Zavier's Guide to Not Being Eaten

Chapter 5: The Garage of Disappointment

Chapter 5: Deck the Halls with Brains and Terror

"Zavier! The shovel! It’s slipping!" Maine’s voice was a jagged rasp of panic and effort.

"I’m trying! My hands are made of butter! Everything is butter!" Zavier shrieked, his fingers white-knuckled as he gripped the handle of his folding spade.

The garage door groaned—a deep, metallic protest as the motor fought against the weight of the bodies outside. Beneath the two-inch gap, those gray, twitching fingers were no longer just searching; they were hooking into the lip of the door, pulling with a strength that defied biology.

"The sensor! It’s still trying to go up!" Maine yelled, her boots skidding on the smooth concrete as she tried to put her weight on the metal handle. "If this thing opens, we’re a two-for-one special!"

"The app said the interest was due!" Zavier’s voice hit a frequency only dogs and terrified nerds could reach. "The 'Adrenaline Lie' is over! My muscles are currently on strike! I feel like a soggy piece of bread, Maine!"

"I don't care if you're a crouton! Push!"

[ Warning: Critical Stamina Debt. ]

[ Suggestion: Use your body weight. Or, you know, find something heavier than your own fragile ego to jam the door. ]

"Shut up, App!" Zavier sobbed. "Maine, look! Over there, by the workbench! That big wooden thing!"

Maine followed his gaze to a corner overflowing with dusty plastic bins labeled X-MAS. Towering over a stack of tangled lights was a six-foot-tall, hand-painted wooden Nutcracker, its jaw perpetually open in a silent, festive scream.

"Is that a freaking Nutcracker?" Maine asked, her face a mask of disbelief.

"It’s a heavy-duty, vintage Nutcracker! Grab it! Use it as a wedge!"

"I’m holding the door, you idiot! You get it!"

"I can't let go! If I let go, the shovel snaps and we’re snacks!" Zavier’s legs began to tremble violently. "Go! I’ll hold it for five seconds! One... two..."

"If I die because of a holiday decoration, I will haunt your tactical backpack forever!" Maine let go of the door and sprinted across the garage.

The door immediately jerked upward six inches. Zavier’s arms felt like they were being ripped out of their sockets. "FOUR! FIVE! MAINE, HURRY!"

"Coming through!" Maine lunged back, sliding across the floor like a varsity athlete, the massive Nutcracker clutched in her arms.

She didn't hesitate. She shoved the base of the wooden soldier into the track of the garage door and slammed the Nutcracker’s head under the heavy metal rim. The door descended with a crunch, the wooden soldier’s crown splintering as it bore the weight.

CRACK.

The door stopped. The fingers outside were pinned, followed by a chorus of muffled, frustrated snarls.

"Merry Christmas, you bastards," Maine panted, collapsing onto her back and staring at the ceiling.

Zavier slumped against the workbench, his breath coming in ragged, pathetic wheezes. "See? Tactical... application... of festive... joy."

"That was the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever seen," Maine muttered, wiping a streak of glitter from her forehead. "We’re trapped in a box with a broken lawnmower and a decapitated Nutcracker. This is how we die."

"We aren't dying. We’re 'Currently Occupying a Defensible Space,'" Zavier corrected, his phone chiming in his sleeve. "Let me check the stats."

[ Objective: Hold the Line. STATUS: STALLED. ]

[ Reward: 5 Survival Points (Pity Bonus). ]

[ Current Balance: 50 Survival Points. ]

"Fifty points!" Zavier cheered weakly. "I can buy something! App, open the shop! Give me a gun! A bazooka! A very large dog!"

[ Shop Unlocked. ]

[ Available Items for 50 SP: ]

[ 1. A Single Band-Aid (Used). ]

[ 2. Tactical Instruction: 'Improvised Mayhem'. ]

[ 3. A 30-second clip of upbeat elevator music. ]

"The instruction! Buy the instruction!" Maine yelled, sitting up. "I swear to God, Zavier, if you buy the elevator music, I will end you before the zombies do."

"I’m buying it! I’m buying it!" Zavier tapped the screen frantically.

[ Purchase Confirmed: Tactical Instruction - 'Improvised Mayhem'. ]

[ Scenario: Suburban Garage. ]

[ Recommended Weaponry: The 'Glitter-Gale 3000'. ]

[ Components: One leaf blower, two rolls of industrial-strength tinsel, one bag of decorative gravel. ]

Zavier looked up, his eyes scanning the room. "Maine. I have a plan. And you’re going to hate it."

"I already hate it. Tell me anyway."

"The leaf blower. It’s right there. And the tinsel... it’s everywhere." Zavier pointed to the bins. "The app says we can make a high-velocity projectile launcher."

"It’s a leaf blower, Zavier. It blows air. It doesn't fire tinsel like a machine gun."

"Not with that attitude! If we pack the nozzle with the gravel and use the tinsel to create a localized pressure seal—"

"You're making a glitter-themed claymore?" Maine stared at him, then at the garage door, which was once again beginning to vibrate as more bodies threw themselves against it. "Fine. Do it. I’ll see if this lawnmower has any gas left. Maybe I can make a Molotov."

"Don't burn the garage down! We’re inside the garage!"

"It’s called 'Plan B', Optimizer! Work faster!"

Zavier scrambled toward the leaf blower, his fingers fumbling with a roll of silver tinsel. "Okay, okay. App, how do I secure the gravel?"

[ Advice: Think of it like a shotgun shell. Pack the gravel, seal with tinsel, and aim for the soft spots. ]

"Soft spots. Right. Eyes, mouths, the usual," Zavier muttered, stuffing a handful of pea gravel into the wide plastic nozzle. He began wrapping the tinsel around the end, creating a shimmering, festive plug. "Maine, I need a screwdriver! And more gravel!"

"Use your 'versatile' shovel!" Maine shouted from the other side of the garage, where she was currently trying to unscrew the gas cap of a rusted John Deere. "And hurry up! The Nutcracker is starting to bend!"

Zavier looked back. The wooden soldier was indeed bowing under the pressure. The metal track was whining, and a second gray hand had joined the first, the fingers clawing frantically at the Nutcracker’s painted face.

"Stay strong, Nutty! Do it for the North Pole!" Zavier yelled, finishing his makeshift seal. He flipped the switch on the leaf blower. The engine roared to life, a high-pitched whine that filled the cramped garage.

"Is it ready?" Maine asked, abandoning the lawnmower. She held a small jar of yellowish liquid. "I got half a cup of old gas. It’s not much, but it’s something."

"The Glitter-Gale is primed!" Zavier shouted over the engine's roar. "On my mark, we pull the Nutcracker, let the door open a crack, and I’ll give them a face full of holiday spirit!"

"This is the stupidest plan in the history of human conflict," Maine said, stepping toward the door. "On three?"

"On three!"

"One!" Maine gripped the Nutcracker’s torso.

"Two!" Zavier braced the leaf blower against his hip, feeling like a budget Ghostbuster.

"Three!"

Maine yanked the wooden soldier free. The garage door screeched upward, fueled by the spring tension and the weight of the zombies outside. It flew up three feet before the motor jammed.

Three figures—the mailman, a woman in a jogging suit, and a teenager—all tried to scramble under at once.

"EAT TINSEL!" Zavier screamed, pulling the trigger.

POOF-THWACK!

The leaf blower didn't just blow air. It erupted. A cloud of silver tinsel and high-velocity gravel exploded from the nozzle. The mailman-zombie, who had been leading the charge, took a face full of decorative stones and shiny plastic. His head snapped back, his eyes—or what was left of them—now peppered with gravel and shimmering silver.

"It worked! It actually worked!" Zavier bellowed, the leaf blower vibrating in his hands.

"Keep firing! There’s more of them!" Maine lunged forward, swinging her cleaver to finish off the blinded jogger.

"I’m reloading! I’m reloading!" Zavier shoved another handful of gravel into the nozzle, but the tinsel seal had blown out completely. "Maine, the seal is gone! I’m just blowing rocks at them!"

"Then blow the rocks harder!"

The teenager-zombie lunged, his teeth snapping inches from Maine’s arm. She kicked him back, but the sheer number of bodies pressing against the door was starting to overwhelm them.

"Zavier, we can't hold this! There's a dozen more behind them!"

"To the kitchen! Get to the house!" Zavier pointed to the internal door.

"The app! What does the app say?" Maine yelled, dodging a swipe from a glitter-covered hand.

Zavier glanced at his arm. The screen wasn't green anymore. It was a pulsing, rhythmic amber.

[ Alert: Internal Hazard Detected. ]

[ Note: You were so worried about the front door that you forgot to check the upstairs. ]

"The upstairs?" Zavier whispered, his heart stopping. "Maine, wait."

Scritch. Scritch. Scritch.

The sound didn't come from the garage door. It didn't come from the driveway. It came from directly above them.

Zavier looked up. The garage ceiling was made of thin, white drywall panels. In the corner, near the ventilation duct, a dark stain was spreading.

"What is that?" Maine asked, her voice dropping to a whisper as she backed away from the garage door.

"The vents..." Zavier’s voice trembled. "The app said... Class-1s in the vents."

CREAK.

The drywall groaned. A long, thin crack snaked across the ceiling, followed by the sound of something heavy dragging itself through the insulation.

"They're in the attic," Maine said, her face turning pale. "They didn't just follow us. They beat us here."

"How? How are they in the attic?"

"The house next door! They must have jumped the roof gap!" Zavier gripped the leaf blower like a shield. "Maine, the door to the kitchen! Go! Now!"

They scrambled toward the small wooden door that led into the main house, but they were too late.

A loud, wet CRACK echoed through the garage. A massive section of the ceiling tile didn't just break—it disintegrated.

Dust, insulation, and several rolls of pink fiberglass fell in a chaotic heap. And in the center of the mess, a figure plummeted.

"WATCH OUT!" Maine screamed, lunging for Zavier.

But the 'Adrenaline Lie' debt finally chose that exact second to collect. Zavier’s knees buckled. He tripped over a stray roll of tinsel, his arms windmilling as he fell forward.

He didn't hit the floor.

Something cold, heavy, and smelling of old attic dust slammed onto his back.

Zavier let out a strangled "Oof!" as he was pinned to the concrete. He felt a pair of decaying arms wrap around his neck, and a set of teeth clamped down firmly—not on his skin, but on the thick, padded strap of his 'prepper-lite' tactical backpack.

"GET IT OFF! GET IT OFF ME!" Zavier shrieked, rolling on the floor like a panicked turtle.

The zombie—a middle-aged man in a moth-eaten sweater—was growling into the nylon fabric, its fingernails digging into Zavier’s chest.

"Hold still!" Maine yelled, raising her cleaver.

"Don't miss! For the love of everything tactical, Maine, don't miss!"

Zavier looked down at his phone one last time as the garage door finally gave way, the Nutcracker snapping in half as a wave of silver-glittered corpses began to pour inside.

The app flashed a single, mocking line.

[ Achievement Unlocked: 'Human Backpack'. ]

[ Status: It’s behind you. Literally. ]

"I HATE THIS APPPPPP!" Zavier’s scream echoed through the suburban house, drowned out by the sound of the ceiling collapsing and the roar of the undead.