The First Page

It is a dark and stormy night. No, I'm just screwing with you. It's actually a bright Thursday afternoon. You, however, are not having fun in the sun; rather, you are hiding out in your bathroom, clutching a hat rack. Why are you in this situation, you ask? Because there is a zombie on the front lawn.

You are Ray. The crowning achievements of your life include maintaining a part time pizza delivery job, being the local champion at beer pong, and recently having passed your sophomore year in college (third time's the charm.)

Until a week and a half ago, you were sharing this lovely 1-bedroom home on the outskirts of Cowperston (a respectable suburban community) with your 3 roommates, a veritable brigade of stand-up fellows. But on that fateful day, you awoke to an emergency broadcast outlining some important details about corpses; namely, that they were rising from their graves to feast on the flesh of the living. Fun. Your roommates didn't come home from work that day, and you've been hiding out in the bathroom ever since.

As comfortable as it is in here, you've gradually become aware that you cannot continue like this forever. You're down to the last bag of Funions and the electricity is out, which means that you can't even go watch porn in the basement.

While it is inevitable that you'll have to leave this place soon, you have a troubling task ahead of you. In order to get to your car, you'll need to kill the zombie on the front lawn.