INFECTED (Click Your Poison) (38 page)

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“I guess draw me a line…when in Rome, snort as the geneticists do.”

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“Gimme-gimme-gimme that
Gilgazyme!
”

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“No, thanks.” It’s always an option. You turn around and go home.

MAKE YOUR CHOICE

T
yberius looks inside parked cars as the three of you walk down the road. “What’re you hoping to find?” you ask.

He shrugs. “Don’t know. But I tell you, always check parked cars. Know why?”

“Why?”

“’Cause think about it. People’re fleeing. Fleeing for their lives. Where’s all the valuable, important stuff, in their houses? No. It’s with them. In their cars.”

“That’s pretty smart,” Hefty says. “Not bad.”

“Yeah, stick with me, Hef. You’ll go far.”

“Oh, get off your own nuts.” They chuckle.

A loud crack opens in the air. You turn to see Cooper within an inch of Deleon’s face. She looks as much like she could kiss him as punch him. A broken handheld voice recorder lies on the ground next to them.

She whispers something to him, and you can’t hear it, but then intentionally loudly she says, “Why don’t you explain what we’re up against, if you’re such an expert?”

The whole group now waits on Deleon. “All right, good idea. Let’s see… I’m guessing you know that the head is the only weakness. All right, fine. You know they’re attracted to any commotion or human sounds and smells. Including their own moans, right?”

She whispers again. “I want to know how someone becomes one.”

“Well, a bite, even a small one will fester until the person eventually transforms. The gene-therapy is delivered essentially like a virus, meaning for all intents and purposes, this is a blood-born pathogen.”

Cooper finally looks intrigued. Deviously, she asks, “Really? So we should check people for bites?”

“After every skirmish, generally.”

“And there’s no hope once you’re bitten?”

“There will be. Once I finish my cure,” he smiles meekly.

A man screams out. You look back, just as Tyberius nearly gets yanked into a car. He screams as a zombie trapped in a seat belt tries to pull him in. “Get this fucking thing off me!” he shouts.

“All right, all right, pull back,” Hefty commands.

Tyberius pulls away the best he can and Hefty brings his length of pipe down on the ghoul’s arms over and over. The bones snap, but the grip holds. “Hold on.” Sims uses his ridiculous
Rambo
knife to cut Tyberius’ dress shirt in half from the back.

Tyberius manages to slip out and away from the car, his musculature on display in a wife-beater-style shirt.

“Kill it!” Angelica shouts, helpless with panic. Seatbelt Zombie moans.

“Hold it, Sims,” Tyberius says. “Hefty, do me a favor.”

“You got it.” Hefty stands at the back of the car. The zombie leans as far as it can, torso out of the car, growls, snarls, and moans at Hefty. Tyberius finds the giant sledge hammer he carried; as he claims it from the ground, its end scrapes the pavement. Sparks jump from the metal head.

“Kill it now!” Angelica shouts again.

Tyberius raises the weapon slowly and deliberately, then with an athletic fierceness, spins a three-sixty—ending with the zombie’s head caught between the car frame and the full weight of the hammer.

Another five zombies come out of nearby buildings. You’re surrounded. You axe one in the back, sending it towards Guillermo. Guillermo swings his meat cleaver and frying pan as if clapping them together; the zombie’s head caught in the center where they meet. The damage is disgusting.

Angelica and Deleon manage to knock a zombie down and beat it with candlestick and hammer, respectively. The other three ghouls move in. Cooper shouts for the first time: “Hit the pavement!”

You and Deleon look over toward her as the rest of the group dives to the ground. Cooper lets her length of motorcycle chain slide off her shoulder and it unravels to the concrete. She steps forward and begins to swing the chain. Finally, you and Deleon duck. With a whip-like motion, she connects the chain with a zombie’s skull, which gives off an incredible crack. The twice-dead zombie slumps to the ground. She takes out the other two with similar finesse.

The streets are silent now. The group rises from the ground. “We’re getting off the street for the night,” Cooper says. You realize the sun is setting.

“Where?” you ask. She points forward. You all look: a gothic Cathedral sits ahead—stark and menacing. The spires shoot up through the start of dusk, like the claws of some great beast.

“Looks cozy,” she replies.

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Continue to the Cathedral.

MAKE YOUR CHOICE

J
ust like granny would’ve said when she thought Commies were invading. You don’t have much, but what you do have, you throw in the back of your car. Some camping gear and whatever staples look like they’re the densest and highest in calories. That emergency kit you thought was a lame Christmas present might actually come in handy.

Lucky for you, your gas tank is full. And you’ve even got a head start out of town. Well, you could’ve left a few days ago, but you weren’t really that surprised when Lindsay Lohan ate a member of the paparazzi.

Still, the more proactive citizens are out and about in your city, preparing for whatever is to come. Traffic is heavy and you keep thinking,
it’s now or never
. Wait a little while longer and these roads will probably be permanently closed.

On your way out of town, you pass through the suburbs. You drive past somebody mowing his lawn; poor bastard. Another few houses later, you see two men wrestling on a driveway. You’re not sure if the scourge has already made it this far, or if the looting has begun. You drive on.

With the open road before you, you’ve got plenty of miles to contemplate your next move:

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I know there’re some cabins only a couple of hours away. Maybe there’ll be some people I can meet up with or at least supplies stashed there?