INFECTED (Click Your Poison) (13 page)

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“I’ll stay down here, thanks.”

MAKE YOUR CHOICE

A
s you transformed, the urge to get out the door did not wane. In fact, as all other things have fled—memories, hunger, pain—the one thing that remained was the desire to get outside. Why? You can’t recall. You’ve battered your fists, unceasingly in the manner only the immortal possess, until they’re nothing but bloody roots.

Finally, after four days of pounding, you break free. The casting breaks free at the latch. The door opens.

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Time to wander.

MAKE YOUR CHOICE

A
s suddenly as it had begun, the swamp ends. It can’t be more than a five-degree incline, but it’s enough slope to rise above the mucky drainage and onto firm ground once more. Rosie squeezes bog water out of her ponytail, her red hair stringy and mottled with algae.

“Can we hold up for a sec?” she asks. Finding a log, she sits down and removes her boots. A gallon of swampwater pours out from them. She wrings out her clothes as best she can, well aware that you and Lucas Tesshu are watching. “That was a close one, huh? Hope that compound has hot showers.”

“This might be a good time for lunch,” Lucas says. “And to dry out a bit.”

“Won’t we be there soon? Can’t we just eat there?” you ask.

The man puts on a smile, though it appears forced. “I certainly hope so,” he replies, the strength waning from his voice.

“Well, I’m all for it,” Rosie says. “Maybe we can swap? I’ve about had it with these MREs.”

Lunch it is, then. You sit and eat, swapping both food and stories. For this brief lunch, it’s almost like a hike out with friends; you almost forget that you’re out in the wilderness, on the run for survival. Almost.

Rosie starts off with her story: she’s a high school junior who works at a gun range. She tells about her father, a Marine combat veteran, and her brother, “the sweetest boy you’d ever meet.” Mom was lucky enough to pass before any of this stuff ever happened. Her eyes go watery when she talks about them, but she clears her throat, pushing any emotion aside. She starts stripping and cleaning her rifle. “Long overdue,” she says. Looking to Lucas, she adds, “So, what about you?”

Lucas Tesshu scoops the last bit of spaghetti from the brown pouch of one of Rosie’s MREs. He uses the napkin to wipe the excess sauce from the corners of his mouth. That stands out for you: his cleanliness and overall genteel attitude despite the fact that it’s the end of the world. Lucas tells all about the kendo dojo he runs in the city, his chivalrous code of bushido, and his strict Japanese upbringing. He ends with a note about his sister, “Her fear was too strong for her. She fled the city before I did, and now… I look forward to finding her again at this compound.”

They both turn to you. You apologize for not having much to share, but you tell about your upbringing and go on to the outbreak and then your journey into the woods. “I’m not a warrior like the two of you, but I had enough sense to get out of Dodge.”

“Do not apologize for who you are,” Lucas replies.

“You’re alive, and that’s more than enough these days,” Rosie tells you.

*     *     *

After lunch you’re up and hiking again. Bonding comes easy in this world of eldritch cannibalism, and the three of you become fast friends. There’s an eerie stillness in the air, like nature has abandoned this valley, but at least it’s not filled with moans of the undead.

You suddenly come upon a road, a welcome element of civilization thrust upon you after days of wilderness. It’s a service road, so you’re hopeful that you haven’t left the beaten path yet. To your right, the road stretches around the wooded corner and out of sight. To your left, there’s a fork in the road. A sign reads, “STATE REFORMATORY,” with an arrow pointing to the right fork.

“A prison?” you ask.

“This is it!” Rosie shouts with glee. “The radio transmissions all said to come to the Reformatory. We’ve made it!”

“C’mon then,” Lucas says with a smile.

Your feet ache with fatigue and sting with blisters, but there’s renewed pep in your step. The three of you trod on with new hope toward the correctional facility. Around the next bend, there’s another sign, “BRIDGE OUT.”

“Damn, we’d better find a new route,” Rosie says.

Lucas rubs his face. “I don’t think so. I’m willing to bet we can pass through. We travel on foot, after all.”

“No way,” Rosie shakes her head. “I’m not walking all that way just to find out we can’t cross. There’s probably a detour.”

“We’ll travel further if we detour. It’s a gamble either way, and detour signs aren’t posted or mentioned on the radio transmissions.”

Rosie scowls. “Seriously? We literally just found the road. Who knows what signs we missed?”

“Exactly. We won’t know what the road holds until we get there.” Lucas speaks to her like a teacher instructing a pupil. “And which way would we go? Left on the fork, or back, the opposite way? One road may lead us to the compound, but the other certainly will not.”

She shakes her head, eyes to the ground. Then both of them turn toward you. Well?

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“I’m with Rosie. Let’s take the left fork.”

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“No sense in continuing toward a dead end. I say we turn and go the opposite way on the road.”