Run to the Office

One Night Dead

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You slowly back out the door, then turn and bolt.

“HOLY FUCK!” you scream involuntarily as you run for the office door.

Either your running or that scream got their attention, because you can hear the groaning and shambling of the two occupants toward the door of the hotel room.

You get to the office door and open it in a flash. As you rush in you trip on the mat where everyone is expected to wipe their shoes when they enter. As luck would have it, you maintained your grip on the doorknob, and as you fall, you’re able to exert the force needed to slam the door shut as you tumble to the ground.

Breathing heavily, you are still in shock. Your mind reeling in disbelief at the events that have just unfolded and your refusal to believe what you are thinking.

“This isn’t real” you whisper to yourself reassuringly.

You slowly creep toward the door. The only thing you can hear is your heavy breathing. Your hand slowly reaches out for the knob. Your fingers feel the little tab, and you hear a soft click as your turn the lock on the knob, securing your little fortress in the motel.

Suddenly the man that had just been choking down some fingers in room 16 slams into the door, the full weight of his body making the door shudder, cutting his flesh and smearing blood on the glass. He glares angrily at you through the window in the door, face inches away. You notice that his eyes are nearly glowing, and you wonder to yourself if his eyes were that color before he got hopped up on the bath salts or after. You turn the deadbolt on the door as well, and the man lets out a groan and glares angrily at you, an inhuman mix of anger and desperation on his face.

You stumble back toward the desk, keeping your eyes on the windows, not looking where you are going. You fumble and trip, but you get back there, and begin to reach for the phone.

That’s when you notice her.

The female from room 16.  She’s just standing there in the parking lot on the other side of the office, staring at you. That’s when you notice that she’s got those sad, pleading eyes again.

“What is she looking at? Is she hallucinating?.” You think to yourself

The crazy bastard at the door seems to have quieted down for a moment, so against your better judgment, you slowly move back around the desk toward the window for a better look. As the light from the sun reflects off of her eyes, you realize that she is slowly walking toward the window that you are safely behind, while constantly holding eye contact.

You notice how sad her eyes are, and how vastly deep they seem to be. You wonder if she knows what she’s doing. You see her face, and despite the matted, blood-caked hair and gore on her chin, you notice those eyes. How deeply fragile and pathetic she looks. It’s like she’s communicating through the glass and you feel the weight of her incredible desperation on your heart as you hover a foot from the glass.

That’s when you begin to realize that you’ve walked the entire way to the window without even noticing and now you and the woman are less than a foot apart, with nothing but a pane of glass between you.

The sudden slam of the male zombie’s body against the glass door jots you back into reality. He looks at the female, then glares at you through the window angrily and groans that same inhuman sound as before.

“This is fucked.” you mutter out loud and suddenly come back to your senses and  back toward the desk again.

You remember that the phone is on the desk and that Mr. Burrows keeps a tall gun safe in the back room for protection.

The female begins to make the sad eyes at you again as your fingers wrap around the cordless phone and you continue to inch backward toward the back room. This time however, you refuse to hold eye contact with her and as you get to the doorway of the back room she gives up that tactic, lets out a groan, and begins clawing at the windows and wall with her partner.

You need to call the police. Maybe you should call Mr. Burrows. Your fingers fumble with the phone as your mind considers what to do next;

1) Call the police and hide out in the back office, hoping they don’t get in.

2) Call Mr. Burrows and let him know what’s happening at the motel. Proceed to section

3) Say “fuck the phone”, there’s a safe full of guns in the back. I’ll call the cops after I blow these crazy fuckers away.

 

 

 

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Investigate

One Night Dead

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Time is frozen;

you’re still standing there, slack-jawed like an idiot, for you don’t know how long. You’re frozen in terror as you watch two seemingly oblivious, gore covered people eat…well eat what looks like a third person.

Your own mind doesn’t want to believe it. I mean it can’t.

“This isn’t real. It can’t be real.” you think to yourself. “I’m having a nightmare.”

You look, but you can’t speak. You desperately want to say something, anything. You hope that suddenly they’ll turn toward you and say “got you!” and roll around on the floor laughing.

“Yeah it’s just… it’s just Jack and Sarah and her friends playing an elaborate prank on you. That must be it.” you try to reassure yourself

Then you hear a ripping noise and a wet “Slurp” as one of the gore covered people chokes back a gallbladder, swallowing it near whole.

You stare in disbelief. Your will finally manages to make your foot take one step closer. Your voice still escapes you. You’re in shock and your thoughts go blank.

You make another step and your foot makes a wet squish on the blood and viscera soaked carpet.

The noise doesn’t get the attention of the creatures on the floor, but it does bring your thought process back enough that you think you can speak.

“A…are you…uh…what…what is…” your voice keeps catching in your throat. “are…you…o…ok?”

That got their attention. They look up at you, eyes devoid and blank of intelligence.

“AAARRRKKK” is the only response they give, voices sounding dry and scratchy.

Their eyes are wide with a mixture of anger and hunger. They begin to lunge toward you, somewhat shaky on their legs.

You’re frozen. You’re in shock; you can’t believe this is happening. You’re expecting it to still be a gag, but you’re so scared you are frozen. You notice one of the flesh eaters has sad looking eyes. You stare into those eyes for what seems like an eternity, wondering if the person is even thinking or on drugs, if they can see anything. You can’t move until they have shambled across the blood-soaked orange shag carpet and bare their teeth.

As they bare down on you your gaze on the sad looking person breaks. You’re finally able to move, you struggle to react, fighting them off in an attempt to save yourself, but it’s too little too late. As they begin to sink their teeth into your flesh you find your voice. As their canines, sunk into your flesh, begin to pull and tear at the meat of your arm and stomach you scream for help hoping someone will hear you.

Then everything goes black.


 

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Get to the Car

One Night Dead

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You slowly back out of the doorway. Then you turn and bolt.

“Fuck this! I don’t get paid enough at this joke-of-a-fucking-job to deal with this bullshit.” you think.

As you run across the parking lot, you realize that your motion must have gotten someone’s attention in the room. You hear scuttling and groaning like the gore covered people are slowly crawling out of the doorway, and one of the creatures lets out another groan. The sound is somehow desperate and bloodthirsty at the same time.

Thankfully your hand is already in your pockets searching for your keys on the way to the car.

You hit the car at full speed, key already out, clumsily aimed at the door lock.

You fumble for maybe a second, but it feels like a year.

You open the door, hop in, and close it behind you, just in time to look up and see these two angry looking creatures shambling across the parking lot, glaring at you unblinkingly.

You look up at the angry blood-soaked face of the man who had just been swallowing the human finger in the hotel room. He looks human, but changed. You’re not sure how much of it is the gore of human flesh on his face, and how much is him, but you can tell that his face and body look slightly emaciated. The cheeks are sunken and brow ridges more pronounced than usual. You don’t even have the time to consider whether the man looked like this to begin with, perhaps a heroin addict, or if this is a change caused by whatever drug is causing this insanity.

And then you notice the eyes. Sad looking eyes. They almost seem to reflect the sunlight. You stare into its eyes. It seems to calm and stare back into yours as it approaches the car door, staring at you through the car window now. Time freezes as you both stare into each others eyes. As you continue to hold silent eye contact, without looking down, your hand slowly crawls along the car door interior, your fingers walking towards the power door lock button.

Your finger finds the button and presses it, causing the little tab to lower with a slam, securing you in your protective cocoon of metal and glass. The man’s eyes flicker down at the lock and for a moment you could swear that you see a look of recognition in his eyes.

Whatever the look was, it seems to register something within the pit of the gore covered creature’s soul and unleash a fury. The man groans angrily, glaring through the glass and at rears back, repeatedly pounding its body against the door in rage. The man’s violent protestations do very little to the car unless you count cutting his own shoulder open and bleeding on the car.

A quick glance out the windshield informs you that the other inhabitant of the room, the woman, is standing in front of you. Her clothes are matted in blood. She stares at you from just beyond your hood looking angry and blood-thirsty. You notice those sad eyes again.

You slide the key into the ignition and turn on the engine. That seems to upset the female flesh eater, who lets out an angry groan and glares angrily just as the man did.

“Fuck you too, lady” you mutter to yourself as you throw the car into reverse.

The quick reverse motion of the car causes the male to tumble sideways to the ground, stumbling on feet encrusted with dried blood.

The female breathes in and then belts out a horrible angry groan.

You drop the car into drive and hit the gas.

“Shut the fuck up!” you yell as you barrel toward the muck covered woman.

Her body slams full force into the grill of your car as you hit her, full speed. Her body slaps against the hood briefly before momentum sends her spinning airborne over the roof and plummeting back onto the hard asphalt behind your spinning tires.

As your car speeds away, her body lands head first with a loud crunch. Flopping in half her body hunches and lets out a loud snap as her spine cracks in half. The end of her spine still attached to her skull bursts forth from her flesh. Chunks of human meat flop out and away from the wound as a torrent of blood sprays from the exposed spine, glistening in the midday sun.

As you leave the parking lot, you look in your rearview mirror to see that the man has regained his composure, standing next to the body of the woman and glaring at you as pull away. He is barely noticing the exposed organs of his former partner in flesh-eating crime.

Frightened and disgusted, you turn your attention to the road and your mind reels with thoughts; is Suzy ok? Could Sarah have run into something like this last night? I’ve got to get to the cops. As you quickly begin to debate your choice of action, your car engine begins to knock and the needle hits “E” on your gas gauge.

You decide:

1) The gas will hold out for a little while longer. You should drive down the street and see if you can find Suzy first.

2) Peel out to the nearest gas station, get gas and tell the people there what happened and ask them to call the cops.

3) Tear out of there, head towards the city to look for your girlfriend and get gas and help on the way .

 

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Is Anyone There?

One Night Dead

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You turn from the woman and rush down the pathway to room 16.

Just before you enter the room you turn to see the woman hobbling after you, her arms outstretched, an unnatural moan coming from her throat. You step into the room and shut the door, turning the deadbolt. When you turn around and survey the room your stomach falls into your shoes.

The bed is covered in blood, red and wet, pooling on the sheets and even running off of them to collect on the carpeted floor. A man lays on the bed, his throat torn out, his eyes unseeing as they stared up at the ceiling. The bathroom door is shut, so you move across to that, attempting to turn the doorknob but finding it locked. On the other side of the door you hear movement, and when you lower yourself to the floor to look under the door you can just see the soles of someone’s shoes.

“Hello?” you call out, trying the doorknob once more. “I work here, let me in,” you add. No answer. “Come on, let em in. Uh, I mean I guess I’m going to have to call the cops or whatever, but this is all fucked, I need to know what happened here.”

Whoever is in the bathroom doesn’t answer you so you need to make a choice.

1) Break down the door.

2) Get back to the office and call the cops.

 

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Pow Pow Sucka!

One Night Dead

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You grab the gun and hold it in front of you as you near the office door.

The zombie woman is still standing there, beating uselessly at the door. You unlock the door and yank it open, letting her swing though the air once more and miss, which causes her to stumble forward. You raise the gun, confident in your aim at this close of rang. You pull the trigger and there’s a deafening boom and the gun jerks so forcefully you almost drop it. But the woman’s head disappears in a cloud of crimson and her body falls to the floor. You did it! Feeling like a hot shot you jam the gun into the waist of your pants like you’ve seen in the movies, screaming in shock and pain when the barrel is revealed to be scalding hot, burning your thigh.

You reach down and quickly make to jerk the gun out of your pants, wrapping your fingers around the handle and squeezing the trigger accidentally. Way to go Rambo, you just shot your own dick off. The pain is unlike anything you’ve ever felt, and you slump to the floor. You can’t do anything but watch the red spot appear on the front of your pants, spreading as you bleed out. You come back though, just one more zombie. You worry you may be the only zombie shuffling around with no dick, but a few months down the road you find a naked guy who looks to have died in a dog attack, and his snausage has been eaten, which makes having your shot off not seem like that big of a deal, when you really think about it. Except you can’t think about it, because you’re a fucking zombie.

A dickless zombie.


 

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Back To The Office

One Night Dead

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You turn from the woman and run the short way back into the office, taking care to lock the door behind you.

With the three glass walls you can see the woman easily, and she can see you. She walks after you, positioning herself against the door where she pushes against it, weakly hitting it with loose fists. What the fuck is going on? You want to call Sarah again but realize you left your phone in the car. You sit down behind the desk defeated until you remember the office phone. You grab it from it’s charger and dial Sarah, but her cell just rings and rings. “Fuck,” you say quietly.

Maybe the TV will help. Your boss had turned on the TV and had quickly hung up. What had spooked him? You reach forward and turn the small thing on, waiting for a moment for the picture to come expanding into view. The TV is usually kept on a sports channel, but here now its news. You wonder if the news is cutting into every channel, and after watching it for a few moments, you realize it must be. The world is in pandemonium. Somehow you had known what the woman was, but you hadn’t been able to bring yourself to fully accept it. She was undead. She was a zombie. They were everywhere, this wasn’t just an isolated case. You weren’t sure if that made you feel better or worse. City after city was on the news, state after state country after country. The dead were returning to life, and they were infecting the living, who were quickly becoming the dead as well. You listened for twenty minutes, hardly noticing the woman banging on the door. Finally you had enough and you shut the TV off and stood. You would need to do something, but first you needed to take stock of your surroundings and what weapons, if any you had at your disposal.

Under the desk was a small handgun with six bullets nearby. You grab this and load the bullets, but to be honest you aren’t very comfortable with a gun, you have never even shot one. You set the gun on the counter for now, not convinced you’re going to take it, but knowing leaving it behind may be a death sentence. You step into the small room behind the main office, a break room of sorts. It has a small refrigerator, a small card table with folding chairs and a few hooks to hang up coats. In the corner is a small island on wheels with one drawer and a larger space below that. You pull open the drawer and extract a long knife and take that back up to the front desk. You set the knife next to the gun and decide to only take one of them. The knife you would be more comfortable using, the gun could possibly keep you safer.

1) Take the knife!

2) Take the gun! Pow pow sucka!

 

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I’ve Seen Enough Movies

One Night Dead

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You’re done with this, and you know what you have to do.

You step forward and swing your fist, connecting solidly with the woman’s jaw. So solidly in fact that it breaks with a sickening crunch, and sound so disgusting that your dinner is now in your mouth. You swallow it back down, but here it is again when you look at the woman. Her jaw is crooked now, hanging loosely and wagging with each step forward she takes. Her tongue is swollen and black, hanging limply from her mouth.

“What is wrong with you?” You wonder aloud, but then she’s on you again, grabbing for your shirt. You’ve had enough. You shove the woman backwards, watching as she stumbles and falls back against your car before rolling off of it and landing face first on the pavement.

Adrenalin is coursing through you now and you take three giant steps forward and lift you foot high above the woman’s head before bringing it down, pushing the sole of you sneakers through the back of her head and popping each of her eyes beneath your foot on the pavement. Gore coats your leg from foot to knee, and the smell of the inside of the woman’s head is nauseating. You remove your foot from her brains and stumble over a few parking spaces before doubling over and vomiting all over. Now what?

1) Go into the office once more, something is going on and maybe the internet can help.

2) Get in your car and head after Sarah.

 

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Run The Bitch Over!

One Night Dead

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You gun it.

Fuck this lady, something crazy is going on and Sarah needs you. This woman could be a psycho killer for all you know. You slam on the gas and your tires skid for a moment, throwing gravel up towards the office, pelting the glass wall hard enough that it’s audible to you in your car. Finally the tires catch and your car is speeding backwards and the rear bumper collides with the woman and sends her up over the trunk and through the rear window and into your backseat.

“Shit!” you shout, twisting the wheel wildly as shards of broken glass fly forward to slice at your arms and your hands. Your knuckles are ghost-white as you grip the wheel, sending the car sliding sideways and down into the ditch across the road from the motel. Your car skids down the grassy incline, coming to a jolting stop at the bottom. The bloody woman is still in the backseat, groaning loudly as she attempts to pull herself from the floor to the back seat. You attempt to throw your door open but it won’t budge. you realize the incline is steed enough that since your car is sitting sideways in it the door isn’t able to clear the ground. You throw the car in drive and grab the steering wheel once more, but when you hit the gas your tires only spin uselessly, burying themselves in wet ground deeper with each revolution.

The passenger door is your only hope, and something about this woman makes you want to get away from her as quickly as possible. You slide into the passenger seat with some effort, working against gravity. Pushing the door open is even harder, it wants to slam back shut every time you push it out. It’s opening into the air and you can now appreciate just how steep an incline your car is sitting.

You finally manage to get the door wide enough for it to stay open when you let go and begin to slide out of your car. The woman in the backseat has other ideas though, and a quick burst of terror washes throughout your body like a tidal wave when her bony hand curls around your ankle.
“Fuck!” you yell, kicking your leg wildly, but her grip remains. “Let go!” you try again, twisting around to look down at the woman, now half way between the backseat and the front. She looks up at you and a new kind of terror over takes you. Her eyes are milky and shine brightly, catching the glow from the moon that hangs bloated and ominous in the night sky. Her mouth is open, her teeth darkened by blood, more brown than red, dried and sticky on her gums and seemingly down her throat. Her nose is pointed and her chin angular, and before you can react the woman darts her head forward and the pain of her taking a bite out of the flesh just above your ankle is so excruciating that you almost pass out.

“What are you doing?” you stammer, fighting the wave of revulsion that comes from seeing this ghoulish woman chewing your skin and swallowing it. The woman opens her mouth once more and leans her head in again, but this time you fight back, thrashing out and pulling your ankle from her grasp, then sending the heel of your shoe into the woman’s cranium. Her head snaps back with a loud crack and you know her neck is broken, considering a large white shard is jutting from her skin just above her shoulders.

Your leg is bleeding profusely, and you know you have to get help. You aren’t sure where your cell phone is now, and even though the woman’s neck is broken, she’s laying against the edge of the driver’s seat, still groaning. You want out of your car, and fast.

You go to work once more attempting to climb out, having a bite taken out of your leg sends adrenaline coursing through your system, and before you know it you’re halfway out of the car, your hands digging into the soft earth of the incline. You’re in a hurry so you rock your body forward in hopes to shoot out of the car on one more heave, and you would have to, if you didn’t jostle the car just enough to cause the passenger door to come swinging down, hitting you right in the back, crushing two vertebrate in your spine. You scream in pain, blood spraying from your lips, falling in large droplets onto the grass in front of you.
You aren’t one to simply give up though, and with the woman below you paralyzed, she isn’t a threat to you in this perilous situation. You work madly to pull yourself form your car, but you aren’t sure if you’re moving your legs, because the truth is, you can’t feel them. You fight for an hour before you begin to feel sick, and ten minutes after that you take a break because you’re vision has gone blurry. That woman was carrying something, obviously. She bit you, and now you’re sick. You just need to rest, that’s all. You close your eyes and when you open them again you aren’t you. You’re dead and left on Earth in your place is a ghoul. A shadow of your former self, simply, a zombie. A zombie unable to push the heavy door off of himself. You sit there for months while the world goes to shit around until you rot so much your brain turns to mush and you’re dead for the second time.


 

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The Poor Thing!

One Night Dead

 1,447 total views,  1 views today

Obviously you aren’t the type of person to run someone over.

You put the car in park and climb out, running to the woman standing behind you.

“Are you all right?” you say, but she doesn’t answer. She notices you though, her head lulling to one side as her eyes pick you up. She holds her arms around you as if to hug you, but you stop well short of her.

“Mam?” you ask, but still she doesn’t answer. She stumbles forward, walking like a toddler might, where they lean their body forward and just hope their legs keep up. You take three giant steps back. “Listen, just stop right there and I can help you. Are you hurt?”

The woman just isn’t herself, you’re starting to realize. She comes forward still, her mouth opening and closing over and over, her teeth shining red with blood. “Enough!” you try, yelling it and stepping forward just to make sure she knows you mean it. “Fucking enough!”

Stepping forward was a mistake, because now the woman lunges forward, grabbing onto your shirt with her fingers, pulling you off balance and sending you both to the ground. The woman is quicker than she looks and before you know it she’s scrabbling to get on top of you. It figures, women always go after guys in relationships. “Get off!” you yell, grabbing the bloody woman by the shoulders and pushing her to the side. She hits her head on the side of your car, giving you time to get to your feet. The woman climbs to her feet to and is stepping towards you once more. What do you do?

1) I’ve seen enough movies, fucking put this chick down!

2) Run back into the office!

3) Run down to room 16, see if someone there knows what the hell is going on.

 

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Call Room 16

One Night Dead

 1,327 total views

You slide your phone into you pocket and snatch the cordless office phone from its cradle charger.

You dial a quick three digit number that sends a call to room 16. As you wait, listening to the tinny ringing through the phone you move to the door of the office, propping it open with your hip as you stand in the doorway. Now you hear the phone in 16 ringing two ways, through the phone and through the slightly opened door.

No one answers the phone, it simply keeps ringing and ringing. You pull the phone from your ear and click it off. You step back inside the office completely, letting the door swing shut in front of you as you dial Mr. Burrows. He answers on the third ring, sounding tired and agitated. You explain the call you received from Sarah, and how you intend on leaving the motel to go find your girlfriend.
Mr. Burrows flicks on his TV, you hear the sudden din in the background of your call. “Oh my God,” Your boss says then, and before you can answer what, he’s gone, his phone hung up and nothing but a droning dial tone on your end. You hang up and drop the phone back onto its charger, intent on driving down to the city.

You quickly gather all of your belongings and head out to your car. You glance down to room 16 once more, surprised to see the door hanging all the way open now. You can’t see anyone inside the room, but to be honest the only thing you’re worried about right now is your girlfriend. You jog to your car and dump your stuff onto the passenger seat as you lower yourself behind the wheel and you’ve got the car started and the thing in reverse before you even shut the door.

Your about to gun the gas when you look into the rearview mirror and are shocked to see someone standing behind you. You don’t recognize the person but you’re sure something is wrong with them. It’s a woman, and her face is pale white and her lower jaw and the front of her shirt is stained crimson red. You’re confident its blood. A part of you wants to just gun the car and run her down, but you know you could never do that, could you? You should really get out and make sure she’s okay.

1) Run the bitch over!

2) Check on the poor thing!

 

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A Choose Your Own Zombie Adventure