boxed in by another bunch at the end of the aisle. Suddenly your head is spinning from the exertion, and you remember that you’re still losing blood. Do they sell first-aid kits in this store? Don’t they keep stuff like that in the employee bathroom?
You make a beeline for the commode, and sure enough, you find some basic medical supplies there. You lock yourself in, bandage up as well as you can, and then promptly pass out.
When you eventually awaken, you find that you’ve done a fair job patching yourself up based on the relatively small amount of dried blood on the bathroom floor. You quench your thirst from the tap, but your belly is groaning with hunger, so you unlock the door and look out.
The place is packed thick with the undead. Seriously, it’s like a Pearl Jam concert out there. You grab a box of Cocoa Krispies from an aisle-cap display and scurry back to your bathroom burrow. Eventually you risk another excursion for milk, but the crowd is somehow even thicker. Hours pass. Days? You have no way of knowing. You worry that you’ve started to hallucinate when Pop starts dropping subtle hints that Snap and Crackle are plotting against you.
If you decide that it’s madness to stay in here another minute and make a last-ditch, desperate sprint for the front door, turn to page 256.
If you remain calm, try to get some rest, and figure out what to do in the morning (assuming that damn Crackle doesn’t sell you down the river while you sleep), turn to page 96.
Back
58
You turn around and start busting the heads of zombies between you and the store, hoping to clear away enough to get safely back inside. One of your crew sees you coming, however, and jumps the gun. “No!” you shout as the door swings open. “Keep it shut!” Too late—the horde overwhelms the poor sap at the gate and starts pushing into the shop.
You yell at the group to arm themselves and fight back, but this doesn’t go terribly well, either. Whatever they’re doing in there, they do with a little too much enthusiasm, because soon the whole front window comes crashing down. This lets a much greater number of zombies gain entrance, and also showers you with a hail of broken glass. The legion of undead redoubles its efforts, and you start to falter. This is it, you think.
Suddenly the ice cream truck—now covered in scrap metal and wooden spikes—appears out of nowhere and flattens a swath of living dead. Daryl pulls you on board. “Dude, I think it’s a lost cause in there,” he says, surveying the mad frenzy inside the store. “Should we go in anyway?”
You’ve lost a lot of blood from the broken glass. And you know in your heart that no one is getting out of that retail outlet alive.
If you figure that today is a reasonably good day to die and tell Daryl to drive his homemade tank right into the sporting goods store in one final blaze of glory, turn to page 190.
If you’re sad to lose your group but would rather live to fight another day, turn to page 253.
Back
59
“Say hello to my little gasoline-powered friend,” you sneer. You’ve never actually seen the movie, but you’re pretty sure the line is from Scarface , and you feel like whatever Al Pacino’s character’s name is. You brandish your chainsaw like a coked-out mobster, and the legion of undead around you doesn’t stand a chance.
Eventually you finish carving them up and find yourself lightheaded from the adrenaline. Now the whole “gasoline-powered” bit has you thinking—you’re going to need to refuel this thing if you want to keep up the slaughter. And the idea of heaving around a big slopping tank of gas doesn’t thrill you. What you need are some wheels.
You glance around for something to heist. That’s right, you’re a badass gangster now, so why not? You spot an SUV parked on the corner, but the doors are locked. Also, the dashboard looks like it’s stuck on there pretty good, and to tell the truth, you wouldn’t have any
You make a beeline for the commode, and sure enough, you find some basic medical supplies there. You lock yourself in, bandage up as well as you can, and then promptly pass out.
When you eventually awaken, you find that you’ve done a fair job patching yourself up based on the relatively small amount of dried blood on the bathroom floor. You quench your thirst from the tap, but your belly is groaning with hunger, so you unlock the door and look out.
The place is packed thick with the undead. Seriously, it’s like a Pearl Jam concert out there. You grab a box of Cocoa Krispies from an aisle-cap display and scurry back to your bathroom burrow. Eventually you risk another excursion for milk, but the crowd is somehow even thicker. Hours pass. Days? You have no way of knowing. You worry that you’ve started to hallucinate when Pop starts dropping subtle hints that Snap and Crackle are plotting against you.
If you decide that it’s madness to stay in here another minute and make a last-ditch, desperate sprint for the front door, turn to page 256.
If you remain calm, try to get some rest, and figure out what to do in the morning (assuming that damn Crackle doesn’t sell you down the river while you sleep), turn to page 96.
Back
58
You turn around and start busting the heads of zombies between you and the store, hoping to clear away enough to get safely back inside. One of your crew sees you coming, however, and jumps the gun. “No!” you shout as the door swings open. “Keep it shut!” Too late—the horde overwhelms the poor sap at the gate and starts pushing into the shop.
You yell at the group to arm themselves and fight back, but this doesn’t go terribly well, either. Whatever they’re doing in there, they do with a little too much enthusiasm, because soon the whole front window comes crashing down. This lets a much greater number of zombies gain entrance, and also showers you with a hail of broken glass. The legion of undead redoubles its efforts, and you start to falter. This is it, you think.
Suddenly the ice cream truck—now covered in scrap metal and wooden spikes—appears out of nowhere and flattens a swath of living dead. Daryl pulls you on board. “Dude, I think it’s a lost cause in there,” he says, surveying the mad frenzy inside the store. “Should we go in anyway?”
You’ve lost a lot of blood from the broken glass. And you know in your heart that no one is getting out of that retail outlet alive.
If you figure that today is a reasonably good day to die and tell Daryl to drive his homemade tank right into the sporting goods store in one final blaze of glory, turn to page 190.
If you’re sad to lose your group but would rather live to fight another day, turn to page 253.
Back
59
“Say hello to my little gasoline-powered friend,” you sneer. You’ve never actually seen the movie, but you’re pretty sure the line is from Scarface , and you feel like whatever Al Pacino’s character’s name is. You brandish your chainsaw like a coked-out mobster, and the legion of undead around you doesn’t stand a chance.
Eventually you finish carving them up and find yourself lightheaded from the adrenaline. Now the whole “gasoline-powered” bit has you thinking—you’re going to need to refuel this thing if you want to keep up the slaughter. And the idea of heaving around a big slopping tank of gas doesn’t thrill you. What you need are some wheels.
You glance around for something to heist. That’s right, you’re a badass gangster now, so why not? You spot an SUV parked on the corner, but the doors are locked. Also, the dashboard looks like it’s stuck on there pretty good, and to tell the truth, you wouldn’t have any
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