INFECTED (Click Your Poison) (65 page)
Read INFECTED (Click Your Poison) Online
Authors: James Schannep
Tags: #zombie, #Adventure, #Fiction
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
T
he Command Post is actually the prison’s security room. There’s someone monitoring the camera feeds, watching for any trespassers beyond the gate (the room feeds are powered down, fortunately). As expected, Rosie and Lucas Tesshu are already here, talking with Colonel Grey and his son, Irving.
“Welcome,” the former military chaplain says. “We were just discussing your next move, if you’re up to it. We’re all survivors here at Salvation, so we understand the bonds the three of you must’ve forged out in the woods. In that spirit, we think it best if you continue as a team.”
“We’ve got two opportunities,” his journalist son says.
“They’ve given us our pick of the missions,” Lucas tells you with a subdued smile.
With a nod, Irving continues, “It’s time to plant crops if we want to survive winter. From the books we found in the library, it’s clear we’re at the tail end of sowing season. We know there’s a farm nearby; it’d be a quick in-and-out in a pair of jeeps.”
“They’ve also picked up a distress call—that gets my vote,” Rosie says, folding her arms across her chest.
“It was a radio distress call,” the Colonel elaborates. “A doctor flew a private plane into the regional airport, and when she found no more fuel, she called from the tower. The signal was weak and we’ve since lost contact. We don’t have a doctor in Salvation yet, but it could be a fool’s errand, just to warn you.”
“Or we could save a life,” Lucas adds.
•
“Another team will answer the distress call, right? I’m down to go grocery shopping.”
•
“That lost person could be any one of us; let’s do it. Farming can wait.”
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
H
ave you ever seen the YouTube videos about Black Friday sales? It looks like a zombie invasion—and that’s just for videogame consoles and designer kitchenware. Today, people are looting for their lives, and the chaos in the streets makes post-hurricane
Katrina
scavenging look like a sleepy Borders bookstore on a Wednesday afternoon. You know, the ones that closed due to lack of business.
Cars are crashing into anything and everything in an effort to get whatever as fast as possible. People are smashing windows just because the world’s ending. This is going to be bad.
You head straight for the sporting goods megastore in search of a gun. You’re not sure if there’s a waiting period, but you’re thinking it’ll be waived today. Besides, you’ve only got a hammer and a steak knife; not ideal for home defense.
From the looks of the parking lot, the insanity has already begun to make its way here: people pay no mind to parking spaces or any other laws designed to keep order. It’s total
Lord of the Flies
madness.
Inside, the crowds seem to be cooperating. The employees are still taking payments, and people are happy to charge it, knowing the credit card bill collectors will have a hell of a time in the upcoming months. Some sprint down the aisles with their arms loaded to capacity; others use shopping carts as battering rams. Polite society hasn’t crumbled yet, but it’s certainly strained.
It looks like the rifle racks were the first to go. Disappointed, and about to turn and look for other supplies, you see a handgun on the ground resting under one of the shelves, just barely in view. You pick it up. There’s a lock on the trigger—to keep people from using it in the store—and evidently it was abandoned by a frustrated shopper. Time to see if you can find the keys.
“Give me that piece,” a voice from behind commands. You turn to see who is speaking. The man in question looks polite enough in his business suit, but the baseball bat he’s carrying (and the manner in which he holds it) tells another story. “I’m not asking.”