You glance down the street and see a handful of zombies wandering directly toward your car (naturally—where else would they be heading?). If you’re going to do this thing, it has to be now. You screw up your courage and sprint toward the driver’s side door, push a zombie that’s blocking your way to the ground, jam your key in the lock, and leap inside. Smooth! You’ve got the car locked and the motor started by the time the creatures even know you’re there.

Once they catch sight of you, however, they swarm. Left with no alternative, you step on the gas, even though the zombies splayed across your windshield have reduced visibility to zero. You accelerate and swerve back and forth in an attempt to shake them off, but smack into some unseen obstacle, which sends you veering toward the sidewalk and into a telephone poll. Seatbelt safety was not priority one, and your head smacks against the windshield.

Even worse: your drivers’ side window has shattered in the wreck. The zombies that were thrown from your hood upon impact immediately peel themselves off the street and drag themselves toward you. Desperate, you rummage through the glove compartment for something to use as a weapon, but all you find are oil change receipts and the promotional tube of toothpaste that your aunt sent you. One zombie is at your window now, so you pop the top and squirt toothpaste right in its eyes. You’re not sure what you hope to accomplish by this, but you’re bleeding profusely from a gash in your forehead, so your thinking might not be one hundred percent clear.

The zombie grasps at its face and starts to shudder, then wipes the toothpaste messily with its hands and crams as much of it as it can manage into its maw. You squirt another stream out onto the pavement, and the zombie dives for it, frantically licking it off the street. So you throw the rest of the tube out the window, and the remaining zombies turn and hurry toward it, ignoring you and the car.

These things love them some toothpaste. Huh.

You climb out of the car and flee the zombie toothpaste orgy, but you’re lightheaded from the blood loss and can’t move too quickly. Down the street you pass a flock of people running madly out of a corner grocery store.

And you can guess what they’re running from.

If you risk going into the market to stock up on more zombie-distracting toothpaste, turn to page 133.

If you’re concerned that you might pass out soon, and try to get help from some of the fleeing store patrons, turn to page 211.