There is no such thing as safe harbor from zombies. Over the years they've infiltrated peaceful towns, ominous mansions, space, and even Nazi Germany. They can spread their infection like wildfire, survive without their limbs, and they're always hungry. The odds are not in humanity's favor, but if you make the right decisions you might survive the imminent zombie apocalypse.
ZOMBIES! Will you survive the undead apocalypse?
Chapter 1: Help I'm in a Shopping Mall and I Can't Get Out!
OMG!!! ZOMBIE CONSUMERS!!!
Day 1: I met up with a janitor with a walkie talkie. He was short, about 5'2, with a head the size of a bowling ball with mirror up top. He was bald. If you can imagine an elephant stuffed into a fishbowl, you would get a spitting image of this guy. He was armed with a flashlight and a toilet plunger; which was unlucky in our situation. He was my kind of guy. Luckily, I was armed with the only weapon: a stockless Remington 870 with a handle pump. A true man's weapon, with a lot of ammo.
I listened to the janitor's life story for about three hours, so after awhile, I gagged him with his own mop, I shoved it down his throat. And I threw him in his own closet. But this is what I got out of him: "I was born June 20, 1970. I was a thin baby, only about 30 pounds. My mother died in labor, I wonder why? (Seriously?) My father ran away when I popped out, because I think he blamed me for my mother's death. (Are you really as stupid as you look?) So I was adopted by none other than the only janitor in the building. He was a fat man, about 700 pounds, and very jolly. (Living up to the family legacy, eh?) He had white hair and a long beard; and only wore red. (Was your dad Santa ?) I grew up fast and he taught me the ways of janitor…ness? I got married (You… got married… and I'm.. man, I really need to pop the question.) to a lovely whale of a wife named Helga. She was so beautiful… (… no comment) The way her butt wobbled and her fat bounced, it was love at first sight. (yum.) Blah blah blah, blah blah blah… I got new jo-". And that's when the mop entered the walrus.
About two hours later, he found his wobbly way out of the closet. He was mad at me for about another hour and glared at me angrily as he ate about a box and a half of Ho-Ho's. When he finally came to, and realized, that I was the one with the loaded gun, we decided that in the morning that we should go to the roof. There we would go through the maintenance tunnels, where rescue awaits.
Day 2: We took the maintenance tunnel to the roof, where rescue would be waiting for us. We were supposed to leave via helicopter.
Instead, we left: VIA LAST STAND AGAINST ZOMBIE HORDE!!!
I was lucky enough to pop about 20 zombies on the run to the roof. The janitor was able to beat one into the after-after life, but tripped on the stairs and fell. His tiny little legs could not get his fat body off the ground. It was pitiful to see. So I shot him. IN THE FACE!! Which didn't really damage anything because his face was already too ugly to look at.
Luckily, the rescue team awaited me on the roof. They asked if there were any other survivors. I shed a single tear. "No," I replied, but I did not add that I shot the janitor in the face.
And we flew….