INFECTED (Click Your Poison) (23 page)

•
 
To the control tower.

MAKE YOUR CHOICE

Y
ou don’t need to tell him twice. He’s got a ninety-nine-cent lighter from the rack and is already rolling back the thumbwheel. “
Genial
,” Guillermo says, smiling for what might be the first time. The chef moves to stand by the glass doors, waiting for his cue. You move to the other door, ready to clear the way when Sims arrives.

“All right, one…” Sims says as he lights the rag. “Two…” He runs toward the doors. You and Guillermo batter against each side, knocking the ghouls down. Guillermo beats them with his shovel and you do the same with your hatchet axe, while Sims runs out.

“Three!” He hurls the Molotov cocktail as hard as he can over the zombies’ heads. There’s already quite a crowd gathered; in unison, the undead watch the flaming implement sail over them.

Sims threw the device too hard and it explodes in a ball of fire, completely missing the living corpses. In one simultaneous motion, they slowly turn to look at Sims… and
moan
. Sims makes it back in, panting from the run. The doors are pulled shut. “
Stupido… culo gringo
,” Guillermo says.

“What now?” you ask.

The front glass shatters and Cooper screams the obvious. “They’re breaking in!”

•
 
“Probably time run away, yes?”

•
 
“Didn’t we just get new weapons? Stand and fight!”

MAKE YOUR CHOICE

J
ust as an undead hand—with black-painted fingernails—reaches into your tent through the open zipper, you cut an exit into the opposing flap. The knife slices cleanly through the nylon wall and you slip through with ease. You turn to face your attacker: a Wiccan. She’s dressed all in black, her hair dyed to match, with skin as pale as the moon. You wouldn’t know she was a zombie, save for the hungry eyes and the distinctive moan, a moan which, you suddenly realize, is coming at you in stereo.

You look around: an entire Wicca coven has your tent surrounded. Despite their lack of wounds or blood-spattered lips, you’re certain they’re undead. They must have just performed some kind of eternal life ceremony with the
Gilgazyme
 ®. Wealthy Wiccans, who knew?

They move in toward you, almost as if this were part of an organized ritual. You instinctively look down, but there’s no pentagram beneath your feet. Despite the dark overtones, this is merely a cluster of individual zombies who have converged on you through the same hunting instincts. What gave you away? You tried to stay quiet and minimize your flashlight use; perhaps it was purely bad luck.

Either way, they’ve got you surrounded, and you’ll have to fight your way out. With a death grip on that knife, you swing it at the closest zombie. It slices her throat with almost as much ease as the tent escape but the cut wasn’t very deep, there’s no blood associated with the wound, and her attack has not slowed down.

You stab at her, the knife entering her ashen face, again creating an opening without blood. It’s like butchering a long-dead animal, if it were to get up suddenly and try to eat you. Finally, you plunge the knife into her eye socket and hit brain. She falls to the forest floor.

Now the rest of her sisters are upon you, and it doesn’t look good. Even dual-wielding the hammer and knife, there’s no way you can take them all down unscathed. Then, from the darkness of the woods, your savior arrives. You can’t see him clearly; he moves like black smoke in the night, and he takes down zombie after zombie.

At length, you see him brandishing a katana and decapitating the Wiccan ghouls with ease. In a matter of moments, he expertly and deftly dispatches the whole lot. You owe this man your life. He stands before you in a kendo uniform—simply put: practice samurai armor.

Your mysterious savior says, “Are you hurt?”

Shocked, but in control, you shake your head. You can barely see his face through the mask; he’s a middle-aged Japanese man.

“I am Lucas Tesshu,” he says. “I assume the car on the road is yours. If you do not know, I’m sorry to report it has been raided and the fuel siphoned. I head toward sanctuary on foot; would you care to accompany me?”

•
 
“I appreciate what you did for me, and perhaps I can repay you with food, but I’m a loner.”

•
 
“That. Was. Amazing. Of course! I’ll follow you to the ends of the earth.”