INFECTED (Click Your Poison) (10 page)

B
ack out on the platform, you take turns slaying whatever undead make it to the top. They start to arrive in thicker numbers, and your ammo supply dwindles quickly, making you question the merit of trapping yourself atop the tower of terror. There’s no fighting your way down now; that option has long expired.

Just as you think your demise might be nigh, the thick rumble of an engine purrs in the distance. You make out a single vehicle speeding down the road toward you. That’s it? That’s your rescue, one vehicle? As it gets closer, you make out that it’s a military Humvee and something on the back is… moving.

Then the tail erupts with life, a bright light bursting forth followed momentarily by a supersonic roar. That “something” on the back is a turret, and the machine gun blasts apart the undead in droves.

“That’s our cue!” Rosie says, jumping with excitement.

Lucas lets out a massive roar, and you’re unsure if it’s just a battle cry or an actual word in Japanese, but you’re shocked nonetheless to hear such a sound boom forth from the normally calm and collected swordsman. He runs forward and leaps at the nearest zombie, flying at it through the air and delivering a powerful kick squarely on the ghoul’s chest. The undead man lurches backward, knocked off his feet, and careens into the line behind him. They fall back and down the spiral staircase like dominoes.

Using the momentum, the three of you pound down the stairs. You take the lead, blasting the faces off of the stragglers. Rosie reaches the end of her ammunition supply just as you hit the ground. The Humvee does donuts on the airfield, Colonel Arthur Gray in the driver’s seat, the armory’s master-of-arms in the back hollering with joy as he blasts apart the undead with his massive .50-caliber weapon. Irving Grey snaps pictures from the front seat, catching the cranial explosions with crystal clarity.

Seeing you arrive, the colonel skids to a stop. “The doctor?”

You’re about to shake your head, when a window bursts out from the terminal. A woman leaps out and sprints hard toward you. She’s an attractive black woman in her late thirties, and she’s remarkably clean. The nearby zombies do their best to grapple her, but she’s athletic and runs around them. Despite the terrified look on her face, she moves with the determination of a survivor. “Wait!” she yells.

Colonel Gray takes an assault rifle from within the Humvee and cracks off shot after shot to keep the fiends at bay. The gunner in the back chews the crowd apart from the rear. Without wasting a moment, you go to your jeep, let the doctor in, and peel out to escape. The shambling forms have no chance of catching you as you speed away.

•
 
Return to Salvation.

MAKE YOUR CHOICE

Y
ou did the best you could to hide your tent away from the road and used the landscape to shelter yourself. You’re not within eyeshot of your car—an obvious human container—and you’re hoping against hope no one will find you tonight. You set up around the crunchiest of leaves, a kitchen knife and hammer by your side.

Sleep isn’t coming easy; this is worse than going camping right after watching
Blair Witch.
Even the wind sets those infernal leaves to dancing. You left the bottom portion of the zipper undone; just in case you need to make a quick escape. You also—something you’re proud to have thought of—rigged the top zipper with a bell to alert you when anyone tries to get in.

Now you’d better not have to pee in the middle of the night.
Crunch.
Was that just a—
CRUNCH.
Yep, something’s out there. Maybe it’s just an animal or a branch moving in the wind. Except the wind seems to be… groaning. Jingle, jingle.

Whatever it is hasn’t figured out that it needs to use your zipper. Which means it isn’t human. The groaning and pawing increases in intensity; you know what’s out there.

All your hopes of miraculously finding a government sanctuary unscathed peter out. Your heart pounds with ferocity. The time to act is now!

•
 
Slice a hole in the other side and jackrabbit my way to the car before whatever’s out there knows I’ve even left.

•
 
Grab my knife and prepare to go psycho on this z-bag.

MAKE YOUR CHOICE

J
ust a guess, but you haven’t spent too much time driving a military-grade Humvee through a farmer’s field while the dead try to eat you, right? So then the next bit probably shouldn’t come as too much of a surprise.

You plow forward, crushing corn husks like they’re grass and the undead like they’re merely… corn husks. Your gunner blasts away from behind, having the time of his life. You have to admit, this is pretty damn fun. Then he stops shooting.

He yells something, but you can’t hear him very well over the commotion of the vehicle. You turn back and shout, “What?” Suddenly the ride smoothes out significantly. That’s odd, there’s no longer the corn-crushing rumble that’s accompanied the drive thus far.

You turn back, just in time to notice you’re plunging into an irrigation ditch. It’s not terribly deep, but the Hummer cartwheels forward and you slam into the dashboard just as the front bumper slams into the concrete embankment. The momentum carries the rear forward and the vehicle exits the ditch on its roof.

Ouch, that hurt! You look around, getting your bearings from your newly upside-down orientation. The ammo bag crushed the passenger side windshield, so in a sense you’re lucky. You take the bag, along with the assault rifle and shotgun; you’re aware enough to know you’ll need them.

You crawl out of the totaled Humvee, wondering if the soldier was crushed when it flipped. Nope, he’s about twenty-five yards away in the dirt. He hobbles over to you. “I said, look out for the ditch. Goddamn, that hurt. You okay, Newjack?”

Now you get your bearings outside, looking around the field. You’ve got a few moments, but the undead are closing in.

•
 
“Let’s do this—put the extra ammo between us and keep the Hummer at your back.”

•
 
“Sorry if this makes me a wuss, but I think it’s time to run.”