INFECTED (Click Your Poison)

by James Schannep

  The farm ends and wilderness begins with a clear demarcation. It’s the spot where the farmer stopped chopping the trees for his property; beyond is all thick timber. You go from a thousand yards of visibility to only ten in just a few steps.

  The first zombie arrives from the side to flank you. You point the shotgun at the vicinity of his face and BANG, it’s gone. For close quarters, nothing’s more effective than the shotgun. You continue running, but the responsibility of zombie-slaying switches from the soldier to you as visibility worsens.

  “Zomb at three o’clock!” he shouts, falling back so you can get a clean shot—blowing away an undead woman’s head. Not exactly clean per se, but successful nonetheless.

  The woods are dense and foreboding. Nothing looks like a path, and you’re back to the feeling of dread you had hiking with Rosie and Lucas Tesshu only a day ago. You sure hope the soldier knows where he’s going. Another three undead come at you from your right, all moans bubbling out of bloody mouths. With three shots in half as many seconds, they’re on the ground and no longer a threat.

  “Nice work, Newjack! Fuckin’ badass!” The combat shotgun is amazing, but you’re acutely aware you’ll need to reload at some point.

  The next few steps are out of the woods and onto a paved road. 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. The soldier takes aim down both sides of the road and kills half a dozen undead each way. From behind, another ghoul stumbles out, but you make short work of his face.

  The soldier hobbles past a “BRIDGE OUT” sign just as his rifle clicks from lack of ammo. “Almost there!” he shouts. Around the final bend in the road, a clearing comes into view and you see a bridge—a bridge that collapsed many years ago. A dead end.

  But the soldier doesn’t stop, so neither do you, and as you get to the concrete landing where the road ends, you see a footbridge set up to cross over the canyon below. You look over the edge. It’s a rocky canyon, maybe a forty-foot drop, with sheer stone walls on either side. The floor below is covered in half-crippled zombies, writhing and crawling over one another, unable to escape from the sheer walls of the canyon.

  The footbridge has wooden planks and rope, spaced out once every three feet. The result? To cross, you need to take enormous steps, stretching and lunging your way across the bridge. And zombies can’t do that. So there they are, at the bottom of the canyon, where they fell when pursuing the other survivors. Now all you have to do is cross, but already the undead pursue you.

  “Best be quick about it, Newjack,” the soldier says, lunging out to the first plank. He cries out as he extends his wounded leg, but the pain doesn’t slow him down. The bridge sways violently, so you give him space enough to settle before it’s your turn. The first zombie arrives for you, and you blow his head off like the others.

  It’s your turn to be out on the bridge because the crowd ambles onto the concrete loading zone behind you. For the hell of it, you take one last shot, but the shotgun dry-fires from lack of ammo. You lunge out to the bridge, the ropes swaying from side to side under the unaccustomed weight. The soldier, about three-quarters across, steadies himself before continuing.

  The first zombie lemmings out onto the bridge and, unable to perform the complex move, tumbles to the canyon below. What she does accomplish is to rock the bridge violently. Your stomach turns as the bridge oscillates. You take another step. Another zombie crashes against the planks and slips off, to the canyon floor.

  You won’t get any respite, so you force yourself to continue. Eventually you make it to the other side, where the soldier offers you a hand to safety. By now you’re far enough away that the ghouls do not plunge into the trap. No bait, and they won’t take the hook, it appears.

  “We made it!” he says, slapping you on the shoulder. “But we can’t say one goddamn word about this whole thing, you hear me? Not a peep. If word gets out, I’ll skin you myself. You let me worry about the Hummer, you just get to the Command Post and pretend that nothing has happened. Next time we meet, you don’t know me.”

  • Continue to the Command Post.

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Humane

  Splitting up is not your favorite idea, especially when you’re the third wheel on a badass bicycle, but time is scarce. Plus you have your shotgun now. You’ll be okay, right? You ensure a round is chambered, but you’re not allowed the satisfaction of a pump, as this is a semi-automatic combat shotgun.

  The barn entrance isn’t locked. You push open the large doors and head in. It’s filled with shadows, and you open your eyes wide to use the ambient light. The back door to the barn is already open, which allows some light in, but that’s disconcerting, as there is little room for security. There could be an undead fiend behind any corner.

  In the center of the barn sits a parked combine harvester, its large-bladed wheel raised for storage. Along the western side is a row for what must’ve been cattle processing, although no livestock are present. At the end of the row, there’s an odd-looking gun hooked up to several lines of pressurized tubing. You pick it up, examining the captive bolt pistol a little more closely.

  Then, with a growl, an undead hitchhiker is upon you. You turn toward the sound and reflexively hold the cattle gun up to his head. With a simple squeeze of the trigger, a bolt shoots forward with enormous force, punching a hole through his skull and brain before returning to the recesses of the gun. The zombie falls, and a pink mist floats past the light pouring in from a window on the opposite side. Resting against that opposite wall are rows of shelves holding stacks of oversized glass jars—each filled to the brim with seeds. Jackpot!

  You drop the cattle gun and jog back out to the front. Rosie picks off another ghoul in the distance, then turns around in reply to your shouts. “It’s in here!” you bellow with excitement. She nods, lowering the rifle.

  With two fingers in her mouth, she releases a piercing whistle to bring Lucas out from the farmhouse. He emerges a moment later from the second-story window and leaps down from the eave, rolling across the dirt and onto his feet with fluid movements. The bulky kendo armor doesn’t slow him down in the least.

  Re-entering the barn with your two companions, you take full inventory of the seeds. In addition to the jars, there’s several pallets of bagged seeds, roughly the size of sandbags. “C’mon, let’s load up the jeeps,” you say.

  Running to and fro with your arms full is even more terrifying than searching with the shotgun. You’re essentially defenseless when you’re weighed down with seeds, so you jog to make the process faster. The undead are almost certainly closing in, but this delivery could get the prison fortress through the winter, so you push hard. Fifteen excruciating minutes later, the jeeps are filled to the gills.

  You arrive outside and are preparing to leave, but you’re blocked. A veritable zombie army marches down the dirt road, diverted from their tributaries in the fields and forest and funneled out onto the main road. This might prove too difficult for the jeeps. If only you could somehow cut them down, chew through them like wheat at harvest…

  “I’ve got an idea,” Rosie says. “Lucas, take the wheel.” She hops out and runs back into the barn.

  After a moment, a diesel engine roars to life and the combine harvester emerges, with Rosie at the controls. The threshing wheel begins spinning and she lowers it down to ground level. You pull your jeep off the road and Lucas does the same, allowing Rosie full access to the horde approaching the farm.

  In a disgusting confabulation of wet slicing and dry crunching, the combine rips through the crowd. It’s slow going, but Rosie’s in no danger, as the cab is enclosed and there’s no access to it without being ground up by the rotating blades. After a full five minutes of driving, she’s destroyed several hundred zombies and turned the road from dirt to red muck.

  Once she’s clear of the farm road, she shuts off the blades, but leaves the engine running. She’s panting
heavily when she jumps into your passenger seat. “That. Was. Disgusting.”

  “Why’d you leave it running?” you ask.

  “It’s louder than the jeeps. Oughta help prevent us from being followed. Let’s go. I need another shower.”

  • Return to Salvation.

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Humanity’s Last Hope

  You help Deleon up, putting his arm around your shoulders, and stare Cooper down. Her eyes narrow in hate, but she says nothing. She simply turns and runs the other way while you and the doctor hobble down the hall together.

  The zombies still meander, but now they see you. They growl ferociously and start toward you with purpose. Deleon grits his teeth and pushes through the pain, but now the undead stumble-run after you as their excitement grows. You push harder, forcing him to move more quickly, until he’s hopping on his good leg and swinging his battered knee with cries of anguish.

  The flesh-eaters want you desperately now, and they’re gaining. You’re like a wounded fish, chumming the waters. The lab is just ahead, but it looks as if they might beat you there. You hurry, and in a last-ditch effort—you shove Deleon inside. You follow him in, but you’re left with a searing pain in your arm as you slam the door shut behind you.

  The undead horde crashes into the door with such collective mass that the door jamb breaks and the handle is effectively useless. You desperately push against it and Deleon uses his last ounce of strength to smash his pickaxe through the tiles, burrowing the spire and effectively blocking their entrance for the time being. You look to your arm—it’s exactly what you feared: you’re bitten.

  Deleon pulls himself to the counter and manages to get up on his good leg. He looks pale and sweaty, if not oily. Together you look at his exposed bite wound. It’s worse than ever now. The bite oozes with pus and the black veins have spread. He must be incredibly close to turning.

  The doctor finds a syringe and draws in the completed cure from the centrifuge. You look to your own bite wound. There can be no doubt about it… you’re infected. Maybe you can last long enough for the next batch? Or maybe he can lock you in the closet until it’s ready?

  Suddenly, and without warning, Dr. Deleon injects you with the cure. You’re shocked, unable to speak. “You’re… safe now,” the doctor announces.

  “Wh—why me? You have to live, you have the cure!”

  He’s in terrible shape, almost turned. “You… do too. In… your blood,” he gasps. “Take my notes… find the others… the prison.”

  The door crashes open. You freeze, with your eyes closed, but nothing happens. You open them. The ghouls stand in the room, evidently without a purpose. They just look ahead, lifeless, paying you no mind. Slowly, you move forward. There, looking you in the face, is zombie Dr. Phoenix, and the walking corpse stares right through you.

  You move without fear, amongst them now. After a moment, Deleon walks past you too, without pain—newly undead.

  • Go to the radio room.

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Hunker Down

  First things first. You go outside and start ripping out planks from your fence. Your picketed American dream will now have to protect you from the American nightmare. Bringing everything you could possibly need inside your house, you close and lock the door, but not before spray-painting “Alive inside” above the entry. Hopefully the undead don’t read.

  Boards and nails on every door and window, you blot out the sun for God-knows-how-long. But you’re a survivor, and smart, so you keep busy preparing. Beyond the boards you prop your couch, bookshelves, entertainment stand, whatever; up against the openings to your home.

  The barricades securely in place, it’s time to set up for the long haul. You fill your bathtub and sinks to the brim with fresh water—it could turn off before you know it.

  Everything prepared, you set your favorite blunt object within arm’s reach and sit down to watch the news and ceremoniously burn the bills you’ll never have to pay again.

  * * *

  Only six days into hiding, you get your first visitors. The phones don’t work, and your television and internet have long been down, so you’re unsure what to expect. You’ve played about as much solitaire as is humanly possible, and in an ironic twist of fate, your house is now more clean and ready for company than it was before things went bad. There were a few scary nights, rustling in the bushes, scratches at the doors and windows, and a slight moaning to ensure you haven’t slept much. But no one has really tried to get in—until now.

  The two zombies outside paw at your house like velociraptors checking the fences for weak spots. You’re not sure if you did something to alert the undead but they’re here, and they really want in. The moaning is louder than you’ve heard, and much more urgent.

  With a crash, one of your window panes is smashed in. Your home security alarm blares ferociously. What might have helped alert you while you were sleeping now alerts the whole neighborhood like a dinner bell.

  You curse yourself for keeping it on and run to turn it off. But the damage is done. With the window open, they can smell you, and now you can hear the distant moan of more to come. The boards are still in place, so that should buy you some time—but the boards won’t hold forever.

  • Fend them off one by one with my Louisville Slugger. I don’t care if I have to battle the whole town!

  • I’ll grab what I can and head up to the attic. Spiders and rats over zombies any day!

  • Down into the basement. I’ve already got some stuff down there, and it works in the movies!

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  If You Play with Fire

  After the oil lamps are divided, you spread out over the writhing corpses, drenching their swaddling clothes with fuel. Guillermo joins in as always, despite missing the argument. Cooper must’ve proven herself a capable leader in the past, you realize. His faith in her is too strong.

  “Don’t use too much,” Deleon says. “We want a small, contained blaze.”

  One of the fiends slams its face against your leg, still trying to bite you through the linens. You fall back onto the pew in response. Everyone looks over at you, and you’re embarrassed, but luckily you didn’t get any oil on yourself.

  “Aren’t we worried about all this wood going up?” Tyberius asks.

  “Nah,” Sims replies. “All this is thick and finished. It’d take a much bigger fire than we’re making, so…”

  “The house of God doesn’t burn easily,” Cooper says, looking at Angelica.

  “Too much stone and glass,” Deleon agrees. “Not enough kindling.”

  Finished dousing the undead, the group heads back into the hallway. Sims finds an acolyte’s candle-lighter and ignites the wick. He looks to Cooper and she nods. From the far end of the cathedral, he touches each cluster of bodies as he backs his way toward the hall. It’s nothing short of some cultish, morbid ceremony.

  Finished, Sims rejoins the group in the hall. You all watch as the ghouls burn. Everything’s ablaze—and much bigger than anticipated. You all take a step back in unison in response to the heat. The Cathedral is engulfed in flame. You watch, transfixed, through the doorway.

  “That’s a lot of fire,” Tyberius comments.

  “Don’t worry, this is all stone, so the flames shouldn’t move past the doorway,” Deleon assures himself as much as the group.

  The moans grow louder, then stop all at once. Just the fire is crackling. “Are they… dead?” Angelica asks.

  “Not yet. There’s no more oxygen in the room, that’s why they’re silent,” Deleon answers.

  Angelica kisses her large, bead-chained crucifix.

  From the blaze a flaming zombie bursts out—arms extended forward. Before anyone can react, it grabs the crucifix and pulls Angelica toward the fiery room. She screams. It bites into her.

  The first to move is Guillermo, who smashes the thing in the head with his frying pan. It’s knocked off of her; Guillermo brings his meat cleaver down on its neck. T
he flaming head rolls away. Then Guillermo turns to Angela.

  “No, wait!” Deleon shouts.

  In one quick swipe, he slits her throat with the meat cleaver. You’re all powerless to do anything but stare, terrified and shocked. Particularly Deleon.

  “Mordido,” Guillermo says. He chomps his teeth twice in quick succession to drive the point home.

  Several other burning zombies step out from the flames and the group screams unintelligible expressions of dismay. You sprint away from the fireball undead, the rest of the group just barely behind your heels.

  Zombies stumble-run down the hall, catching everything they touch ablaze as they crash into flammable decor: curtains, wall posters, and faux plants. They leave molten, flaming skin wherever they pass—in effect, canvassing the walls with napalm and setting them on fire. The group stays one step ahead of the fiends, pausing occasionally to bash one that gets too close in the head.

  Back in the cathedral annex, you burst into the room, the flaming zombies right behind you. The undead cut you off from your supplies. Deleon looks at his backpack with determination. Two of the monsters burn right next to it, almost as if on guard. “I can get it,” Deleon whispers.

  “No way, Doc. Not worth it,” Cooper answers with a hand against his chest.

  “You don’t understand—my work, my life, everything!”

  By now, the fiends are on top of you. The group backs out of the annex as the flaming undead approach. Except for Deleon, who instead brandishes his hammer and moves forward. He has a short, but emotional killing rampage, cracking molten skull after skull, but there’s too many.

  “Doc, come on!” you shout from the doorway.

  Somehow that was enough to bring him back to reality and he runs outside to join the group. Tyberius and Guillermo slam the door shut. You all step back and watch. Now the place is really ablaze.

  A flaming hand crashes through the glass of the window. Pieces of incinerating flesh fall from its arm. Then, it slumps lifelessly and falls back into the annex; nothing left to burn.