“You picked the wrong day to die,” you say in your best action hero monotone. “And then, uh, come back to life again. Sort of.” You’re going to have to work on your one-liners. The zombie keeps stumbling toward you, and you back up slowly, not at all wanting to touch it. You glance around for something heavy to hit it with, but nothing presents itself. Could you take off your shoes and throw them? That just seems like a bad idea.

The zombie lunges at you, and suddenly you’re out of choices. You tackle it at the waist, trying to avoid its whole face area, where the biting and chewing happens. It falls backward with you on top, hitting its head against the pavement with a loud smack. You untangle yourself quickly, but fortunately the thing seems to have stopped moving. Well, that wasn’t so hard. You hurry to the zombie’s victim, still lying in the middle of the street. “Are you okay?” you ask.

“Nnnnnnnnggg.” Uh-oh. Was that an ow-my-leg-hurts groan, or an I-hunger-for-the-flesh-of-the-living groan?

“Brrraaaaiiinnns,” he continues, trying to stand up even though his leg seems to be chewed down to the bone. Crap. You hear another moan, and glance behind you to see that the first zombie is revived and back on its feet. Double crap. To make things worse, a mob of screaming pedestrians rounds the corner with several new zombies close behind. “They ate Mr. Friskums!” one of them cries. “Save us!”

If you 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.