Zombocalypse Now Read Free Page A

attempt to rescue the crowd from the ever-growing legion of undead, turn to page 21.

    This is spiraling out of control. If you decide to run for help, turn to page 30.

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    15
    You rip the toothpaste out of its packaging and pop the top off, squirting a healthy glop right in a zombie’s face.
    It falls away, clawing at itself and trying to slurp the paste into its mouth. Its two undead companions lose interest in you as well, mobbing the first zombie to get a piece of sweet toothpaste action. That worked surprisingly well! You squirt another glop at the zombies on the passenger side with similar results. They can’t get enough of this stuff!
    During the fracas, however, the undead crowd around you has grown. You can’t even see your friends anymore. Zombies rush the car, and you squirt toothpaste at them until you’re out, throwing the empty tube as a last resort. Still they come. You look down and see a big smear of paste on your arm. You frantically wipe it on your pants, but realize that you’re only making things worse.
    Clammy hands grab at you, and before you know it you feel teeth as well. Slowly, your consciousness drains away and is replaced by the hunger. The smell is overwhelming, and you join your zombie brethren in desperately trying to get a taste of the paste. You realize now that zombies don’t crave the stuff because it tastes like brains.
    Zombies crave brains because they taste like this.

    THE END

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    16
    You know what? That waiter can take care of himself. You ditch your weirdly aggressive and possibly drunk date, handing a twenty-dollar bill to the greeter on the way out to cover the appetizers.
    As you walk toward your car, you smell something all too familiar. At first you think your date followed you out of the restaurant, but you look around and see a middle-aged woman stumbling toward you, grunting and staring blankly just like your date did. What is this, an epidemic? You walk faster, and get inside your car just as the woman reaches you. You feel a bump, and glance in your mirror to see some guy climbing on your trunk. A third person, with a gaping head wound that makes gender difficult to determine, presses two bloody hands against your car window.
    “Braaaaaaiins,” it moans.
    The realization hits you like a freight train. Zombie invasion! This, in turn, makes you feel a little better about abandoning your date and a lot worse about not helping the waiter. You lock the doors, turn the key in the ignition, and step on the gas, feeling ill-equipped to deal with a situation like this. Your friend Ernie might know what to do—he’s always going on about the paranormal and secret government plots and  so forth. On second thought, Ernie might not be the most stable person to turn to in a crisis.

    If you decide to get Ernie’s advice on what is turning into a really weird day, turn to page 40.

    If you decide you’re better off driving toward some actual authority, like the police, turn to page 86.

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    17
    West it is. The streets are swimming with undead, but you know your neighborhood well enough to avoid getting trapped, and arrive home safely. On your way to the stairs, you’re startled by a figure lurking near the mailboxes. Your first instinct is to hit it with something heavy and run, but it turns out to be the girl who lives in the apartment underneath yours.
    You’ve never introduced yourself, but you have chatted with her once or twice in passing, and she seems to be at least medium-friendly. And also super, crazy good-looking. She’s like French and Japanese or something.
    You do the neighborly thing and warn her that zombies have overrun the city, but it looks like you might be a tad late. “Nnnnngh,” she replies. “Braaaains.” She makes a move toward you, and you hate to admit it, but the whole unkempt, hollow-eyed, lurching thing is working for her. The zombies you’ve seen so far have been utterly repulsive, but this one is definitely rocking the