Fifteen or twenty grown human beings, you think, and they look to a lone, stuffed bunny to save them from zombies. Well, maybe one of them at least has a cigarette. “Listen!” you yell at the panicked crowd. “They don’t move that fast. Everyone follow me at a brisk walk and we’ll all get out of this alive.”

You herd the crowd back toward the restaurant and, sure enough, the zombies are easily outpaced. Once in front of the spaghetti house, though, you see a mess of undead wandering out the door. Looks like your dream date has been busy inside. You think you can make it to your car unmolested, but the crowd around you just stops and stares at this new threat.

“What do we do now?” asks a thin, shirtless gentleman with an AC/DC hat and what looks like a pair of homemade nunchucks. “My name’s Daryl,” he says, wide-eyed and breathless. “I’ve waited my whole life for this. I also have throwing stars.”

It is true that there’s strength in numbers, even if those numbers aren’t particularly bright. Then again, dragging around Daryl’s band of roving yokels might get you killed even quicker.

If you decide to team up with Daryl’s group, or at least try to save them from being eaten, turn to page 63.

If you’d rather take your chances going it alone, turn to page 97.

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