Lily clears her throat. “Food is what you brought with you, water is in the buckets by the stairs or up on the roof. I guess we’ll have to figure out sleeping arrangements sooner or later. Bathrooms are in the back.”
“Can you show me?” one of the guys asks, with a grin you don’t quite like.
“The bathroom? They’re back there.”
“C’mon…show me.”
Lily shrugs, then walks towards the back. Some of the men shake their heads, but they do so with smiles. You step forward, watching, on edge.
“First stop, men’s room!” she says, with an exaggerated “ta-da” of her arms.
“What’s inside?” he asks.
“Probably a toilet,” she says.
“You sure? Show me.” She laughs, like the guy is putting her on. “Go on, I can tell you want to.”
“Uhh, you can fuck off now.”
“I won’t tell the mister if you don’t. Help me get ‘settled in’…I don’t bite.”
• Okay, enough is enough. Remind the guy that the lady said he can fuck off.
• Stay put. She can handle herself.
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Squad Goals
Your pupils come to seated attention; resting atop their ankles with palms flat on their thighs. You turn to Haley and nod. She shrugs and giggles, her blue eyes and braces twinkling in unison.
“No room to improve? What about stride length? Or your tendency to bounce before an attack, thus telegraphing intent to your opponent?”
“Yes, sensei,” she says, looking down.
“Nathanael?”
“Um, to like, focus my Ki. Be more vocal, I guess.”
You nod, then turn to Christian, who says, “I wanna find out if I’m ready for the next level kyu test.”
A small laugh escapes before you can help it. “If you have to ask if you’re ready, then you are not.”
“Awww,” he says, bouncing and rocking back on his heels.
“Do not ‘awww.’ I asked for goals for today. Kendo exists only in the now. When you speak of next year, the spirits laugh.”
He looks down and shrugs. “Well, just get better, then. Faster.”
“Stronger!” Mason shouts. Everyone chuckles, and you give a smiling nod.
Nolan clears his throat. “My dad says to practice my grip.”
“Very wise.”
“I want to win,” Liam says, eyes narrowed like he’s offering sage wisdom.
“Me too,” Stella says.
“Losing is a better teacher than winning,” you say. “And to count wins is to measure the length of your acorns; time is better spent gathering, just as with experience. Now then—what about our new student. Salvator?”
The young boy, probably around 6 years old, looks to his mother for help. She sits off to the side, attention on her cellphone, and crosses one leg of her elaborately printed yoga pants over the other. Not finding the answer there, he turns back and simply shakes his head.
“For a first day, I’d recommend your goal be: to be able to tell your mother three new things about Kendo when time comes to go home.”
“Okay…” he says, almost a whisper.
“First lesson, answer, ‘Yes, sensei’ or ‘Master Tesshu,’ okay?”
“Sin…say?” he tries.
“That’s right.”
You stand and say:
• “Class, I’m going to show our new pupil around. Set up drill stations.”
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Start a Riot
The junkie isn’t holding his weapon like he’s ready to fire, so you know you can get the drop on him. Even better, if he’s either high or going through withdrawals, his hand-to-eye coordination won’t be up to par. Still, you know better than to engage without cover.
The trash can off to your left should work perfectly. In a practiced paintball move, you dive to the side, roll into a somersault, and pop up just behind the waste bin. With your rifle barrel resting against the top, you pop three shots in quick succession—two to the chest; one to the head.
The junkie is down before he knows what hit him. You look to Jason—your brother has taken cover back against the hallway wall. The woman screams and rushes to her companion’s side. You step up to the pharmacy window and tap on the glass.
“You’re welcome,” you say. “Now I need something for my dad. He’s been bitten, what can you give me?”
The old man behind the glass slowly shakes his head.
“Are you freaking kidding me? Can’t I get some antibiotics or—?”
“I’d help you if I could. I don’t know how to treat your father, but if you find a doctor, someone who could prescribe the right medication….”
You give a groaning sigh and turn from the window. Your eyes grow wide at the sight of a man in full riot gear, aiming his submachine gun your way. You see a stern expression etched onto the hardened man behind his faceplate, and a USMC globe, eagle, and anchor tattoo on his neck.
• Yell “Semper Fi!” and drop your weapon.
• Screw it, shoot this guy too.
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Street Smarts
You call out to Tyberius, who comes to join you and Jose while Hefty and Angelica stay with the new guy.
“What’s going on here?” you ask. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, it’s cool, Coop. Dude actually messed his shoulder up pretty good while trying to save Angie.”
“Hero type?”
“Eh, let’s just say it’s a good thing Hef and I heard the screams and came running.”
“Hmm. Do you trust him?”
Tyberius purses his lips, then bobbles his head slowly, thinking it over. “I mean, I guess. Enough, anyway. I had a few run-ins with the National Guard when they was still up and running. Can’t say I trust they had my best interests at heart, if you know what I mean, but this Sims dude assures me he’s no longer operating under orders. That’s not to say he won’t be in the future. Keeps talking about signaling rescue. I see it like this: he comes from a pack of wolves, and I’m not gonna lie that scares me, but now that he’s out and alone, he could be adopted to become our guard dog.”
“Thanks,” you say with a nod.
Maybe Tyberius is right and the new guy could be helpful. Maybe he is a sheep in wolf’s clothing. Or maybe he is a junkyard dog who just needs training. Either way, it’s probably a good idea to keep him close. But first…you need to assert dominance. Or maybe get a second opinion from one of the others?
• Introduce yourself. Make sure he knows you’re the boss.
• Take Angelica aside, ask her to shed some light.
• Take Hefty aside, ask him for the skinny.
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Strength in Numbers
You rush the trio of nutters, slamming the butt of the fire extinguisher as hard as you can into the skull of the nearest one.
“Come on!” you shout.
The office door swings open and the guard smashes into one of the ghouls with his Asp baton. The doctor cowers behind the correctional officer, so you and the guard finish off the third flesh-eating bastard together.
Once their undead bodies stop twitching, the guard looks you over. He removes a pair of handcuffs and you raise your hands, shaking your head and back away.
“I’ll get the two of you out of here,” the cop says. “But we can’t have inmates running amok. If the warden sees us…”
Say:
• “Fuck you, and fuck the warden. You ain’t cuffin’ me.”
• “You need me much as I need you. Let’s go.”
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Stuck in the Middle
The C-17 booms down the runway, cutting a hole in the crowd. Garcia and the agents follow in its wake, using the cleared path to take off just behind the larger plane. They wax and wane under the strong currents left by the behemoth C-17, but they make it out.
Turning your focus back to terra firma, you’re greeted by twenty-thousan
d hungry eyes. It’s only about one-percent of the ghouls swarming the airport, but that’s more than enough. The pilot was able to stay here in quiet solitude, but once they taxied out, this hangar drew quite a bit of interest.
Instinctively, you back into the hangar, then turn to run for an alternate entrance. As a matter of security, there’s no back door. There’s a big storage cabinet in the back and—reverting to child-like fear—you open the doors, hop inside, and hide, with your eyes closed.
The growling moans and shuffle of feet grow louder, and finally there’s a clawing on the cabinet doors before the ghouls manage to pry the cabinet open.
Peek-a-boo, we see you!
THE END
Subway: Eat Flesh!
Out front, there’s a fake plant potted in real soil, which you use to break the glass door and let yourself in. An alarm wails in response, but it blends in with the drone of sirens on the ambulances headed to the limo crash scene. Fun fact: Did you know that your best chance of getting away with robbery is during a disaster? The police are too busy actually helping people to come check out a bank in distress.
Still, you’d better make this fast food. They’ll come by to check it out eventually. The alarm is wailing like a banshee, but luckily you have a pair of earplugs in the front pocket of your shirt to wear during loud jobs in the garage. They’ll work here too.
For easy pickin’s, you’ve got the rows of single-serve chip bags and the cookie display. But the sandwiches are made “fresh to order,” so you’re kind of out of luck there. Handfuls of meat and cheese? Maybe the bagged apple slices and bottles of chocolate milk in the fridge?
You hop over the counter in search of a to-go bag and see bloody footprints on the linoleum behind the sandwich bar. Your gaze follows the tracks to a breakroom and two pair of feet—lying down, one on top of the other.
Morbid curiosity draws you closer and you see a teenage employee with acne hunched over her middle-aged manager, scooping handfuls of his mid-section into her hungry maw. You must’ve gasped at the sight, because the ghoulish teen’s head suddenly snaps towards you, eyes dead but staring intently.
Then she rises, unnaturally, like a snake floating out of a basket under a charmer’s spell. With equally fluid, almost drunken, movements she comes for you.
“No! Stay back!” you shout.
You slam back against the counter and the cash register pops out in response. You turn to vault over the counter, but the teen grabs onto your mechanic’s shirt and opens her mouth. Your arms shoot up in response, taking the girl by the throat. As someone who twists wrenches for a living, you have a tough grip, but the strangulation doesn’t slow her in the least.
In fact, she’s not even breathing.
Frantic, you look for a weapon. There’s a small sandwich knife with a green handle that’ll have to do. As you reach out with your right arm for the knife, the fiend lunges closer. You’re strong, but there’s something almost supernatural about her pull. Like she’s at 100% strength and unable to dial down. Maybe drugs?
You stab her in the chest with the knife, plunging it down to the handle. Nothing, no response. No spurting blood, either. At the last possible second, you get the knife free and stick it under her chin, shoving her mouth closed and pushing the blade inside. All the way, until your palm is flat against her neck and the knife sinks inside her head.
She collapses, dead. What. The. Fuck? No real choice here:
• Now that you’ve added murder to B&E, better get out of here.
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Survive!
“I’ll call an ambulance, you and Jay get this guy into your bed for now,” Dad says.
“But, Dad!” Jason protests.
“No. We don’t know how this whole thing works yet, so we do what we can for our fellow man. Got it?” he says. You can’t help but think of Dad’s own bite wound.
Jason nods and the pair of you go about the task without another word. When you lay the man down in your room, you see a mark on his left palm. It looks like a bite, only without blood or signs of infection. Like it’s old and dried-out. Still, the man seems to be at peace; resting with ease.
Back in the living room, Dad looks at his cell phone with concern. “911 is busy…” he says.
Then, in a fit of vertigo, he stumbles backward and falls on the couch, his head diving into his hands with a massive migraine. Composing himself, he says, “I just need to lie down a bit.”
You’re about to follow your father to his room, but Jason intercepts you with a compass and terrain map. “Let’s plot the shortest route from home to the woods, you know, in case we have to get outta Dodge.”
“Jay, I’m really worried about Dad,” you say, voice thick with emotion.
“That’s why we need to do the planning, right? ‘Be like Rosie,’ remember?”
You look away, unsure of yourself for the first time since you tried out for the track team. “You were never cut out to be a shot-putter,” Coach said. But you overcame that, and you can overcome this too. You’ll just have to think realistically, just like coach showed you. That’s how you won the 800-meter.
Could running now be the best course of action? The world out there is a crazy place, and getting worse by the minute. You barely made it home from the range in all that traffic. Even so, you’re not only thinking of yourself. How can you hope to drag a sick man out of town with only your kid brother for help?
“TV,” you say with a nod towards the screen. “There should be reports of road closures, and we can mark those on the map.”
Jason smiles, happy to have you back on board. He flips on the TV, where Alison Argyle, oddly calm, reads from the teleprompter, “In an ironic twist, it seems many of those killed are users of the new longevity wonder drug Gilgazyme®. It’s still unknown if there is a connection between the drug and the homicide sweep hitting major urban centers across the country. No spokesperson for the creators of Gilgazyme® has agreed to comment as of this broadcast…”
The television is suddenly taken into local control and your community Sheriff appears on the screen.
“The Governor has declared a state of emergency,” the Sheriff announces. “But we are as of yet unprepared for any sort of mass evacuation. We’re working as hard as we can to set up aid stations and sanctuaries. In the meantime, work with friends and neighbors. Find a group. Nobody can beat this thing alone. And…we need all the help we can get.”
The image switches to a stationary, soundless Please Stand By message. There you have it. You’re on your own, but so is everyone else. Maybe it’s time to find some help?
• The church. Take Dad and the wounded man in the Jeep. They wouldn’t turn you away and wasn’t there just a canned food drive?
• Skip town. Even though it’ll be dangerous traveling with a bitten man, you’re not ready to abandon Dad.
• The hospital. 911 isn’t answering, so you’ll have to take a doctor hostage and force him to help the wounded in your home.
• Let Dad rest a bit, head to the mall to pick up a few essentials. By the time you get back, he should know what to do.
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Take Me to Church
The sun shines brightly, the last hurrah before dusk settles in, and there’s an odd stillness in the air. No sirens, though smoke still columns on the horizon. If you weren’t carrying weapons and two wounded men, it would be just like the drive you make most Sundays.
Driving quickly, using people’s front lawns as your personal 4x4 detour route, it’s not long before the stark spires of the gothic cathedral come into view. You park the Jeep and head up the walkway to the entry.
This is your church. You were baptized here. Confirmed here. Attended mass here. Dad didn’t take you every Sunday, but he was no Christmas Catholic either. Whenever he got the itch for church, you knew it was because he missed mom more than usual that week. Now, God willing, this cathedral will be a sanctuary when you need it most.
“Are you wou
nded? Bitten?” the priest asks, stepping out from behind thick wooden doors and onto the stone steps of the entry.
You recognize the man—Father Thomas. He eyes your weapons, but you’re not sure if it’s nerves or relief on his face. He’s hunched, grips the door with white knuckles, and speaks in an urgent whisper. His white collar is starting to turn brown from sweat.
“No, but we have two men in the car who are. Dad and some guy. Can you help?”
Father Thomas ushers you inside with open arms. “Of course, my children. Come in. The sisters are sorting donations in the annex and many parishioners are already in the main hall. Take your time, look around, see where you might help us while we help you. Give me a few minutes and I’ll have some of the men bring in your wounded.”
You nod, turn to Jason and say:
• “Donations? I suppose we should see what they’ve got in terms of food and medical supplies.”
• “I want to do a headcount on who’s here, and what state they’re in. Let’s check the main hall.”
• “All that can wait. Dad’s in pretty rough shape; we should probably stay with him.”
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Taken
“Sorry? For what?” she says, then her eyes grow wide when you reach out for her.
The doctor struggles, but you’re a big man and it’s easy to maneuver her around. A guilty feeling rises up, but you push it back down. She’ll be fine; she’s just your ticket out of here.
When you push through the entry flap of the tent, you see one gas-masked guard at the ready, while two more play checkers nearby.
PATHOGENS: Who Will Survive the Zombie Apocalypse? (Click Your Poison Book 4) Page 38
