INFECTED (Click Your Poison) (12 page)

MAKE YOUR CHOICE

W
ith caution, you walk up toward the house. There’s a ring of dead grass around the foundation, soaked (from the faint whiffs you get) in what could be kerosene. Apparently the home’s owner never got the chance to light the flaming moat as planned. Probably for the best, as that most likely would’ve burnt the house down. Makes you wonder about the razed house across the street.

You proceed to the front door. Maybe someone’s prayers were answered, and this house was spared? Maybe they’re waiting for you inside with milk and cookies? As you push it open, a great blast from a shotgun blows a hole through wood.
Or maybe not.
You fall to the ground, unhurt, and brush debris from your face and hair. With a quick scramble, you sidle up against the side of the house for cover.

“I’m alive!” you scream. “I’m normal!”

No response.

•
 
Should’ve noticed the “no solicitors” sign. Keep low, and run away.

•
 
Use a shard of glass as a mirror to look inside.

MAKE YOUR CHOICE

Y
ou leave the rippling wake of the pool and head up toward the clubhouse in the large deciduous tree to the rear. The irony isn’t lost on you that this children’s fort, defensible only in make-believe, has stood against the undead surge simply by being a few feet out of reach. Wooden two-by-fours are nailed into the trunk to serve as a ladder. You ascend these rungs hand-over-hand, bringing your feet up in synchronization.

When you make it to the top and pull yourself to floor level, a knife comes to your throat. It’s a large
Rambo
-looking blade, complete with a serrated spine. The knife’s owner wears a gas mask, Air Force ABUs, decked out with military gear. He’s a little overweight and his embroidered nametag reads “SIMS.”

Behind him, a woman holds a gaudy candlestick over her head, ready to smash it on you if need be. A fake-tanned blonde, she was somebody’s trophy wife back in the world. Now she’s pushing fifty (not that she’d ever admit it) and probably hates that she no longer has time for makeup.

“What do you want?” she asks.

“Food,” you reply, wishing you could raise your hands in supplication, but keeping them firmly on the final rung of the ladder.

The man lifts his gas mask with his free hand, keeping the knife trained on you. “Where did you come from?”

“Home.” You’re not sure what else to say.

“Is this your first day out?” Sims asks, his brow furrowed with suspicion.

You nod. The woman lowers her candlestick, a motherly concern on her face. “This is my fourth.”

“I’m afraid there’s no food here,” Sims says while he stands and tucks his knife into the sheath on his belt. “Name’s Sims. We’re out scavenging too, so…”

“We’re with a small group—just four others—but I bet you could join us if you wanted. I’m sure Cooper would let you. Hi, I’m Angelica,” the blonde comments.

•
 
“No thanks, I travel solo.”

•
 
“Let’s find this Cooper then.”

MAKE YOUR CHOICE

T
he cocaine enters your system the minute you take it. Your head’s spinning. This guy spared no expense on his nose candy, either. You get a full-body feeling of warmth, and your extremities tingle as your brain’s pleasure centers start popping.

Phoenix makes himself a line of coke on the coffee table and snorts it with labored grunts of delight. He rises from the couch and stumbles over toward the balcony. He slides the glass door open with a pull and staggers onto the balcony with such uncoordinated steps, you think he might fall over the railing.

But he catches himself, throws up his arms, and yells, “Thank you, Lewis Deleon! I’m gonna live forever,
motherfuckers
!”

Coming back into the skyrise apartment, Phoenix extends a hand to the girl without panties, the bottomless hooker, and helps her to her feet. He turns around to you. “I’m going upstairs with this one. You can stay down here with that one… or come on up with us. It’s up to you.”

•
 
There is no bottom to your need to party. So why not head upstairs with that handsome Doctor and the girl with no bottom layers?