“I think this games of ‘Hunters vs. Infected’ may have gotten a little out of hand,” said Mikey.

“Oh, really?” said Jake. “What was your first guess?”

“Maybe the fact that we’ve holed ourselves up on top of Squibb Hall with canned food and Nerf snipers on the roof,” Mikey said. “It’s kind of spooky, but it’s just what Dr. Jonsen said would happen.”

Jake shrugged. “Well, I don’t see why we shouldn’t see it out anyway. We’ve got snipers in place, belt-fed Nerf machine guns, and the game ends on Sunday.”

“But they turned Kevin, and he knew your plans from the beginning,” said Mikey, playing with the green cloth tied around his harm that marked him as a ‘hunter.’ “He could gather up everybody and plan an assault that could overrun us.”

“Mikey, he’s a guy with a red bandanna tied around his arm, not an actual undead monster,” sighed Jake. “The rules of ‘Hunters vs. Infected’ are very clear: when a hunter is tagged by an infected, they become an infected, and they are not allowed to use any hunter weapons or knowledge in the game after that.”

“But what if he does anyway?”

“Then we shoot him between the eyes with this,” said Jake, brandishing his Nerf XP-7000 battery-powered, laser-sighted assault rifle. “We have enough darts to finish them off.”

“And these things can fire mini-screwdrivers if we run out,” said Mikey. He picked one up, loaded in his magazine, and blasted it off; it landed with enough force to bury itself in the weak and crumbly concrete of the abandoned dorm’s rooftop.

“Mikey!” Jake cried.” You know the rules! Modifying Nerf weapons to fire ordnance other than official Nerf-sanctioned ammo is strictly forbidden!”

Before Mikey could respond, one of the sentries cried out. “Infected!”

The Squibb Hall stairwell door crashed open, and a mob of students with red armbands began to pour out.

“That bastard Kevin! He must have used the steam tunnels to get in without being seen!” cried Jake. “Open fire!”

The two Nerf Dushka-138 automatic guns opened up, but the charging students ignored the rain of foam from the sky.

“Cheating! That’s cheating! You’re cheaters!” raved Jake, brandishing a copy of the official rules. “You have to lay down when you’re hit!”

“Uh, Jake?” said Mikey. He was looking at the students’ pasty complexions, vapid eyes, and torn clothes with some degree of alarm. “I don’t think they’re playing the game anymore.”

“They’re not?” Jake watched the horde overwhelm a sniper post on the far corner of the roof and tear the frat boy manning it to shreds. “Holy shit, they’re not! Quick, give me some mini-screwdrivers!”

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