The four of you fan out at the entrance. You look around for any signs of life… or death. Sims puts his forefingers in his mouth and lets out a piercing whistle. Everyone freezes, standing in silence, waiting. He’s hoping to draw them out, you realize. No response.
“That doesn’t mean there’s not one in a back room. Take it slow. And keep an eye out for crawlers,” Cooper says.
Sims motions in the military style, with two fingers extended. “Guns are this way.” You all follow him through the outdoor apparel section. This is going to be just like Christmas! Past the clearance section. Guns, guns, guns, guns—guns! Past the sports equipment. Hopefully they have holsters and shoulder straps, so you can carry more. He leads you past everything, in fact. Perhaps they hide the firearms in the back so as not to frighten young children and hippies, or perhaps it’s like the milk in the grocery store: in the back, so you have to walk past everything else to get to what you came for. There is a lot of nice stuff here; it’ll be fun to root through after—“Drum-roll, please,” Sims says, interrupting your thoughts.
Around the corner to the firearms section…. The entire place is barren. No guns, nothing. Your stomach turns. Your vision tunnels. Once you breathe in again, you see the faces of those in your group have become sorrowful. This must be what you look like.
Sims is the first to speak, with just a simple, “Oh, no.”
“Las armas?” Guillermo says.
Cooper grabs a box of bullets off the shelf and throws it across the way to another shelf. The box bursts and bullets rain down with metallic tinkling against the tile floor.
“Raided,” you say, feeling the bile build up in your gut as the word crosses your lips. And why wouldn’t it be? The grocery store was raided.
“We can re-supply,” Cooper says, fighting her anger. “Camping food, survival gear. We’re not fucked yet. There’s new weapons here, maybe not guns, but still.”
“And everybody get a change of clothes,” you add.
Still in a state of shock, the group disperses into the store to search for gear. You walk the aisles with the fireman’s axe on one shoulder, watching as your cohorts pick out new weapons and clothes and keeping an eye out for what to bring back to the school.
Guillermo is already in new clothes by the time you come across him. He puts a pocket-knife in his camping shirt, finds a shovel, and then gets a knife-sharpening kit. He starts sharpening the shovel. Damn, that guy is prepared for anything.
Sims finishes making a Molotov cocktail out of some camping lantern oil. He’s in new clothes already too. Surprise, surprise—hunter’s cammo. He’s smart enough not to have chosen orange; deer are color-blind, zombies are not. He tries out a slingshot, then gets the sharpening kit from Guillermo to sharpen a decorative sword.
Cooper has changed into sport-tech undergarments, but has covered them up with motorcycle gear. Tight, durable, light, and armored—not a bad idea. She looks even more badass than before, like she’d be the villain in the next Terminator movie. She holds a crowbar and slides it into a belt loop. She gets a length of rope and begins forging what can only be a homemade flail.
Now it’s your turn. First, it’s top-of-the-line hiking boots. Then you pick lightweight, breathable travel clothes. The kind that resist odor on the microbial level. Who knows when you’ll get to change again, so you’re going for something you could backpack through Europe in. You find some face wipes and take a bath in the things; it’s incredibly refreshing. You snag a headlamp, knowing it could come in handy soon. As for a weapon, what really catches your eye is a tactical tomahawk-style axe. The edge is razor sharp and the reverse side has a pike tip (much like an ice pick) perfect for skull penetration. It’s much lighter than your dulled fireman’s axe, and the ergonomic grip begs you to swing it. After securing the new axe to your person, you snag an aluminum bat as well.
The ding! of the front door rings through the store, reverberating in your teeth like an alarm clock after a sleepless night. Any feeling of comfort and safety is now gone. You all look back at the entrance, but the door view is obscured by rows of tall shelves.
Like wraiths in the shadows, you all flow toward the door in a wide sweep, slowly placing each foot in front of the other until you’re in view of the door—and nothing’s there. Blazing daylight comes through the glass doors, but there’s no sign of whoever entered.
“What the…” Sims breathes out.
You see something outside; a woman—a ghoul, to be sure. She approaches the door awkwardly, with a broken leg, and places a gnarled hand against the glass door. She sees you and mouths at the door, her tongue leaving a trail of slime across the glass like some great slug.
She pushes on the door, and though all she’d have to do is pull to open it, the pressure extends the edge far enough in to trigger the ding! once more. The woman looks up to the bell, curiously wondering if it’s something she can eat. The group lets out a collective sigh as the feeling of danger passes.
Then Cooper screams.
You all wheel about to see a zombie behind her, its hand full of hair and wrenching her head toward his mouth. Her neck is taut with resistance, but it’s an odd angle and the fiend is winning this game of tug-o-war. Guillermo’s closest to her and comes in with his razor-sharp shovel. For a moment, you think he’s going to behead her, but instead the shovel takes off the zombie’s hand at the forearm.
She drops to the floor and an instant later, the zombie’s head snaps back. You don’t even remember moving, but the pike-end of your new axe is deep in his forehead and your hand tightly grips the handle. The zombie falls to the floor and Cooper gets up, the zombie’s hand still securely in her hair.
“Sims, let me see your knife.” He complies and she cuts a chunk of her hair out to free the hand. She tosses it to the ground and returns the knife.
Another zombie slams against the glass door. “How did this one get in?” you ask.
“Got lucky,” Cooper replies. “Let’s not stick around to see if it happens again. Newbie, you and Sims go grab some supplies for the others and let’s get out of here.”
You head off and start collecting gear with a new sense of urgency. New clothes for the guys, food packs, and weapons. Sims brings a compound hunting bow and hockey stick. “Good reach,” he says. “And maybe Hefty can shoot?”
“Because of the redneck thing?” you ask.
He shrugs. Packs filled with gear, you return to the front of the store. Cooper uses a set of battery-operated clippers to buzz off her hair in its entirety, while Guillermo watches in fascination. Her thick, black hair is no more.
A loud thud and corresponding ding! reminds you that the zombies are still outside. And now there’s a lot of them, all trying to press their way in. They’ll be in soon, that’s inevitable.
The entire parking lot is filled up with meandering ghouls. It seems as though they don’t know what’s going on inside, but something has piqued their interest. “How do we get out of here?” you ask.
Sims brandishes his Molotov cocktail and says with a grin, “Problem solved. I throw this, distract them. Then we escape while they’re engulfed in hot flaming goodness.”
“Or you leave your toy and we use the service entrance,” Cooper suggests.
So what’ll it be?
• “Sims, light it up.”
• “One backpack on your chest, the other normal. We’ve got a lot to carry—move out!”
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Fresh, Local Produce
The farmhouse is oddly serene and peaceful. Perhaps the plague hasn’t made it this far? The screen door opens and closes in the wind, the door behind it ajar and inviting. Maybe the owners fled? You notice a pickup truck still parked out front. Making a mental note to check it later, you head inside.
With a major case of the willies, you decide it’s best to get into the kitchen, take what you need, and get out before you discover what befell this home. The kitchen has a large pantry and an even larger freezer. You ch
eck the pantry first.
Inside awaits a cornucopia of foodstuffs: jars of preserves, sacks of flour and rice, a whole spread. You stock your backpack as best you can, trying not to wonder why all this remains untouched. Realizing your need for protein, you turn toward the gigantic freezer. Obviously, the owner of this house slaughters meat, and must store it inside. You’ve subsisted on snacks this long and you’re ready for a big meal that’ll stick to your ribs.
You open the freezer, ready for another cabinet full of supplies, but you’re shocked when the half-frozen lady of the house tumbles out upon you. Your reflexes are just a little too slow, and the schoolmarm-looking woman bites down onto your right shoulder before you’re able to dispatch the ghoul.
Did someone trap her in there, or was it self-inflicted, you wonder. It doesn’t really matter, you’ve been bitten. You’re infected. You’ll soon find out if the accompanying fever might have driven her into the fridge or not. This being your first (and last) encounter with a bite wound, you’re not sure what to expect.
* * *
Soon your anxiety dissipates, the stress melts away, and your fears are replaced with boredom. Maybe a stroll across the farm grounds would help? Exploring the house itself sounds fun. Your antisocial tendencies flip, and soon you want nothing more than to find other people—to find and eat other people. The city’s calling, and there’s no place like home. How long has it been since your bite, six hours? Only a few more and you’ll have walked back into town. And now, you walk without fear, day and night, never tiring.
• Better get walking.
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
From Whence Thou Came
You’re not a hundred percent sure the house is empty; you heard someone moving through the rubble of your knickknacks as recently as two days ago. So you proceed with extreme caution. As you push the ladder down, a great creak emanates from the self-raising spring mechanism. So much for stealth.
Holding your weapon tight, you look down into the room below. Even the ambient light of your home is blinding compared to the gloomy attic you’ve spent the last two weeks in. Still, you see no signs of life (or death) down the stairs.
With a deep breath, you turn to walk down the ladder. First one foot down, then another, then… something grabs your ankle! From the other side of the house—the “blind spot” you couldn’t see when peering out—a ghoul tugs at your leg.
It’s enough force to pull your foot from the rung and without balance, you tumble down the ladder and onto your back. Oof. You just fell ten feet, spread out flat against the floor. The breath leaves your lungs and all your joints pop in response.
You don’t get your breath back. The zombie follows you to the floor, tearing into your flesh with bite after bite. Soon, your heart stops too. But—good news—even though your blood no longer pumps, the Gilgazyme ® still works within, altering your genetic code. In six short hours, it won’t matter that you don’t breathe.
You’ll rise again.
The zombie gnaws on your flesh until it grows cold. Then he loses interest. Fortunately for you, the right half of his jaw is split in two and a majority of his teeth are nothing more than fractured stumps. Because of his weakened mastication, he doesn’t eat much of you before he leaves in search of warmer quarry. Which means you’ll be more complete, stronger and more capable when it comes to paying the gift of immortality forward. In the meantime, you just lie there—dead to the world.
* * *
Six hours later, you awaken, but now everything’s different. There are only fragments in your mind of who you once were. Not that it matters. The only thing that matters, the only choice that remains for you now, is to seek out human flesh.
• Better get to walking.
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Fun with Deleon and Cooper
You walk next to Deleon. Cooper is two yards away, standoffish as usual. “Why do you let her boss you around?” you ask the doc.
He shrugs. “I don’t need to rule the roost. If they get me to a lab safely, that’s all I’m concerned with.”
“I just thought you’d have more insight, seeing as how you’re an expert.”
He squints at you thoughtfully, then approaches Cooper. “What kind of experts do you have in the group?”
“Field-tested killers,” she replies.
“No really, what did your people do before the collapse?”
“Doesn’t matter.” She’s starting to get annoyed.
“Sure it does. Sims obviously has some skills with electrical systems. What other valuable knowledge might there be?”
“We practice silence. Talking too much attracts attention.”
“You need to know your people. Their strengths and—”
“I said we’re fine. We’ve been fine, and we’ll continue to stay fine. We’re being too loud as is.”
Deleon removes the hand-held recorder and turns it on. He speaks into it, “I’m stuck with some hanger-ons. Their leader seems to be a real bitch. If I’m dead, the one called Cooper is probably to blame.”
Cooper snatches his recorder and smashes it against the ground. She rushes toward him, ending within an inch of Deleon’s face. She looks as much like she could kiss him as punch him. The whole group has its eyes on them.
She whispers, “You’ll learn not to cross me.” But then intentionally loudly, she says, “Why don’t you explain what we’re up against, if you’re such an expert?”
The whole group now waits on Deleon. “All right, good idea. Let’s see… I’m guessing you know that the head is the only weakness. All right, fine. You know they’re attracted to any commotion or human sounds and smells. Including their own moans, right?”
She whispers again. “I want to know how someone becomes one.”
“Well, a bite, even a small one will fester until the person eventually transforms. The gene-therapy is delivered essentially like a virus, meaning for all intents and purposes, this is a blood-born pathogen.”
Cooper finally looks intrigued. Deviously, she asks, “Really? So we should check people for bites?”
“After every skirmish, generally.”
“And there’s no hope once you’re bitten?”
“There will be. Once I finish my cure,” he smiles meekly.
A man screams out. You look back, just as Tyberius nearly gets yanked into a car. He screams as a zombie trapped in a seat belt tries to pull him in. “Get this fucking thing off me!” he shouts.
“All right, all right, pull back,” Hefty commands.
Tyberius pulls away the best he can and Hefty brings his length of pipe down on the ghoul’s arms over and over. The bones snap, but the grip holds. “Hold on.” Sims uses his ridiculous Rambo knife to cut Tyberius’ dress shirt in half from the back.
Tyberius manages to slip out and away from the car, his musculature on display in a wife-beater-style shirt.
“Kill it!” Angelica shouts, helpless with panic. Seatbelt Zombie moans.
“Hold it, Sims,” Tyberius says. “Hefty, do me a favor.”
“You got it.” Hefty stands at the back of the car. The zombie leans as far as it can, torso out of the car, growls, snarls, and moans at Hefty. Tyberius finds the giant sledge hammer he carried; as he claims it from the ground, its end scrapes the pavement. Sparks jump from the metal head.
“Kill it now!” Angelica shouts again.
Tyberius raises the weapon slowly and deliberately, then with an athletic fierceness, spins a three-sixty—ending with the zombie’s head caught between the car frame and the full weight of the hammer.
Another five zombies come out of nearby buildings. You’re surrounded. You axe one in the back, sending it towards Guillermo. Guillermo swings his meat cleaver and frying pan as if clapping them together; the zombie’s head caught in the center where they meet. The damage is disgusting.
Angelica and Deleon manage to knock a zombie down and beat it with candlestick and hammer, respectively. The other three ghouls move in. Cooper shouts fo
r the first time: “Hit the pavement!”
You and Deleon look over toward her as the rest of the group dives to the ground. Cooper lets her length of motorcycle chain slide off her shoulder and it unravels to the concrete. She steps forward and begins to swing the chain. Finally, you and Deleon duck. With a whip-like motion, she connects the chain with a zombie’s skull, which gives off an incredible crack. The twice-dead zombie slumps to the ground. She takes out the other two with similar finesse.
The streets are silent now. The group rises from the ground. “We’re getting off the street for the night,” Cooper says. You realize the sun is setting.
“Where?” you ask. She points forward. You all look: a gothic Cathedral sits ahead—stark and menacing. The spires shoot up through the start of dusk, like the claws of some great beast.
“Looks cozy,” she replies.
• Continue to the Cathedral.
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
The Gang’s All Here
“It might,” she says with a wry smile. “Follow me.”
She ventures outside the home, back out to the streets, with you and her stoic companion in tow. Once outside, she puts her forefingers in her mouth and lets out a whistle. Stillness on the afternoon air. Within thirty seconds, more survivors pour out of other houses—four of them total—to round out the group to six.
They form an arc around you, so you can see them all. “You’ve already met Jose. This is Sims. Tyberius. Hefty. And Angelica.”
You look over them as she calls them off. The first is a man in his late thirties, decked out in military gear and a little overweight. The next two are in their twenties and look like the ordeal has made them feral. The first is a handsome black man in tattered business casual. He wields a gigantic sledge hammer and has a police baton tucked in the waist of his slacks. The other one is a white guy, thin as a rail, and clearly a redneck. Plain white-tee kind of guy. He holds a heavy length of pipe about the size of a baseball bat. The last, Angelica, is a woman in her fifties; by her demeanor and clothing, you can tell she was a privileged housewife back in the world.
INFECTED (Click Your Poison) Page 10