[This is the result of a decision that started Here. Click to go back]
Underneath It All
It’s not long before the undead have breached your house. The alarm, the moaning, or both—proved more effective than you might have thought, and your home is soon swarming with them. Even though you can’t see them, you can hear enough to know it’s totally full up there.
Basements are good for a lot of things: kids’ sleepovers, storing wine, hiding from a tornado. What they’re not good for is avoiding crowds of flesh-eating ghouls.
Just as the barriers in your house fall to the zombies, the barrier to your basement—a locked door with random clutter barricading—also falls. The movies have this idea wrong. Now they’re coming down to get you, and you’ve got no way out.
Still, you search your home in desperation: dusty boxes, a laundry basket, an old ping pong table, that nail-gun dad gave you. Wait, what the f—how in the hell did you miss the nail gun when you were securing your home?
Instead of questioning the God-send, you pick it up and pray it works. Just as the first undead man makes it down, you turn and squeeze off a nail into his forehead. His head knocks back and he falls dead. Awesome.
Dozens of hellions stream down your staircase, but as long as you keep your wits about, you’ll be okay! That’s when a ghoulish woman ruins everything. Her teeth are broken into almost shark-like fragments, and as she moans and champs her teeth in preparation of meeting you, the drawstring of your basement light snags in her fragmented face.
Click, lights out. Time to play “seven minutes in hell” while your amorous companions rush down to suck face. In the pitch black of the basement, you’re left no option save for an excruciating death.
Aww, you died. But hey, now you’ve got a leg up on the competition and learned an important lesson: don’t paint yourself into a corner. If anything makes a zombie smile, it’s prey that’s unable to run away. So when you get the book, remember to always have an escape route.
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