INFECTED (Click Your Poison) (86 page)

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Authors: James Schannep

Tags: #zombie, #Adventure, #Fiction

BOOK: INFECTED (Click Your Poison)
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T
he first thing you notice is a pungent sweetness. Ripe strawberries advertise themselves with aromas strong enough even for a human nose, and these berries are fat with juice. After a week of tuna kits and saltines, your jaws tingle with the prospect of the sweet tartness held within these fields. You’re salivating.

You fall to your knees in the dirt and gorge on the fruit. Anyone who’s ever grown strawberries knows there’s a perfect time to eat them, when they’re sweeter and juicier than any supermarket strawberry could ever hope to be. They disintegrate in your mouth and squish between your teeth almost without chewing. The red juice pours out over your chin and stains your face as you stuff your cheeks, but you don’t care. Your fingernails collect crimson as you gorge yourself as fast as you can—every moment is precious these days.

Soon you’re stuffed to capacity. You hope you don’t have to run soon, because you’d probably pop. You stand up and let out a hearty groan in satisfaction. It’s like you just finished an opulent Thanksgiving meal, a feeling you thought you’d never experience again in this world.

As you start to walk toward a new patch, thinking you should take what you can with you, you stumble and trip. Strawberry fields have deep irrigation grooves throughout, so it’s only natural that your hiking boots got tangled in the earth. You catch yourself, swaying, with arms wind-milling.

“Hey, Brainer!” someone shouts from behind.

You turn to face a hunter, completely decked out in woodland cammo, pointing a deer rifle at you. Your mouth drops open with surprised shock. You see a muzzle flash. You hear the crack. Time stops, and you think: you’re alone, the red-stained mouth and hands, the groan of satisfaction, the stumble, the wide-open mouth—this guy thinks you’re a zombie.

Then his bullet enters your forehead.

That’s one drawback to traveling solo: a loner is much more commonly identified as a wandering ghoul. Plus someone could’ve been watching your back.

THE END

SURVIVED

T
hat’s it! You’ve survived the zombie apocalypse. Few can brag of this accomplishment, and you are one of those few. Well done, but know this: the path you chose was not the only path to survival. There are other ways, and in that vein, other survivors with a completely different experience and story than you.

INFECTED
has three unique storylines with over 50 possible endings, so, if your gut says there’s more to explore, click to
RESET
or go to
THE END
for the full chapter list.

When you’re done, don’t forget to check out the other exciting titles in the Click Your Poison multiverse!

Congratulations!

Your author,

James Schannep


 
Check out a preview of MURDERED (Click Your Poison #2)

MURDERED

Could YOU Solve a Murder?

* More titles coming soon! *

The Survivor

I
nside the student radio hall, you find and key-in the microphone. “Hello?” you call out, unsure what else to say.

“This is Colonel Arthur Gray of the civilian camp, Salvation. Are you with Sergeant Sims?”

“Who?” you ask. “I’m sorry, but I think everyone else is dead.”

There’s a moment of silence as the man on the other end accepts the gravity of the message. That woman with the crowbar could still be out there, but odds are the horde has already chased her down. Plus, she did just take out the kneecap of the doctor who saved you; you’re not so sure finding her is a good idea. The undead want nothing to do with you, which means your biggest fear now is feral survivors.

“What’s your situation over there?” the man calls on the radio.

“I’ve… been cured. It’s incredible, I used to be one, but now…”

“Listen, just stay tight, we’ll have a team out in the morning,” he responds, a sad desperation in his voice. You’re much more his hope than he is yours, you realize.

“Colonel, the cure wasn’t a reversal. I know that much. I still have something new in me, but I’m human—mortal—again. And yet they no longer try to attack me. It’s like they see me as one of them. I can simply walk to you.”

After a moment, the voice returns to the radio, more strained by emotion than ever. But it’s relief now. “He stood between the living and the dead, and the plague stopped.”

Is that scripture? It certainly has the ring. “Keep the lights on, I’ll see you soon,” you say.

“Follow the roads to the highway, keep your head down, and you’ll find a jeep waiting for you at the outskirts.”

You really can just walk through all the death and destruction without fear. You’ve done it; you’ve endured. You’ll live—that is, if you can live knowing that you actually ate other people. How many have you eaten? Flesh, bone, hair, and fingernails all passing through you; inside you now. You curl over and vomit human remains.


 
Click to Continue.

MAKE YOUR CHOICE

Swamp Things

T
wilight fades as you enter the marshes. A swamp is a terrifying thing at night when the dead aren’t walking. You either have nerves of steel or a spare set to swap out once these are shot. Even so, you’re creeped out by this bog. If you were a backcountry hiker you’d have to contend with trench foot from soaked footwear, venomous wildlife in the form of both animals and plants, myriad diseases and parasites waiting to call you their home, and sinkholes threatening to encase and drown you.

Now people are trying to eat you too.

“Go ahead, I’ll cover you,” Rosie says, her voice quieter than it’d been all day. The marsh must be getting to her too. She picks up on your look. “I’ve got this rifle, see? That makes me the hunter and you the bait.”

Despite the chill in the night air, the swamp is warm as you enter. You move through the brackish waters, the muck beneath threatening to take your shoes with each step, trying in vain to stay quiet. It’s slow going and soon you’re wading through knee-high water.

“How much further?” you ask.

“Dunno. Never been through the marshes, but from the terrain map, it doesn’t look far. How about mouth shut and ears open? Radio silence.”

Obviously, the stress is getting to the girl. It’s getting to you too, you realize. Each wet drip from the dank canopy into the humid moors below sets you on edge. The water level is now above your thighs. Then something strikes you. For one of the most biodiverse ecosystems in the world, this marsh is oddly silent.

“Shouldn’t there be animal noises?” you ask.

Rosie stops and so do you. Both of you stand frozen, listening. No frogs or crickets or anything. A few bubbles percolate in the pool ahead of you. Then they grow in intensity. Rosie Points her rifle at them, just as bubbles start appearing on her side as well. These globules of rank air escape from below and soon you’re surrounded by blistering froth, rollicking something deep from within.

“Goddammit—I’m going for the drum! Cover me with that axe,” Rosie instructs, popping her magazine out and swapping it with the 50-round variety. Before you can respond, she’s already moving.

Then the undead rise from the marsh, four of them, thick brown sludge pouring off their bodies. They’re not decaying, but the flesh is missing in chunks and most of the skin has been picked away by the swamp’s other inhabitants.

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