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 for 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
Undeterred
Having a plan is only one part of survival. Executing and sticking to that plan is far more important. Your plan is to survive, and the execution aspect is largely contained in that pack. With the axe held tight, you return to the window once more. Painfully slow, and with deliberate caution, you peer inside the smashed window.
No sign of the thieving zombie. The pack, however, sits a mere ten feet away. Fat with supplies. You check the broken-glass edge of the window: the pieces are sharp and jagged.
A quick glance over your shoulder to the torn-out screen—still no sign of Housewife Zombie. On the house entry, you try the door and find it unlocked. You push the door open, bathing the house in sunlight. There’s enough ambient light between the window and the door to not need a flashlight, though it’s still dim.
There’s a hall off to your right, but the backpack is only a little further in, near the overturned dinner table. Take it, be quick, and get out. You will your feet to move. Four steps over and the backpack is yours.
When you turn around, the thieving zombie is there, only a few feet away. He comes at you fast. You drop the backpack and bring the axe to both hands. There’s no room for a full swing, so you plug him as best you can. The axe chips away at his collarbone, bringing his head lower from a break in his connective tissue.
You shove the zombie away, hoping for a full swing with the axe. The ghoul stumbles back and slams into the wall, causing the porcelain dinnerware shelved there to crash down on the floor. You’re just about the take your next swing at him, when a rank and odious moan demands your attention.
It’s Housewife Zombie. She came over after all; wants to see if her neighbor is doing anything for dinner. She comes at you before you can reposition the axe, and in response you pop her in the jaw with the butt of the axe handle.
Somehow (must’ve been all those movies), you thought killing zombies would be easy. Turns out it’s more like wrestling with two coke-addled drug fiends. What they lack in coordination, they make up for in fervor.
They’re both up, and coming at you. Without even realizing it, you scream out a medieval war cry, emboldening your spirit. You swing the axe hard—connecting into the housewife’s ribs and smashing her against the other ghoul.
They fall over again, but the axe remains in her torso. You’re weaponless.
• The hammer! Grab your pack and dig it out quick.
• Run, run, run away; live to fight another day.
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Unlocked
Cooper uses her crowbar to pry the lockers open, and you follow her with the janitor’s garbage cart, collecting anything useful she finds. Truth be told, there’s not much of interest; it’s mostly books and notepaper. She finds a prom queen tiara and puts it atop her short-cropped hair. “Whaddaya think?”
“Who are you, Cooper?”
“Oh God, not this shit, Newbie,” she says, taking the tiara off. “Why do you need to ‘know’ me?”
“You could be the last person I ever know,” you say with a shrug.
“I can tell you everything you need to know about all of us. We’re all fuckups. If we’d done everything right, we’d be laying low with friends and family. As it stands, you’re with me. Good enough?”
“No.”
She sighs. “Fine. I’ve got two older brothers. Dad didn’t earn enough and Mom didn’t try. Long story short—because this is pointless—life was tough. That’s all you get.”
You continue searching the lockers in silence without finding more than a few pocket knives, and eventually you return to the gym.
• Head back.
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
The Un-Necropolis
You kick out the wood-planked air vent, allowing brilliant streams of light into the attic. One might expect fresh air to come with it, but the outside draft is even worse than your stifling alcove. Harsh chemical smoke sticks to your lungs. The smell of fetid, rotten flesh lingers from your decaying neighbors.
Out on the roof you only start to grasp the magnitude of destruction. Smoldering homes, wrecked cars, and corpses line your block. In fact, the streets are so congested, there’s no point in going for a car. A wind chime clinks in the breeze. Garden-planted pinwheels turn.
Shingles securely underfoot, you position your eyes in a set of binoculars, to better scout the area. Shit—there’s still at least one ghoul wandering the streets, barely visible in the distance, meaning there’ll surely be more lurking nearby. Of particular note are three bodies wearing convict-orange jumpsuits. Must’ve been a prison break in the early days.
Granted, the scale is much larger, but it looks like a fox got into a chicken coop, the fox in this metaphor being a horde of zombies and the coop being a
cres of ill-prepared suburbia. This sight could be that of a hurricane-ravaged city, save for the lack of flooded streets.
The day is young, and you’ve got to move if you’re to find another safe port before nightfall. You lower yourself from the roof, the rain gutter giving a creak under your wrists. Inside your house, there’s movement in response. You jog away, saying good-bye forever to your home. Keeping a mental note of where you saw that wandering ghoul, you traverse the neighborhood.
Almost unconsciously, you find yourself walking the normal path you use to drive away from home. But there will be no driving, not anymore. As you walk, you notice a large fireman’s axe lodged in the back of a corpse. That could be a lot more deadly than your little carpenter’s hammer; in point of fact, it already has been. The proof is sticking out of the pudding. Like a new Arthur, you remove axe-caliber! from the body with a sickening squick. It takes a concerted effort not to gag.
Cutting through a side street, you move onto a major thoroughfare. One end is cordoned off by a large wall just above head-level that splits through the neighborhood in an arc. Do you want to peek over the wall and see what’s on the other side?
• Yes, but only real quick-like.
• No, keep moving. No time for distractions.
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Un-Undead
You fall to the floor, tucked into the fetal position, just as you’ve been told to do when encountering a bear. Clasping your hands around the back of your neck and tucking your knees into your chest to protect your vital organs, you expect to wait out the attack with minimal injuries.
Here’s why this won’t happen: this is not a chance bear encounter, where the animal is merely posturing his dominance. This, as far as the bear is concerned, is a kill site. His food is here and you’re a threat. Your supplication won’t work this time.
Not only does the animal want you dead, you get to be the dessert. He chews on you like you’d expect, but then he doesn’t stop. He finds a soft spot right around your kidneys and digs in. In short, he eats you while you sit huddled in a little ball.
Looks like you play dead a little too well.
THE END
Upstairs
You follow Phoenix and the escort up the stairs, a feat that proves difficult in your chemically-affected state. You’re barely in control of your body, but you’re in good company in that arena. Your drug-addled partners have little motor control either.
Into Phoenix’s bedroom, where the party begins. “You two kiss,” he says. The girl grabs you before you have time to react, presses her face against yours, and the mere feeling of her soft lips on yours proves almost orgasmic. Every sense is heightened to the max from the substances in your system.
Phoenix sits back in bed, pulls out a baggie of the coke, and rubs the powder around his lips and gums while watching you with arousal. The girl takes off your shirt for you. She grabs a handful of the drug from Phoenix, rubs it on your stomach, snorts what she can and licks off the rest, moving up to your nipples.
Blood rushes between your legs when she reaches to help you take your pants off. This is going to be an interesting night.
“Oh, shit,” Phoenix says. Suddenly the prostitute falls to the bed convulsing with spasms, her body instantly slick with sweat. Vomit spews forth from her mouth, and she’s choking it back down.
You look to Phoenix for help, but he just shakes his head. “Not that kind of doctor!”
He’s up now, frantically pacing around her. Then she stops moving. He looks to you, then turns back and examines her perfectly-still body. No chest rise or fall. A foamy stain is on the pillow next to her.
“Tell me you didn’t O-D.” He picks up her limp, insipid wrist and checks for a pulse. “You were going to live forever, you stupid bitch.”
You see the topless prostitute in the doorway to the room, but Phoenix doesn’t see her yet. She’s standing oddly still, her perfect-10 body pale and emaciated. There’s vomit caked around her mouth and her hair is plastered to her face. Her eyes are oddly glazed.
“I didn’t let you try it first so you could die in my penthouse,” he says to the girl on the bed. Then, almost as if on cue, she sits up in one fluid movement. He sighs out, “Oh, thank God.”
The girl from the hallway lets out a breathy, barely audible, moan—commanding both of your attentions. She raises her arms, opens her mouth, and moves toward you.
The girl on the bed scrambles at Phoenix, clawing and reaching. He backs away and slams into you in an effort to escape, knocking you into the arms of the topless zombie in the hallway and falling to the floor himself.
The undead escort bites down on you hard. She’s oddly strong and ferocious. You try and defend yourself: punching, kicking, shoving, screaming. None of it works. She keeps biting and clawing; she’s trying to eat you alive!
The bottomless zombie pounces from the bed atop Phoenix. He tries the fetal position as defense, covering his face with his hands. She bites into the back and sides of his neck, spraying blood across the floor. He gurgles his screams of death.
You’re still alive, but strips of viscera are ripped off your flesh with every passing moment. You squirm to get out from under her, and you’re almost free—when the bottomless zombie shifts her focus from the limp Phoenix to your flailing and thrashing.
Realizing you’re no match for the two of them, your body gives you an extra shot of adrenaline and you manage to get out from under the zombie. Two steps backward and you tumble down the stairs. The final blow comes from the crack of your skull at the bottom. This doesn’t instantly kill you, but it’s bad news nonetheless: if there’s one thing zombies love, it’s brains, and yours are now exposed.
The two escorts calmly walk down the stairs toward your paralyzed body and, easy as an open walnut, they scoop out and eat your brain. Together they devour you. Phoenix will rise again, but without a brain; the Gilgazyme® cannot affect you.
THE END
Urbane Decay
Welcome to the first day of your afterlife. You’re not exactly dead, but you’re certainly not alive either. You are the in-between. You don’t need to breathe and your heart doesn’t pump, but you’re okay with that. The Gilgazyme ® has changed you in ways zombie fiction could never have predicted. True, your body is only a tool you’ll use in your never-ending quest for human tissue, and so long as your brain remains intact, whatever damage the rest of you sustains is irrelevant. But the change in your genetic code, which causes your body never to age, also prevents it from decomposition.
When you get wounded in the upcoming millennia, your body will simply be opened like a med school cadaver. No blood will emerge. Your wounds will not fester nor rot. Yet you’re no longer breaking down nutrients, so you won’t heal either. You’ll simply incur a debt of flesh, until it proves enough to dismantle you.
Stay young and beautiful forever with Gilgazyme ®.
You’re no longer skilled, nor coordinated. But what you lack in grace, you make up in persistence. You don’t sleep or rest. You’ll never feel pain or cold or emotion. The only need you have now is hunger. You don’t have memories per se, but certain feelings have given way to instinct. You know where you should go to feed.
• Mom and Dad aren’t far away, and they’re always saying I should visit more often.
• My friends will be worried; I’d better see how they’re doing. Maybe they’ll want to join my Walking Club?
• I think I was in love at some point; let’s find my sweetheart so we can be together forever.
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Voyeur
You watch while Lucas charges down the hill. He’s fleet of foot, silently loping over obstacles and gliding effortlessly across the leafy slope. For a brief second you think what if he might need my help? If he encounters any trouble, there’d be nothing for you to do but watch it play out from your vantage point.
But after a moment, you realize your fears are unfounded. In movements as elegant as a ballroom dancer
, Lucas’ body flows behind the power of his sword. Its edge moves cleanly through the necks of the two standing ghouls, leaving just the one crawling on the ground. The blows are so succinctly perfect, the zombies take two more steps toward Lucas before the muscles realize that their connection to the brain has been severed. They fall to the earth in heaps.
He walks over to the prone ghoul and tips his face mask up, whispers something before he steps on the zombie’s head, pushing it on its side, and slips his blade into the man’s ear. Lucas turns and jogs back to you.
Slightly out of breath, he says, “Each of us must walk our own path, I can appreciate that. For me, this was something that needed to be done. Thank you for your patience.”
You nod. “Which way next?”
“The shelter shouldn’t be too much further from here, but I don’t want to go through the marshes at night. Let’s stake an early camp up ahead and by lunch tomorrow, we’ll be with other survivors.”
• “Sounds good. I’ll take first watch.”
• “Do you mind taking first watch? I’m a little tired.”
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Wait for Rescue
“Area Three, clear,” Sims lies as he turns and walks away from the hall.
“Copy Area Three, clear, hurry back,” Deleon replies over the radio.
Sims shrugs and keeps going. You follow him down the school hallways, the fluorescent lights flickering like a horror movie. “Power’s intermittent,” Sims says in response. “I had to route some of it to the distress beacons and I’ve given radio transmissions priority. It’ll increase our range, so…”
You enter the student radio hall, a modified theater room with posters on the walls of famous bands ranging from The Beatles to Hannah Montana. Sims walks over to the control board and toys with the knobs and buttons, using his electrician’s skill as intuition.
INFECTED (Click Your Poison) Page 33