately, the spaghetti house has solid, heavy furniture. You grab a chair and use it to batter the second and third zombies. It shatters after a few hits, but the remaining lumber is that much easier to wield, and you keep whaling on them until all the zombies are lifeless, bloody heaps.

  As the adrenaline leaves your bloodstream, you become slightly horrified by what you’ve done. What if those had been nuns? Also, your hand is hurting more and more. You glance down at it and realize with a shock that half of your right thumb is missing.

  One of those zombie bastards bit it off.

  Your first instinct involves blind hysteria and amputating the rest of your thumb before the infection can spread. Then you calm down a smidge, thinking that if you bandage it up as well as you can, you might be okay. The important thing is not to die. You can’t return to life as the undead if you don’t die, right?

  If you decide to freak the hell out and sprint to the kitchen for a cleaver, turn to page 186.

  If you suspect that self-surgery with kitchenware after three cocktails can only make this situation worse and just try to bandage up your thumb, turn to page 234.

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  68

  A nice aluminum baseball bat would come in handy about now, so the sporting goods store it is. The only trick is getting there.

  It turns out that Isabelle and a few others wandered off a city bus when zombies blocked the street in front of it, and the driver came along with them. It should still be parked a few blocks away. Perfect! As you start explaining your plan to the group, however, you hear the plinking sounds of “Pop Goes the Weasel” played through a loudspeaker.

  Is that the ice cream man?

  Sure enough, several members of the genius patrol are crowding around a big white truck, shouldering past each other in an effort to procure frozen treats. They don’t seem to notice that the guy behind the wheel is glaring at them with the vacant, ravenous eyes of the damned, or that his face is covered in something that isn’t cherry syrup.

  “Zombie!” you yell, charging the truck and starting to pull people away. Alas, you’re too late to save them all. One portly gentleman, unable to choose between Spongebob and Spider-man from the pictures on the side of the vehicle, is tackled by the driver and devoured with impressive speed. Operating a zombie ice cream truck apparently builds quite an appetite.

  “Stab
it in the heart!” Daryl screams, swinging his nunchucks wildly at the zombie (although, honestly, you can’t imagine a less effective weapon for fighting the undead. Throwing stars, maybe). Fortunately, in his haste to consume flesh, the zombie has thoughtlessly left his ice cream truck running. You jump behind the wheel and throw the gear shift into reverse. Daryl leaps out of the way as you back over the zombie attacker and his now-lifeless victim, grinding both into a pulpy mess.

  “Who screams for ice cream now, bitch?” you say. Meh. Still not great. “Okay, let’s get to that bus. Which one of you is the driver?”

  “Dude, you just ran him over!” Daryl enthuses. “That was awesome. We should so trick out this truck with armor and wooden spikes and stuff. And a machine gun turret!” You don’t think you have time for any of that, but Daryl does have a point—the truck will be more maneuverable than a city bus, especially without a trained bus driver. You could drive ahead of the bus and shepherd the group to the sporting goods store. Then again, leaving this bunch on their own could be a recipe for disaster, even if their only job is to follow behind you.

  If you drive lead with the ice cream truck and let the others follow in the bus, turn to page 26.

  If you think you’d better stay on the bus to make sure the group doesn’t wind up in a ditch somewhere, letting Daryl drive lead in the truck, turn to page 169.

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  70

  You look around the cramped coffee shack for something to use as a weapon. “For all we know, it’s the only tube we’ll ever find,” you say. “We need it. And I’m going to get it.”

  Your mind’s made up, and Ernie and Candice realize that they can’t talk you out of it. But they’re not about to let you go alone. “I’ve been drinking Americanos continuously for six straight hours,” your aunt says. “Let’s do this.”

  You arm yourself with a mop handle, and Ernie finds a big frying pan. Candice takes a coffee pot in each hand—stick with what you know, I guess—and the three of you climb off the floor and begin striding purposely toward your car. “Now!” you yell as you smack the first zombie with your stick, knocking it to the side. You swat away two more and then toss the mop handle to Candice as you dive for the car door. You manage to get it open and climb inside, but zombie limbs prevent the door from closing again. You fumble through the glove compartment and locate the toothpaste, still in its box.

  Two zombies block the door, with Candice beating on them to no avail. Three more are trying to force their way into the passenger side. You’re trapped!

  If you open the toothpaste and squirt it at the zombies to distract them, turn to page 15.

  If you jam your key in the ignition and step on the gas, turn to page 130.

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  71

  “Which of you is the better driver?” you ask.

  “Um, I don’t actually have my license,” Prudence says.

  You toss Billy the keys, climb in the back seat and hang the top half of your body out the window. You’ll say this for the kid: He turns out to be an aggressive driver. He doesn’t hesitate to run right over the stray zombie, and you do your best to keep the path clear by gunning down the larger groups. Billy’s gun is loaded with buckshot, and although it’s tricky to reload on the fly, it sure does make killing zombies a pleasure. Rather than having to aim with a single bullet, you just blast away huge chunks of whatever you point at.

  It also means you can’t hear a word of what the two are saying inside the car, which is fine with you, since they appear to be arguing the entire time. You eventually make it past the sea of living dead and stop to trade places with Billy once you get near the highway. “Okay, which way now?” you ask.

  “North,” Prudence says.

  “No, south!” Billy insists. “Pru, I told you! My dad’s bunker is the only safe place!”

  “Billy, I don’t like you that way.”

  Suddenly Billy is brandishing the shotgun. Uh-oh. Maybe you should have held onto that. “Get out of the car!” he shrieks. “We’re settling this now!” She does, and he leaps out behind her. “You too, rabbit,” he seethes.

  If you do as instructed and calmly try to defuse the situation before it gets out of hand, turn to page 77.

  These kids are nuts. And, quite frankly, they’re not your problem. The motor is already running—if you step on the gas and bail on them, turn to page 201.

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  72

  You’re not sure what it takes to convert fertilizer into TNT, but the likelihood that Daryl did it last night in an abandoned apartment building with no running water seems slim. “Come on, let’s get into the valley, and then we’ll figure out what to do next,” you say.

  Once through the pass, you’re surprised to see a large group already there. And, even more shocking, your friend Ernie is in the crowd. “I can’t believe you found the valley!” he says, thrilled to see you. “And just in time. We’ve finished sealing off every possible exit! Once we close the mountain pass, we’ll be safe from the zombies for good.”

  The pass, though, is already wall-to-wall with staggering, groaning abominations. Although the valley is large, they just keep coming. Somehow you’ve managed to doom not only your own group, but your old friend Ernie and several dozen new people who are now desperately fleeing the zombie army that you lead into their valley paradise. Running is no use, however. There’s nowhere to hide, and the horde quickly devours humanity’s last, best hope for survival.

  Nice work.

  THE END

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  73

  You deliver a sudden kick to one of the guards, attempting to knock his weapon away. “Ow,” he says as his hand gets kind of pushed a little bit to the side. He doesn’t drop the gun, though. “Really?”

  You punch the other guard and take off down the hall. “Really?” the first guard says again. Apparently they’re either considerably startled by your bravado or have deemed you not worth expending ammunition on, because the expected gunshots never come. You make it back out to the fence, only to discover a group of zombies surrounding your car.

  They seem far more interested in it than you. In another piece of luck, soldiers run up with flamethrowers and torch the undead loiterers. This doesn’t seem to bother them much, but it does get their attention, and the flaming zombies chase the soldiers back toward the base and away from your vehicle. You jump in it and step on the gas.

  Ernie is delighted to see you, and you debrief him on the military situation. Your friend is now convinced that the zombies are supernatural in origin. “I’ve been doing more research,” he says, “and I’m almost positive that it either traces back to this voodoo guy who hangs out at the psychic bookstore, or a little girl who buried her dead dog in an ancient Indian burial ground.”

  “Fine,” you say. “But this time you’re coming with me.”

  If you decide to look into the girl with the dog, turn to page 227.

  If you think the voodoo thing will turn up more answers, turn to page 191.

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  74

  Can’t we all just get along? “Everyone calm down,” you say. “We need to formulate a plan so that we all make it through this.”

  “Yeah? And who made you the boss?” someone shouts. “You just want all the french fries for yourself!”

  This is pointless. “We don’t even have any cooking oil,” you say.

  “The stuffed bunny is hoarding all the cooking oil!” someone yells from behind you. You try to make it clear that there is no cooking oil, but Daryl and his crew choose this moment to make their move and leap into action, tackling the group with the frozen french-fry bags. Violence erupts all around you, and you fall to the ground, getting more than a little trampled in the process.

  Really, people? Really? You manage to free yourself from the crowd and head toward the nearest exit. This isn’t worth it, you think. Alas, someone has beaten you to it.

  “If I can’t have the french fries, no one can!” a frenzied, middle-aged w
oman yells, opening the stadium gates and letting a mob of ravenous zombies push their way inside. The bad news is, you’ve now witnessed humanity at its worst. The good news is, you have very little time to ponder the ramifications before being overrun by zombanity at its best.

  Humanity doesn’t stand a chance.

  THE END

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  75

  As much as you want that shower, you’d rather live to bathe another day. As you leave the gym, however, you find that the rest of the city doesn’t seem to be faring much better. Zombies are milling about everywhere, stumbling after terrified pedestrians and devouring anyone they can get their clammy, disgusting hands on. You attempt to keep your distance from any large masses of undead but they seem to be zeroing in on you—soon a dedicated group is trailing, moaning to themselves about brains. You break into a sprint, but another crowd develops in front of you, cutting off your escape. Desperately searching for a way out, you spot an elderly woman sitting in a third story window, staring at you. “Help!” you yell. “Please! Throw down a rope or something!”

  “Oh, I don’t think I have any ropes, dearie,” she says, not seeming to grasp the urgency of the situation. “I have some knitting yarn. Will that help?”

  “Or a weapon to fight these things off with! Anything—just hurry!”

  “Okay, let me see what I have here,” she says sweetly, wandering back into her apartment. After an impossibly long time, just as the zombies are almost on top of you and you’re convinced that she’s been distracted by Diagnosis: Murder or something, you hear her call out to you. “I have a mop,” she says. “And a hammer. It’s kind of heavy, though, sweetheart.”