INFECTED (Click Your Poison)

by James Schannep

  You turn back, just in time to notice you’re plunging into an irrigation ditch. It’s not terribly deep, but the Hummer cartwheels forward and you slam into the dashboard just as the front bumper slams into the concrete embankment. The momentum carries the rear forward and the vehicle exits the ditch on its roof.

  Ouch, that hurt! You look around, getting your bearings from your newly upside-down orientation. The ammo bag crushed the passenger side windshield, so in a sense you’re lucky. You take the bag, along with the assault rifle and shotgun; you’re aware enough to know you’ll need them.

  You crawl out of the totaled Humvee, wondering if the soldier was crushed when it flipped. Nope, he’s about twenty-five yards away in the dirt. He hobbles over to you. “I said, look out for the ditch. Goddamn, that hurt. You okay, Newjack?”

  Now you get your bearings outside, looking around the field. You’ve got a few moments, but the undead are closing in.

  • “Let’s do this—put the extra ammo between us and keep the Hummer at your back.”

  • “Sorry if this makes me a wuss, but I think it’s time to run.”

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Charge the Ramparts!

  Boom—going for it! You sprint away from the punk ghoul (stay in school, kids—don’t get bitten by strangers) and toward the pawnshop. You get to the door with axe raised, but screech to a halt. Bad news: the security gate is engaged and locked down. The nearby window shows wrought-iron bars that have kept the undead clear this long.

  What now?

  • Locked? What does “locked” mean to somebody hopped up on adrenaline with an axe?

  • No time! Arrrgh—back entrance, go!

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Cleaning Up

  You chase after the wounded janitor, hobbling and shambling as fast as your everlasting legs will carry you. He’s got a twisted ankle and a blown kneecap, so he’s moving at roughly the same speed as you. Except you don’t get tired. The man cries while he runs, knowing it’s death for him. You wish you could tell him things are a lot easier once your heart stops beating, but you can’t, so you just snarl and growl and pursue.

  An immortal pushes into the staff office doors from behind you, but most of the pantheon of gods and goddesses keep after the janitor with as much intensity as you. Several gunshots go off in that room; probably a good thing you went for the sure thing. A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush, especially when there’s a chance the birds are packing heat.

  The “Sanitation Engineer” finally takes a wrong step and collapses under the pressure. You collapse upon him, digging into the nape of his neck just above the collar of his jumpsuit. To the victor go the spoils! You get in one good bite before the crowd behind you joins in. Oh well, guess you can’t have your janitor and eat it too.

  • This place is dead anyway, time to head outside.

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Clean Living

  Not a bad idea, steering clear. Who wants to be a guinea pig, anyway? Not you. You’ve heard about drugs that are produced, only to be banned a year later. And this sounds really, really bad. After all, if God had wanted us to live forever, He wouldn’t have given us a talking snake offering forbidden fruits.

  No, you’re playing it safe. Although it would be interesting to see what the world will be like when Justin Bieber is on the cover of One Hundred and Seventeen magazine.

  • “Exactly. Back to my boring life. What’s on TV?”

  • “Are you kidding? This Gilga-whatever thing just seems plain wrong! I have to take down the company… from the inside.”

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  A Closed-Door Policy

  With caution, you walk up toward the house. There’s a ring of dead grass around the foundation, soaked (from the faint whiffs you get) in what could be kerosene. Apparently the home’s owner never got the chance to light the flaming moat as planned. Probably for the best, as that most likely would’ve burnt the house down. Makes you wonder about the razed house across the street.

  You proceed to the front door. Maybe someone’s prayers were answered, and this house was spared? Maybe they’re waiting for you inside with milk and cookies? As you push it open, a great blast from a shotgun blows a hole through wood. Or maybe not. You fall to the ground, unhurt, and brush debris from your face and hair. With a quick scramble, you sidle up against the side of the house for cover.

  “I’m alive!” you scream. “I’m normal!”

  No response.

  • Should’ve noticed the “no solicitors” sign. Keep low, and run away.

  • Use a shard of glass as a mirror to look inside.

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Club Members Only

  You leave the rippling wake of the pool and head up toward the clubhouse in the large deciduous tree to the rear. The irony isn’t lost on you that this children’s fort, defensible only in make-believe, has stood against the undead surge simply by being a few feet out of reach. Wooden two-by-fours are nailed into the trunk to serve as a ladder. You ascend these rungs hand-over-hand, bringing your feet up in synchronization.

  When you make it to the top and pull yourself to floor level, a knife comes to your throat. It’s a large Rambo-looking blade, complete with a serrated spine. The knife’s owner wears a gas mask, Air Force ABUs, decked out with military gear. He’s a little overweight and his embroidered nametag reads “SIMS.”

  Behind him, a woman holds a gaudy candlestick over her head, ready to smash it on you if need be. A fake-tanned blonde, she was somebody’s trophy wife back in the world. Now she’s pushing fifty (not that she’d ever admit it) and probably hates that she no longer has time for makeup.

  “What do you want?” she asks.

  “Food,” you reply, wishing you could raise your hands in supplication, but keeping them firmly on the final rung of the ladder.

  The man lifts his gas mask with his free hand, keeping the knife trained on you. “Where did you come from?”

  “Home.” You’re not sure what else to say.

  “Is this your first day out?” Sims asks, his brow furrowed with suspicion.

  You nod. The woman lowers her candlestick, a motherly concern on her face. “This is my fourth.”

  “I’m afraid there’s no food here,” Sims says while he stands and tucks his knife into the sheath on his belt. “Name’s Sims. We’re out scavenging too, so…”

  “We’re with a small group—just four others—but I bet you could join us if you wanted. I’m sure Cooper would let you. Hi, I’m Angelica,” the blonde comments.

  • “No thanks, I travel solo.”

  • “Let’s find this Cooper then.”

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Coke Fiend

  The cocaine enters your system the minute you take it. Your head’s spinning. This guy spared no expense on his nose candy, either. You get a full-body feeling of warmth, and your extremities tingle as your brain’s pleasure centers start popping.

  Phoenix makes himself a line of coke on the coffee table and snorts it with labored grunts of delight. He rises from the couch and stumbles over toward the balcony. He slides the glass door open with a pull and staggers onto the balcony with such uncoordinated steps, you think he might fall over the railing.

  But he catches himself, throws up his arms, and yells, “Thank you, Lewis Deleon! I’m gonna live forever, motherfuckers!”

  Coming back into the skyrise apartment, Phoenix extends a hand to the girl without panties, the bottomless hooker, and helps her to her feet. He turns around to you. “I’m going upstairs with this one. You can stay down here with that one… or come on up with us. It’s up to you.”

  • There is no bottom to your need to party. So why not head upstairs with that handsome Doctor and the girl with no bottom layers?

  • “I’ll stay down here, thanks.”

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Coming Out

  As you transformed, the urge to get out the door did not wane. In fact, as all other th
ings have fled—memories, hunger, pain—the one thing that remained was the desire to get outside. Why? You can’t recall. You’ve battered your fists, unceasingly in the manner only the immortal possess, until they’re nothing but bloody roots.

  Finally, after four days of pounding, you break free. The casting breaks free at the latch. The door opens.

  • Time to wander.

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  The Compound

  As suddenly as it had begun, the swamp ends. It can’t be more than a five-degree incline, but it’s enough slope to rise above the mucky drainage and onto firm ground once more. Rosie squeezes bog water out of her ponytail, her red hair stringy and mottled with algae.

  “Can we hold up for a sec?” she asks. Finding a log, she sits down and removes her boots. A gallon of swampwater pours out from them. She wrings out her clothes as best she can, well aware that you and Lucas Tesshu are watching. “That was a close one, huh? Hope that compound has hot showers.”

  “This might be a good time for lunch,” Lucas says. “And to dry out a bit.”

  “Won’t we be there soon? Can’t we just eat there?” you ask.

  The man puts on a smile, though it appears forced. “I certainly hope so,” he replies, the strength waning from his voice.

  “Well, I’m all for it,” Rosie says. “Maybe we can swap? I’ve about had it with these MREs.”

  Lunch it is, then. You sit and eat, swapping both food and stories. For this brief lunch, it’s almost like a hike out with friends; you almost forget that you’re out in the wilderness, on the run for survival. Almost.

  Rosie starts off with her story: she’s a high school junior who works at a gun range. She tells about her father, a Marine combat veteran, and her brother, “the sweetest boy you’d ever meet.” Mom was lucky enough to pass before any of this stuff ever happened. Her eyes go watery when she talks about them, but she clears her throat, pushing any emotion aside. She starts stripping and cleaning her rifle. “Long overdue,” she says. Looking to Lucas, she adds, “So, what about you?”

  Lucas Tesshu scoops the last bit of spaghetti from the brown pouch of one of Rosie’s MREs. He uses the napkin to wipe the excess sauce from the corners of his mouth. That stands out for you: his cleanliness and overall genteel attitude despite the fact that it’s the end of the world. Lucas tells all about the kendo dojo he runs in the city, his chivalrous code of bushido, and his strict Japanese upbringing. He ends with a note about his sister, “Her fear was too strong for her. She fled the city before I did, and now… I look forward to finding her again at this compound.”

  They both turn to you. You apologize for not having much to share, but you tell about your upbringing and go on to the outbreak and then your journey into the woods. “I’m not a warrior like the two of you, but I had enough sense to get out of Dodge.”

  “Do not apologize for who you are,” Lucas replies.

  “You’re alive, and that’s more than enough these days,” Rosie tells you.

  * * *

  After lunch you’re up and hiking again. Bonding comes easy in this world of eldritch cannibalism, and the three of you become fast friends. There’s an eerie stillness in the air, like nature has abandoned this valley, but at least it’s not filled with moans of the undead.

  You suddenly come upon a road, a welcome element of civilization thrust upon you after days of wilderness. It’s a service road, so you’re hopeful that you haven’t left the beaten path yet. To your right, the road stretches around the wooded corner and out of sight. To your left, there’s a fork in the road. A sign reads, “STATE REFORMATORY,” with an arrow pointing to the right fork.

  “A prison?” you ask.

  “This is it!” Rosie shouts with glee. “The radio transmissions all said to come to the Reformatory. We’ve made it!”

  “C’mon then,” Lucas says with a smile.

  Your feet ache with fatigue and sting with blisters, but there’s renewed pep in your step. The three of you trod on with new hope toward the correctional facility. Around the next bend, there’s another sign, “BRIDGE OUT.”

  “Damn, we’d better find a new route,” Rosie says.

  Lucas rubs his face. “I don’t think so. I’m willing to bet we can pass through. We travel on foot, after all.”

  “No way,” Rosie shakes her head. “I’m not walking all that way just to find out we can’t cross. There’s probably a detour.”

  “We’ll travel further if we detour. It’s a gamble either way, and detour signs aren’t posted or mentioned on the radio transmissions.”

  Rosie scowls. “Seriously? We literally just found the road. Who knows what signs we missed?”

  “Exactly. We won’t know what the road holds until we get there.” Lucas speaks to her like a teacher instructing a pupil. “And which way would we go? Left on the fork, or back, the opposite way? One road may lead us to the compound, but the other certainly will not.”

  She shakes her head, eyes to the ground. Then both of them turn toward you. Well?

  • “I’m with Rosie. Let’s take the left fork.”

  • “No sense in continuing toward a dead end. I say we turn and go the opposite way on the road.”

  • “Let’s just see. The bridge can’t be far and we can most likely hike around it if it’s out.”

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Congratufuckinglations

  You can tell that the decision weighs heavily on Lucas; you’ve never seen the man so distant. If you were to find trouble on your way back, you’re not sure if he’d explode with ravenous emotion or just stay put and let come what may. Fortunately, you don’t have to find out. The drive is long and silent, but once Salvation comes into view, even Lucas is forced to smile. You’ve made it; you’re home.

  When the four of you make it to the prison gates, the entire population is there to hail your arrival, cheering and hollering. People throw toilet paper-like streamers and sprinkle you with confetti (paper shredder residuals) from the catwalk above.

  As you exit the jeep, men and women alike fall on the ground before you, kissing your hands. You share the same What’s going on? look with Rosie, Lucas and the engineer. You notice bottles of wine and liquor bandied about by the three-sheets-to-the-wind populace.

  The Colonel’s personal assistant, the smartly dressed woman carrying an attaché case whom you met in the cafeteria yesterday, greets you all with a smile and tears in her eyes. “Come with me,” she says. “The pastor wants to tell you himself.”

  Entering the command post, the staffed security personnel rise and give you a standing ovation while Irving Gray snaps your picture. Dr. Celeste Lolani is a sobbing mess and gives you the most genuine hug you’ve ever had.

  Arthur Gray’s face is filled with emotion when he sees you. Finally, he throws up his hands and shouts, “You did it!” The master-of-arms soldier gives each of you a mug of amber liquid smelling of whiskey. “Not five minutes after you activated the radio, we contacted a survivor group in the city,” the colonel explains. “They were under attack, and for some of them we’re sadly too late…”

  “Dr. Lewis Deleon is alive, and on his way here now,” Irving interjects, allowing his father to clear the emotion from his throat.

  “The one who created Gilgazyme?” the engineer asks.

  “Yes!” Dr. Lolani shouts.

  “He has a cure, and he’s bringing it with him,” Colonel Gray smiles.

  “Shouldn’t we go out and pick him up?” Rosie asks, ready to go.

  “Once the cure is applied, the living dead no longer see you as food,” Irving says. “He’s able to walk among them now, and soon so shall we.”

  “My sister,” Lucas says with a hopeful smile. “I’ll still find her.”

  “Of course,” the journalist says. “And many others. This is just the beginning.”

  “No, it’s over… we’ve won,” you reply.

  “Indeed!” Arthur Gray laughs. “Now let’s celebrate.”

  “Go
forth and repopulate!” the army soldier yells, clinking his drink with all of yours.

  • Click to Continue.

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Congratulations

  When you make it back to Salvation, the entire population is there to hail your arrival, cheering and hollering. People throw toilet paper-like streamers and sprinkle you with confetti (paper shredder residuals) from the catwalk above.

  As you exit the jeep, men and women alike fall on the ground before you, kissing your hands. You share the same What’s going on? look with Lucas and the engineer. You notice bottles of wine and liquor bandied about by the three-sheets-to-the-wind populace.

  The Colonel’s personal assistant, the smartly dressed woman carrying an attaché case whom you met in the cafeteria yesterday, greets you all with a smile and tears in her eyes. “Come with me,” she says. “The pastor wants to tell you himself.”

  Entering the command post, the staffed security personnel rise and give you a standing ovation while Irving Gray snaps your picture. Dr. Celeste Lolani is a sobbing mess and gives you the most genuine hug you’ve ever had.

  Arthur Gray’s face is filled with emotion when he sees you. Finally, he throws up his hands and shouts, “You did it!” The master-of-arms soldier gives each of you a mug of amber liquid smelling of whiskey. “Not five minutes after you activated the radio, we contacted a survivor group in the city,” the colonel explains. “They were under attack, and for some of them we’re sadly too late…”

  “Dr. Lewis Deleon is alive, and on his way here now,” Irving interjects, allowing his father to clear the emotion from his throat.