When faced with a low gas vs zombies dilemma, you'd rather take your chances with low gas, so you choose the long route.

Once you back out of the open garage and down your driveway, you notice a small group of the undead a few houses down. They're chasing a little wiener dog around the yard as it dodges and zips around on its tiny legs.

The moment the undead hear you, they stop. Like the deadly predators they are, the half dozen or so undead snap their heads your way. Their movement is sharp and unnatural, you notice as you watch them through your rearview mirror.

The little dog has noticed you too, and it's high tailing it your way. It must know you're human - even from that distance. To it, any human must mean safety.

The undead give chase and they're fast - almost as fast as the dog. But they're not looking at the pooch now, they're locked in on you. You see a few of their limbs hanging at odd angles, the lips drawn back into a wicked snare, grimy teeth, and gaping wounds. One of them is your neighbor, and you can see a large hole in his stomach, the innards trailing behind him.

Uncontrollably, your hands tremble on the steering wheel. You switch into drive, but so-help-you, you can't pull away. You see that little dog, ears flying behind it as it runs for its life, and your heart wrenches. Maybe it's because the little guy is all alone, like you at the moment, except he looks so much more helpless, and those creatures are so heinous.

If you pull away, they'll probably go back to chasing it. They'll probably catch it. In your mind's eye, you picture the rotting things ripping the little dog, and you know you can't let that happen.

You slam the Jeep back into reverse and gun it. The little dog catches on quickly. It scrambles over to the side of the road, but the undead have only one thing in mind. Hunger. They don't move aside, and you ram into them hard, wincing as they splat and crunch against the back. The back tires run over a few, but you know it hasn't killed them. They're still gasping and making other chilling noises from underneath the Jeep.

While the undead are down, you reach over and open your passenger door, allowing the little dog to find sanctuary. It jumps in and perches itself on the seat, breathing like an Olympic runner. You shut the door back, throw it in drive, and take off, running over the couple again as you bound forward.

Leaving the undead staggering and stumbling far behind in your rearview, you turn onto the open highway.

You glance over, realizing you're not alone anymore. The little tan dog is watching out the window happily.

"What's your name, little one?" you ask it.

It looks at you curiously.

"Come here. Come on," you coax, trying to keep an eye on the road.

Obediently, the dog comes closer to you so you can check its collar for a tag. There is one.

"Rocky?" you say, trying to familiarize the sound of it for both you and for the dog hearing it spoken in your voice.

It's a cute name, though you don't see a resemblance. He cocks his head as you say it.

"Poor little thing," you say. "Those mean monsters back there scared you, didn't they? They scare me, too."

You stare straight ahead, concentrating on the road. There are numerous empty cars pulled over or wrecked cars that you have to dodge. Some are bloody. You see a few undead, dragging themselves, limping, or swaying idly as you drive past. There hasn't been a live person for miles.

You're starting to feel apprehension build up again, so you switch on the radio. Instead of music, a news report pours into your ears.

"...So you really wanna stay off those roads," a man's clear voice says.

Too late, you think and you spare a minute to appreciate the irony of the reporter broadcasting over FM radio telling people they shouldn't be in their cars, when people in their cars are the very ones most likely to hear his report.

"That's right, Richard," a woman says, "you really don't want to be anywhere near any type of roadways. They are dangerous. As of now all modes of transportation in or out of the city are on suspension. This includes trains, busses, subways, taxis, and flights. Hospitals and police stations have been shut down due to large quantities of infected swarming the areas. Schools and businesses are closed. There is no reason to get out. The Army has stepped in to do all they can in this perilous time."

"And don't forget, Pat," Richard says, "we've gotten word that the Governor hopes to have this outbreak under control soon, folks. Please remain calm and stay behind locked doors until the situation improves."

You switch off the news. It just gets more depressing. Imagine shutting down hospitals and police stations - the very places that are supposed to help you. Then cutting out any possible escape to somewhere else where it might still be safe . . . .

You glance down and notice the gas hand is dangerously low. If you don't find a gas station soon, you'll run out. You know this next exit will take you to a Jiffy Gas, you just hope you'll make it.

The exit comes up soon enough and you take it, dodging a long line of abandoned cars on the exit. Some of them have open doors, some have lights on even though it's the middle of the day. You wonder where exactly everyone has gone. It wouldn't make sense for a perfectly healthy person to just walk away from their vehicle with all this danger breathing down their necks.

The Jeep sputters almost at the stop sign, sending you into a mini panic attack. "No, no. Please, no..."

But your pleads are ignored as it sputters a few more times and dies anyway.

Rocky lifts his furry little head. Perhaps he's wondering what the hold up is.

"Sorry, fella, we're out of gas," you say even though dogs are incapable of understanding such things.

He begins to growl, but he isn't growling about gas.

The gas station is still a ways down, the only problem is there's a massive horde of zombies between you and it.

You feel the worst possible scenario has taken place. It's a complete nightmare. You feel as if you're trying to breathe while buried in cotton.

What to do, what to do? you think.

You can't hope to fight through the horde with your meat tenderizer. It was a good weapon for one zombie, but a hundred? You wrap your fingers around it none-the-less, because its better than nothing and it eases your growing anxiety a tiny bit to know you're not entirely weaponless.

You scan the surroundings. The nearest buildings are a library, a firehouse, a recycle center, and a gun store.

At first glance everything looks empty. Then you see a girl look out of the window at the library. You can tell right away she's human. She's clean of blood and rot, but clearly frightened half to death.

Rocky stares right at the undead and grumbles in discomfort.

"Shh, you'll make them notice us," you whisper.

But they have noticed. Any minute, they'll be upon you. The Jeep won't serve as sufficient shelter without gas powered wheels against this mob. You've got to get out of there. There's just enough time to make a break for one of the buildings.

The gun shop would be your first choice, only it looks locked up tight, complete with barred doors and windows. The library is certainly inhabited.

You can go towards weapons and safety behind the metal bars and chance getting in, or you can dash for the library where you know for sure there is at least one other person.

Go to the library. - GO TO CHAPTER 10

Go to the gun store. - GO TO CHAPTER 11