You check for the tears in your clothing and realize you’ve been bitten. Somehow, during the adrenaline-fueled struggle, you didn’t even notice the pain. But the bite-marks are undeniable.
You’re INFECTED!
7
This is the longest straightaway you’ve encountered so far, save for a new path to the right that opens about halfway down the hall. Should you keep going, or turn now?
• Straight.
• Right.
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
8
When you turn left, the path continues further and further, spiraling further to the left. It’s like being trapped in one of those giant swirl lollipops. The trail narrows as you get closer to the center, the concentric circle spiraling inwards in a dizzying, hypnotist’s path. As you’re flushed to the inevitable middle, all you can hope for is a drain to release you from this turn.
Sorry, no such luck. It’s a dead end, and you can already hear the marching hordes following your footsteps, coming ever closer. There’s no way out, save for being carried out in the engorged stomachs of the undead.
THE END
9
The zombie horde is catching up now, with every moment’s hesitation. The ghouls don’t pause to make decisions; they go on every path, for they are Legion. The maze curls around to an immediate left, or a long lingering straightaway. One more decision, one more second lost to hesitation.
• Left.
• Straight.
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
10
The green-painted metallic vines that form the walls glitter under the artificial lights of the maze as you sprint forward. Before you make it to the end of this stretch, you pass a turn leading to the right. It’s a longer straightaway than what lies before you, but also appears to end in a turn. Do you want to keep going or take this new path?
• Keep going.
• Turn right.
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
11
Dashing down the path, you’re greeted by a winding curl in the maze. In true labyrinthine fashion, the hall curves alternately left and right, but you’re never given a choice to leave. You must be making it!
All the while the horde is gaining on you. Each corner forces you to slow your run, while the ghouls simply slam against the brambles and bounce off of one another. Your running has them frenzied, and they fall over themselves at the excited prospect of catching you.
Finally, the hall opens up. There’s a fork at the end, a wishbone with symmetrical paths leading in opposite directions. With the massive crowd of ghouls hot on your heels, you’d better pray that this coin-toss of a decision goes in your favor.
• Left.
• Right.
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
12
You rush forward and veer right around a bend in the maze, going the only way the path will allow. This leads to another immediate right turn in what is effectively a candy cane-shaped path. Once you make this second right, you’re met with a dead end. Dammit! The undead fiends are certainly in the maze with you now, but you have no choice but to turn back.
Sprinting faster than you’ve ever run, you take two lefts to go back into the straightaway, where you see the flow of the dead enter the maze. You plow into the first zombie like a linebacker, knocking the 95-lb. woman onto her back. They crowd is still thin enough that you could blow past them and take the first path to the right, or you can turn left now and avoid them altogether.
• Straight/right.
• Left.
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Agonizing
As fast as you can, you sprint off into the woods, as if you could run away from the images of Jason and blood seared onto your retinas. A boom sounds from the Ranger Station and you know that Jason did what you couldn’t.
The agony, it’s just…almost too much to bear. No, keep running. Run, goddammit!
Your jaw snaps together and you nip your tongue as you lose footing and step into a hole. Blinding pain rips through your right leg—your body tries to continue forward at a running pace, the heavy rucksack on your back helping propel you forward, while your foot is immobilized in the hole.
Flat on your face, tears streaming down into the dead leaves of the forest floor, you realize your leg is most likely broken. If not, then it’s seriously sprained with multiple torn ligaments. Possibly all of the above.
You try to push yourself off the ground, but that just hurts too damn much. Crawling is nearly impossible with your pack on, and yet it contains all your food, all your ammo. There’s no way you’ll make it out here alone, broken, and without hope.
THE END
All the Light
You leave the dojo by yourself, knowing full well that Captain Delozier wouldn’t appreciate this unauthorized stroll through the neighborhood. So you keep low and out of sight, and there are enough parked cars and obstacles that you’re able to make it across the street without detection.
“What’re you up to, bud?” a man calls down from the roof of the hardware store.
“Same as you, actually,” you say with a grin. “Can I borrow a ladder? I want to get on top of my dojo.”
The man is tall and lean, with coal-black hair. He’s holding a rifle and doesn’t respond right away, but after some thought says, “Yeah, I’m sure we’ve got an extra one downstairs. Hang on.”
After a few minutes, the metal barrier that the man has erected behind the storefront glass opens and the man passes a ladder through. It’s a small, telescoping model, but should extend enough to do the trick.
You thank the man, return to the dojo storefront, and set up the ladder. Once up on top, you’re greeted with a different view of the city. There are no city sounds like traffic, just the occasional pop of distant gunfire. On the horizon, you see St. Mary’s Hospital with a plume of smoke coming from one of the upper floors.
Your heart sinks, but then you remember why you’re here. The boom box runs on auxiliary batteries, and as soon as you so much as touch the radio antenna to the larger roof structure, the message blooms with clarity.
“…it won’t be our last, God willing. Any and all survivors are welcome to join us at the old reformatory off Route 14. I repeat, this is a transmission-only message; we are not currently capable of two-way communication. If anyone is out there, know that you’re not alone. This is Colonel Arthur Gray of the civilian camp, Salvation, broadcasting in the blind. We have food and shelter and weapons. This may be humanity’s greatest threat, but it won’t be our last, God willing….”
The message repeats on loop.
* * *
“I don’t get it,” Liam says in a whine.
“Me neeeev’r,” Stella adds.
“Well, it means two things,” you explain to the group. “First, the military isn’t fully in control. If there are civilian camps broadcasting a general notice, they don’t have everything contained. But—the good news—people are fighting back. Defending themselves, just like you were trained to do.”
“And there will be a place to go when your parents come get you,” Master Hanzo adds.
“It’s where I’ll find my sister,” you say.
There’s a tapping on the glass doors—dinner. You motion for the boys nearest the front to open the door, but as they do, Captain Delozier waves you over.
“A word,” he says.
Hmm, does he know you broke out? Should you tell him about the message?
• Tell him.
• Don’t tell him.
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Always Faithful
“You know the Corps?” the man asks, his posture slackening ever so slightly.
You nod. “My Dad. And he’s bit. We’re trying to find a doc to help out.”
The man sighs, then gestures toward the hallway beyond with a jerk of his head over his shoulder. “Go help your old man, and I’ll pretend I didn’t see you. I think I’ve got my hands full anyway.”
You look to the two junkies, then back to the man, and nod y
our thanks.
Where to next?
• The Morgue. When the dead are rising, it’ll likely be the safest place here.
• ER. This is an emergency!
• Cafeteria. Maybe you can catch a doctor on break?
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Anarchy in the Streets
“People are starting to panic. It’s like a city-wide traffic stop, except enforced on the honor system because there aren’t enough cops to go around. No one is allowed to move. People are staying in their cars, for now, but you can tell it’s temporary. Some have already left. Started looting. Fighting each other for no reason.”
“It’s like The Purge,” Nathanael says.
“Cool,” Christian adds.
“How did you get through?” you ask, ignoring the teens.
“You’re not the only ninja in the family, bro,” she says, a glimmer of humor in her eyes that never fully manifests on her lips. “I got lucky, I really did. They’re bringing in the military, Luke. The big guns—and they’re using them.”
“Shooting civilians?”
She shakes her head. “Not like that. The corpses…I don’t know how else to explain it. The corpses came to life, or not life, I dunno. That’s not my department, but when security managed to pin one down, the docs said no heartbeat, no blood flow, no pain, no emotion. Only hunger.”
“Living corpses? Come on…”
“Yes, that’s exactly what they are! You can stab one in the heart and it’ll keep coming. The only way is to crush the skull,” she says.
You close your eyes and think back to the homeless man. The way he didn’t feel pain. His eyes—the only thing you saw in them—pure animal instinct. Hunger.
“Once bitten, it only takes someone six hours before they’re a ‘living corpse’ themselves. I don’t think the hospital will be there tomorrow, Luke. And we need to leave now before this barricade traps us all. Let’s go!”
“Go? Go where?” You almost laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of it all.
“Haven’t you been listening?! Away. Away from people!”
“Melissa, these kids’ parents will come looking for them. We can’t just—”
“Leave them here, then! Or put a note on the door. I don’t care what you do, just come with me. Do you have any idea how dangerous it was for me to get here? The military is already setting up outside your front door!”
You can’t just leave the kids here, you know that much.
• These are just kids! And you’ve got an old man with you. There’s no way you can run.
• But maybe she’s right? If you all gather and run for it while there’s still time….
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
An Offering
A dozen nuns (at least three of whom are named Sister Mary) wearing habits rummage through donations in the annex. A cursory inspection of the wares shows that most of the supplies are clothes and children’s books. Not much that’ll help, save for the canned food. But that won’t last long when “homeless, sick, and needy” is becoming a bigger category by the minute.
“Are you here to help us sort?” one Mary asks.
“Or to protect the flock?” asks another Mary, eyes on your rifle.
“And maybe tend the wounded. Didn’t you recently get certified, dear?” asks the third Mary.
You nod. “First aid. Mostly for drowning, but I can do basic triage.”
“Is this all you’ve got?” Jason balks. “No real emergency supplies? No sandbags or flares? Surely you guys have a disaster preparation kit here somewhere.”
Disappointment overtakes the nuns. At length, one says, “There is something….”
She steps to the back and gingerly lifts several layers of neatly folded cloth before she finds a smallish box, about the size of a cigar humidor. The nun carries the box with reverence, holding it up as if she’s found the Holy Grail.
The box is sleek and modern, gun-metal blue. The word Gilgazyme® is etched on the metal and when she lifts the lid, a cool light shines from within. There’s a single inhaler inside, though the perfectly sculpted velvet inlays tell you there used to be more.
“Thirteen of them,” the sister says. “Each of us has taken one as a sacrament, and now one is left for you, Sarah. Join us as an immortal Bride of Christ. It will prevent the ravages of disease, and God willing, we’ll be able to help the wounded without fear.”
“Where’d you get it?” Jason asks with awe. He’s right to hold the box in high esteem. There must have been a billion dollars’ worth of product in there.
“It was here, in the donation bin, when we showed up this morning. Like manna from Heaven. We were meant to have it. We’ve prayed for help and guidance, and this is the answer to those prayers. Do you feel this is the path the Lord has for you? To help heal the sick?” she asks, taking your wrist, and placing the Gilgazyme® in your palm.
The inhaler is minimally decorated; no words, only the symbol of infinity, ∞, repeated and interlocking like chain mail in shining silver décor around its light blue slender body. Over the mouthpiece is a red cap labeled, “Remove before use.”
• Say, “I’d better, ummm, pray about this first. C’mon, Jay. Let’s check the main hall.”
• Politely decline, then find the priest and check on Dad.
• Take it. Immunity to the plague? This is divine providence.
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
The Art of Words
“Excuse me?” Delozier says.
“With respect, we each have responsibilities. I would be betraying the trust of these children’s parents if I simply handed them over. No matter how pure your motives, Captain.”
“I don’t think you grasp what we’re fighting here. This is an infection that creates—and I don’t use this word lightly—zombies. People come back from the dead—and again, being literal here—they then try to eat each other. I’m offering the protection of soldiers.”
“And I am politely declining your offer, sir. Would it not be easier for you if we stay here? Less to protect, less to watch over. I am capable of defending this dojo, and would be more than happy to give you a demonstration if you persist in your demands.”
He presses his pointer finger against your chest. You can picture snatching it, pulling his arm taut, twisting it over and delivering a blow with your other hand to help his elbow find a new direction to bend. Instead, you wait and listen.
“This is on you, then,” he says at length.
“It is the same life, whether we choose to spend it laughing or crying.”
The proverb hangs in the air and the man shakes his head before turning to leave. One of the soldiers gives you a nod of respect before following his boss outside. Once the doors are closed, Nolan locks up.
“Oh, em, gee,” Haley says. “That guy was like, ready to shoot us.”
“And sensei told him to screw off,” Nathanael adds.
“Language!” you scold.
“That was awesome!” Christian says.
“Enough. I will take responsibility for you, but ultimately, you must protect yourself. We must train. Back to positions.”
* * *
Later that night, Captain Delozier returns with a peace offering: Boxed meals.
“That took a set of brass ones,” he says. “But it was the right call.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Since you can’t leave, I’ve added you to my headcount for meals. We’ll bring food rations for breakfast and dinner. There’s a couple staying in the hardware store across the street as well, and they owe that generosity to you. See you in the morning.”
“Captain,” you say by way of goodbye.
“Oh, and do us both a favor. Turn out the lights for the night. Tends to attract these things like skeeters to a bug zapper. G’night,” the man says before leaving.
“I think we have some candles in the office,” Master Hanzo says.
“We can roll out the pads and use them as sleeping mats. It will be like campin
g,” you say, keeping a smile for the children.
“Can we tell ghost stories?” Mason asks.
“S’MORES!” the twins yell in unison.
“Master Hanzo knows many traditional stories. Grandfather, why don’t you tell us…
• “…about the carp’s lesson in perseverance?”
• “…about the Emperor consumed by his own greed?”
• “…how the warrior Yogodayu won his battle?”
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Assault and Prepper
FROM: PreppyLongStalking69
TO: Distro-all; zombiefiend.com
SUBJECT: See? I wasn’t crazy!
TEXT: To all you doubters, nay-sayers, and haters, prepare to be shrugged off. I knew this would happen. I fucking knew it! When you’re being eaten alive by the living dead, just remember, if you wouldn’t have been such a dick, you might have survived too. Sent from my compound.
TL;DR: I told you so!
So yeah, that’s waiting for you in your inbox. Makes it easy to find the thread from the username, and PreppyLongStalking69 left Google maps images of said compound online. What. An. Idiot. In two clicks, you’re on your way. The waypoint takes you, as expected, out in the middle of nowhere.
The Camry doesn’t have the best off-road clearance, but hey, you’re a divorced sergeant. Money is tight. Or was, back when money was important. Now, all that matters is being prepared. So in a sense, you’re rich now. Silver linens! The dirt road isn’t too bad, even in the dark, and you bump along with ease before the compound comes into view.
PATHOGENS: Who Will Survive the Zombie Apocalypse? (Click Your Poison Book 4) Page 3
