INFECTED (Click Your Poison) (32 page)

MAKE YOUR CHOICE

T
he Hummer roars out, with full power applied to the wheels. The field gives way under the forceful rotation of the tires before you suddenly lurch forward and bound across the rows of dead corn. Ahead, from the acme of your bouncing hangtime, you see a change in the landscape. A sinking feeling enters your gut, so you yank the steering wheel to the side.

The vehicle careens laterally, the weight all gathering on the driver’s seat. The two passenger tires come off the ground, but luckily you don’t roll. Only a foot off your left side is a large irrigation ditch—that could’ve been bad if you had gone face-first into it. Instead, you command the Humvee forward and scream out of the field and onto a farm road.

The whole time your gunner blasts burst from the machine gun, obliterating zombies with triumphant whoops. After a lull in the shots, you can barely hear over the rumble of the engine and the ringing in your ears, but there’s another sound: the soldier dum-dittying
Ride of the Valkyries
to himself with a contentedly manic smile while bobbing up and down to the tune.

The country road is thin and winding, and every hundred yards or so you bash a zombie with your bumper. The soldier continues to blast out at the ones emerging from the woodline. Since the bullets are traveling at supersonic speed, the zombies explode before you even hear the shots. It’s an eerie feeling, just seeing a human body pop open before there’s any cue that the machine gun’s been fired. The bullets fly at over twice the speed of sound, so the further he shoots, the more profound the effect.

You realize with a sense of déjà vu that you’re on the same road you walked to Salvation on. These were the woods you traversed for so long. “Take the next right!” the soldier shouts in-between bursts of gunfire. There’s a “STATE REFORMATORY” sign and you turn toward it, wondering how it is exactly that you’re not leading the undead masses toward your new home. The next sign you barely see as you fly past reads, “BRIDGE OUT.”

“Umm, dude?” you say.

He pivots around, then yells a curt, “No worries. Crossing’s up ahead!” Taking his word for it, you continue to throttle forward while he turns to the rear and fires at the undead mob following in the distance.

Suddenly, you’re flying. Wheels spinning over nothing more than open sky, the Hummer lurching with instability as you experience a feeling of weightlessness. The bridge did indeed go out, and you’ve careened over a canyon the road originally crossed. There’s a small footbridge sagging below, which you notice just as the vehicle lands on it, snapping the ropes like a hand swatting a spiderweb.

That was probably the crossing he was talking about. You continue to fall to the canyon below, the Humvee rotating under front-heavy pressures. The soldier spins around toward the front, his angular momentum rotating the Hummer slightly, and looks out at the rapidly approaching canyon.

The canyon floor below is crawling with hundreds of half-broken, hungry zombies. You get it now; you were supposed to walk over the footbridge and let the zombies follow you off the cliff like lemmings. Oops.

Your gunner lets out such a prolonged, “Shiiiiiiiiiiit!” that you’ll probably reach the ground before he makes the ‘t’ sound. As he screams, he pumps out a constant stream of gunfire into the zombies writhing below.

You careen into the rocks with a fiery explosion.

THE END

“G
et a pair of handguns for me, Coop!” Tyberius says.

“If you find a lever or bolt-action rifle, I’d appreciate it,” Deleon adds to no one in particular, his eyes on his watch.

You’ve put some thought into what kind of firearm you’d like as well, but you’re not sure what the store will hold, so just to cover your bases you say, “Some kind of assault rifle, if you can find it. Whatever has the highest ammo capacity.”

“And you know what I want. I’m gonna be like
boom boom
—” Hefty mime shoots a shotgun “—Mutha Fucka!”

With that, Cooper, Sims, and Guillermo make their way out of the school’s entrance and ride away toward the sporting goods store. You try not to make much of the goodbye, instead opting for “See you later.” You can’t shake the thought that you might not; you might be on your own now, alone in the school.

Time to look around. Dr. Deleon presses a few buttons on his digital wristwatch, then looks up at the three of you left behind. “I need to use the restroom, and I’ll probably be there a while,” he says with sad eyes. “Weak stomach. Where should I meet you guys?”

“We’re gonna check the gym; don’t be too long,” Tyberius answers for you.

With a nod, the doctor turns into the bathroom and you walk down the hall with the guys. One section has posted works of student art: charcoal drawings, pencil sketches, and water paintings. “Hang on,” Hefty says, stopping.

“You interested in the arts now, Hef?” Tyberius asks.

“Art room, right? I got an idea.” You follow Hefty into the classroom and he homes in on the back corner. “Perfect,” he says. There’s an industrial paper cutter; he wrenches the large arm several times until it snaps off its hinges, then holds it up—an improvised machete!

“I bet the shop class has some pretty good stuff too,” you say.

Tyberius smiles at you. “Not bad, Newbie. Let’s go there after the gym.”

“You know,” Hefty says, eyeing his new blade. “Newbie’s got that axe, and now I’ve got this. But Doc’s alone in the bathroom and it’s been a while. Plus I gotta take a leak. I’m-a go check on him.”

And with that, it’s just you and Tyberius. You walk toward the gym, the abandoned halls echoing your steps and the linoleum floor screeching from the soles of your shoes. Nothing is very far away. The school is designed so students can walk anywhere in under ten minutes from their lockers.

The school has lots of windows, but with no power, shadows find solace around every corner. With its large skylights, the gym is the exception; it’s the brightest room in the building. You find plenty of gear there. Baseball bats and lacrosse sticks can be used as bludgeons. Hundreds of pairs of gym clothes and towels are good to freshen up with (and if the showers work? oh, my…). Wrestling mats would make perfect sleeping pads.

Tyberius lifts a pair of two-and-a-half pound dumbbells and tests them for balance in his hands. “Laugh it up, Newbie. You’ll see…”

“He’s been bit!” Hefty shouts. The words reverberate half a dozen times through the gym. You look back to see him escorting Deleon, the improvised machete pointed at his back.

You jog over to meet them. “What happened?”

“There’s
always
one in the bathroom,” Tyberius says, shaking his head.

“I’ve been bitten since long before I met you. I tried to tell Hefty—”

“Bullshit. That’s impossible.”

Deleon sighs. “Let me see the bite,” Tyberius commands.

The doctor reluctantly raises his arm for inspection. There’s a hideous bite wound that his 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.

“Let’s say you’re telling the truth; how are you not dead?” Tyberius asks.

“I’m working on a cure. It’s not complete yet, but it keeps death at bay.”

“Save it for Cooper; she’ll know what to do,” Hefty says. “C’mon, let’s go wait at the front.”

•
 
Go wait for guns and judgment.

MAKE YOUR CHOICE

Y
ou really think you can afford immortality? What are you, a movie star?

•
 
“Why yes, I am quite wealthy. I’ll take that inhaler, please.”

•
 
“Sigh. Looks like I’ll just dream about it and die one day like everyone else.”