INFECTED (Click Your Poison) (102 page)

“They found us; time to go, Doc,” Sims says as he pushes the bathroom door. It sticks and he has to put his weight against it. “Pants are on, doors are open!” he says as he shoulders his way through the barrier.

Lantern light illuminates the scene. Dr. Deleon is indeed caught with his pants down, but that’s not where his modesty lies. Around his legs are twin bandoliers holding vials of some bluish liquid. His cast is off and open and sitting on a baby-changing station with a syringe, an empty vial, and several notes with a pencil. Deleon tries to quickly cover his newly bare arm, but it’s too little too late.

There’s a hideous bite wound the cast was previously hiding. It looks like the nightmarish eye of an unspeakable evil. The center is thick like keloid scar tissue, and black with an orange discharge. The black color spreads out several inches away from the bite, through the veins, as if marking a path within.

Sims’ eyes grow wide with realization. “What the fuck is that?” But he already knows.

“Hold on, I can explain.”

“Outside.”

“Sims, listen to me—” Deleon starts to move toward him, but Sims pulls out his huge knife.

“Right now, motherfucker.”

Cooper uses a set of battery-operated clippers to buzz off her hair in its entirety, and the men watch in fascination. Her thick, black hair is no more. They look back as you approach and immediately the group knows something’s up by the way Sims escorts the doctor, knife drawn and pointed at Deleon. Guillermo sharpens his meat cleaver and looks up. Deleon gulps.

“What’s going on?” Cooper takes a step forward.

Hefty frowns. “Where’s the cast?”

“He’s
bit
,” Sims answers.

“Oh, Christ…” Tyberius says, “There’s always one in the bathroom.”

“No,” Deleon says firmly,
desperately
. “I’ve been bitten since long before I met you.”

Cooper raises an eyebrow. “But how? That was so long ago—how are you still… living?”

“I have a cure.”

The group confabulates in anger. They’re shouting their betrayal, and Deleon holds up his hands to calm them. He wants to explain. Bad move. All Guillermo sees is the bite wound and he chomps his teeth twice, then says, “Mordido!”

Guillermo jumps to his feet, cleaver raised, and charges at Deleon, who backs away, hands still raised. “Hold on,
estoy bien!
Medicina!
” The doctor ducks into Guillermo, evading the cleaver but still taking the force of the chef’s tackle.

It’s a sight too familiar since the end of the world, that of two men wrestling on the ground while one’s trying to kill the other. Sims and Hefty get Guillermo off Deleon, then Tyberius helps the doctor to his feet. Guillermo paces around, ranting in Spanish about the crazy people he’s with.

Cooper is not pleased. “I knew there was a reason I wanted to kill you.”

“Why didn’t you tell us you have a cure? Why lie?” Tyberius looks legitimately hurt.

“Well… it’s not finished. But as long as I take this inoculation every three hours—I just need to find a lab to finish it—look, I tried to say stay away from me, but you guys wouldn’t—”

A loud
thud
and corresponding
ding!
reminds the group that the zombies are still outside. And now there’s a lot of them, all trying to press their way in. They’ll be in soon, that’s inevitable.

“We don’t have time for this,” Cooper says.

“I’ll be okay. I just need to get to a lab.”

She’s awash in thought. “How much of that stuff do you have left?”

The pounding and scratching from the doorway intensifies the need to act. “Enough for now,” he says.

The entire parking lot is filled up with meandering ghouls. It seems as though they don’t know what’s going on inside, but something has piqued their interest. “How do we get out of here?” you ask.

Sims brandishes his Molotov cocktail and says with a grin, “Problem solved. I throw this, distract them. Then we escape while they’re engulfed in hot flaming goodness.”

“Or there’s the service entrance,” Tyberius suggests. You follow his gaze and see a group of mountain bikes between here and there. So what’ll it be?

•
 
“Sims—light it up.”

•
 
“The bikes! Quick, silent and maneuverable.”

MAKE YOUR CHOICE

“J
ust hurry up,” he says. “
Andele, ariba
!”

The doctor sits down at his computer, answering a few emails, but it’s obviously closing time and soon you’ll be ushered out. As would befit a janitor, you empty out his trash can and—hello, what’s this?—slide a pile of letters from the far corner of the desk into the wastebin.

And just in time too; Dr. Phoenix locks his computer, rises from the desk, and shoos you from his office. “All right, get. You’re done here,
vaya con Dios
.” You leave, idly mopping the floor in the hall outside while your employer locks up and exits with a mock salute and a curt, “
Adios.
”

Once he’s safely around the corner, it’s time to rummage through the trash: used courtside tickets, an empty hair-color box, several sodden green tea bags, a flattened tube of women’s anti-wrinkle cream, a pomegranate rind, a magazine for private jet owners, and a used condom. Gross.

Donning a pair of latex gloves from your utility cart, you move on to the letters. There’s a pitch from Kim Kardashian’s management team offering to do a Reality TV show based on Kim’s new life on
Gilgazyme®
in exchange for a free dose, an offer to some kind of hedonistic free love party at Brangelina’s house where Phoenix can bring the drug and have his way with either (or both) of them, a dozen companies’ announcements of the doctor’s approval for a new high-limit credit card, and a “requested materials” packet for more information on private island purchases.

Interesting, but this won’t help you with your goal. Where to next?

•
 
I’d like to keep rummaging: Next stop? Deleon’s office!

•
 
I’ve seen enough condoms for one day. Time to ratchet my search up to the next level: Rodent Testing!

MAKE YOUR CHOICE

T
he kitchen has one of those doors on spring hinges, so that it swings open with the lightest push. It’s painted white to match the walls. With axe in hand, you shove the door open and back away, ready to strike if need be.