INFECTED (Click Your Poison) (48 page)

You’re left with an obvious choice. Stick around and get swallowed by the crowd, or allow him to distract the horde and sprint toward the stairwell before the avenue closes forever.

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He just saved me! I can’t leave him now.

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The truly brave thing to do is survive—
RUN!

MAKE YOUR CHOICE

C
urious, you check out the wall: desert-cammo tan and not much more than some fencing surrounded by a canvas tarp. You silently pull yourself up to get a quick look over the side—zombies. Hundreds of them, maybe even a thousand or two, cordoned off and standing dumbly, they shuffle aimlessly behind the barrier. The wall looks like some sort of National Guard response erected early in the panic for containment. From the destruction on both sides, it must not have worked too well.

Hoping not to arouse the horde, you back away and return to the neighborhood. Time to check the houses in search of supplies.

Some homes are boarded up, some had their boards removed by force, and others just look deserted. You see one house that looks less touched by the calamity than the others—no boards, minimal damage; was it abandoned? Perhaps the owner was away when the world ended? Perhaps they left food inside?

Then there’s a demolished house; it’s been razed to the ground. That being said, there’s a large treehouse in the back. If your time in the attic taught you anything, it’s the value of the high ground—even when that height sits just above arm’s reach.

So, where do you look for some extra food?

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I like the house where the door is busted in. If the zombies invaded early, there’s probably still food inside.

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The untouched house. As in, no brains splayed out across the cans of spam and jars of peanut butter I’ll find within.

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Around to the treehouse behind the demolished house. I’ve been in closed-in spaces long enough.

MAKE YOUR CHOICE

Y
ou can’t even say anything, but maybe the pain on your face will express your sorrow. Turning your back on Sims, you run toward the others. He screams out, either from the anguish of your betrayal or the searing pain of being eaten—but probably from both.

You can hear voices as you run toward the stairwell. Thank God they’re still alive! You make them out as you sprint the rest of the way, the shuffling and stumbling crowd still coming after you. It’s Tyberius and Cooper, and they’re arguing.

“They’re still down there,” he says. “We gotta give them time.”

“They made their choices; pull the rope!” Cooper screams.

You can see them now, but you’re too winded to call out. Tyberius shakes his head. “I won’t do this again.”

Cooper makes toward the rope to pull it herself, and then Tyberius snaps. He reaches out, his large hand clamped around Cooper’s throat in an instant. She falls to her knees and desperately pries at his fingers. There’s a crazed look on his face.

You sprint to the top of the landing. “I made it!”

Tyberius drops Cooper. Both are obviously shocked to see you. At this time, the first zombie follows you up the stairs. It wears a welding mask. This one is certainly just the first of many. Tyberius sees the fiend and lunges out, tackling it to the landing. He has the undead man pinned, and attacks him viciously, but the blows just glance off his welding mask.

Other zombies begin to come up the stairs as the welding mask ghoul squirms beneath Tyberius. “Pull the rope!” he screams.

You grab the rope, but you don’t pull it. All you have to do is tug the rope and a dozen desks, cabinets, and chairs will collapse upon the landing and seal the stairs off—crushing Tyberius in the process. “You can still make it; let’s go!”

“Do it,” Cooper croaks from the ground, tenderly rubbing her neck.

“Pull the fucking release,” he says. Not a shout this time, but simply a demand. He stares hard at you.

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“You don’t get to die now, you selfish bastard. Get up here!” Refuse.

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“I’m… sorry.” Pull the release.