PATHOGENS: Who Will Survive the Zombie Apocalypse? (Click Your Poison Book 4)

by James Schannep

  Haley’s father joins her out front, then Nathanael’s mother, and Nolan’s parents.

  “Hang on! I’ll grab the ladder and let you in,” Nolan’s father says.

  Not much of a choice here:

  • Deliver the trio of students to their parents.

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Hush that Fuss

  The ability to nap on the spot is perhaps the greatest asset of the overworked. You instinctively wake at each stop, quickly scanning to see if you’ve arrived, then nod back off for another forty winks.

  This time you stir because something feels off; wrong. The bus has been stopped for too long. You sit up and look out the window. It’s not just the bus that has stopped, you see now—it’s the entire city block, frozen in place.

  An accident? A parade? A protest? Whatever it is, you don’t have time for this shit. You look to the front and see a police officer speaking to the bus driver. Outside, motorists abandon their cars, fleeing on foot from an unseen threat. Is it a terror attack? A crazed white guy starting another mass shooting?

  “Everyone remain in your seats!” the cop up front shouts, a hand on his piece. Guy looks scared.

  The homeless dude next to you stirs, looks at you with crazed eyes. No—bored eyes. Hungry eyes. He chomps his teeth together, then moans.

  • Open the emergency exit and escape!

  • I need to get away from this guy! Rush the front of the bus.

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Inheritance

  Jason hits priority one: refilling the water bottles, while you repack everything into two rucksacks. Guess we don’t need Dad’s, you think with morbid regret. Then you scour the house for anything useful you may’ve missed. The coup de gras, of course, is Dad’s foot locker from his Marine days.

  It’s padlocked, but that doesn’t stop the bolt cutters that you find in the garage tool chest. Better take these along too, just in case, you think as you open the lid to reveal a neatly organized collection of memorabilia. Photos with his USMC brothers. Medals for valor, as well as for his wounds. Commendations. That kind of thing.

  Under the top layer of sentiment, you lug out a ballistic “bulletproof” vest and set it aside. Too heavy. Beneath the body armor sits a pair of Kevlar sleeves Dad used for welding in the motorpool machine shop. You slip these on your forearms and take the combat gloves beside them. There’s a Ka-Bar combat knife, and you take that as well. Lastly, the chest holds his Marine-issue helmet.

  “I’ll take that, if you don’t want it.” Jason already wears Dad’s ballistic vest and wobbles uncertainly beneath the added bulk.

  “It’s too much, Jay,” you say, weighting the helmet in your hands. “I’ll keep the sleeves, since it’ll stop bites, but—” Your eyes grow wide with an idea and you practically shout “—we can use our paintball armor! Lightweight, stop a bite, and we can move quick.”

  “Good idea, but I’m still taking the body armor. There are enough trigger-happy coots out there on a good day.”

  “Suit yourself, lunkhead.”

  * * *

  There’s only one main road out of town and into the woods—and that tunnel to freedom is up ahead. A police barricade was set in place to prevent a mass exodus from town, but plenty of people ran the barricade, and so can you.

  The only light comes from the sirens of abandoned patrol cruisers. You scan the area, but find no sign of the police officers. The Jeep’s headlights suddenly glint off something on the road, and you slam on the brakes, but too late. The tires scream and hiss when they hit the spike strip, and you skid to the side, the Jeep threatening to flip. You hold your breath, turn into the skid, and close your eyes. The Jeep comes to a stop and after a moment, you head out to check the wheels.

  They’re fucked; you’ll have to continue on foot.

  “C’mon, Jay, load up. Take whatever you can carry, but not too much. You don’t want to—”

  “Yeah, I get it. I’m not a kid, you know.”

  Several figures wander on the road ahead and a low, breathy moan is terribly amplified by the tunnel to the rear. A whole chorus of the damned.

  You raise your rifle, inspecting the weapon to make sure you’ve got a round chambered and realize you’ve only got the Ruger factory standard JX-1 ten round magazine loaded. Why didn’t you put one of the larger ones in? Damn.

  “I’m going to empty my mag, and then you cover me while I reload.”

  “Rog,” Jason replies.

  The two of you make short work of the gathered undead. With your brother to cover you, it’s essentially a turkey shoot. Fifty Zulu, down just like that. You must’ve backpedaled to slow their approach, you realize, because even though you rushed forward, you ended up back at the Jeep.

  “Restock ammo,” you say.

  “We’re damn well-supplied here,” Jason says. “Maybe we should stick around until first light?”

  • No way. Keep moving, and eventually take guard shifts somewhere less hot.

  • Great idea. Cab of a semi-truck should work well. High off the ground and roomy enough.

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Inhospitable

  “They…” she says, swallowing hard before continuing. “A lot of people are dead, Luke. It’s bad. Really bad. The medical personnel are fighting, but we were losing techs by the hour. The administration didn’t know how to handle an emergency like this. We were told not to leave, and most of the staff decided to barricade themselves in the cafeteria, but I know that wouldn’t stop the attackers, and—”

  “Hey, hey, slow down, Melissa. What attackers?”

  “You wouldn’t believe me. I…I had to get out of there. People are…” she trails off, adding in a whisper, “…eating each other.”

  “How can that be?” you say.

  “Rabies?” Christian asks.

  “It started in the morgue, Luke. The corpses…I don’t know how else to explain it. The corpses came to life, or not life, I dunno. That’s not my department, but when security managed to pin one down, the docs said no heartbeat, no blood flow, no pain, no emotion. Only hunger.”

  “Imouto…” you say. “Something happened, and you’re in shock. Come, sit.”

  “See? I knew you wouldn’t believe me. But there’s no time—we have to leave, now. It’s martial law. If we don’t go now, they won’t let us.”

  “Living corpses? Come on…”

  “Yes, that’s exactly what they are! You can stab one in the heart and it’ll keep coming. The only way is to crush the skull,” she says.

  You close your eyes and think back to the homeless man. The way he didn’t feel pain. His eyes—the only thing you saw in them—pure animal instinct. Hunger.

  “Once bitten, it only takes someone six hours before they’re a ‘living corpse’ themselves. We had our first patient three nights ago, but kept it under wraps. They were flying in a CDC team—but get this—the CDC cancelled because they had their own ‘specimens’ back home. I don’t think the hospital will be there tomorrow, Luke. And we need to leave now before this barricade traps us all. Let’s go!”

  “Go? Go where?” You almost laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of it all.

  “Haven’t you been listening?! Away. Away from people!”

  “Melissa, these kids’ parents will come looking for them. We can’t just—”

  “Leave them here, then! Or put a note on the door. I don’t care what you do, just come with me. Do you have any idea how dangerous it was for me to get here? The military is already setting up outside your front door!”

  You can’t just leave the kids here, you know that much.

  • But maybe she’s right? If you all gather and run for it while there’s still time….

  • These are just kids! And you’ve got an old man with you. There’s no way you can run.

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Inked

  The tattoo parlor boasts a large glass storefront, used to show off designs in-progress. Several comfortable-looking chairs an
d needle stations sit at the ready, and there’s a motorcycle on display in the center. The hours-sign shows that it’s a 24-hour joint, and a sticker on the door reads, “This door to remain unlocked during business hours.”

  Yep, it’s unlocked.

  “Hello?” you call out. “Anybody alive in here?”

  No response. The place seems abandoned. You check the motorcycle, but it’s for display only. No battery, and the fuel tank is probably empty. There’s a back room with a private station, most likely for those getting tattoos on their private parts. Still, it looks like a nice place to rest, and it’s big enough to lie on while someone paints your lower back.

  You could lock the front door (sign be damned!) and take a load off in the back, or keep exploring the nearby buildings.

  • Yeah, don’t want to throw out the baby’s bathwater. Time to get some sleep.

  • The strip club. It’s designed from the ground up to keep out unwanted flesh-hungry men.

  • The liquor store. I could use a drink after these last couple of days, and the windows have bars.

  • The payday loans building. With all the people they screw, they’ve gotta be ready for a mob invasion.

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Inner Sanctum

  The door opens with an exaggerated creaking, loud enough to make any horror fan’s hair stand on end. The floors are filthy from invaders, though from the living or from walking corpses, you can’t be sure.

  “Sensei…” Nolan says. When you turn, he points to an empty dish on the entry table and adds, “Mom and dad’s keys are gone.”

  “So’s all the food in your kitchen,” Haley says.

  “Someone’s coming,” Nathanael says, his eyes glued on the doorway.

  “Behind me, in the kitchen,” you command.

  A trio of walking corpses follow into the house, though the entry funnels them into a single-file line. With as much effort as you might spend trimming hedges, your sword chops the three of them down. When you rend their flesh, they don’t bleed, and only once you’ve beheaded the ghouls do their limbs stop moving.

  “They’re not human right, master?” Nathanael says.

  “Perhaps no longer,” you say, cleaning your blade. “But it is important to remember that they once were. Now come…”

  • “…we must continue on. It is not safe here.”

  • “…let us clear the house and wait for Nolan’s parents to return.”

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Insider Information

  You call out to Hefty, who comes to join you and Jose while Tyberius and Angelica stay with the new guy.

  “What’s going on here?” you ask. “Everything okay?”

  “Sure. He’s injured, so I wouldn’t worry too much ’bout that. Bum shoulder, looks like.”

  “Think he’s alone?”

  “Yeah. Said his unit went down at the hospital.”

  “Makes sense. Seem like a good guy?”

  “Well, he’s Air Force. Can’t say that gasmask of his gives me much comfort. Truth is, I think he knows more than he’s lettin’ on.”

  “How so?”

  Hefty’s eyebrow arches. “How so? He’s government. You think some world-crushing virus came on without Big Brother knowing about it? No way. This ain’t the flu, boss. Dollars to donuts, Uncle Sam created this thing. Maybe they fucked it up, but it stinks of The Man, know what I’m sayin’? And this Sims guy, he knows something, I can tell. You’re asking me for advice? I’d say keep him close. Guy keeps talkin’ about signalin’ rescue. Not sure about you, but if there’s an Area 52 where the President is ridin’ this thing out, and I’d like to be somebody’s plus-one on their invitation.”

  “Thanks,” you say with a nod.

  Maybe Hefty is right, and the new guy knows something. Maybe he’s a survivalist. Either way, it’s probably a good idea to keep him close. But first…you need to assert dominance. Or maybe get a second opinion from one of the others?

  • Introduce yourself. Make sure he knows you’re the boss.

  • Take Angelica aside, ask her to shed some light.

  • Take Tyberius aside, ask him for the low-down.

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Internment

  The walk down the street is very difficult for Master Hanzo, and by the time you arrive to the National Guard encampment he’s wheezing from lack of breath and taken to the infirmary tent. He’ll get more attention from the medical staff, you’re assured.

  “He’s not sick,” you tell the military leaders. “The man is in remarkable health for a centenarian, but time comes for us all.”

  They nod profusely, and gently lead the old man away. It’s the last time you’ll ever see him alive.

  The children are taken to a nursery of sorts, where you’re told they’ll be reunited with their families as soon as possible. There’s no visitation allowed between tents, so you have no way to know when (if at all) your students find their parents.

  For you, it’s one of the many general tents for “survivors.” What, exactly, have I survived? you wonder.

  * * *

  Days pass. The daily cycle consists only of receiving food rations twice daily and being escorted periodically in groups to “hygiene tents.” This incredible boredom is peppered only by the distant sounds of gunfire. A doctor visits with clockwork regularity, and after a brief exam, determines which of the “survivors” are taken to the sick tent. It’s almost tempting to fake illness just to see your old master again.

  No one answers any of your questions. Even with the aid of meditation, you can’t help but worry over Hanzo and your pupils. Was this the right choice? That question is answered when breakfast simply doesn’t come one day.

  When you push your way through the tent flap and into the open, you learn that the National Guard has abandoned camp. That would explain all the engine sounds early that morning. The street is all but clear, though rubbish and the smell of death float on the breeze.

  The other “survivors” flee from the tents. They all had loved ones they were kept from, and now move out to find them. Your thoughts drift to your sister.

  Inspecting the camp, you find everything abandoned, save for the horror in the back alley. It’s a dumping ground, and the corpses here aren’t walking, that’s for sure. Bodies lie piled up, all with massive head wounds, either from bludgeoning or bullet holes. The dead furthest back in the alley are burnt and charred beyond recognition. But they didn’t have time for the ones up front, the recent dead.

  The fresh bodies.

  • I must know—look at the bodies. See if there is anyone you recognize.

  • Past is past. Turn and get walking. Find some food; keep moving.

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Interrupted

  The children run through their warmup exercises, and it’s nice just to be able to concentrate on the here and now; the moment. The outside world is not something you can control, but giving small corrections like keep your attack at forty-five degrees, align fists with the center of the body, or do not clench your shoulders allows you to re-center and realize that you don’t need to control anything.

  “Kendo, at its core, teaches you to adapt. You do not choose when or how your opponent attacks; you can only choose your defense. Remember this in all aspects of life. None of us chooses what happens to us, we can only choose how we react.”

  “Lucas, you must come!” Master Hanzo says from the office doorway. He never calls you by your first name unless you’re alone. This must be urgent. You rush over, and the class follows. “Listen. This is on an unassigned AM station.”

  A gruff man’s voice suddenly crackles in through the speakers, “…you’re not alone…civilian camp…be humanity’s…and all survivors…Route…ansmission-only…way communication.”

  “That doesn’t sound like a normal broadcast,” Haley says.

  “It’s not,” Master Hanzo confirms. “This is certainly local, but our antenna is not strong enough to receive the t
ransmission. Yet there is a way.”

  “Master…what are you saying? That someone is trying to talk to us?”

  The old man nods. “During the war, the community put a large antenna on the roof and we listened to reports all the way from Japan. It is not difficult. If you bring the radio up top, you can use the antenna to boost the signal.”

  “I thought that was a cell phone tower up there?” you say, somewhat stunned.

  “Proof that you don’t know everything yet,” he replies with a smile.

  There are no stairs up to the roof, so you’ll have to get on from outside. A dangerous prospect, especially with armed soldiers patrolling the streets.

  • The captain mentioned there are other civilians in the hardware store across the street. Perhaps I can borrow a ladder?

  • If Nathanael helps me, I can push the dumpster in the alley and boost myself up to the top.

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Intravenous Intervention

  You shoot the center man, and the NICU erupts in screams. You shoot at the ceiling to quiet the staff, then say, “Now there are two doctors, one for here and one who’s coming with us. Who’ll it be? Don’t make me choose for you.”

  A few eyes flicker behind you. Jason stares blankly at your cold-blooded move with shock, not watching your back. When you turn, you see the nurse whom you took hostage holding a syringe, but too late. She plunges the needle into your neck and depresses 10 milliliters of air straight into your jugular. The effect is near-instant death by cardiac arrest.

  THE END

  I Ran

  So…you pussed out, but why not? You’re not in the goddamned infantry. This isn’t what you signed up for. Besides, indiscretion is the better part of valor, right? You’ve done your job as an electrician. Now you’ll let these combat operators do theirs, and soon it’ll all be water under the fridge.