INFECTED (Click Your Poison)

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INFECTED (Click Your Poison) Page 38

by James Schannep


  He looks you up and down, as if formulating some decision. His eyes squint at you and you wonder what could be going through his mind. At length, he grins. Then it becomes a playboy’s smile.

  “I like your style, Janitor. Nobody else gets me here. I was thinking about having some girls up to my place, throwing a real party in style. Why don’t you join me? Strictly as friends, of course. Though, who knows, get enough cocaine in me and I may change my mind—if that’s what you’re into. What do you say, want to see somebody stop aging for the first time in history?”

  • “Count me in!” This could be exactly your way inside the Company.

  • “Sorry, I value my job as a janitor too much to fraternize with the boss. I mean, in this economy, you know?” Wait until he leaves, then go check out Deleon’s office.

  • “Sorry, I value my job as a janitor too much to fraternize with the boss. I mean, in this economy, you know?” Wait until he leaves, then go check out Rodent Testing.

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  You’re Sick

  Better go to the hospital, right? The place is categorical pandemonium, and you’re here to help. The morgue completely rose, the mental ward went mental, and the ER declared a state of emergency. But be careful, there’s bound to be security in here somewhere, and they pack a sidearm full of brain kryptonite—bullets.

  You moan. You can’t help it. It’s like humming when you’re happy, and you’re practically pulsating with excitement. Other gods and goddesses touched by the divine hand of Gilgazyme ® roam the halls. Some were brought here, while others were drawn, like you.

  Throngs of humans arrive with every passing minute. A paltry few hope for a cure for loved ones; more are trying to rescue those already interned within. Either group is certainly doomed.

  A doctor chases after a nurse, his bloody teeth champing from behind a torn surgical mask. She flees into the crowd forming in the halls; close enough for you to see, but far-off enough that it’s a missed opportunity. Then your chance arrives: Meals on Wheels. A wheelchair-bound human pushes his way through the hall with manic terror. Being one who doesn’t discriminate on handicap, you follow him.

  A corpse picked clean serves as enough of a speed-bump, stopping your prey in his tracks. And oh, sweet day! He’s unarmed. If that weren’t convenient enough, he’s seated at a perfect height for you to dig right into his neck. Seriously, neck meat is the best.

  Well, that was delicious; what’s next?

  • Umm, this bone has just begun to get gnarled on. Keep looking in the hospital!

  • The crowd is too thick; why not see what’s going on outside? You could valet in the parking lot.

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Yum, Hippies

  These people are organic, free-range fed, hormone and antibiotic free. In short, delicious and nutritious. They’re unwashed, but you don’t mind. How the hell has a peaceful commune survived this long? Don’t ask. Never look a gift horse in the mouth; just eat it.

  So with arms spread wide, a man with dirty blond dreadlocks and hemp clothing greets you. “Hello, friend!” quickly turns into, “Get it the hell off!”

  The great thing about pacifists is that no one tries to fight back. You get the unaware first, the infirm second, and the stoned out of their minds last. A few run away, but they’ll find an equally hospitable welcome by your fellow immortals before they get too far.

  You’ll certainly never get this lucky again. The rest of humanity will be locked up tight if they’re not already dead. You’d better start looking for them.

  • Get to wandering.

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  THE END

  Okay, so you died. Don’t beat yourself up over it, 95% of everyone die during the zombie apocalypse. That’s why it’s called an apocalypse. If everyone lived, it’d be called a “zombiepalooza.”

  Luckily for you, this is a book, and you can keep trying. Remember what the last chapter was called? Click it below. Don’t remember? Pay more attention next time and click here to start over.

  Airing the Dirty Pawndry

  Alarming

  Another Way

  “Anybody at Home?”

  Area One

  Area Two

  Area Three

  Armed and Dangerous

  Armored

  Asylum

  Away We Go

  Bang

  Bare/Arms

  Biker Gang

  Black Swan Dive

  Blood Is As Thick As Blood

  The Brave

  Bravery’s Reward

  Bring Me My Brown Pants

  Brutal is the Survivor

  Buy (or Loot) Local

  Bystander Effect

  Cabin Fever

  Cafeteria á la Command Post

  Call in the Cavalry

  Camping is Intense

  Caution: Student Driver

  Charge the Ramparts!

  Cleaning Up

  Clean Living

  A Closed-Door Policy

  Club Members Only

  Coke Fiend

  Coming Out

  The Compound

  Control Room

  The Coward’s Reward

  Coyote in the City

  Crack Shot

  Crossroads

  The Cure

  Dead of Night, Rise of Day

  Defend the Homestead!

  Deleon’s Office

  Devoured

  Dig Deeper

  Disappointment

  The Doctor Is In

  Door-to-door Anarchy

  Downstairs

  Down to a New Low

  Driver

  Ears Are Everywhere

  Elapsed

  Empty

  En Fuego

  Escape Route

  Escort Duty

  Eternity

  Et Tu, Reader?

  Executioners

  Feeling Tipsy

  Fight Reflex

  The Final Countdown

  Fire in the Hole!

  A Fisher of Men

  Flame On

  Flight Reflex

  Food Generator

  Foragers

  For Guns and Glory

  Fresh, Local Produce

  From Whence Thou Came

  Fun with Deleon and Cooper

  The Gang’s All Here

  Gear Up

  Getaway Driver

  Getting Schooled

  Gilgazyme®

  Gods of the Underworld

  Gone in a Flash

  Goodbye

  Go, Go, Go!

  Gothic Horror

  The Great Escape

  Grin and Bare It

  Gunner

  Hammer Time

  Hanging Around

  Hanging Out with Dr. Armageddon

  Hanging with Hefty and Tyberius

  Head for the Hills!

  Hello, Mr. Scientist

  He Wasn’t Bluffing

  Hiding Out with Dr. Apocalypse

  High School Reunion

  Hold Your Ground

  Homebody

  How High…

  How Incredibly Pedestrian

  Humane

  Humanity’s Last Hope

  Hunker Down

  If You Play with Fire

  If You Say So

  Into the Hornet’s Nest

  Into the Light

  In Vain

  Iron Will

  It Favors the Bold

  It’s Him or You

  It’s the End of the World as We Know It

  It’s You or Him

  Journey to the Underworld

  Just a Peek

  Just In Time

  Just Picking a Few Things Up

  Keep Waiting

  Killed With Kindness

  Lady Killer

  The Last Supper

  Leap of Faith

  Les Toilets

  Let me Axe You a Question

  Life Attic

  Lighten the Load

  Li
ke a Raging Bull

  Like MacGyver

  Listen to Ackbar

  Lock, Stock and Barrel

  Lone Wolf

  The Long Slog

  Lost Vegas

  Machiavellian

  Many Moons…

  The Marshes

  Mayday, Mayday, Mayday

  Mexican Food

  Moan, Sweet Moan

  The Morning After

  My, What a View

  The Nachtmare

  Nice Jugs

  Nice Try

  Night of the Living Swamp

  Night School

  Nobody Puts Baby Out of Her Misery

  No Light at the End

  No Loitering

  No More Orders

  Nothing In or Out

  Not Interested

  Not Without a Fight

  Of Rats and Men

  On a Mission

  On a Spree

  One Less Zombie

  Only Fools Rush In

  Oscar Mike

  Out of Time

  Pack Mentality

  Pain

  Parting is Such Sweet, Tasty Sorrow

  Pawn Ranger

  Pharmaceuticals

  Phoenix’s Office

  Playing Koi

  Poker Face

  Posthistoric Mankind

  The Power is Yours

  Practice Like You Play

  Psycho

  Rats!

  Receiving Line

  Red-Light Special

  Regression

  Regrouped

  Remnants

  Rescue Me

  The Resemblance is Uncanny

  Return Triumphant

  The Road to Compromise

  The Road Less Traveled

  The Road Oft-Traveled

  Rough Landing

  Safe and Secure

  Safety in Numbers

  Saint Mary’s

  School’s in Session

  Sealed In

  Search

  Self-Fulfilling Prophesy

  She’s Dead

  She’s the Boss

  Showdown

  Shuffled Off This Immortal Coil

  Shut the Front Door

  Sickly Green Acres

  The Sidekick

  Slug It Out

  The Social Elite

  So Full You Could Burst

  Staff Offices

  Stairway to Hell

  Stand and Fight

  Strawberry Fields… Forever

  Swamp Things

  Sweat Generator

  Sweet Relief

  Taking Inventory

  Taking It to the Streets

  Team Cooper

  Team Lucas

  Team Rosie

  Terminal Velocity

  There is No Try

  There Was a Firefight

  There Will Be Blood

  They Tell No Tales

  This Isn’t According to Plan

  Three Weeks Later…

  To the Rescue!

  To Sleep, Perchance to Dream

  Tower of Terror

  Under Control

  Underneath It All

  Understanding Sims and Guillermo

  Undeterred

  Unlocked

  The Un-Necropolis

  Un-Undead

  Upstairs

  Urbane Decay

  Voyeur

  Wait for Rescue

  The Wanderer

  Welcome to the Company

  Welcome to Salvation

  Welcome to Z-Mart

  Well, Shoot

  Whatever

  What’s Cookin’?

  What’s Going Down?

  What’s Reasonable?

  What’s Up?

  What’s Your Emergency?

  Who is Angelica?

  Who’s the Boss?

  With Friends Like These…

  Women and Children First

  Yacht Club

  You Always Need Rope

  Your Call

  You’re Fired

  You’re Really Sick

  You’re Right

  You’re Sick

  Yum, Hippies

  MURDERED

  You’re in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, in the days before Carnaval. You’ve only just arrived, less than three hours ago, but any travel weariness is replaced by the rush of Rio nightlife. You’re here on vacation with friends, ready for The Biggest Party on Earth, but right now you’re alone.

  It might still be four days until the giant flotillas re-imagined as hummingbirds or jaguars parade down the street, covered in exotic, scantily-clad dancers like an infestation of glamorous fleas. It might be less than a week until the party really begins, but right now you can’t tell the difference. If this is merely part of the pre-festivities, this raucous, impromptu street party, you can scarcely imagine the pandemonium of full-blown Carnaval.

  In four days, the whole country will cut loose, but already the streets are packed with singing and dancing crowds, like a cultural flashmob unconcerned with cameras or irony. They’re here for the samba and for the caipirinha—sugarcane liquor with lime and more sugar. You’ve had some already, but thankfully, you’re far from drunk. Otherwise you might not be concerned that the crowd has swept you up in their current and dragged you away from your friends.

  There’s not a familiar face in sight.

  In fact, all you see are Brazilians. Either gaunt, hard-workers, temporarily enraptured by the glee of Carnaval; or those who live for the party and so tonight is simply another Monday. Black descendants of former slaves freed into lives of poverty and revelers with Portuguese heritage mixed with a flourish of native Amazonian tribesmen—their traditions now intermingled into one novel culture.

  You snap a picture—the scene is amazing. Still, you look around for your friends, scanning each face, and appearing very much like the hopelessly lost tourist that you are. Maybe for the rest of the week you should tie a rope around the lot of you; anchor yourself together as if you were summiting Mt. Everest.

  Now the avalanche of humanity takes you further down the street, the relentless drumbeats threatening to set you dancing. You seek shelter in an alleyway, catching your breath, wiping sweat off your brow, and taking a moment to get your bearings. The ground in the alley is typical of these concrete passages, speckled with black tar-patches of gum and other residue, and cracks in the pavement sealed with collective detritus. A bird’s nest of telephone and electrical wires hangs overhead, nearly within reach. It’s much cooler here in the alley, away from the pulsing heat emitted from the dancers in the street proper. The alley walls are claustrophobically close, and stretch way down around the corner; they’re red brick, lacquered with teal green everywhere an arm could reach. Your camera rises as a reflex action; you take a picture.

  In the preview on the LCD screen, you notice there’s the beginning of a graffiti mural sticking out from the adjoining alley. You peek around the corner to see the full image. It’s an angel, larger than life and in stunning detail. His hair is long and his face is placid, much like a beardless Christ. Yet this is a dark angel; his wings, not feathered, are formed from two AK-47 machine guns divided in broad symmetry. Two snakes wrap around his legs, originating from behind his ankles and enveloping his lower half like the caduceus, their heads biting his wrists and spreading his arms. A nuclear mushroom cloud which serves as his halo bursts forth from behind his flowing mane. In stylized calligraphy, the caption above reads, “Vou testemunhar.”

  Just as the shutter clicks on your camera, a wooden slam from behind injects you with a shot of adrenaline. You turn and, seeing only a door flapping loosely in the cross-breeze, let out a sigh of relief. But as the door swings wide once more, you find your spine tingling.

  There’s someone lying there, recumbent on the floor. Another tourist, passed out from too much caipirinha, perhaps? The opening to the doorway glimmers crimson under the streetlights.

  As you step forward, your unease gives wa
y to a newfound terror—there’s blood, and lots of it. You lean inside the porthole and snap a picture of the room, just to be certain.

  From your vantage point in the doorway, a woman’s shoe is illuminated, and a pale foot with painted toenails; that’s all you can see from this angle. Trembling, you step forward into the dark recesses of the room, careful not to tread in the blood. You want to call out, to ask if she’s okay, but right now concentrating on your breathing is the only thing fending off all-out panic.

  And so you move forward in silence, teeth gritted and heart pounding. She’s not okay, you soon discover, not okay at all. More blood is spattered on the wall behind her. She is lying on the floor, facing away from the door, her blood pooled in a greater quantity than you realized was inside a human body.

  When you come around in front of her, you see that her face has completely caved in under the force of some great trauma. You cover your mouth in horror at her injuries and quickly turn away.

  Atop a large crate opposite the woman rests a snub-nosed, blue-metal revolver and a note that reads:

  “PICK ME UP.”

  • Pick up the gun.

  • Leave it.

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

 

 

 


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