“Huh? Yeah, let’s go, Coop.”
“Meet you at the western stairs,” she says, turning to go.
• “I’m coming too!”
• “I’ll stay here and help Deleon.”
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Remnants
Cooper lights a camping lantern. Her movements are fluid and natural, though she never struck you as the outdoors type. Maybe it’s the mechanic’s shirt, but she looks like a city girl. Guillermo grabs other camping lamps and fuel, then nods toward Cooper. She nods back in approval.
“So what did you all do back in the real world?” you ask.
Guillermo stares blankly ahead, not comprehending.
“Drank wine,” Angelica sighs.
“I was a motherfucking assassin,” Cooper says in a droll manner.
“Seriously,” you protest.
“Doesn’t matter,” Cooper says. Angelica just shrugs. Guillermo checks the aisles. “Listen newbie, that world’s gone. And as far as I’m concerned, I hope it doesn’t come back—not the same way, anyway.”
“Oh, yeah, I agree; things were really terrible when I didn’t carry an axe and go door-to-door in search of food,” you respond as drily as you can intone.
“Shut up, asshole. I’m talking about normal murder. Wars. Politicians, embezzlers, perjurers, all those people who get away with anything and everything because they make the rules.”
“White-collar crime? Really? That’s your biggest concern right now?”
She shrugs. “No such thing as a zombie apocalypse bailout.”
“Yo, Coop! We got something here!” Tyberius shouts from the back.
Cooper turns toward Deleon and Sims, then yells, “Stockroom!”
• Head to the stockroom.
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Rescue Me
Lucas Tesshu slides his sword from its sheath with a satisfactory shing! “You two go radio for help; I’ll hold them off for now.”
You follow Rosie back into the control room, where she activates the call button once more. “Salvation, this is Rescue Team One. Things have gone south—send reinforcements. Repeat, send Rescue Team Two.”
There’s an immediate, if not angry, response. “This is Colonel Gray. What’s going on?”
“We’re trapped in the control tower. They have us surrounded. Over.”
“What kind of numbers are we talking about here? Things might get worse before we get there. You sure you can’t fight your way back to the jeep?”
Rosie looks to you with uncertainty and shrugs. With a furrowed brow, she hands you the microphone.
• “We’ll take care of it, Colonel. Over and out.” Fight your way down.
• “We’re sure! Get somebody up here, STAT!”
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
The Resemblance is Uncanny
The shopping mall is swarming with immortals. Your fellow gods and goddesses mill about, clustered around the entrance, waiting with glazed eyes and dull expressions for the doors to open so they can flood in with frenzy. To be honest, it’s not too different from the day-after-Thanksgiving sales.
So you stand there with the rest of them, waiting. The great thing about being ageless is that time has no meaning. You could stand here for weeks without being the slightest bit put out. And then, should a human finally cross your path, your wrath would awaken and you would smite them down like only a god can.
It’s sort of like hibernation. And Gilgazyme ® makes it all possible. However you were rewired not only stopped your aging, it stopped any decomposition, and any need to eat or even breathe. You Are and Will Be for the rest of time.
The goddess next to you falls to the ground after her head explodes.
A millisecond later, the gunshot that caused it rings out from the rooftop across the way. Your head snaps toward the source of the sound—a lone gunman—but there are far too many immortals in the way and even if you wandered toward him, there’s no way to get up there.
He looks up from the scope of his rifle, then gives a thumbs-up to someone back over your head. You look up to the roof of the mall, where several figures stand with binoculars, returning your hungry gaze. A large man in a policeman’s uniform holds up a whiteboard with a message on it for the sniper.
Reading is something you don’t have any interest in. The written word is a human convention, a paltry attempt to attain immortality and pass knowledge from one brief life to another. What need has an immortal of such contrivances?
And yet if you were to read it, you’d see a celebrity name written on the board. And if you contained any memories, you’d recognize the name as the one your friends used to compare you to in mortal life. And if you were capable of deductions, you’d realize that you’re the target in a real-life game of Where’s Waldo and duck out of the way.
Instead, your head explodes. And now you start decomposing.
THE END
Return Triumphant
You’re back in the Command Post with the colonel and his son, getting debriefed about the missions. “Good work today,” Arthur Gray barks out. “Both teams were successful. So we’ve got seeds for the harvest, and Dr. Celeste Lolani is now a member of our community.”
“But I’m afraid we must ask you for more,” Irving says.
The Colonel frowns and strokes stubble the color of his last name. “The doctor’s distress call served as our wake-up. The only reason we heard her was because that airfield was so close. What if there are others broadcasting, just beyond our range?”
“We can use a radio station on the outskirts of the city as a relay,” Irving explains. “But it’s a long drive and near a major population center. This would be extremely dangerous, but well worth it. One jeep, in and out.”
“If you can do this for us, we’ll ask no more of you. With the crops, our own doctor, and a powerful communications system, we should have no reason to leave again. I’m sorry, but you’re the best we’ve got.”
“And our master of arms will furnish you with his ‘private reserve’ stock,” Irving says.
“So get some chow. You leave in an hour.”
• One more mission.
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
The Road to Compromise
Yours was the grain of sand that tipped the scales. Deleon and Cooper made a reluctant agreement, though somehow it seems that neither is happy. Cooper certainly wasn’t pleased that yours was the voice of authority. But, for better or worse, an accord was struck.
Presently you walk along the streets outside the megastore. There’s a bus stop bench billboard for a pawn shop advertising, “CHEAP GUNS—NO BACKGROUND CHECK!!!!!!!”
“Why don’t we just check that place out?” you ask.
Sims scoffs and shakes his head. “I know the owner; crazy bastard. He always talked about how prepared he’d be for the zombie apocalypse. I honestly think he just wanted an excuse to shoot minorities.” He looks uncomfortably at Tyberius. “I didn’t say we were friends… Anyway, we should steer clear. Guy probably shoots on sight, so…”
“We’re sticking to the plan, Newbie,” Cooper says firmly. “This sporting goods store is close to the school.”
“How long is the walk?”
“It was prolly a half-hour drive,” Hefty answers.
There’s a scratching along the pavement. Everyone whirls about in unison, weapons drawn. The source is a lone man in a wheelchair. He’s undead and he crawls along the street; the wheelchair drags behind him on its side as he bloodies his fingers clawing at the concrete.
“Newbie, Doc—take care of it.”
“Why? Let’s just go,” Deleon protests.
You look at the man in the wheelchair. No matter how many times you say to yourself, He’s a zombie, he wants to eat me, there’s just something about the bashing of his brains that screams murder. You’re hard-wired that way. Still…
The ghoul moans at you. “You have to kill every one,” Cooper says. “One calls in others.”
You wield th
e axe. The zombie’s growling and moaning grates upon your nerves. Ending the stress, you end the zombie. You bring your axe down on his neck; two strokes, and the spinal cord is severed. It makes you queasy, how easy it was to end a life. But it wasn’t really that easy—the head rolls on the pavement, still snapping its jaws.
Cooper stops the head under her boot. “Doc, be more like Newbie. Go ahead, finish it off.”
Deleon shakes his head at his own obedience, but complies. You look away while he takes care of the brain removal with his hammer.
“There’s a good Doc,” she says as Deleon’s wristwatch blares, the alarm expired. “What’s that?”
“Oh… this?” Dr. Deleon is suddenly unnerved, much more so than when dispatching an undead head. “This alarm, you mean? Well… I used to radio for help every three hours.”
“So why’s it still on?” Cooper asks.
“It’s my reminder for hope,” he says with renewed confidence.
“I need one of those,” Angelica murmurs.
Deleon clears his throat. “Say, I need to go to the bathroom; will you guys wait up a sec?”
The doctor takes off into a nearby building while the others mill about. “He actually times his shits,” Sims says to Hefty.
“There’s a man using his noodle,” Hefty replies.
Once Deleon returns, the group keeps moving. Naturally, everyone splits off into several small groups on the wide thoroughfare. You’re all still together, but each clique has its own conversation. Which one do you join?
• Tyberius and Hefty.
• Sims and Guillermo.
• Deleon and Cooper.
• Angelica.
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
The Road Less Traveled
Rosie shrugs. “Whatever.” The three of you hike in silence down the pockmarked road, waiting to find out who’s right. Around the final bend in the road, a clearing comes into view and you see a bridge—one that collapsed many years ago.
Rosie spins around. “Whelp, there’s an hour of my life I’ll never get back,” she says as she starts going the other way.
“It was worth a try,” Lucas says in confidence, squeezing you on the shoulder.
But something catches your eye. “Wait,” you say. “Rosie, use your scope.”
“What?”
“There’s something on the bridge.”
Her brow raised with incredulity, she complies. She shoulders the weapon, sliding her eye to the telescopic lens in a second-nature move. “It’s… it’s a footbridge,” she says in disbelief.
Lucas Tesshu’s face lights up. He starts running toward the bridge. You and Rosie run after him. Lucas laughs, giggling like a little child. Rosie skips with excitement. You feel the joy too, for you know this must have been built by members of the Compound!
As the three of you get to the concrete landing where the road ends, what you’re looking at becomes clearer: someone built a bridge 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 appears to be… moving. Then you see it—the entire canyon floor is covered in half-crippled zombies, writhing and crawling over one another, unable to escape from the steep walls of the canyon.
Looking back up at the footbridge, you get a clue as to what’s going on. The footbridge has wooden planks and rope, like you might expect if you were in an Indiana Jones movie, but in this particular bridge, the planks are spaced out only once every three feet. The result? To cross, you’d have 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. No wonder you hadn’t seen any undead since the marshes; they’ve all fallen into the pit below. Now all you have to do is cross, and the compound will surely be on the other side. You’re not afraid of heights, are you?
• “All right, let’s do it.”
• “Hey, guys, maybe we should look for that detour. I’m not so sure this bridge is safe.”
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
The Road Oft-Traveled
You follow the road away from the sign for the bridge. You’re certain Lucas Tesshu feels it to be a mistake, taking this route, yet he walks upright and with a slight smile. His arms are folded behind his back like he’s taking a pleasant stroll through the woods.
You round a bend and say, “Great, another fork in the road,” as soon as you see it.
“Life is seldom without turning points, my friend,” Lucas muses. “The key is to look for the signs.”
Indeed, there is a sign just on the other side of the next fork, the plain metal backing facing you now. The three of you continue down the road until you pass the sign, turning around to read it in unison: “STATE PENITENTIARY.”
The arrow pointing from where you just came states the obvious, “SERVICE ENTRANCE.” But the other fork is labeled, “MAIN ENTRANCE.” You smile involuntarily.
“See?” Rosie says, playfully slapping Lucas Tesshu on the arm. He merely nods.
All you have to do is continue down this road to the prison, and salvation will be yours.
• Continue to the prison.
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Rough Landing
“Hefty, let’s go!” Deleon yells as Cooper and Tyberius run down the hall. Hefty is oddly confident for a lone man among a horde of flesh eaters. He looses one more arrow, then trots up the stairs and stops at the landing, greeting you with a smug grin.
“One more blood bag,” he says.
“Let’s go!” Deleon protests.
“Just one more.” He turns and aims over the black wrought iron handrail. The arrow flies off with a whisp, the sound barely audible above the moaning. It hits clean, and the undead cluster around the exposed blood leaking down the wall. It only fools them for a second, but Hefty gets enjoyment from it nonetheless. “There,” he says, turning around. But it’s a second too late.
A hand reaches up through the bars from below and grabs Hefty’s ankle firmly. His face changes from smug to oh shit in an instant as he falls to his chest. Another arm comes up to claim his free leg and he’s dragged toward the edge.
There’s not enough room through the bars to pull him through, but they feast on Hefty’s legs while he screams. Without thinking, you rush down and grab his hands. But you can’t pull as hard as the collective groping arms and biting mouths below.
“We’ve got to leave him,” Deleon says, his voice devoid of emotion.
“No!” Hefty screams.
“He’s dead.”
“No, I’m not, motherfucker!”
“Leave him,” Deleon says. His eyes are on the other undead ambling their way up the stairs. The doctor puts his hand on the rope release, the one that will drop the furniture dangling above the landing, but he stops before pulling it. All he has to do is tug the rope and a dozen desks, cabinets, and chairs will collapse upon the landing and seal off the stairs.
• “Never leave a man behind!” Keep trying, damn it!
• “Hefty, I’m so sorry…” Head up the stairs.
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Safe and Secure
Slowly you push the door open. A dozen hospital employees huddle inside, unsure for the first time what to do in a stressful situation. Huh, that was easy.
You moan and stagger in toward them. There’re some shrieks, so that’s nice. One of the humans hiding from you has a sidearm and plugs an entire clip into your chest. Lucky for you, he was one of two things: either not a fan of the zombie genre or not willing to believe the zombie apocalypse could happen. Goody for you: no headshots.
You attack him, ripping out arteries and veins like a magpie pulling worms from freshly moist soil. One of the doctors (not the handsome one or the overly nerdy one, but certainly the sexually frustrated one) attacks you with the same manic fury you use when eating the guard. However, the living aren’t
willing to bite the dead, and you don’t feel pain, so you win.
Another victim falls limp before your strength. Dink! An oxygen tank smacks against your head. Did something crack there? You look back; it’s the sexy nurse. Seriously, who brought an oxygen tank into a staff office? Did they think they’d be gassed or—
Dink! She slams the oxygen tank on your head again, right in the same spot. In reaction, your body goes limp and you fall to the floor. The reaction, as it turns out, is because she killed you. That bitch.
THE END
Safety in Numbers
She snorts, “Don’t we all.” Then, with what might be a hint of sadness in her eyes, she shakes her head. “I don’t think safety exists anymore.”
“Maybe, maybe not,” you say.
“Except in numbers,” says one of the men. He’s in his mid-thirties, decked out in military gear, and a little overweight.
Cooper looks at him like he might be challenging her authority, but decides he isn’t. “Smart guy here is Sims. You’ve already met Angelica. This here’s Jose.” She points to a man, most likely in his forties, who wears the stained whites of a kitchen worker from a hole-in-the wall restaurant. He’s Latino, short, plain, and has a calm countenance on his pockmarked face.
“Mucho gusto,” he says.
“And over there is Tyberius and Hefty.” Both are in their twenties and look like the ordeal has made them feral. The first is a handsome black man in tattered business casual. He wields a gigantic sledge hammer and has a police baton tucked in the waist of his slacks. The other one is a white guy, thin as a rail, and clearly a redneck. Plain white-tee kind of guy. He holds a heavy length of pipe about the size of a baseball bat.
“You can call me Cooper, and what I say goes. You got a problem with that?”
INFECTED (Click Your Poison) Page 26
