by Jim English
“You have to make up your mind,” Lance says. “There’s not much time.”
* * *
If you run north and try to weave through the zombies, turn to this page.
If you lob the bottle of Brut like a grenade, turn to this page.
“Hang on,” you tell the tranny, and hoist her off the ground. “I’m going to bring you to the water.”
Unfortunately, this drag queen must weigh well over two hundred pounds—and your legs start buckling once you get her in the air. She grabs your shoulders to avoid falling—and suddenly you feel a strange tingling sensation on your skin. It’s the toxic waste! You scramble toward the water, dump the tranny, and then submerge yourself as quickly as possible, hoping you can wash the poison away.
But the tingling sensation just gets stronger. You suddenly feel so completely fabulous! You skim some seaweed from the water and drape it around your neck. You’ve never had a boa before, and now you can’t imagine how you ever lived without one.
* * *
Turn to this page.
The Cher look-alike begins shuffling in your direction. Her arms are outstretched, and blood drips from her nails. But thanks to her three-inch stiletto heels, she is slipping and stumbling over the sand.
Meanwhile, people are running past you in droves. “We have to get to the ferry!” someone shouts. “It’s our only chance to escape!”
“They’re right!” you tell Jose. “We better get to that ferry!”
“Are you kidding?” Jose asks. “All my new vacation clothes are back at the inn. And my new hair dryer! I’m not giving them up because of some freaky queens.”
You suppose Jose has a good point—you’ve got some new Prada sandals back at the inn, and it’s not like these zombies are terribly fast. Besides, by the time you get back to your room, maybe this whole situation will be under control.
* * *
If you head for the ferryboat immediately, turn to this page.
If you go back to the inn for your belongings, turn to this page.
As you head deeper and deeper into the wilderness, you realize that waiting fifteen minutes for Jose was a mistake. Now The Meat Rack is swarming with zombies! Every few seconds, the peaceful tranquility is shattered by another blood-curdling scream.
Up ahead, your trail is blocked by a drag queen. “Marrrrrry,” she groans.
You run back to a previous intersection, then head west on another trail, but this one’s blocked by a zombie, too! You’re starting to feel disoriented. Maybe the best thing to do is run north—out of the dunes and onto the beach. Then you can head west along the shoreline until you reach Cherry Grove.
Or maybe you’re safer here, hiding in the woods. Sooner or later, you’ve got to find a trail that isn’t blocked by zombies—right?
* * *
If you run toward the beach, turn to this page.
If you stay hidden in the woods, turn to this page.
When you enter the lobby, the first thing you notice is the dead busboy sprawled out on the floor, with five long claw marks slashed across his chest.
Then you notice the zombie Cher wannabe blocking the exit with five or six of her closest friends. You try fighting back but it’s no use—you’re clearly outnumbered. The last thing you see is a Gucci handbag whipping toward your face.
THE END
“I think we can persuade the president,” you tell Lance. “Can you call him direct on your cell phone?”
“We can do better than that,” he says, and then he leads you outside to an old-fashioned phone booth. “Squeeze inside,” he says. As you press up against Lance’s rock-hard abs, he puts a quarter into the phone and dials a number—and then, all of a sudden, the phone booth starts descending into the ground!
“Where are we going?” you ask.
“This elevator brings us to an underground rail car. The Secret Service installed it in 1963, after the first zombie incident, in case we ever had another.”
The elevator stops in a large chamber with a single, sleek bullet car. Its long, streamlined shape points toward the entrance of a dark, yawning cavern. You both climb inside.
“Hang on tight,” he says. “We’ll be at the White House in five minutes.”
He fires up the machine, and you’re on your way.
* * *
Turn to this page.
It’s another beautiful morning in the Atlantic Ocean, and you begin the day by reviewing your “to-do” list:
9:00 Swim with Hasaan.
11:00 Nap.
3:00 Explore shipwrecks with Gilbert.
5:00 Lobster dinner at Tom’s!!
You’ve been living among the mermen for three years now, and—despite the fact that you’re a human—they have graciously welcomed you into their community. Last year, on your birthday, they even presented you with a strap-on fishtail, and you wept with gratitude and happiness.
Much to your surprise, you don’t even think about your old life in Manhattan anymore. The crowds, the smog, the traffic, the expense—who needs it? You’ve got fresh seafood every day, a life of leisure, and a loving community of incredibly gorgeous gay men.
What more could you ask for?
THE END
You introduce Jose and Lance to each other.
“You’re my hero,” Jose exclaims, and he kisses you. “I know this sounds crazy, but the whole time I was hanging from the lighthouse, I was realizing that we were meant to be together. And now that we’ve survived this crazy ordeal, I know I’m right. You’re my best friend, and I love you.”
Lance awkwardly clears his throat. “I’m sorry,” he says, “I didn’t realize you were involved with someone. I guess I thought that we had some kind of future together. You know, traveling around the world and that sort of thing.”
You realize that this might be the most important decision of your entire vacation. Are you interested in being with Jose? He may be kind of nelly, but he is your best friend—and you’ve always wanted to peek under that Speedo.
On the other hand, Lance is pretty hot, too—and just think of all the exciting adventures you could have together.
Or, then again, maybe you don’t want to be with either of these guys! You’re on vacation at Fire Island, for God’s sake! Anything could happen!
* * *
If you want to be with Jose, turn to this page.
If you want to be with Lance, turn to this page.
If you want to see what the rest of the Island has to offer, turn to this page.
You stagger onto the beach, walking on three-inch heels that have mysteriously sprouted from the bottoms of your feet. You don’t get very far before Jose and the lifeguard return from the sand dune.
“Oh, there you are, sweetie,” Jose says. “You’ve already met DeShawn, right? My little lifeguard hero?”
“Yessssss,” you groan. “He’s got a sweet asssssssssssss.”
Jose takes a closer look at you. “Honey, are you feeling all right? And what’s with the new getup?”
“You wish you had some of thissssss,” you growl, and then you slash your razor-sharp nails across Jose’s neck, silencing him forever. DeShawn charges at you, but you strangle him with your seaweed boa.
Then you join your fellow sisters of the night—an army of undead drag queens—and prepare to take Fire Island by storm.
THE END
You scramble out of the woods and onto the beach—where, to your horror, you discover dozens of zombie drag queens blocking passage to Cherry Grove. While you were waiting for Jose and Troy, the zombies must have mobilized to keep everyone trapped inside The Pines!
These zombies start groaning and shuffling in your direction. And even more zombies are stumbling out of The Meat Rack. You can outrun two or three, but this is ridiculous!
When you look out to sea, you notice a sandbar about one hundred feet from shore. Your hunch is that zombie drag queens will refuse to swim—so maybe the best thing to do is get in the water. You might be safe
there until help arrives.
On the other hand, the main lifeguard station is just five hundred feet down the beach—and you can see people inside, peering out the windows. Maybe Jose is with them! At the very least, they can probably offer you a place to hide.
* * *
If you run toward the lifeguard station, turn to this page.
If you swim out to the sandbar, turn to this page.
When the rail car stops, Lance leads you to another elevator, and this one goes directly to the White House. You’d always hoped to visit the Oval Office someday—but you never expected to be wearing a bathing suit when it happened!
“Good evening, Mr. President,” Lance says. “We’re here about the situation on Fire Island.”
“Everything’s under control,” the president says. “We’re launching our missiles in less than five minutes.”
“You can’t do that!” you exclaim.
He stares at you in surprise. “Well then, Mr. I’ll-Tell-the-President-His-Job, what would you do? How do you propose we get rid of the zombies?”
Lance squeezes your elbow. “You’re embarrassing me,” he whispers. “And you’re going to cost me my job!”
* * *
If you offer a suggestion, turn to this page.
If you shut your mouth, turn to this page.
“I’m sorry,” you tell Lance, “but I’ve known Jose for a long time, and in my heart, I always knew we were meant to be together.”
“I understand,” he shrugs. “If you guys are ever in the D.C. area, give me a call. I can get you a private tour of the White House.”
Your first night with Jose is everything you’d ever hoped it would be—and then some. The next day, you’re both back on the beach, sipping piña coladas and marveling at all of your privacy. Since most visitors to the island were turned into zombies and then transformed into piles of dust, the crowds are minimal, and you have the whole beach to yourselves. Pretty soon, you both realize that you want to stay on Fire Island forever—so you make an offer on a bed and breakfast and turn your dream into a reality!
THE END
“Thanks,” you tell Jake, “but I think I’m going to cool off with a swim.”
“Then take a swim,” he says, and winks at you. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Great, you figure—now you’re being stalked. You dive into the pool and feel Jake watching you. It’s only a matter of time before you’ll have to speak with him again.
But then you realize that the pool is outdoor and indoor—you can actually swim into the mansion. Realizing this is your only chance to get away from Jake, you decide this is the best course of action.
The next time you come up for air, you’re in a small glass-lined room. There’s no eye candy here—no people at all, in fact. Just a bunch of test tubes, flasks, beakers, and other assorted chemistry equipment. It must be a laboratory!
You find a notebook with the following entry, dated just one hour ago:
Eureka! I’ve perfected the anti-zombie vaccine by splicing ordinary Viagra tablets with Special K and Flintstones Chewable Vitamins. I’m taking a batch to the Public Health Bureau right away. This will save the island!
* * *
Turn to this page.
You’re certain that one of these trails must lead to Cherry Grove. But every time you head down a path, you spot another drag queen in the distance, and have to turn around. It doesn’t take long before you’re completely disoriented.
But then you remember an old trick from your days as a Boy Scout. The trick’s name was Kenny, and he paid you three dollars for a hand-job in the backseat of his parent’s station wagon. He also had a ton of merit badges and once told you that the sun always rose in the east and set in the west.
You look up at the sky and locate the setting sun—which means that you’ll want to be walking toward it. But as you grapple with your lousy sense of direction, you’re oblivious to the rustling foliage all around you. When the zombies leap out en masse, you’re completely unprepared.
It’s a violent death—but at least you died thinking about a hand-job …
THE END
“You can send in the national guard,” you suggest.
“Sweetie,” Lance hisses in your ear.
“No, seriously,” you explain. “If you put this anti-zombie lens on the lighthouse, all the zombies will turn into dust!”
The president considers this idea. “It’d be cheaper than nuclear missiles,” he agrees. “And if we capture Champagne Toast, we can learn her secrets and use them to build our own army of undead she-male freaks.”
The president reaches out to shake your hand. “I guess that makes you a hero, son. I never thought I’d say that to a gay person. But what the hell—it’s the nineties, right?”
“Actually, Mr. President, it’s 2003,” you tell him.
Lance turns to you and gives you a big hug. “You’re incredible!” he says.
* * *
Turn to this page.
Behind the hedge is an Olympic-sized pool surrounded by dozens of the hottest guys you’ve ever seen. There are men sunbathing, swimming, and rubbing lotion on themselves. Others are dancing to the house music. Still others are sipping piña coladas. “Either this is some kind of mirage,” you mutter, “or I’ve just wandered into the best circuit party on the planet.”
“Hey, you!” one of the men shouts. He’s in his mid-thirties and cut like a bodybuilder, with huge broad shoulders, a barrel chest, and cheekbones to die for. “Are you going to join us? Or just stand in the bushes all day with your dick in your hand?”
You step out of the hedges. “I’m looking for a ferryboat or a marina,” you tell him. “Zombie drag queens have taken over The Pines!”
“So what’s the big deal?” the bodybuilder asks. “Don’t you think you’d be safe here?”
You have to admit: the bodybuilder and his friends seem like they’d be able to protect you. But are their massive forty-two inch chests any match for the wrath of the drag queens?
* * *
If you insist on finding boat transportation, turn to this page.
If you seek protection with the bodybuilder, turn to this page.
You run into the ocean and quickly swim out to the sandbar, where the water only comes up to your knees. When you glance back at the shore, you see that all of the zombies are standing at the edge of the water, too frightened to chase after you. Nothing scares a tranny more than the possibility of runny makeup!
Although you’re safe for the time being, you know the situation won’t last forever—and when the tide goes out, you’ll be totally shafted.
Then, incredibly, you notice a small yacht on the horizon. You begin waving your arms. “Over here!” you shout. “Help, please!”
The yacht quickly sails in your direction and stops just a few feet away from the sandbar. The captain walks out onto the deck. “Swim over, laddie!” he shouts. “I don’t want me boat to run aground!”
* * *
Turn to this page.
“I’m sorry,” you mutter. “I’ll just shut up.”
“Hah! That’s what I thought!” the president says. “Now let’s get those missiles airborne.”
A few minutes later, on a nearby monitor, you watch the destruction of Fire Island via a live close-circuit broadcast. As a mushroom cloud rises over the beach, you feel a pang of remorse. If you’d made different choices, perhaps you could have saved one of the greatest gay vacation spots from going up in a cloud of smoke.
“Oooooh,” the president sighs. “Pretty cloud!”
“Come on,” Lance says. “Let’s get out of here.”
Out on Pennsylvania Avenue, Lance asks you if you want to go back to his apartment, and you figure you have nothing to lose. Fire Island may have been destroyed, but at least you found a boyfriend with a steady job.
THE END
As the old proverb goes, a bird in hand beats two in the bush, so you head up to the third floor bedroom with J
ake.
You quickly realize that everything you’ve ever known about sex has gone right out the window. Jake is so good, so strong, and so goddamn relentless, you feel like you’ve just lost your cherry for the very first time. Maybe it’s the waterbed, maybe it’s the strength of his hands, maybe it’s the fact that he’s uncircumcised. You have no idea—but the whole time you’re fucking, you never want it to end.
During one of your rest periods, you float back to consciousness and remember the zombie epidemic from earlier that afternoon. “Jake, honey,” you tell him, “I really think the island might be in danger.”
Before you can elaborate, however, there’s a blood-curdling scream from downstairs!
“I’ll check it out,” Jake says.
* * *
Turn to this page.
You swallow the red pill and Jake swallows the blue pill.
You don’t feel anything at all—but after just a few moments, you notice the enormous erection in Jake’s bathing suit and realize you made the correct choice. You’re now vaccinated against the zombies!
“Listen, sugar,” Jake says, advancing toward you. “For some strange reason, I’m really getting the urge right now. Why don’t we get away from all this bloodshed and find a nice quiet place to relax?”
