“One of the Turned is attacking the doc!” the on-duty guard shouts.
“Damn, I liked her too,” one of the others says.
They ready their weapons and without so much as a second thought: shoot. You want to scream that you’re not infected, that this is in fact a hostage situation, but there’s no time. These guys were as ready as a firing squad.
THE END
Take the Bait
“Guard!” you yell.
Arms folded, you wait. Still the fiend shuffles towards you. What the hell is taking so long?
“Hey, GUARD!!!”
You look to the front flap of the tent while you holler, but still nothing. Figures. Cops only show up when you’ve done something wrong. When you turn back, the fiend lunges at you and you put up your hands to block her. As she takes the fingers of your left hand into her mouth, you let out a blood-curdling scream.
The screams finally bring in the guard from outside, and he stands with his rifle at the ready. “Another two Turned,” he says into a chest-radio. “Go for a transfer to aggressor tent.”
With a quick kick, you knock the woman off. She brings one of your fingers with her.
“Goddamn! Take your fucking time, why don’t you?! Just look at this!” you shout at the guard.
Indeed, just look at that hand.
You’re INFECTED!
Taking Out the Trash
Jason holds the door open, careful to step out of the way while you stain the carpet red and drag the corpse by the ankles through the doorway.
The cool of evening settles in on the neighborhood, but not the peaceful chitters of suburbia you’ve grown up with. You leave the corpse curbside (ready for pickup!) and turn towards a new noise. A man backpedals, staying just out of reach of a woman who shambles after him on a broken ankle. Her jagged fingernails swat at the air between them.
“Please stop!” the man sobs. “What’s the matter with you? Stop, Honey…”
Part of you wants to end it, to shoot her. Hell, part of you wants to shoot them both. But you move back into the house, shaking, on the verge of crying. You look at the red carpet entrance, following the blood trail, and come to a spatter of brain against the wall. The picture of Grandpa from WWII has miraculously stayed clean, but the black-and-white photo of Eisenhower chewing out his generals is filthy.
“That needs to be us,” Dad says. “They had no clue the horrors they were getting into, they just knew there was an evil that needed to be stopped. And that’s what we’re faced with now. See this?” he points to the framed art on the other side, the print of Rosie the Riveter.
She stares at you with her stern determination, rolling her sleeve with fist pumped in the air, flecks of blood against the glass frame adorning her uniform in an apropos symbol of your own call to action. She proudly proclaims, “We Can Do It!”
“I need you to be like Rosie, Sport,” your father says, the same look of determination on his face.
Do you have it in you? Rosie the Riveter was a symbol. A leader of those who grew up thinking they were helpless; that other people were in charge of the world. She inspired a generation to stand up and do their part. How can you be like Rosie?
Not much of a choice here:
• Mask your uncertainty. Stand tall, shoulders back, and say, “What do I need to do?”
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Talking Heads
“This,” Sam says, spreading his arms wide. “Everywhere.”
“But what was wrong with that lady?”
“That ‘lady’ is one of the infected,” Lily says.
“Infected?” you parrot back.
“This is it, Ty. The end of the world. The dead are rising,” Sam says. You just stare at him, so he continues, “I’ve seen it. Lily too. Someone gets bitten, maybe it kills you or maybe you just get real sick, but then you become one.”
“It’s always the same, every time,” Lily adds.
“From what I’ve seen, it only takes a few hours to spread,” Sam says.
“If they’re infected—like a sickness—it can be treated, right?”
“Sure, there’s a cure,” Lily says, showing off her handgun. “Bullet to the brain; no more infection.”
“How? How’d this…?”
“Does it matter?” Sam says, getting angry. “This is it, man. You’re not a banker anymore. The city is lost, Ty. You need to accept it, sooner than later.”
“Let’s head back inside,” Lily says, eyes still on the carnage at the horizon.
As you head back down, you try to let everything sink in. The end of the world? The apocalypse? The living dead? The city…lost? That’s when it hits you.
“Mama—I need to get home!” you say.
“I don’t think that’s happening anytime soon, Ty,” Sam answers.
Before you can reply, there’s a heavy pounding on the metal doors from outside. It’s definitely a “cop knock” and it sends a chill down your spine.
“I’ll handle it,” Sam says. He steps over to the doors and slides open an eye-level panel. “Captain Delozier, what can I do you for?”
“We’re here for the runner, Sam,” a man says. The voice is stern, even muffled by the National Guardsman’s gasmask.
“I’ll take responsibility for him. You have bigger problems, I’m sure.”
There’s a tense moment and Lily shifts, taking the pistol in both hands.
After what feels like ages, the Captain says, “How’s Daisy? Need anything? Water?”
“Lily is fine, thanks. We’re good here, Captain.”
• Stay quiet, but try to call home as soon as they leave.
• Wait! Tell the Captain he has to let you go. You need to get home and protect your mother.
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Talk is Cheap
“I’m sorry to hear about your father, but there’s nothing we can do. We’ve seen a 100% mortality rate in those bitten, and they usually only last a matter of hours before…” the doctor says, letting the unspoken conclusion hang in the air.
“We need to focus on those who’ve not been infected,” the second doctor adds. “We may not be able to save those like your father, but there are many others here who need our help.”
Dammit, you know they’re right. What’re you going to do, shoot them if they don’t come home? And only a matter of hours…it’s already been a matter of hours. With a sigh, you shoulder your weapon and turn away.
The nurse you took hostage stands behind you with a syringe full of air, but lowers the needle and backs away, wide-eyed. What was she up to?
“Let’s go, Jay,” you say, giving the nurse the stink-eye.
Where to?
• How about a second opinion? To the ER! They’ll have a better idea what to do in an emergency.
• Pharmacy. You have to try! Get some antibiotics or something.
• Better head home. If nothing else…to say goodbye.
• To the morgue. If these things really are coming back from the dead, the guys down there should know for sure.
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Tango Down
Time to dispense with the pleasantries: Dad taught you early how to clear a room, in case of intruders in the dead of night, but the training proves unnecessary here. No one’s hiding behind the door, hoping to get the drop on you.
Instead, as soon as you step in and flip on the light, the man rises from the bed. His jaw hangs slack and his eyes shine with hunger. He’s no longer limp and delirious, he’s focused—on you. In his frenzy to get out of the bed, he gets tripped up by the covers and falls to the floor. Growling like an animal, he thrashes to get free.
“Stay where you are!”
The man gains his footing and you fire a round into the bed as a warning shot, but that only excites him further. Okay, no denying it—this guy’s Zulu. One shot in the chest, but it doesn’t even slow him. Not with a 22-calibre rifle. But the two-shot burst into his forehead drops the man like a sack of flour.
> You stare at the kill, crimson fluid pouring out of him so dark it’s almost black, and your thoughts turn towards Dad. When you look back, Jason is gone. You turn and sprint back towards the master bedroom, but skid to a stop in the living room. Dad walks towards you—aided by Jason, who has the old man’s arm slung over his shoulder.
“He’s…?” you ask.
“Still with us,” Jason replies. “Barely.”
“Daddy, what do we do?”
His eyes blink open and with renewed clarity, he hisses, “Leave!”
“No! I won’t. I won’t leave you.”
“Once bitten…soon biting….”
“You won’t turn. I’ll stop it, somehow.”
Jason wipes his eyes, “If you want to stop it, you’ll have to shoot him in the head like that guy.”
“Jay, no!”
Dad stumbles forward, then gathers himself. With extreme effort, he says, “If you live…we live…with you…”
He enters a coughing fit and falls to the floor, wheezing. Then he stops breathing altogether.
“Dad? C’mon, Daddy. Wake up!” you shout.
And miraculously, he does. Though when he rises from the floor, there’s nothing you recognize of your father in those pale, bloodless eyes.
“Oh, shit…” Jason says.
Dad’s head snaps towards your brother and a low, guttural growl comes from his throat. The metal of your rifle is cold in your sweat-drenched palms. Oh, God. This isn’t happening! You’re frozen, paralyzed. Time creeps by, each second lasting a decade. He can’t be dead, he can’t. He can’t be one of those things!
“No…!” Jason cries as Dad’s hands rise up to embrace his son.
• You can’t do it—you know you can’t. Scream for Jason to run!
• That’s not your Daddy. It’s Zulu. Put him down.
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
T & Assets
No windows, nothing to loot, and no way in. Perfect. The large, sturdy door should provide protection against the undead and the living, if you can get the damned thing open. They meant business when they installed a slab with four locks on it.
There’s what looks like a fire door out back, but it’s nothing more than a door-shaped seam against the alley wall. No handle, nothing. You go back around to the front and try the entrance once more. Sighing in frustration, you turn to leave, but then the door opens.
Rifle up, you spin around. It’s a bleached-blonde, orange-tan, fake-tittied stripper wearing a see-through lace robe and not much beneath it. You lower the rifle and swallow, hard.
“Don’t go, mister,” she says through pouty lips.
“Are you alone?” you ask.
She opens the door further to show a brunette with thickly applied eye-shadow and mascara wearing an oversized men’s business shirt. She shifts her weight on her toned, bare legs and smiles meekly.
“It’s just us,” the blonde says. “And we don’t bite.”
“I…I don’t have much. Coupla’ MREs, but I’ll share what I’ve got in exchange for a place to sleep, so….”
“We like to share,” the brunette says with a wicked grin.
Despite the blood rushing away from your head, you take a moment to think. Is this where you want to bed down for the night? Or should you tell them you’re gonna look around a bit first?
• What kind of nutless wonder would leave these helpless hotties all alone? Head on in!
• The liquor store. I could use a drink after these last couple of days and the windows have bars.
• The tattoo parlor. With its tough-guy design scheme, nobody will mess with me there.
• The payday loans building. With all the people they screw, they’ve gotta be ready for a mob invasion.
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Three’s a Crowd
“Couldn’t sleep? Us neither. C’mon in,” Tyberius says.
This is the biggest suite in the hotel, consisting of a master bedroom off to one side and another bedroom with a pair of queen-sized beds across the way. In the common area there’s a pair of couches, a fireplace, and an entertainment center.
Tyberius drinks champagne straight from the bottle and you’re about to ask where Hefty is when the sliding door to the balcony opens. The redneck steps through and doesn’t see you at first. From the glazed look of their eyes, the duo has a few bottles’ head start on you. Maybe they raided room service?
“Always wanted to piss off the top of a hotel…awww, shit! Mr. Wizard! What’s up, man?”
“Mr. Wizard?” you ask.
“Yeah. That was some magical shit getting the power back on.”
“Ahhh, it didn’t actually go out here. All I had to do was reset the hotel breakers. Must not be on the same grid as downtown, so….” you shrug.
“Lemme axe you a question,” Tyberius says. “If you really in the Army, why don’t you have any guns? I’d have a fuckin’ tank, man.”
“Air Force, but you’re right…a good soldier wouldn’t be caught red without his firearm. Truth is, well, I lost mine a ways back. I’m kinda inside myself about the whole thing.”
“I feel ya. Had a nail gun, lost it in a fight,” Hefty says, plopping down on the couch.
You’re feeling a bit ashamed, so you don’t enlighten them on how you lost your gear. Instead, you offer, “As soon as I can signal rescue, I’ll be re-armed. Shouldn’t be too hard, so….”
Hefty leaps up off the couch. “See? I fuckin’ knew they knew what was up. Government planned this whole thing. They’s just waitin’ to let the population drop while the Chosen sit in their bunkers. A population cull, man. Then they swoop in, establish a goddamned stratocracy and act like they doin’ us a fuckin’ favor. Tell him, Sims.”
You swallow, hard. From what you learned on the C-17, the government did indeed know “what was up.” But can you admit that? Will they trust you if you do?
Tyberius flips a decorative metal bowl from the coffee table, spilling the potpourri from inside, then places it on Hefty’s head.
“It’s not tin-foil, but it’ll have to do, you crazy motherfucker!” Tyberius says with a laugh.
Hefty throws it off, then leaps onto Tyberius and the two men enter into a drunken wrestling match. You back away as they grunt and slam into the furniture.
“Uhhh, I’m pretty tired,” you say. “Probably have a long day tomorrow, so…”
• Go check on Jose.
• Go check on Angelica.
• Go check on Cooper.
• Head back to your room and get some sleep.
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Thrown Away
“Sure,” Slim says, stepping forward. “That corner, there?”
You reflexively look where he points, and that’s when he lunges for you. He swings the pipe to knock your rifle askew, but you’re faster. The CO2 cartridge sends a dart from the rifle into the man’s chest and he hits the floor before he can take another step.
His friend drops to his side and tries to shake the tranquilized man awake. Nope.
“Hef?” he says, feeling for a pulse. “He’s not breathing!”
You look to the rifle, thinking, what was the dose was for, an elephant?
When you look up, you see the big man rise from the floor, screaming for vengeance and swinging his hammer. You jump back, but his reach is better and he hits you in the rib cage. The whole event is narrated by Angelica’s shrieking.
You actually hear the crunch of your bones breaking, but you don’t feel a thing. Somehow you’re on the floor too, thrown across the room from the blow. You taste blood, and as your vision fades, you see him rising up for another swing of his hammer.
Then Jose hits him in the back of the head with the frying pan and Mr. Hammer Time falls in a heap next to you. Jose tries to help you up, but when you move, there’s a burst of pain. You cough blood and it’s hard to get your breath. Seems like your own ribs impaled your lungs, and the pain proves more than your body can handle.
Everythin
g goes dark, never to shine again.
THE END
Thug Life
The gangs tear through the yard, destroying everything in their path, rushing towards the other buildings in the prison. The giant chainlink fences are no match for hundreds of men pressed against them. Roughly half the group breaks off towards the armory, while the rest continue on to the motorpool. Both options have their appeal, but there are sure to be more inmates than there are either weapons or vehicles.
What’s your priority?
• I’m rushing the armory with the violent offenders. Let the others crash the gates, I’ll walk out behind with a shotgun in hand. Boom boom, Mutha Fucka!
• I gotta get me some wheels! Looks like Celly has the same idea too. Hurry on to the motorpool to get one of the few cars.
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Tight to the Chest
“How might I help you, sir?” you ask, keeping mum about your earlier excursion.
“Listen, there’s no way to put this, no easy way or what have you….” Captain Delozier says, practically rambling. Even in the low evening light, you can see beads of sweat condensing inside his gasmask faceplate.
“Once spilt, you can’t pour sake back into the cup. Come out with it, whatever it is.”
“Right, okay. We’re leaving tomorrow. My superiors are pulling us out. We’re evacuating to the hospital and trying for a fallback point—” he abruptly stops himself. Does he know of the ‘Salvation’ camp? He studies your face, perhaps wondering if he gave up too much. “The point is: Tomorrow you’ll be free to go. There are some women in the camp, some with kids. Maybe they’ll take your students?”
You shake your head. “Sir, I have a duty to their parents.”
PATHOGENS: Who Will Survive the Zombie Apocalypse? (Click Your Poison Book 4) Page 39
