INFECTED (Click Your Poison) (4 page)

Rosie holds up her rifle. “I’m sticking with this. But if you have any .22 long rifle, I could use a refill.”

“Coming right up, ma’am. Would you like fries with that?”

“I must respectfully decline your wares, sir,” Lucas says. “I know my blade, and that makes it more valuable than any other weapon.”

“You might be right,
sensei
. But take a couple of these just in case.” The soldier tosses him a grenade belt. Lucas Tesshu nods and accepts with a smile.

“Umm… can I have some of those?” you ask.

He
tsks
his tongue several times with a shake of his head. “From each according to his ability, to each according to his need.” Then he steps back into the shade of the trailer. A moment later, he reappears with a combat shotgun and an ammo bandolier. “You’ve got your marksman and your grenadier, and you oughta complement them well with this.” After passing the weapon off to you, he adds with a wink, “Besides, you look like you’d be handy with one of those.”

Going back to formalities, he hands off a set of jeep keys and a map of the route to the airport. After ensuring Lucas can read it correctly, he escorts you to the vehicles. You’re to take lead.

“Whelp, thassit,” the soldier says. “Either don’t get bitten or don’t come back—good luck!”

•
 
Continue to the farm.

MAKE YOUR CHOICE

Y
ou follow the map route around the recreation courtyard, past the walking track, outdoor bench presses, and basketball courts. At the far end there’s an open trailer—from this far away it looks like a roadside fireworks stand. As you get closer, you see a uniformed US Army soldier sitting inside; the trailer walls are lined with guns. The trailer itself is marked PROPERTY OF US ARMY. The young man, probably no more than 20, looks up from a porno magazine, slides his feet down from atop the rail, and releases thick brown spittle into an empty beer bottle.

“Well, we got a newcomer, huh? Here to check out the wares?” Although his hair is short-cropped in the Army’s high-and-tight fashion, he has a thick, ruddy handlebar mustache. He rises from his rolling office chair and opens a gate to let you in. “Take a good look around, Newjack. This is Salvation’s only art gallery.”

The armory is meticulously organized, the firearms segregated by breed: shotguns, scoped rifles, assault rifles, semi-automatic pistols, and revolvers. Your gaze lingers over a large, nickel-plated revolver the likes of which would make
Dirty Harry
proud.

“You know the old saying, ‘God created man, Sam Colt made them zombie slayers.’” The soldier smiles at you. “I take it the old man will have you going on missions soon, huh? I stock everyone going on missions, so make sure you swing by beforehand.”

Marveling over the large ordnance stash—boxes of ammunition in the corner—you ask, “Where’d all this come from?”

“That’s everybody’s first question. The short answer is me. My convoy was coming to resupply the National Guard unit, but that didn’t end up so good for us. The rest of it comes from leftovers in the prison after the riots, and one or two are extras that refugees brought with them. You’d be surprised how many people think it’s a grand idea to travel with a half dozen firearms.”

The trailer is spotless, save for the sunflower seed-laden sitting area used by this young master-of-arms. There’s even a couple of mortars and rocket-propelled grenades, not that anyone but him would be able to use them.

“If you want to get some trigger time, we do range passes from time to time. We have to go offsite, though, because gunshots attract the zombs. Whaddya say? I need an excuse to go squeeze a few off.”

•
 
“Only if we use the undead as targets.”

•
 
“I think I’ll go check out the ‘Happy Room’. I could use a break from violence.”

•
 
“No time, sorry.” Straight to the “Command Post”. I bet Lucas and Rosie are already there.

•
 
“I’m just looking around—which way to the ‘Fitness/Power Room’?”

MAKE YOUR CHOICE

A
s you roam the halls, a sad revelation proves true: a paltry few patients remain alive and uneaten. Hospital food is the worst. Enough with the sick and the dying, you’re ready for the healthiest stag in the herd. And who might that be in a hospital? The staff.