You take another look around the silent, empty house and decide you'd rather take your chances with a group of survivors instead of holing up alone. Hopefully, you'll even find your family if you go to the mall.

You grab your phone charger and a few other essentials and toss them in a backpack. The keys are hanging by the door - like always - and you pluck them from their hook. Just as you wrap your fingers around the knob to the garage, you hear a terrible noise. A noise that runs through you like ice water and freezes you where you stand. Something on the other side of the door growled and now it's trying to force through the door.

The door is shivering as something bangs into it again and again. You're pretty sure you know what is causing the force. It's an undead.

You knew the moment would come when you'd have to face an unfortunate member of the undead, but your heart is pounding louder than ever all the same. Breathing has become a bit difficult as you envision the sight of the creature behind the door. Is it too rotted to identify? Is it still fresh and bloody? More importantly, is it big with very sharp teeth?

Your eyes dart around the kitchen. A knife wouldn't be much help since everything you've ever learned about zombies claimed you had to kill the brain. Last time you checked, skulls are tough.

Your mother's newly installed cooking utensil rack was fully stocked on the wall. When she'd bought it, you didn't think much of it, but now, you think how handy it is to have everything displayed and at your fingertips. Your eyes rest on a meat tenderizer. The thumps continue as you lift it from the rack. It's heavy. No doubt it's solid metal. The tiny spikes on it are sharp.

This will do just fine, you think.

Sweat is beading on your forehead. Your hands are shaking like they just drank a whole case of Monster energy drinks. You haven't been this nervous since you couldn't remember when. If only you weren't alone, this would be so much easier.

The growls are getting more urgent and accompanied with groans now. You pray there aren't two. If there are two you're dead, but if you stay here and don't try, you know you'll be dead anyway. You take a couple deep breaths.

You reach out for the knob-

-and immediately let go and jerk back. It seems the theory of opening the door to face the monster is easier decided than actually executed. You take some more deep breaths. Before you can gather yourself completely for another go, the door flies open. It bangs into the wall hard enough to knock your mother's picture frames down. They clatter to the floor and break, spewing glass everywhere.

And you can't think. You're shoved to the floor, all of your breath has been knocked from your lungs. Rot fills your nostrils and the thing is on you. The thing is groping at you blindly, and it bends, open mouthed, toward you. Your left hand shoots up instinctively to push it back by its chin. Touching it is even more unpleasant than smelling it. It's slimy and mushy. You can feel the cold bone underneath the rotted flesh.

You swing your right hand hard. The meat tenderizer claps into the zombie's skull. You hear a crack, but the thing is still struggling full force, with no indication of even knowing it has been hit. You squint as you swing again, harder this time, and bits of rancid flesh splatter you and the floor around you. You hit it again and again until it goes limp.

Once you're sure it's dead for good, you scramble from beneath the dead weight of it. Back to the wall, you stare at the heap of horror in front of you. Dirt is caked in its shredded clothes, under its cracked, broken nails, and in its matted hair. Maggots and worms are crawling on the thing. It must have dug its way out of the ground, and as you realize it, a shiver runs through you. You try to gather yourself, but you're fit to burst inside with all of the mixed emotions: triumph, fear, sadness, apprehension - a parade of emotion. A few tears crawl their way to the surface. You swallow them down and get to your feet.

Like lightning, you grab your bag of essentials and dash to the Jeep. Of course the Garage door is open - your dad always forgets to shut it. That's how the zombie got in. Thankfully, there doesn't seem to be any more in sight. It probably has a lot to do with the low population of the neighborhood. The area you'll be going through to reach the mall is quite densely populated. Of course there are alternative routes there, but the dense area is the quickest.

You stare at the gas gauge. Less than quarter of a tank. If you take the long way, and aren't able to get gas, you'll run out. If you take the short way, you won't have to worry about stopping for gas, but who knows what may be in your path - especially when you're expecting numerous wandering hordes of the undead on that route.

While you ponder it, you're wasting gas. The time for a decision is now.

Take the long route - SKIP TO CHAPTER 6

Take the short route - SKIP TO CHAPTER 7