Whatever the hell is happening next door, the main thing is not to get hurt yourself. Better take your gun. You sprint to the bedroom, shove aside boxes in the closet and frantically work the safe's dial.

Just as you yank it open and pull out the .357, you hear the neighbor girl's screams cut out with a final cry of something like agony.

"Fuck..." you mutter.

You run back down the hall and, along with Candace, step out into the back yard.

What you see outside stuns you. The entire neighborhood is in chaos. The suburbs, and the city sprawl beyond, are a war zone of sirens and smoke trails and blaring horns. It takes you only a glance to realize what's obviously going on: it's a goddamned zombie apocalypse! They're everywhere, pulling people out of cars, climbing through windows of houses, ripping people to shreds in the streets.

Next door, you see where the screams were coming from. Zombies at the base of a tree are feasting on the remains of the neighbor's incredibly hot 19-year-old daughter, Emily, who must have tried climbing the tree to escape them.

The horde of zombies roaming the surrounding yards have noticed you and Candace now. They begin lurching inward toward your house, closing off escape routes.

Displaying her innate grasp of basic physics, Candace says, "We better get the fuck out of here."

You look around and consider your choices. You could retreat into your house and try to escape in the Jaguar... but you can already hear the commotion of zombies entering the house at the front. Then you notice a National Guard armored personnel carrier parked on a cross-street, two houses over--there's just enough room between the enclosing horde to make a break for it.

Options:


RUN FOR THE JAGUAR

RUN FOR THE APC