INFECTED (Click Your Poison)

by James Schannep

  “You can call me Cooper, and what I say goes. You got a problem with that?”

  • “No, Ma’am.”

  • “Actually, yeah. I’ll try my chances alone.”

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Gear Up

  Before leaving, you stop by the armory. Though there’s an actual armory within the prison, this secure room has been gutted and transformed for a different use. Instead, the armory of Salvation is an Army trailer that may not be much to look at, but is filled to the brim with firepower.

  There’s a US Army soldier ready to greet you; he’s slim, his hair is short-cropped in the Army’s high-and-tight fashion, and he has a thick, ruddy handlebar mustache. “Well, looky here,” he says. “The Three Musketeers, ready for their first mission. Well… you came to the right place to get outfitted. I see you got the sword already, how ‘bout the muskets?”

  Rosie holds up her rifle. “I’m sticking with this. But if you have any .22 long rifle, I could use a refill.”

  “Coming right up, ma’am. Would you like fries with that?”

  “I must respectfully decline your wares, sir,” Lucas says. “I know my blade, and that makes it more valuable than any other weapon.”

  “You might be right, sensei. But take a couple of these just in case.” The soldier tosses him a grenade belt. Lucas Tesshu nods and accepts with a smile.

  “Umm… can I have some of those?” you ask.

  He tsks his tongue several times with a shake of his head. “From each according to his ability, to each according to his need.” Then he steps back into the shade of the trailer. A moment later, he reappears with a combat shotgun and an ammo bandolier. “You’ve got your marksman and your grenadier, and you oughta complement them well with this.” After passing the weapon off to you, he adds with a wink, “Besides, you look like you’d be handy with one of those.”

  Going back to formalities, he hands off a set of jeep keys and a map of the route to the airport. After ensuring Lucas can read it correctly, he escorts you to the vehicles. You’re to take lead.

  “Whelp, thassit,” the soldier says. “Either don’t get bitten or don’t come back—good luck!”

  • Continue to the airport.

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Getaway Driver

  The Hummer roars out, with full power applied to the wheels. The field gives way under the forceful rotation of the tires before you suddenly lurch forward and bound across the rows of dead corn. Ahead, from the acme of your bouncing hangtime, you see a change in the landscape. A sinking feeling enters your gut, so you yank the steering wheel to the side.

  The vehicle careens laterally, the weight all gathering on the driver’s seat. The two passenger tires come off the ground, but luckily you don’t roll. Only a foot off your left side is a large irrigation ditch—that could’ve been bad if you had gone face-first into it. Instead, you command the Humvee forward and scream out of the field and onto a farm road.

  The whole time your gunner blasts burst from the machine gun, obliterating zombies with triumphant whoops. After a lull in the shots, you can barely hear over the rumble of the engine and the ringing in your ears, but there’s another sound: the soldier dum-dittying Ride of the Valkyries to himself with a contentedly manic smile while bobbing up and down to the tune.

  The country road is thin and winding, and every hundred yards or so you bash a zombie with your bumper. The soldier continues to blast out at the ones emerging from the woodline. Since the bullets are traveling at supersonic speed, the zombies explode before you even hear the shots. It’s an eerie feeling, just seeing a human body pop open before there’s any cue that the machine gun’s been fired. The bullets fly at over twice the speed of sound, so the further he shoots, the more profound the effect.

  You realize with a sense of déjà vu that you’re on the same road you walked to Salvation on. These were the woods you traversed for so long. “Take the next right!” the soldier shouts in-between bursts of gunfire. There’s a “STATE REFORMATORY” sign and you turn toward it, wondering how it is exactly that you’re not leading the undead masses toward your new home. The next sign you barely see as you fly past reads, “BRIDGE OUT.”

  “Umm, dude?” you say.

  He pivots around, then yells a curt, “No worries. Crossing’s up ahead!” Taking his word for it, you continue to throttle forward while he turns to the rear and fires at the undead mob following in the distance.

  Suddenly, you’re flying. Wheels spinning over nothing more than open sky, the Hummer lurching with instability as you experience a feeling of weightlessness. The bridge did indeed go out, and you’ve careened over a canyon the road originally crossed. There’s a small footbridge sagging below, which you notice just as the vehicle lands on it, snapping the ropes like a hand swatting a spiderweb.

  That was probably the crossing he was talking about. You continue to fall to the canyon below, the Humvee rotating under front-heavy pressures. The soldier spins around toward the front, his angular momentum rotating the Hummer slightly, and looks out at the rapidly approaching canyon.

  The canyon floor below is crawling with hundreds of half-broken, hungry zombies. You get it now; you were supposed to walk over the footbridge and let the zombies follow you off the cliff like lemmings. Oops.

  Your gunner lets out such a prolonged, “Shiiiiiiiiiiit!” that you’ll probably reach the ground before he makes the ‘t’ sound. As he screams, he pumps out a constant stream of gunfire into the zombies writhing below.

  You careen into the rocks with a fiery explosion.

  THE END

  Getting Schooled

  “Get a pair of handguns for me, Coop!” Tyberius says.

  “If you find a lever or bolt-action rifle, I’d appreciate it,” Deleon adds to no one in particular, his eyes on his watch.

  You’ve put some thought into what kind of firearm you’d like as well, but you’re not sure what the store will hold, so just to cover your bases you say, “Some kind of assault rifle, if you can find it. Whatever has the highest ammo capacity.”

  “And you know what I want. I’m gonna be like boom boom—” Hefty mime shoots a shotgun “—Mutha Fucka!”

  With that, Cooper, Sims, and Guillermo make their way out of the school’s entrance and ride away toward the sporting goods store. You try not to make much of the goodbye, instead opting for “See you later.” You can’t shake the thought that you might not; you might be on your own now, alone in the school.

  Time to look around. Dr. Deleon presses a few buttons on his digital wristwatch, then looks up at the three of you left behind. “I need to use the restroom, and I’ll probably be there a while,” he says with sad eyes. “Weak stomach. Where should I meet you guys?”

  “We’re gonna check the gym; don’t be too long,” Tyberius answers for you.

  With a nod, the doctor turns into the bathroom and you walk down the hall with the guys. One section has posted works of student art: charcoal drawings, pencil sketches, and water paintings. “Hang on,” Hefty says, stopping.

  “You interested in the arts now, Hef?” Tyberius asks.

  “Art room, right? I got an idea.” You follow Hefty into the classroom and he homes in on the back corner. “Perfect,” he says. There’s an industrial paper cutter; he wrenches the large arm several times until it snaps off its hinges, then holds it up—an improvised machete!

  “I bet the shop class has some pretty good stuff too,” you say.

  Tyberius smiles at you. “Not bad, Newbie. Let’s go there after the gym.”

  “You know,” Hefty says, eyeing his new blade. “Newbie’s got that axe, and now I’ve got this. But Doc’s alone in the bathroom and it’s been a while. Plus I gotta take a leak. I’m-a go check on him.”

  And with that, it’s just you and Tyberius. You walk toward the gym, the abandoned halls echoing your steps and the linoleum floor screeching from the soles of your shoes. Nothing is very far away. The school is designed so students can walk anywh
ere in under ten minutes from their lockers.

  The school has lots of windows, but with no power, shadows find solace around every corner. With its large skylights, the gym is the exception; it’s the brightest room in the building. You find plenty of gear there. Baseball bats and lacrosse sticks can be used as bludgeons. Hundreds of pairs of gym clothes and towels are good to freshen up with (and if the showers work? oh, my…). Wrestling mats would make perfect sleeping pads.

  Tyberius lifts a pair of two-and-a-half pound dumbbells and tests them for balance in his hands. “Laugh it up, Newbie. You’ll see…”

  “He’s been bit!” Hefty shouts. The words reverberate half a dozen times through the gym. You look back to see him escorting Deleon, the improvised machete pointed at his back.

  You jog over to meet them. “What happened?”

  “There’s always one in the bathroom,” Tyberius says, shaking his head.

  “I’ve been bitten since long before I met you. I tried to tell Hefty—”

  “Bullshit. That’s impossible.”

  Deleon sighs. “Let me see the bite,” Tyberius commands.

  The doctor reluctantly raises his arm for inspection. There’s a hideous bite wound that his cast was previously hiding. It looks like the nightmarish eye of an unspeakable evil. The center is thick like keloid scar tissue, and black, with an orange discharge. The black color spreads out several inches away from the bite through the veins, as if marking a path within.

  “Let’s say you’re telling the truth; how are you not dead?” Tyberius asks.

  “I’m working on a cure. It’s not complete yet, but it keeps death at bay.”

  “Save it for Cooper; she’ll know what to do,” Hefty says. “C’mon, let’s go wait at the front.”

  • Go wait for guns and judgment.

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Gilgazyme®

  You really think you can afford immortality? What are you, a movie star?

  • “Why yes, I am quite wealthy. I’ll take that inhaler, please.”

  • “Sigh. Looks like I’ll just dream about it and die one day like everyone else.”

  • “I guess you’re right. I’ll have to infiltrate the company and steal a sample.”

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Gods of the Underworld

  For centuries, mankind lived right in their own excrement. People literally worked in, lived in, and ate in their own filth. The mortality rate was high and life expectancy was low. Then people learned about “germs,” which, as it turns out, have no lasting effect on you. Another benefit of immortality is, you don’t get sick.

  And as the blood, guts, and excrement of humanity flows by, you’re lucky you aren’t capable of retching. So the river of filth—the only “leftovers” of the apocalyptic feast—do not bother you as they would a human being. You are a little handicapped, however, in that there’s so much viscera you’re unable to track your prey by smell.

  You wade through the muck, sloshing through the corridors and catacombs, but not aimlessly. You’re exploring. If by the smallest chance there’s a human down here, you’ll find them eventually. You hear something wading through the tunnels ahead, but you just know it’s merely another god, and not prey. You don’t waste time contemplating; you just keep searching.

  In truth, the labyrinthine sewer system is chock full of immortals. Silent sentinels, trudging their way beneath humanity, seeking them out 24-hours-a-day. More than a normal-size crowd is clustered around an illuminated passage, milling about a hall as if unable, or unwilling, to go through. When you make it there, you see why.

  A ceiling grate is open to the outside world, and moonlight flows through it in a checkered spotlight. You nudge your way through the mob and when the terrestrial air moves across your scent glands, you know why they’re here—humans. The smell is vague, like a subtle spice in a casserole, but the humans are up there somewhere, and in good numbers.

  Your hands move up to the grate, searching through the holes for a way out. Your digits have been through a lot, and your ring finger has a splint of bone protruding from the top. This gets caught on the grate when you pull but you have enough tensile strength left so that the barrier comes off.

  A goddess to your side snaps her head toward the new opening with zealous attentiveness. She moans her desire, rushing toward a potential meal. The others swarm in behind her. You try to follow, but the sewer grate has your arm pinned by that gnarled ring finger. With a mighty tug, you’re free and following the swarm. They’d better leave some fresh meat for you!

  “Creepers!” a voice yells.

  You climb out of the sewer and into the cool night air. The screams of men excite and invigorate your senses. It’s a compound! One of the last bastions of humanity, and you’ve stumbled upon it. Gunshots ring out, more screams, and even more moans fill the air. You grab your first victim and spill her life out onto the earth. Back into the sewer her innards flow.

  The immortal pantheon spreads out, trying to maximize the panic. Those armed with guns are in the minority, but other humans prove competent blasphemers and bring down gods and goddesses with battle-forged melee tactics.

  You corner a group of five men, although it looks like they are cornering you. Yet there is fear on their faces, and nothing but excitement on yours. You moan your battle cry and stumble toward them, unconcerned with their axes, baseball bats, and machetes. They stand their ground, letting you come to them.

  Then the wall collapses behind them. It was a temporary barrier, to be sure, and it crashes under the weight of two dozen immortals. These are your reinforcements, members of the terrestrial pantheon who came at the call of the moan.

  They turn to face the larger threat and hack away at your brothers and sisters. You take one human down from behind, and the distraction allows your fellow immortals to overwhelm the other human survivors.

  It’s a brief but wonderful bloodbath, perhaps even the last of its kind. Soon there is nothing more than silent shuffling once more. These pockets of humanity are surely dwindling, so now you’re back to wandering, in hopes that you’ll stumble across a mother lode once again.

  • Wander.

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Gone in a Flash

  Ever the model of calm and clarity, Lucas Tesshu follows Rosie up the road and away from what he believes to be the right choice. He successfully covers up whatever concerns he might feel from being outvoted. In fact, he’s so collected you wonder if it wasn’t folly to ignore his wisdom. But silence isn’t always intelligence.

  “How long should we travel in this direction?” you ask.

  “That depends on how far away we assume the compound to be. Should we set a point of no return, based on supplies?” Master Tesshu asks, much like a teacher offering a problem to the class.

  “I don’t really know, obviously,” Rosie answers. She consults her watch. “But it’ll be dark in ten hours.”

  “Perhaps sooner with those clouds.” You look to the sky; there’s a storm on the horizon.

  It’s not a comforting answer, but it’ll work for now. The three of you continue down the road in silence, ever watchful of the brush for signs of life… or death. In the quiet of the following hours, you’re a bit unnerved. Where there’s one zombie, there are usually others. But what does a lack of zombies imply?

  * * *

  Dusk settles over the purpled woods like bruised flesh. “We will need to look for camp,” Lucas says.

  “After the next road sign,” Rosie agrees.

  In the hours that passed, you hadn’t seen a single corpse, any signs of violence, or even one undead. This singular aloneness is highly unnerving. You’re not sure you’ve gone an entire day without a ghoul or two. But they’ve been strangely absent since the swamp.

  The final road sign is ahead. Rosie jogs up to view it closer, then turns to you and lets out a hearty “Boo-yah!”

  Along with Lucas, you jog up to meet her. The sign reads, “PENITENTIARY CANYON TRAIL.” Wi
thout a word of debate, Rosie turns off the country road and onto the dirt trail. It looks like an overused deer path, but she’s not deterred. Lucas looks to the sun with a degree of wariness.

  The descent is a quick one. Soon the grass and woods give way to rocky outcroppings and stone walls. You enter a slot canyon—the walls rise up twenty feet and higher; this canyon was carved out by streams and rainwater over the course of millennia.

  Dark clouds brood above. “Think it will rain?” you ask Lucas.

  “Ame futte ji katamaru—after the rain, the earth hardens. It’s something my mother used to say; basically it means there will be adversity, but things will get better.”

  “So… it’ll rain?” You both laugh.

  “Quiet!” Rosie commands.

  The laughter echoes through the canyon, reverberating a hundred times until it finally fades away. But something is still there—moaning. Much further down the canyon, there must be undead. Thunder crackles deeply across the sky, dipping down into the canyon like a perverse demigod joining in the laughter.

  You turn back and look at the way you came. The sky is torn in midnight streaks, recognizable as rain in the distance. The light wanes far more quickly than you’re comfortable with. “We need to turn back,” you say.

  “Those moans could be coming from anywhere,” Rosie says.

  “I don’t give a shit!” you yell. You’re frightened, more frightened than when you were alone.

  “Easy there,” she says.

  “I’m afraid I agree, Rosie. Let’s turn back,” Lucas adds.

  She stares the two of you down. “Fine. Let’s camp by the trail, then come back at first light.”