“Get him off!” Stephen yells, tugging at the man.
Brian screams bloody murder; high-pitched like a child. Owen grapples with Josh, but it’s like trying to wrestle a speed-freak. You run to the nearest tool bin and grab a wrench. From behind, you put the wrench in Josh’s mouth length-wise, like you might do with someone having a seizure. He keeps biting with such force that he cracks his teeth on the wrench, and enamel splinters off in a disgusting display.
“In the trunk!” you shout, angling towards the car.
“He won’t let go,” Stephen says with a grunt.
“Break his fingers!”
It takes considerable effort, but the three of you get Josh off of Brian and into the trunk. After slamming the door shut, you use the pneumatic lift to raise the car on the platform, just to be safe. Josh continues thrashing inside the trunk, moaning and wailing.
“Shut him up!” Craig shouts. “There’s more out here…they, they hear him…they’re coming!!!”
You look out one of the porthole windows on the garage door and see that he’s right. Already, there are a dozen shambling figures. Heads lolling about on uneven shoulders, arms outstretched, moaning with flesh-eating greed.
“The moaning is drawing them in,” you say with realization. “Bring the car back down. We have to finish this.” The men looked panicked, but none protest. Owen lowers the car. Everyone looks to you, and you realize you’re still holding the wrench. “Pussies,” you say. “Open it.”
As they do, Josh lurches out, crazed as ever. You take both hands and baseball-swing the wrench at his face; his head spurts flesh and cracks under the impact. He bounces off the trunk lid, but still is in a frenzy. You hit him again and again, until the force of the blow smashes his skull open against the trunk lid.
“Jesus, Kay,” Craig says again.
“What’s gonna happen to Brian?” Stephen asks.
Brian nurses his wounds, then looks up. His face is red, but streaked by tears.
“How long ago was Josh bit?” you ask.
Owen looks to the clock. “Six hours, roughly.”
“So Brian has until midnight, give or take,” you say.
“Until what?” Brian says, panic on his face.
“What’re you saying?” Stephen asks, with eyes narrowed.
• “We need to put Brian out of his misery, now, before this spreads any further.”
• “We should tie him up or something. You saw what happened to Josh.”
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Skinned-Heads
Running with the Aryan Brotherhood has equated with “doing what you gotta do to survive” since long before you came here. In fact, you’d wager that less than ten percent in the gang are genuine fascists, just those looking for protection from the Latino and the black gangs.
While running, you ask the con who invited you along if he knows about the plan.
“They got a lot of ours in the sick bay,” he says. “We break ’em out, then push forward to the front gates. Hot-wire some cars, and G-T-F-Oh yeah, know what I’m sayin’?”
You nod, excited right down to your core by the prospect of freedom.
However, once you make it inside the hospital, you immediately realize something is terribly wrong. The place is trashed. Dark fluids are spattered like a horror-themed wallpaper.
“Billy Ray, let’s go!” the con shouts to a man who stumbles towards him, arms open and moaning.
“You can’t talk to these nutters,” you say. “Best—”
Before you can finish, a scream bubbles up from inside as you’re bitten in the back of the head. The bastard is actually going for your brain, just like in a B-movie. Instead, his teeth tear at your scalp. The skinhead gang pulls the man off of you, but the damage is done.
You’re INFECTED!
Smash and Grab
You shoot a nail through the man’s forearm, and he cries out in pain, dropping his weapon. To his credit, he recovers quickly with a helluva left hook. He’s much bigger than you (who isn’t?), and the blow sends you reeling.
Not wanting to lose the upper hand, you swing your pipe at his legs. He jumps back, but not fast enough, and you connect with his left shin. His bone sings out in a terrible crunch and the man roars in response.
You swing the pipe back for another blow and he actually leaps at you. He takes a hit from the pipe, but his momentum holds, and he tackles you onto the glass by the entrance. Landing on top of you, he pushes the pipe away.
Finally, you get a good look at the guy. He’s a young black man, sweat beading off his brow and anger in his strikingly intelligent eyes. He wears a businessman’s shirt and you bring the nail gun up to his chest, letting out nail after nail as fast as you can.
Still, the guy’s clearly a born athlete, and he pushes the nail gun aside with his wounded arm and wails on you with that left hook. Your vision explodes with starlight over and over as he pummels you. After a dozen pounding cracks to your skull, you lose consciousness, never to wake again.
THE END
Some Rescue
No time to argue, you charge forward, darting around the SWAT-things, past the entrance and over to the cafeteria barricade. You’re not the most agile or athletic, but the fleshies have even less coordination. Still, what they lack in finesse they make up in passion. The undead stumble-run your way.
“Clear these barriers!” you yell.
The terrified crowd looks at you with stunned expressions, but none move. One man yells something that might be “It’s not safe!”–and suddenly they’re all pointing behind you.
When you turn, you see that the SWAT zombies are nearly on top of you. Behind them, an-ever-crowing crowd of undead hospital workers. Your rifle is useless against their body armor, but you fire anyway. What else can you do?
The riot-gear ghouls pull you to the floor and snap their jaws behind their facemasks, mashing the shields against your flesh in an effort to bite. If it were only the six of them, this would be a wrestling match from hell. But as it stands, they brought company, and those in hospital gowns prove more deadly.
There won’t be enough of you left to rise again.
THE END
Sorry, We’re Closed
You motion for the children to stand back, putting yourself between the door and the group. Master Hanzo hands you a wooden shinai, just in case. The moaning cries quickly turn to bloodcurdling screams, and then a pair of gunshots ring out.
“Open the karate gym doors!” a voice rings out, clear as day.
When you look out, you find Captain Delozier with a handheld megaphone. Opening the door, a few of his men stand nearby a body and a wounded man stumbles inside and falls to the floor.
“Dad!” Christian yells, running to the man’s side.
Despite his writhing in pain, you recognize the man as the boy’s father. He cradles his own hands, which appear to have bite wounds on them.
“What the hell happened here?” Captain Delozier asks, lowering the megaphone.
“In truth, I do not know,” you say. “I kept the doors closed and locked until you arrived.”
“Good call.”
Christian looks up at the army captain, then at you. Tears stream down his face. “Why didn’t you let him in? I hate you!”
He lunges at you, and you simply take it, as the teen beats his fists into your chest, coming eventually to lean against you in a sobbing hug. You wrap your arms around Christian and allow him his grief. Six hours, your sister’s voice says in your head. Then a walking corpse.
“What will happen to this boy’s father?” you ask.
“We’ve got a doctor back at the camp. She’ll see to him.”
“I’m coming too,” Christian says, breaking free from your hold and wiping his eyes.
“Christian-san…”
“The boy should have time with his father,” Master Hanzo agrees.
Captain Delozier nods, then motions for his soldiers to come grab the wounded man.
“You’ll keep the boy safe?”
“Of course,” the captain replies, though he doesn’t meet your gaze. With that, they’re all gone.
“Back to sleep,” you tell your students. They obviously want to talk about what just happened, about what is happening, and so do you, but what would you say? There is an old saying your father used to say when people were hasty to judge: A frog in a well does not know the great sea.
Lying awake in the dark, you simply listen to the children breathing around you. Salvator is gone, and now Christian. For the better? Who can say? Eventually, you come to the conclusion:
• My responsibility is to the tadpoles in the well with me. Hard as it may be, I must push the others from my mind and live in the here and now.
• I will ask about the other boys tomorrow. Captain Delozier should be reminded of his responsibilities, too.
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Sounds of Silence
The next morning, you’re up early with Master Hanzo. The two of you share a pot of tea in silence, both knowing full well that the rest of the day will likely bring chaos. The morning sun slowly overtakes the hardware store across the street, and in turn, the peaceful dawn is overtaken by the sounds of children waking, when daylight penetrates the glass doors.
“Morning meditations,” you say, hoping to extend the early peace.
Class is still sitting in relative silence, stretching if not meditating, when a few soldiers show up to deliver breakfast. Captain Delozier is not amongst them. They’re doing “grunt work,” if you understand the parlance correctly.
After thanking the men, you instruct Nolan and Mason to pass out the meals, which are miraculously enjoyed in silence. At length, Master Hanzo rises and excuses himself. “Local news begins soon,” he says. “Time to monitor the radio.”
“Can we listen?” Haley asks.
“Hmmm,” you intone, thinking, Is it better to shelter the students from the state of the world, or is knowledge power, in this case?
• “No. Grandfather Hanzo will tell us if there is an important announcement. It’s time for class. Consider yourself lucky—you will all be ready to test for your next kyu-rank after a few days stuck in here!”
• “Yes, we should all listen. Strong body, strong mind. It is all one. To be able to defend ourselves, we must be fully aware of the surrounding world.”
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Spared No Expense
As far as electrical tasks go, starting up the tram is a breeze. The park still has power, so either the rolling blackouts haven’t affected this part of the city’s grid, or the park is on its own supply. You’ll want to find that out sooner or later, but for now—it’s time for a tour.
The tram itself is ten cars long, and each car is designed to be unique from the others—like a carrousel, where you get a handful of eclectic choices to fit your personality. One car is a dragon, one is an Old West covered wagon; that sort of thing. You pick the third tram car, the one that looks like a spaceship, because it’s the only one fully enclosed.
Sure, the voice actor narrating your tour is Carrot Top, and that alone makes you envious of the dead, but this is the best way to hit the highlights of the park. A few wandering fleshies grow curious from the noise and movement, and, save for the one that slaps against your window and bounces off, they stumble slower than the tram moves so you’re safe.
First up is the entrance to The Bramble, a man-made wrought-iron “hedge-maze” that offers free prizes for anyone who can make their way through in under an hour. In order to keep the solution top-secret, the maze is covered so it can’t be seen from the famous Ferris wheel or from any of the park’s sky-high roller coasters.
And the coasters happen to be the next part of the tour. Swooping tracks arc high into the air and one, suspended upside-down, still has passengers trapped aboard. You jump up to the window, squinting to get a better view. As the tram car rolls under the coaster, you see that the whole group are undead, stretching and moaning. The darker parts of your imagination picture the group turning one-by-one, passing the infection six hours at a time over the course of a week, like hell’s version of the telephone game.
Next, you’re shown the Forever Young district, where the kiddie rides reside, as well as an enormous Fun House that during the Halloween season is redecorated as a haunted house “for big kids only,” alongside the park’s petting zoo and pony ride stations. The irony that everyone infected by Gilgazyme® is now forever young is somewhat overshadowed by the sight of several pint-sized walking corpses. And now the electronic, pre-recorded children’s laughter that fills the tram car feels like gallows humor.
Trying not to think about it, you crane your neck to see the next part of the tour—passing over a lazy-river moat to a castle-themed hotel on-site; a full resort with swimming pool, restaurants, and a mini-golf course free for patrons. Might be a pretty nice place to hang your gasmask for the night, especially with the power still running.
As the tram rounds the northeast corner of the park, you see something on the tracks up ahead. It’s one of those infirm-and-obese carts, this one long enough to carry about a dozen mobility-challenged passengers. The cart sits tipped over, crashed right in the middle of the track.
• Buckle up and brace for impact!
• Jump out of the tram before it derails!
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Special Delivery
The contraband mail-route is simple enough. The guys in the laundry room pre-pack the bedding with this week’s goods, so all you have to do is push the cart and distribute the neatly-folded stacks one-by-one along the cell blocks.
Like most things in prison, it’s fairly dull work. The contraband sits tucked deep inside the blankets, so you don’t even get to spy on your fellow prisoners to see what lurid items they paid to have imported. That particular job is a dangerous one, and not fit for someone with goals of one day getting released. The only real punishment they have here for rule infractions (besides solitary) is more time served. No thank you, sir.
Most of the blankets crinkle when you pass the stack through the bars, hinting at the porno mags inside. Other than that, the most prevalent sound is the shaking of pill bottles. The inmates accept their goods with a nod, then wait for you to pass to the next cell before greedily inspecting their laundry for the good stuff. One cell after another, just the same as the one before.
Which makes it all the more shocking when mafia boss Vito D’lunga rips into his bedding like a kid on Christmas. You can’t help but linger behind. What’s got the Don so excited?
He giggles—yes, the hardened mafia boss actually giggles—when finds what he’s looking for. He holds it up for inspection, allowing you a good look. The object is small, no bigger than the palm of his hand, but when he positions it between his thumb and forefingers to the light, the gunmetal blue and silver loops shimmer. It’s a Gilgazyme® inhaler, just like on TV.
Looking past the contraband, the Don catches your gaze. Time to get out of here.
“Know what this is?” D’lunga asks.
“I ain’t a rat,” you say, swallowing hard.
The mob boss lets out a belly-laugh, then shakes his head. “Relax. Come on, take a look. It’s probably the closest you’ll ever get to one of these things. Makes you live forever, know that?”
“So they say….”
“Costs a fortune, but lucky for me, I have a few of those lying around. Know why I smuggled it in?”
You shake your head, wiping sweaty palms against your jumpsuit. To have a private audience with Don Vito is usually bad news for someone outside The Family.
“I’m in for a hundred-eighty-year sentence, know that? A hundred and eighty years, if you believe that shit. That’s really a death sentence, ’cept handed out by pussies. But the joke’s on them, my friend. With this,” he says, pausing to hold up the inhaler once more. “I’m going to be the first convict with the book thrown at him to catch the damn thing and add it to my private librar
y. Hundred-eighty-years ain’t nothin’ to a man who’ll live forever.”
You swallow again, throat practically cracking with dryness, but he’s waiting for a response. All you can think to say is, “Not worried ’bout the celebrity murders? The…uhhh…cannibals?”
He smiles wide. “When you’se suddenly a god, only natural to get a little drunk with power.”
And with that, he turns away from the bars and into his cell. Looks like your cue to continue the route, and with shivers running down your spine, you speed through the rest of the deliveries.
• Finish up and head to your own cell.
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Spoils
You help Sam Colt with the creaky metal doors and wait as Captain Delozier comes inside. The officer enters with a nod to Sam, and then a dozen soldiers file in behind him. Though many of the men wear gasmasks, most take them off when they enter the store. They openly take stock of the store…and of Lily.
“What’s the situation, Captain?” Sam asks.
“FUBAR. These lunatics keep popping up everywhere, with the hospital as ground zero. They’re marching us in there like lemmings.”
“Then what’re you doing here?” Lily asks.
Sam gives her a look, which she ignores. The Captain, however, looks furious.
“My duty is to my men,” he says.
“We’re happy to have you here, Captain.” Sam says. “Please make yourself at home.”
“Goddamn right we will,” one of the soldiers grumbles.
“Cool it,” Delozier snaps, and the man shuts up. “Sam, give me a tour, will you?”
Sam nods. “Lily, help the guys get settled in.”
Captain Delozier follows Sam towards the stairs and you can hear Sam saying something about the rooftop garden just before they disappear behind the stairwell door. The soldiers look around the store and you just hang back. Not long ago, these guys saw you as a threat.
PATHOGENS: Who Will Survive the Zombie Apocalypse? (Click Your Poison Book 4) Page 37
