text: "What about all that food back there?" you inquire. Jimbo is slow to answer.
  
  "We don't have enough to go around. As it is, we're going to run out before long." As disparaging as Jimbo's words sound, you aren't about to give up on this - because, in that pile behind the door, you just caught sight of the most delicious-looking pack of bacon in the history of the human race.
  
  "Doesn't seem to be any electricity here. How are you keeping that meat cold?" Again, Jimbo is slow to answer.
  
  "We're not. The generator was running until last night when the Boners came by and drove a Jeep into it. It's still pretty cool back there, but it won't last."
  
  "Who the hell are the Boners?"
  
  "God damn, boy, you been living under a rock?"
  
  "In my bathroom."
  
  "Ah. Well, long story short, the Boners are a bunch of fuckheads, and they want to kill me. They damn well could, too, but they haven't tried to come in here yet. I guess they don't realize how few guns we have."
  
  "Cool story, bro. But where does the name come from?"
  
  "We call them that because they like to take... trophies from whatever they kill. Skulls and femurs and shit. And also because they're dicks."
  
  "I see." Suddenly, Jimbo's face perks up a little bit.
  
  "You know what, Jay?"
  
  "Ray."
  
  "Whatever. The Boners only want to kill me. They wouldn't hurt someone like you. Why don't you go talk to them, try to get them off my ass?"
  
  "Sounds like fun. But why me?"
  
  "Because you need to eat. Do this for me, and I'll make sure you're the last person here to starve."
  
  What do you say?
  
  > screw that
  "Eh, screw that. I won't be your errand boy."
  
  So your conversation with Jimbo yielded no food. Oh well. At least you can come back here and be safe... after you find something to eat.
  
  As you meander through an aisle on your way to the exit, you hear, "Psst!" It's a dirty-looking old woman lying on a sleeping bag on the bottom shelf.
  
  "Hey. I saw you talking to the boss. Didn't want to feed you either, huh?"
  
  "Nope."
  
  "Of course not. He's turned down the last fifty people who came in here. Asshole acts like he's doing us a favor, keeping order or something, and all he's really doing is keeping the food for himself. Of course, we're going to fix that."
  
  "Who's we?"
  
  "Well... I'm not going to name names, but I'll tell you what. You want to see about a change in management around here, you meet us by the dumpster out back at 11:30. Keep your family fed. You bring your family?"
  
  "No."
  
  "Ah! A smart one. We could use a man like you." She flashes you the kind of smile that would be arousing if it wasn't coming from a possibly anorexic woman at least 30 years older than you who hasn't taken a bath in days.
  
  "Uh... okay. See ya."
  
  Your next course of action will be to:
  
  > meet the conspirators by the dumpster
  You decide to go to this meeting and see what happens. You hang around at the grocery for the rest of the day, since there's not much else to do.
  
  At 11:28 that night, you head out the back door to the specified location. 'How did I tell the time,' you ask? Because you're a freakin' magician. With a magical cell phone.
  
  By the dumpster, you encounter a handful of others, but it's too dark to see their faces. All are silent until one more individual arrives a few minutes later; you instantly recognise her raspy, grating voice. She kinda sounds like Lemmy Kilmister on old time radio after five years without anything to drink.
  
  "Alright, boys. Right down to business. Big Red, you know what to do. Sparrow, I want you to watch Pointy's back. Tinman and Chuck, you're going to stand by in case of Plan B. Hotstuff, you're coming with me. Everybody ready?"
  
  You raise your hand.
  
  "Uh, excuse me? What am I doing?"
  
  "I just told you, Hotstuff. You're coming with me."
  
  "Oh."
  
  While the rest of the conspirators rush to execute the plan, whatever the hell it is, the woman leads you back to the door.
  
  "Alright, Hotstuff. You're going to be the diversion."
  
  "I always wanted to be the diversion."
  
  "I'll bet you did. Now, take this," she says, handing you something you can't see very clearly in the darkness of night.
  
  "It's a flashlight. You're going to get naked and point it at your ass while you run through the building screaming."
  
  "It sounds like fun, but I don't know about this..."
  
  "You've got to! The plan depends on it!"
  
  "Well, uh..."
  
  "If you don't, I will." And you know what? That seals it. You do exactly as she says and by the time you've run through the whole store once, you find that Jimbo and his guards have been crushed by a piano. You don't ask how it was done.
  
  The next day, the old woman officially takes over and, upon her promise to divide the remaining food among each and every resident of the grocery, there is little resistance. You're happy to get your share, although a bit miffed that no one will look you in the eye anymore.
  
  > That night...
  That night, a massive horde of undead converge upon the grocery. But, alas! Your compatriots are unarmed, the only guns being stuck under a piano at the present time. About the time the zombies begin to assail the door, most of them begin to run around like headless chickens. Only a handful of defenders rush to the door to beat back the horde with whatever makeshift weapons are on hand. You have no idea where the old woman is, but she certainly isn't taking charge when you most need it.
  
  This leaves you with only a few options.
  
  > join the defenders with your hat rack
  Since you're not a pansy ass bitch, the obvious course of action would be to go bash some faces in with your hat rack. You join those brave men and women by the door, wielding shoes, broken bottles, and the various gardening implements they brought from home. As you beat one ghoul to death, then another, and then another, you think, for a minute, that you can win this. But you are grossly outnumbered.
  
  One by one, you see your allies get dragged into the advancing horde and ripped limb from limb. They advance through the doors and you are forced to make way. Now that you are no longer in the doorway, more and more ghouls are able to pour into the grocery; it is not long before you are overrun and surrounded by the undead. You are torn from the lower half of your body, spilling blood, guts and bile all over. The last thing that goes through your mind as a zombie bites into your skull is the hope that those who fled in cowardice meet as painful a death as you do.