“No thanks!” you yell, ducking and running quickly back out the doors of the gas station. You sprint to the car, wondering if you would hear the shotgun blast before you felt the pellets tear through your body, or vice versa.

But it never comes. Doesn’t matter: you’re running over to the driver’s side of your car and jumping in like it’s coming anyway. Your heart is beating so loudly that you’re turning the key and driving your car forward away from the station before you hear the concerned questions of your passengers.

“That freak was trying to play a trick with a shotgun,” you explain as calmly as possible, “And he got me good. I wasn’t about to stick around to see if he was kidding or not.”

You know how stupid that sounds, and you’re waiting for Suzy or Paul to call you out on it. You squint out the windshield. There’s a weird fog out there all the sudden, and it’s really dark out. You’re now driving through an undeveloped part of the area, where there are still actual woods on either side of the road. The cabin is a little farther along, and you can’t wait to get there and tell this story. It’ll hopefully make up for the lack of chips and ice.

Then Michael hisses “Look out!” and in your peripheral vision you notice Suzy bracing for impact; you feel Michael legs press up against the back of your seat in hurried panic.

Then you notice what he saw first: a solid line of people stretched across the road, blocking your way. You instinctively hit the brakes, skidding to a halt well before you hit them, just as you realize that the people standing there are... zombies. Oh no, they are. That torn flesh and missing limbs aren’t make-up. This is real. And you need to get the hell out of...

Oh, no, you’re all staying here. With us. A voice is in your head, a power is paralyzing you. Everyone’s yelling at you to drive, to do something, but you can’t move. Even as the windows shatter around you from approaching zombies punching their way in to grab and pulverize your passengers, you can’t move. All you can do is slowly open your door, which the zombies are leaving alone, and watch out your eyes as your body gets up and stands up to survey the army of zombies that stand still, watching some of their ranks destroy your car and Paul, Suzy, and Michael within it.

Envy them, you’re told, because what you’re in for, oh... you have no idea.

You wonder who is talking to you, who is controlling you.

The force senses your questions. Who am I? I am your death.

YOU HAVE NO CHOICE: CLICK HERE