INFECTED (Click Your Poison) (64 page)

MAKE YOUR CHOICE

Y
ou turn away from the long, tan wall that stretches across the neighborhood like a desert serpent. Time to check the houses for supplies, then head out.

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?

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

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

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

MAKE YOUR CHOICE

Y
ou lunge at the man in anger. All the faith you’ve put into him, and this is how he repays you? Bastard, indeed.

The doctor swings his cast at you, clobbering you in the head. Unlike someone with a real fracture beneath their cast, he’s strong and firm, and the cast serves as a powerful bludgeon. You fall to the floor, your head fuzzy with the near-concussion.

Before you can regroup, he slams the door and locks it from outside. You stand, one hand on your head where he struck, the other furiously trying the doorknob.

“I don’t blame you for trying that,” his muffled voice comes from outside. “And I truly am sorry, but I’ve no choice. I’ll come back for you!”

You slam against the door, desperate to be free, desperate to catch the man before he leaves. You plead a mix of panic and anger, but still he abandons you. You keep at the door: kicking it, slamming the office chair against it—nothing works. Still, you don’t give up.

In less than six hours you’ll become a zombie. The
Gilgazyme
 ® works vigorously within,
changing
you. No choice here.

•
 
Now become Death, destroyer of worlds.

MAKE YOUR CHOICE

Y
ou mop closer to the action, trying to learn what you can. Dr. Deleon looks into one of the Test Group terrariums. He removes a digital voice recorder from the pocket of his lab coat.

“Test Group Foxtrot appears more lethargic and morose than usual. No evidence of sleeping or eating for several days now.” He makes some annotations on a clipboard hanging under the tank before continuing his dictation. “The rich and famous have already started taking the drug, and no one seems ‘bored’ or ‘tired,’ though I am still concerned about outlying reactions to the genetic alteration. Doctor Phoenix doesn’t share my reservations, citing potential competition as reason to move ahead quickly. I’m supposed to be comforted by this dog-eat-dog…”

He lowers the recorder and his eyes grow wide with realization. He looks to the test group, turns around to look at a control terrarium, then back again. He marches to the opposing wall, and reaches in to claim an unaltered rat. He returns, slowly lowering the healthy rat into the Foxtrot tank.

You watch closely. The unexposed rat squirms and squeaks in protest as Deleon lowers it into the terrarium. The other mice flock onto the cornered mouse and RIP IT TO SHREDS.

Deleon looks at you with horror on his face. “Dear God… What have I done?”

So much for any thoughts you had about bringing down the company or stealing a sample of
Gilgazyme®.
This thing’s going to bring down the world. It makes people eat each other, and it’s already out there? You feel a panic attack coming on.

Deleon starts packing supplies from the facility, shoving vials and notes into a leather bag. “I’m afraid we can’t alert the authorities,” he says. “I’ll turn myself in when the time comes, but for now we must keep silent. I’ve been working on a potential reversal at home, but I can’t finish the formula from prison. Hopefully I can catch this thing before it gets too big, but if not—I’d lay low if I were you.”