help.”
“I bet you could!” he says with a laugh. “But don’t you want a safe place to come back to? Tell you what, how about we go for the best of both worlds?”
He leads you around to the motor pool, where your jeep is at the ready. Except this time, there’s a modification to the rear. Behind the passenger seats, nestled securely where the cargo would go, a belt-fed machine gun looks out at you. There’s something off, though. It’s raised on a swiveling base, and opposite the ammo storage is a large, multi-lens camera array.
“This is CROWS,” the soldier explains. “I’ll be remotely operating it from the trailer. So in a way, I’ll be right there with you.”
“What’s your name?” Rosie asks. The man merely grins and shakes his head.
“I like it this way,” he says. “Like I’m the man-with-no-name in one of those Clint Eastwood movies.”
“All right, Eastwood. Thanks for the help,” you say.
• Ride out!
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Fire in the Hole!
“I don’t know if that’s such a good…” Rosie says, trailing off as she watches Lucas pull the quick release on all ten grenades and toss the thing over the rail. The belt tumbles down sixty feet and the undead crowd below reaches up as if receiving manna from heaven.
Then there’s the boom.
A wave expands across the undead in a black and red ball. You fall back onto the platform as a result of the shockwave, but then the tower lurches and you realize it’s not that at all—the grenade belt must’ve knocked out one of the legs of the tower. Looking back over the edge, you see several zombies getting back on their feet, several more crawling through the blast zone in pieces, and a new wave of undead ambling toward the tower. The structure groans with instability.
“Come on!” you shout, moving toward the stairs. There are no ghouls on their way up anymore; the explosion must’ve shaken them off. You run down, keeping a hand on the rail as the tower collapses. Rosie and Lucas are right behind you.
“Start skipping steps!” Rosie yells.
You bound down the tower, making it to the bottom just as the structure starts to collapse. The metal-on-metal screeching roars out like you’ve just slain Godzilla. You let off five quick shots with the combat shotgun, blasting apart as many zombies in as many seconds. Then a sixth blast sounds out: it’s the glass from the tower smashing against the ground.
“They will certainly come now, my friends. We must hurry.” Lucas unsheathes his sword in preparation for slicing through the crowd.
“Over here!” a faint voice shouts. You squint, trying to pinpoint the sound despite the ringing in your ears. “Help, please!” A figure leans out a window from the terminal. It’s the doctor!
• Get going to the terminal!
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
A Fisher of Men
W ell, you don’t have a pole. Maybe you could try noodling? Just stick your hand in the beclouded sludge, wiggle your finger like a worm, and wait for food to latch on. No, you’re smarter than that. The demolished home nearby has plenty of suburban shards that are more than capable of serving as a spear for this endeavor.
With your new implement in hand, you hover over the deep end of the pool, waiting for those ripples to appear once more. When they do it’s just a—thrust—and you’ve hit the good stuff! First try, and you’ve speared something big .
You widen your stance, bend at the knees, and pull up with both hands. With a great perturbation, the water churns and welters and your catch bursts forth from the surface. Not sure what you were expecting, but it’s a zombie—an undead teenager who wandered in a straight-line right into the pool and couldn’t wander back out.
Despite the fact that he won’t decompose, a medley of other horrific things have happened to his flesh. He’s bloated and swollen from the water, and microorganisms have started growing on him. His eyes are wide and yellowed, and he vomits
“I bet you could!” he says with a laugh. “But don’t you want a safe place to come back to? Tell you what, how about we go for the best of both worlds?”
He leads you around to the motor pool, where your jeep is at the ready. Except this time, there’s a modification to the rear. Behind the passenger seats, nestled securely where the cargo would go, a belt-fed machine gun looks out at you. There’s something off, though. It’s raised on a swiveling base, and opposite the ammo storage is a large, multi-lens camera array.
“This is CROWS,” the soldier explains. “I’ll be remotely operating it from the trailer. So in a way, I’ll be right there with you.”
“What’s your name?” Rosie asks. The man merely grins and shakes his head.
“I like it this way,” he says. “Like I’m the man-with-no-name in one of those Clint Eastwood movies.”
“All right, Eastwood. Thanks for the help,” you say.
• Ride out!
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Fire in the Hole!
“I don’t know if that’s such a good…” Rosie says, trailing off as she watches Lucas pull the quick release on all ten grenades and toss the thing over the rail. The belt tumbles down sixty feet and the undead crowd below reaches up as if receiving manna from heaven.
Then there’s the boom.
A wave expands across the undead in a black and red ball. You fall back onto the platform as a result of the shockwave, but then the tower lurches and you realize it’s not that at all—the grenade belt must’ve knocked out one of the legs of the tower. Looking back over the edge, you see several zombies getting back on their feet, several more crawling through the blast zone in pieces, and a new wave of undead ambling toward the tower. The structure groans with instability.
“Come on!” you shout, moving toward the stairs. There are no ghouls on their way up anymore; the explosion must’ve shaken them off. You run down, keeping a hand on the rail as the tower collapses. Rosie and Lucas are right behind you.
“Start skipping steps!” Rosie yells.
You bound down the tower, making it to the bottom just as the structure starts to collapse. The metal-on-metal screeching roars out like you’ve just slain Godzilla. You let off five quick shots with the combat shotgun, blasting apart as many zombies in as many seconds. Then a sixth blast sounds out: it’s the glass from the tower smashing against the ground.
“They will certainly come now, my friends. We must hurry.” Lucas unsheathes his sword in preparation for slicing through the crowd.
“Over here!” a faint voice shouts. You squint, trying to pinpoint the sound despite the ringing in your ears. “Help, please!” A figure leans out a window from the terminal. It’s the doctor!
• Get going to the terminal!
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
A Fisher of Men
W ell, you don’t have a pole. Maybe you could try noodling? Just stick your hand in the beclouded sludge, wiggle your finger like a worm, and wait for food to latch on. No, you’re smarter than that. The demolished home nearby has plenty of suburban shards that are more than capable of serving as a spear for this endeavor.
With your new implement in hand, you hover over the deep end of the pool, waiting for those ripples to appear once more. When they do it’s just a—thrust—and you’ve hit the good stuff! First try, and you’ve speared something big .
You widen your stance, bend at the knees, and pull up with both hands. With a great perturbation, the water churns and welters and your catch bursts forth from the surface. Not sure what you were expecting, but it’s a zombie—an undead teenager who wandered in a straight-line right into the pool and couldn’t wander back out.
Despite the fact that he won’t decompose, a medley of other horrific things have happened to his flesh. He’s bloated and swollen from the water, and microorganisms have started growing on him. His eyes are wide and yellowed, and he vomits
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