INFECTED (Click Your Poison) (70 page)

By some miracle, the days disappear without any visitors to your cave. But there’s no miracle multiplying the scant food you were able to bring with you, and you’re almost out. You could try foraging the local area, but you don’t know what’s out there.

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I don’t care; I’d rather starve than be eaten.

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I guess it’s time to go out and see what’s left of the world.

MAKE YOUR CHOICE

“S
o, are you an engineering buff or just here to break a sweat?” asks the gaunt man at the entrance to the power room. He’s naturally bald, with a friar-style haircut skirting his head at ear level. The sideburns taper into a thick brown beard. Seeing your confused look, he ushers you forward with a wave of one of his elbow-length electrical gloves. “C’mon, I’ll show you around.”

You follow him down the dark corridor. At a natural fork, he stops and points toward the left. Further down, the hall opens into a room packed with large machinery. “We converted the prison’s generator room. It ran on diesel originally, but that attracts more zombs, and fuel is a limiting factor.” He takes the left fork and the path gets brighter and brighter until you enter a large room with two dozen stationary exercise bikes, some of which are currently in use. Televisions are set in front of the exercise units, and the room looks much like a twenty-four-hour fitness place at night.

“We find it’s much more efficient to use manpower to generate electricity. And the psychological benefits are undeniable. Otherwise you really start to feel like, well, like you’re in a prison. So, whaddya you say? Care to let off some steam and generate a few watts for us?”

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“Sure! Got any gym clothes for me?”

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“I think I’ll go check out the ‘Happy Room.’ I could use some more pampering after this ordeal.”

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“I’m just looking around—which way to the armory?”

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

MAKE YOUR CHOICE

T
he soldier’s mustache spreads out over a wide grin. “Finally, somebody who isn’t a pussy in this camp—excuse my French. Listen, Newjack, if you’re serious…” He steps out of the trailer to ensure the coast is clear. The sun pours down on the grass of the yard, but no one is within earshot. Returning to the shade of the trailer, he says, “I say we go on a fuckin’ rampage. My Humvee has a mounted fifty-cal, and I gotta be honest: I’ve got the itch in a bad way. Poor girl’s just been sittin’ out back. Whadda ya say, Newjack? Wanna go fuck up some zombs?”

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“I call turret!”

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“I’d love to see you in action; you looking for a driver?”