An interactive apocalyptic story.
You've heard the strange reports of cannibalism that seems to be sweeping the country. It all seemed so far fetched. Now, though, you have witnessed it with your own eyes. What will you do?
Read along and make your...
No matter how close to becoming undead Mary is, she's not dead yet. You can't murder this woman in cold blood.
"Mary... that looks bad." You tell the woman hesitantly. "We need to clean it up." You scurry upstairs and grab the hefty first aid kit from the bathroom. Mom always kept enough first aid supplies on hand to cover a small disaster. When you get back downstairs, Mary has moved to the living room. She has her leg propped up on the couch and is using a damp dish towel to try to clean the wound.
Popping open the kit, you pull on rubber gloves, and take out some peroxide. Mary puts the towel under her leg with shaking hands, and you pour the liquid into the wound. It bubbles ferociously, cleaning debris and pus from the bite. Mary's face scrunches up, sweat running in rivulets down her neck, as she forces herself to sit still. The glazed look in her eyes tells you she is running a high fever.
This isn't good. You wipe antibiotic ointment over the bite, then wrap a bandage around it. Handing Mary some aspirin, you watch as she swallows them and then lays back on the couch. "Thank you." She tells you tiredly.
You pull off the rubber gloves and then go wash your hands vigorously with soap. You can't be too careful.
You sigh and lean against the counter for a second, needing the time to steady your nerves, before returning to check on Mary. When you get into the living room, you see that she is asleep, tossing restlessly.
Taking a seat on a nearby chair, you watch. You watch out for zombies. You watch out for your Mom's return. And mostly, you watch Mary. Because you know that the outcome isn't good. And when the time comes, you will need to do something about her zombie.
Over the next hour, her breathing grows ragged and her skin becomes even more sickly and pale.
Eventually, you notice that she isn't breathing any more.
With mixed feelings over what you are about to do, you may have only just met, but Mary hasn't done anything wrong to you, you approach her and grip your knife. Just as you are about to plunge the knife down, her eyes pop open. Startled, you jump back and yell. Quickly shutting your mouth, you spring forward and bring the knife down on the cloudy eye closest to you.
Just starting to reanimate, her zombie hadn't moved much, and it slumps back down.
Mary is the kind of dead that doesn't come back, now.
You sit back down, sick to your stomach at what you just did. Stabbing that zombie was much harder on you than killing the first one.
Then, the front door rattles. A growl and several moans alert you to the fact that there are multiple zombies outsideyour door. You peer out a window and see three of the undead, milling around by your front door. They sniff the air and growl. They know you are in here. You silently kick yourself for yelling out loud earlier.
Having three zombies out there worries you. There is a glass window in the door. While not smart, they won't have to be to break in. They just need to hit the door hard enough and they will be inside.
You retreat to the back of the house, hoping that getting farther away from them will encourage them to forget about you. In the kitchen, you can keep an eye on the front door from a distance. You pull a bottle of water out of the fridge and sit at the table.
Drinking the water, a thought hits you. What if you suddenly need to run from the house? Surviving outside will be hard enough. Trying to find supplies while under attack by zombies will be impossible. Maybe you should pack a bag with basic necessities. Just in case.
You quietly gather all of the bottles of water in the house. It's not many, but it's all you have. Next, you slip back into the living room for the first aid kit and put it next to the water. The box of granola bars from the kitchen soon joins the pile.
You look at your supplies. It's not a lot, but still too much to carry by hand. You need something to put this stuff in.
You think of the perfect thing. Your backpack, sitting by the front door.
The zombies are still out there. You inch your way toward your bag, terrified to get that close to the door. As you gently pick the bag up, loud sniffing sounds from outside, followed my more growling. A lot of growling.
It sounds like more than three are out there, now. You pull the edge of the curtain back to check.
Yikes!
There are five zombies now. The first three must have alerted the next two to your location. That isn't good. If they don't go away soon, your house will end up surrounded.
As you ease back into the kitchen, the front door rattles and a mangled looking hand presses against the glass. It leaves a dark smear in its wake and is missing one finger, another bent at an odd angle. You shove your small pile of supplies into the bag.
Standing there, you don't know what to do. The house is a physical barrier between you and the zombies, but for how long? One broken window, and they will be inside. And then there's your Mom. She said she was coming home. You want to be here when she comes. To be together.
But, what if she doesn't come? She was in the city, 20 minutes away. She should have been home hours ago. How long can you sit still and wait for her to come back? The longer those zombies bang at your door, the more likely that one will break in. And, their numbers seem to be increasing. If it continues, you may end up surrounded completely.
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