Zombocalypse Now (9 page)
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.
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 woman 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
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.”
The mop definitely has more reach. If you think it would make a better weapon,
turn to page 175.
On the other hand, the hammer might actually do more damage. If you ask her to drop that,
turn to page 254.
76
“I’m sure it won’t come to that,” you say, trying to sound more confident than you actually are. Anyway, it was self-defense, right? Before Mittens can protest, the door is thrown open and two officers enter the room. Her eyes light up. “Vinny! Carlito!” she says, jubilant. “You have no idea how good it is to see you guys!”
After brief introductions the cops get down to talking shop. “Clampy Pete is worse than ever,” Carlito says. “There’s rumor of a bunch of zombie activity at this big church outside town, but I think Cardinal D’Amato has something on him, because the chief won’t let us go near it.”
Wait a minute. “Clampy Pete?” you ask. “Stuffed crab? Gruff exterior?”
“That’s the captain, all right,” Vinny says. You and Clampy Pete have a long history, and not much of it is good. You’re surprised to hear that he’s running a municipal police department these days. From the sound of things, though, he might not be for very long. The officers tell Mittens that much of the force is ready to rebel against Pete’s by-the-book response to the zombie invasion, and if she’s willing to stand up and challenge his authority, they could put together a full-scale mutiny.
“Police Chief Mittens,” she says, tapping her chin with a finger. “I like the sound of that.” She offers you a spot on her new renegade police force if you want to come along for the ride.
If you join Mittens and the other cops in their attempted takeover of Clampy Pete’s precinct,
turn to page 94.
If you want no part of a police mutiny and politely decline,
turn to page 97.
77
You turn the engine off and slowly step onto the road. As tempting as it may be, you can’t leave these two here to die. “Just calm down, Billy,” you say as gently as possible. “Why don’t you give me that shotgun?”
“You know what?” Billy says, somehow becoming even more agitated. “I think this is all your fault. With your big ears and your fancy Toyota Celica. I think you’re confusing her.”
Over his shoulder, you see a large group of zombies coming up the street. You need to end this quickly.
“Billy,” Prudence says softly.
“THIS is what I think of your Celica!” he shouts, blasting away at the front hood. Ouch. You wish he hadn’t done that.
Prudence tries again. “Billy, there’s zombies.”
“I know there’s zombies!” Billy screams. Clearly he doesn’t, because they’re approaching very quickly now. “You think those zombies can love you as much as I do?” He reloads and fires again, taking out two of the tires for good measure.
“Billy, they’re right behind you,” you say, grabbing him and turning his head forcibly as he fumbles for another round.
“Oh,” he says lamely. “Okay, now I’m out of buckshot.”
It’s too late to run as the zombies pin you down and immediately start chewing. They manage to devour you whole before the infection sets in, but both Billy and Prudence turn before the crowd can finish with them. The two stumble off together with their new peers, worry free, content to be two undead companions eternally in search of their next meal.
Ah, young love.
THE END
78
“Just let me check things out,” you say. “If it’s really that bad in there, we’ll go with your plan. But don’t go blowing anything up until I get back!”
You find the door to the main building unlocked, and the place seems to be abandoned. Could Clarence have made up his whole story about the zombies? You look for a room labeled “fluoride conspiracy” or “zombification area” or something. Needless to say, you don’t find it, and within minutes you’re hopelessly lost.
Eventually, you stumble upon the main water processing machinery. It’s behind heavy, locked doors with little porthole windows, and from what you can tell there’s nobody in there, dead or alive. That’s a relief—at least there aren’t a bunch of zombies dripping goo into the water supply. That’s a lot of running water, though . . . now you have to pee. You wander back out into the hallways and are lucky enough to find a bathroom.
Upon opening the door, though, you immediately realize that your luck has run out. Half a dozen zombies are crowded inside, huddled around a picked-clean corpse. You turn to run, but slip on something sticky that you don’t even want to recognize. The things are all over you in a heartbeat, and all you can do is pick up a stray clipboard, proving once and for all that it can’t be used as a weapon.
You feel your humanity slip away from you as the zombie infection takes over. Fortunately, you don’t have to suffer the hellish torment of the living dead for long, because in about twenty minutes the whole building explodes.
THE END
79
“Get the salt, Ernie!” you shout. “We’ve got a live one!” Technical accuracy of that statement aside, your challenge now is to perform the ritual without getting chewed on. “Khenan, get its arms!” you bark. He grabs the zombie from behind and manages to immobilize it. “Okay, I’m going to pry its jaw open—get ready with the salt and the needle!” The zombie’s mouth is slick with gore, making it difficult to get much purchase. Also, it’s squirming like mad. “Hold it tighter!”
“Oh my God, I remember why this seems familiar,” Ernie mutters, taking a step back.
What’s he talking about? There’s no time for that now! “I saw it on TV,” he continues. “When I was a kid. This is from
Kolchak the Night Stalker
.”
Your hand slips and jabs the zombie right in the teeth, breaking the skin. Crap! “I’m not really Haitian!” Khenan cries. “Or Jamaican! I’m from Ottawa, and my name is Steve! I don’t want to die!”
He lets go of the zombie’s arms, and suddenly the thing is grabbing your head and biting down hard. You manage to shove it away and free yourself, but already the room is fading to black. You pass out for a moment, and then awake with no emotion, no sense of self, and no desire except an all-consuming one for the delicious taste of human brains.
The first thing you see is Ernie and Khenan standing over you with a bag of salt and a bunch of candles. “Screw it,” Khenan says, dropping the salt and hitting you over the head with the aromatherapy book.
Everything fades back to black.
THE END
80
You glance down the street and see a handful of zombies wandering directly toward your car (naturally—where else would they be heading?). If you’re going to do this thing, it has to be now. You screw up your courage and sprint toward the driver’s side door, push a zombie that’s blocking your way to the ground, jam your key in the lock, and leap inside. Smooth! You’ve got the car locked and the motor started by the time the creatures even know you’re there.
Once they catch sight of you, however, they swarm. Left with no alternative, you step on the gas, even though the zombies splayed across your windshield have reduced visibility to zero. You accelerate and swerve back and forth in an attempt to shake them off, but smack into some unseen obstacle, which sends you veering toward the sidewalk and into a telephone poll. Seatbelt safety was not priority one, and your head smacks against the windshield.
Even worse: your drivers’ side window has shattered in the wreck. The zombies that were thrown from your hood upon impact immediately peel themselves off the street and drag themselves toward you. Desperate, you rummage through the glove compartment for something to use as a weapon, but all you find are oil change receipts and the promotional tube of toothpaste that your aunt sent you. One zombie is at your window now, so you pop the top and squirt toothpaste right in its eyes. You’re not sure what you hope to accomplish by this, but you’re bleeding profusely from a gash in your forehead, so your thinking might not be one hundred percent clear.
The zombie grasps at its face and starts to shudder, then wipes the toothpaste messily with its hands and crams as much of it as it can manage into its maw. You squirt another stream out onto the pavement, and the zombie dives for it, frantically licking it off the street. So you throw the rest of the tube out the window, and the remaining zombies turn and hurry toward it, ignoring you and the car.
These things love them some toothpaste. Huh.
You climb out of the car and flee the zombie toothpaste orgy, but you’re lightheaded from the blood loss and can’t move too quickly. Down the street you pass a flock of people running madly out of a corner grocery store.
And you can guess what they’re running from.
If you risk going into the market to stock up on more zombie-distracting toothpaste,
turn to page 133.
If you’re concerned that you might pass out soon, and try to get help from some of the fleeing store patrons,
turn to page 211.
82
You can’t bring yourself to give the order. You’re not sure what an actual military commander would do in this situation, but if it’s round up all the survivors and throw them into a concentration camp, then you’re not fit for command.
