Zombocalypse Now Read online

  Wow, that got weirdly violent.

  You feel bad about whaling on your friend like that, but he was veering out of control. You take his ammo belt, duffel bag, and keys, figuring you’ll lock everything safely up in the car and then come back for him. When you get to the road, however, you see the hard hat guy standing by your car with four uniformed police men.

  “Drop the bag!” they yell, pulling out their guns. “Put your hands in the air!”

  Drop it? For all you know there’s twenty pounds of explosives in that thing! “Don’t shoot!” you yell back, carefully setting the bag down and raising your arms. As you do, though, something falls from Ernie’s belt and lands on the dirt with a thud. The police look down at it. You look down at it.

  It’s a grenade. Really, Ernie? Obviously, the cops open fire.

  THE END

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  89

  “Okay, let’s do this,” you say. “Billy, hang out the window and gun down anything and everything that gets in our way. Prudence, you sit next to me and keep your eyes peeled for the most zombie-free route.”

  “Actually, why don’t I navigate,” Billy says. “Pru can handle the shotgun.”

  “What?” Prudence says, startled. “Um, I guess I could. I’ve never shot one of those things before, though.”

  “It’s easy,” Billy insists. “You’re the one who keeps saying that your compound has been stockpiling weapons for the end times. You’ll be a natural. And that way, me and the rabbit can talk.”

  Stockpiling weapons? Who are these kids? In any event, you don’t have time for this. Someone needs to drive, someone needs to shoot, and someone needs to navigate.

  If Billy doesn’t want to shoot, you’re not going to force him. If you give the shotgun to Prudence, turn to page 241.

  On the other hand, this isn’t amateur hour. If you tell Billy to buck up and take the weapon, turn to page 113.

  Perhaps shooting at zombies is too important to leave to either of these two. If you have one of them drive and take the gun yourself, turn to page 71.

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  90

  A secret government conspiracy sounds dangerous, but all that other stuff . . . man, that’s just crazy. “Let’s look into the military experiment thing,” you say.

  Ernie agrees. The two of you get to work boarding up windows, since night has fallen and you’re not sure how widespread this zombie invasion is. Ernie then starts sifting through his paper backup copies of what looks like the entire internet, printed for just such an occasion. It’s slow work, and you find yourself nodding off on your friend’s surprisingly comfortable couch.

  Before you know it, morning comes and Ernie wakes you, excited about his new plan. Does this guy ever sleep? Your excitement fails to match his, however, when you hear the details: Your job is to break into the army base fifteen miles outside town. His job, somehow, is to stay home and continue his research, which he insists is at a critical juncture.

  After losing that argument, and dodging a crowd of zombies that have made it to Ernie’s neighborhood and chosen to congregate in his driveway, you’re in your car and driving toward the base, armed with a pair of bolt cutters and a giant monkey wrench. Your meticulous break-in plan, though, proves unnecessary. The base is overrun by zombies! Most of the undead are in army green and all torn up from multiple gun wounds, and a few pockets of disorganized soldiers seem to be scattered here and there, fighting them off.

  If you try to help the soldiers fight off the zombie droves, turn to page 114.

  If you use the ruckus as a convenient distraction to sneak in and find out what’s going on here, turn to page 171.

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  91

  Feral cats have been multiplying in the area like vermin, so there’s a ready supply. You also take a few short trips out to lure roaming zombies into your new, expanded testing facility. You learn quite a bit about the habits of the walking dead, but constant exposure is starting to take a toll on your sanity. Fortunately, a 16-year-old refugee named Phillip shows up at your doorstep one day, and you take him in. Having an actual human being to talk to is a refreshing change.

  Phillip forms particularly close ties to Smitty and starts acting as your research assistant. There’s a whole long montage where the two of you bond over scientific experiments and lighthearted shenanigans, but we’ll spare you all of that since in the end, Phillip forgets to muzzle one of the new zombie recruits while cleaning out the pens and gets bitten on the ass.

  You desperately try to save him, going so far as to perform a double cheekectomy, but it’s no use. Phillip turns. In your grief, you swear that you will never let this happen again—you’ll burn the facility to the ground! Or wait . . . if you only knew more about the zombification process, perhaps you could have saved him. Maybe you can still save him. And Smitty, and all the rest! That type of research is going to require new test subjects, though.

  Living, human ones.

  At this point you’re one hunchbacked minion away from the full-blown mad scientist thing, anyway. If you go ahead and commit to it, turn to page 274.

  If you try to hang on to the tiniest shred of your sanity and destroy all of your research before things get way out of hand, turn to page 168.

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  92

  A gun would be nice, but the truth is, you don’t know how to shoot one, anyway. And the idea of traversing six zombie-infested city blocks with nothing but your wits isn’t terribly appealing. You hurry down the street to the hardware store and see a crowd of people storming out the front door. “We’re closed!” shouts the last one as he fiddles with his keys for a moment and then, thinking the better of it, jumps in a pickup truck and drives away with tires squealing.

  That can’t be good. You gingerly open the door and steal a glance inside. All seems quiet. You look around for a makeshift weapon, but nothing immediately presents itself. A plunger? That’s no good. There’s a lot of duct tape; you could try to fashion something. No, that’s ridiculous. You grab an oversized hammer from a rack of tools, but you’re certain you can do better than that.

  Then, right in the middle of aisle two, you see it. The undead corpse of a solidly-built woman in overalls is hunched over a more traditional still-dead corpse, stuffing organs into her mouth. The zombie spots you and stumbles to its feet, apparently hungering for a fresher kill.

  You run, casting about frantically for something to defend yourself with. Bolt cutters! No, that’s not practical. A caulking gun? How does that even make sense? You could hit it over the head with that toilet seat! Now you’re just panicking, you think. Calm down. Hey, power tools. That sounds promising. What about that circular saw! No, you need something cordless. A power drill? Hmm, maybe in a specific situation, but it’s not very all-purpose. Then, displayed at the end of the aisle and gleaming like a gift from the heavens, you see the answer to your prayers.

  A chainsaw. Now we’re talking.

  You grab the saw from the display and turn to face the zombie following close behind you. “Sorry, sweetheart,” you say as you pull the starter cord. “You don’t make the cut.”

  Nothing happens. Not a sputter. Of course they don’t keep display model chainsaws filled with gasoline! The zombie is almost upon you, so you fall back on plan B, snatch your hammer up from the floor where you dropped it, and smack the thing on the head. It stumbles, so you hit it again and knock it to the floor. You keep pounding it in the face until its brains are splattered across the linoleum. It completely ruins your one-liner with the cutting and everything, but at least it gets the job done.

  You’re going to need to stop by a gas station if you want to make use of that chainsaw. On the other hand, surely the National Guard or somebody will be coming to clean up this mess. Maybe you should just barricade yourself in the hardware store and wait it out.

  If you decide to lock yourself in the shop, leaving the whole zombie situation to somebody better prepared to handle it, turn to page 32.

  If
you take matters into your own hands, bring the chainsaw, and try to find a gas station, turn to page 140.

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  94

  The truth is, you feel a whole lot safer doing things Mittens’s way. “Let’s show Clampy Pete there’s a new sheriff in town,” you say.

  Mittens’s first move is to set up shop in her favorite bar, which turns out to be the spaghetti place where you first met. Rather than challenge the captain directly, she decides to simply put an alternative operation in place and try to clean up the town herself. “We’re going to see if we can do this bloodlessly,” she says, although a couple of her new deputies look somewhat disappointed. Still, they spread the word, and within a few days about half of the city’s cops have abandoned the force and joined up with Mittens’s posse. In the week that follows, you’re pleased with the amount of progress you make toward eliminating the zombie menace. Not reading the undead their rights before shooting them, alone, saves quite a bit of time.

  Alas, your luck doesn’t hold. As Mittens is giving assignments one evening, plotting the massive full frontal assault on Cardinal D’Amato’s church that you’ve been gearing up for, you hear the sound of a bullhorn coming from outside.

  It’s Clampy Pete. “We have you surrounded!” he barks. “I won’t put up with this vigilante crap in my town!” You rush to the window, and sure enough, camped out in the Bed, Bath & Beyond across the street is a group of uniformed officers at least as big as your own. The ex-cops around you all draw their weapons, and you follow suit, busting through the glass with your gun’s muzzle to get a clear shot. “You’re all suspended!” Clampy Pete yells.

  “Don’t fire until I give the order,” Mittens growls to a general muttering among her troops. “See that guy on the left?” she whispers to you. “That’s Broflosky. Keep an eye on him—if anybody here is going to shoot first in the name of proper police procedure, he will.”

  “Dammit, Captain, listen to yourself!” she yells across the street. “And look at the streets around you! What we’re doing is working. Desperate times call for desperate measures, and there’s nothing in the procedures manual that covers zombie invasion! Just this once, it has to be about doing what it takes, and not about doing things by the book.”

  Silence falls, and the moment seems to stretch out forever. You squint and see Broflosky reach into his coat, never taking his eyes off Mittens. If he’s going to shoot her, you have a split second to fire first and save her life! But she said to wait for the order . . . if you fire your weapon, everyone else might shoot, too! What do you do? There’s no time to decide!

  If you open fire at the officer before he can shoot your friend, turn to page 278.

  If you hesitate and wait for Mittens’s command before doing anything rash, turn to page 258.

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  96

  You suspect that you’re not thinking clearly, so elect not to make any rash decisions. You finish your cereal and craft a makeshift pillow from a couple of rolls of toilet paper. The day’s constant stress and occasional bouts of exercise have left you more tired than you knew, and soon you manage to nod off.

  You’re awakened by scratching and moaning sounds, which in a zombie-infested supermarket is almost never a good sign. They must be right outside the door, and they’re trying to get in. Either they finally figured out there was food in there (and you’re not talking about Cocoa Krispies, either) or they just need to use the can, but the door is shaking and the hinges are creaking, and you realize that it can’t possibly hold much longer.

  You switch the light on just as the door gives way, bursting from the weight of lord knows how many undead monstrosities. Your eyes fall upon the empty cereal box on the bathroom floor, and the look on those tiny elfin faces tells you everything you need to know.

  Damn you, Crackle! Daaaaaamn yooooooou!

  THE END

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  97

  No good can possibly come of this, so you strike out on your own. You’re a renegade, you decide. A lone wolf. That’s your new mantra: what would a lone wolf do? Not get itself killed by hanging around with that bunch, that’s for sure.

  The streets, by now, are a huge, frothing zombie mess. But your keen lone wolf instincts lead you away from the crowds and to a secluded, abandoned manor on the outskirts of town. Whoever lived here must have left the instant trouble started, and you make the empty, well-stocked mansion your new home. After a few days of isolation, though, you’re bored out of your mind. There’s no phone, television, or internet, and lone wolf or not, you start to go stir crazy. You’re contemplating heading back into town to see how the whole zombie apocalypse is coming along when you hear a scratching noise coming from out front.

  The undead remains of a zombie mailman are at your door, trying to get up the stairs and onto the porch. He’s missing a fair chunk out of his left leg, however, and can’t seem to climb more than about two steps without slipping and tumbling back down. From your safe spot on the porch, the thing doesn’t seem terribly dangerous. If you’re careful, this might be an opportunity to observe one of these things close up.

  If you use scientific research as an excuse to fight off boredom by playing with your new zombie friend, turn to page 143.

  If you suspect that this whole idea might be signaling the early stages of dementia and think you’d better just put Zombie Postman out of his misery, turn to page 210.

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  98

  You feel terrible about it, but you’re seconds away from collapsing yourself, and you know in your heart that going back for the baby would be a fool’s errand. The woman collapses in grief in the back of the ice cream truck, and Daryl agrees to stay and watch over her while you join the others inside the stadium for some much needed rest.

  Moments later you hear the truck start up—apparently she’s convinced Daryl to head back to the zoo after all. Well, perhaps that’s for the best. Assuming they both survive, the poor girl can at least get some closure.

  Speaking of which, as the heavy arena gates close behind you, you realize that something inside is terribly wrong. The scene before you is complete chaos, with people screaming and running around, almost as if you’re in a country where people actually care about soccer and the wrong team is winning. It may sound crazy, but could this be one of those soccer riots you’ve always heard about?

  Then you realize what’s happened. In your haste to rescue as many people as you could, you must have brought someone back who was already infected, and now the zombies are inside the stadium. In your deteriorated state, you’re in no shape to fight your way out.

  You get eaten by a mob of zombie soccer hooligans.

  THE END

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  99

  You slowly regain consciousness, feeling something hard and flat pressing against your face. Yup, that’s the kitchen floor. Moaning, you unscrunch your eyes. You know that feeling when you’re unsure of your surroundings, and then slowly the previous night’s misadventures start creeping back to you? Well, it’s like a hundred million times worse when the previous night includes a zombie apocalypse.

  Wait, can that be right? Whose kitchen is this, anyway? The swinging doors are barricaded with appliances. You sort of remember doing that. You get off the floor and crack open the door to the alley. A half dozen moaning, decomposing dead people are waiting there, staring you right in the face. You slam the door and lock it again. Yow! How are you going to get out of this one? And what’s that smell? Something in the kitchen reeks.

  Brains, you think. Sure enough, several portions of sweetbread have been sitting out all night, uncooked. You grab them (somehow choking down the considerable gag reflex), open the back door, huck them over the zombies’ heads, and break into a run.

  Whoops—it looks like they’re ignoring your diversion completely. Quick! Do you keep running and hope to make it past them or try to dive back into the kitchen while you still have the chance?

  If you give up on the whole escaping
idea and retreat to the shelter of the restaurant, turn to page 22.

  Then again, if you quit now you might never escape. If you push on, turn to page 189.

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  100

  “Sure,” you say. It takes her what seems like hours to compose a letter, and since she’s out of stamps, she offers to pay you with pie instead, which works out better for both of you (mmm, pie). You put your junk mail delivery plan on hold and go fetch your zombie burying shovel, hoping it will be better suited for decapitating than that long-handled broom was.

  When you find the first roving corpse about a mile toward the city, you’re ready for it. The zombie goes down with a single well-placed shovel to the neck. To be honest, it’s badass. Unfortunately, they keep multiplying as you get closer to town. Trying to fight them all would be a suicide mission, so you switch to a strategy that involves a lot of running, and try to make it to the campus without being overwhelmed. Once there, you discover that it’s overrun with undead college students. A zombie in a tweed jacket who looks like he was probably faculty lunges at you, and when you smack him with your shovel he grabs it by the end and won’t let go.

  By the time you wrest your weapon from the thing’s grasp, you’re surrounded. You dispatch Professor Stinky, but two more file in right behind him. No! Don’t let it end like this!