INFECTED (Click Your Poison) (22 page)

And just like the lake, there’s splash-back.

Even a hit to the shoulder can be fatal. Not because the explosion beheads the zombie, but because the tremendous amount of energy transferred to the bone on impact is such that a fatal concussion turns the undead brain to little more than slush.

You felt the power of the turret first-hand; the thing recoils like a jackhammer atop the mounted position, and that’s not even a slight representation of the force ripping out of the business end.

The M2 whirs loudly, purring with the satisfaction of the fifty-zombie meal just consumed. You yell back to the soldier, “Is that it?”

“That’s just the first ammo box, amigo!”

Looking to the wood line, it seems the horde is finally descending upon your farm. The sounds of havoc and destruction have them frenzied to the point where they’re stumbling at you in a half-coordinated run.

“Should we head back?” you ask, not without a hint of nervousness.

“No can do, Newjack! You want a horde of pissed-off zombs to bring back home? We gotta kill ‘em all… man oh man, if only I could call in an airstrike to this farm.”

“Can’t we outrun them? Lose them?” your voice quakes.

He just laughs and locks in a new clip for the machine gun.

•
 
Keep fighting the good fight. They have to stop coming eventually, right?

•
 
Try to lose the bastards. Floor it and peel down a country road.

MAKE YOUR CHOICE

“H
elp!” you shout. “Come back! I’m wounded! Please help!”

Your shouts are heard and someone comes for you. But not in the way you wanted. From the neighboring house, the second-story window crashes open and a ghoul tumbles out. Just like you did. Except she’s completely unfazed by the fall and crawls toward you, despite her multiple injuries.

She’s young, or at least she used to be before she became ageless, and her black hair is pulled back in twin braids. Her skin is porcelain on her bloodless face. Despite the bite wound in her neck, her clothes are spotless. She’s dressed in her Sunday best; most likely her family planned a funeral before the news spread of the dead coming back. The image couldn’t be better designed by a Hollywood horror director.

You try to use your axe against her, but you’re incapable of a killing blow from your prone position. Have you ever tried swinging an axe while lying on your back? Doesn’t work too well.

A sharp pain shoots through your body when you swing—the result of that broken ankle—and the effect is akin to being hit with a Taser. The axe cuts her shoulder, but stops at bone. She mounts you, mouth and eyes wide, ready to bite.

The zombie girl grasps you by your ears and pulls your face to hers as if to give you a kiss. She gnaws on your face and your ears rip off in her hands as you struggle to get free. As the blood pools over your eyes, you can no longer see, but you can still hear (despite your missing earlobes), and a loud noise announces a blow to her head. You feel the attack stop and her body slump off of you.

“Goddamn,” a man’s deep voice says.

“We gotta put… him? Her? Fuck, I can’t tell—whatever,
it’s
suffering. We gotta put it down,” another replies with deep twangs of a country accent. You gurgle your protest through the blood collecting in your throat.

“It’s okay, it’s all over now.” One blow, and you’re out of your misery.

THE END

Y
ou wake up, the sun pouring into the gymnasium from the skylights above at just the right angle to hit your eyes. You roll out of the body-depression you’ve made in the workout mat you were sleeping on. The other members of the group are stirring as well. Cooper sits up and looks at her watch.

“How long were we out?” you ask.

“Fourteen hours.” She looks around and sees Sims slumped against the wall near the entrance to the gym. He had volunteered for first watch when the rest of you bedded down yesterday. “Sims! Get your fat ass up!”

Now the other guys start to wake and rise. It must be early morning, considering it was late afternoon when you went to bed. Hefty looks around, then stands up with concern. “Hey, where’s the Doc?” Everyone else looks around, as if he could be hiding in plain sight. Nope, he’s not on either side of you.

“He said he needed to hurry and get to the lab,” Sims says, getting up. “I was just resting my eyes.”

“He’s been out there alone all night?” Tyberius asks.

Guillermo champs his teeth in quick succession. “
Mordido
.”

“Anyone know where the lab is?” Cooper asks, only to be given blank stares in return. She rummages through her pack. “Grab a radio and a weapon. Pair up; this is not a horror movie.”

Hefty and Tyberius stick together and Guillermo hovers near Cooper. Sims smiles at you.

•
 
Time to look for Deleon.

MAKE YOUR CHOICE

W
ith a painfully metallic screech, the hangar door slides open. You head in, shotgun raised, alert to the shadows as your eyes adjust to the dim conditions. The hangar itself no longer houses aircraft, but looks like it did at one time. A gas truck parked in the center of the hangar has a sign, “No more fuel. Sorry. God bless.”

“That explains why she was stuck here, just like the colonel told us,” Lucas says. “But there is no sign of the doctor—
Doctor!
”

His voice echoes through the hangar, but there’s only one response: a moan from behind. A pair of zombies come at you from the doorway, and you waste no time in blowing the head off the first. The hangar screams back in a powerful reverberation from the sound. Rosie kills the other, but her rifle has barely a tenth of the echo.

“They’re coming quick,” you remark. “We’d best get moving…”

•
 
To the terminal.