It’s finally happened, galleons. Zombies have been unleashed upon the world. Of course, these zombies are of a tiny, sweet variety, and their only real prey are the frosted brains (and candy organs) of other gingerbread people, but for these poor cookies, a veritable sugary HELL has been unleashed.
BEHOLD THE GINGER APOCALYPSE IN ALL ITS GORY GLORY!
SWEET (get it?) JESUS, THEY’RE EVERYWHERE!
That’s right- all hell has broken loose on this tiny train yard, and it’s up to three stalwart defenders to keep the ravening horde at bay.
Let’s meet the survivors!
This is Sarah. She’s from hardy, northern stock. She may be a lumberjack (lumberjane? lumberjill?). She really wishes Sam had given her a rifle/shotgun instead of these pussy pistols.
This is Louis. He escaped from a zombie-filled nightmare video game only to find himself in yet another train yard surrounded by even more zombies. He’s pretty pissed about all this.
This is Ron Fucking Swanson.
There were five in their little gang, but two have already lost their lives at the hands of the blood-thirsty zombies:
Ron’s friend Ned tragically fell right before they reached the station. Even a Swanson couldn’t save him, so Ron was forced to leave his friend’s body behind (as you can see by the bloody footprints).
That was Charles. To be fair, nobody liked Charles. But that doesn’t mean he deserved to die and get his intestines slurped up like spaghetti by some zombie dame, does it?
Unfortunately, our intrepid heroes have made the rookie mistake of splitting up, and are now each facing down their own perils. Alone.
Ron made it to the station, but he’s been pursued by this specky zombie dude.
But fear not! Not only is Ron a crack shot, but he’s found a health pack and some ammo. He should be able to hold out in the station for some time.
Despite her inferior weaponry, Sarah has already incapacitated one zombie (though it’s not dead yet- headshots, Sarah, HEADSHOTS), but she’s got another heading her way.
Louis is trapped atop the train itself, with two hungry zombies trying to climb up to him.
But there’s hope for Louis yet. If he can make his way over to the last train car, there are two Molotovs sitting up there, waiting to rain fiery badness down upon the undead masses.
Will the survivors make it out of the train yard alive? Or will they, like so many before them, fall prey to the frosting smeared maws of the tiny ginger zombies?