Throngs of undead continue to stream in from all around. A construction worker grabs your arm, and you’re barely able to put him down with his being so close. One shot, one kill.
“Where’s the target?” you ask.
“I don’t know! We lost radio contact!” Airman Belliveau yells over the commotion.
“So what the hell’s the plan?”
“Keep looking!”
The rescue team burrows deeper into the crowd, but you hesitate a moment. The odds are overwhelming. It’s tempting to abandon ship.
• Stay with the rescue team. Maybe they can call in the helicopter?
• There’s a sandwich shop across the street. Get dinner, don’t become it.
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Oregon Donor
After skipping breakfast, the cold cut sub might as well be manna from heaven. Especially after the morning you’ve had. You eat up, then lick the sauces off your fingers. The sandwich didn’t go far, though, and you’re still hungry.
You watch as the rest of the sandwich is passed around and unceremoniously devoured. All that remains is the extra piece from bucket-lady. As the minutes tick by, you consider asking if she’s going to eat it. From the looks of it, she’s sleeping now. Maybe you should just take it?
“Excuse me…” you start, then cut yourself short when you hear someone moaning in pain.
In the far corner of the tent, a woman with skin like a marble statue falls off her cot. Someone nearby asks if she’s okay, then screams out. Did she just bite that guy?
The screams bring in the guard from outside, and he stands with his rifle at the ready. “Another Turned,” he says into a chest-radio. “Go for a transfer to aggressor tent.”
Two more soldiers come in, looking interchangeable in their gasmasks. The guard says, “Don’t let her bite you.”
The pair grab the woman, one putting her in a headlock while the second binds her wrists together. They drag her from the tent.
* * *
You wake up, not even realizing that you’d dozed off. Hope that doesn’t make the concussion or whatever worse. Your stomach grumbles and you stand up. You take a step towards the sandwich on the cot across the aisle, then turn and grab the bucket. The contents of your stomach shoot out into the bucket before you even know what’s happening.
There’s a shimmy in your bowels and you feel them loosen, but your colon catches the flow. Just barely.
“That’s not good,” Doctor so-and-so says. “Grab the bucket and come with me.”
Following her out of the tent, you come to see the guard.
“Bucket needs emptying.”
The man sighs so loudly you can hear it through his gasmask. He bids you to follow, then points to the gutter and a sewer drain. “Toss it in, then we’ll bleach it.”
“Wait!” the doctor shouts. “You’re throwing biohazardous waste into the sewer? Do you have any idea how irresponsible that is? This man has dysentery! Do you want to contaminate the whole city?”
“Who gives a shit? There’s something much worse infecting people already.”
“Hold up…I have dysentery?” you say.
She sighs. “Most people recover from dysentery in the modern world, but I’m not sure how many IV bags we have and…”
Your head swirls. Dysentery is something that used to kill people. At least in Oregon Trail. At best, you’re going to be seriously incapacitated, and that’s bad enough when people are eating each other.
You’re INFECTED…with dysentery!
Outback
“There is a back exit. Go now and I will do my best to slow the soldiers.”
“Thanks,” you say before rushing from the dojo and into the alley in the back.
It’s a thin road, the kind that’s perpetually wet and cold from a lack of sunlight and natural drainage, built to house each of the business’s dumpsters. If you were to run to the left, it would lead you back to your stalled-out bus.
No-brainer here, you’re heading right.
The alley opens into another street full of shops: a tattoo parlor, a payday loans building, a strip club, and a liquor store. You recognize the area. One of these “establishments” has sucked out a large chunk of your paycheck in the past, and you’d relish the opportunity to get revenge.
Unfortunately, this block is under National Guard quarantine as well. Worse still, it appears as if you’ve made the trouble-maker list, because a group of them spot you and move in.
• How big is the National Guard unit here? Keep running.
• They’re just doing a job, right? Hands up, and hope they keep you safe.
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Out Cold
You move toward the injured man, who’s basically snoring in a pool of his own blood. Well, at least he’s still breathing. You lurch back after you hear a grunt, but you realize it’s just Jason dragging the dead man toward the front door. You open the door for him, then stand at the ready with your rifle. After a moment, Jason returns safely.
“I think there’s more of them out there,” he says, locking the deadbolt.
You’re shaking, on the verge of crying. You look at the red carpet entrance, following the blood trail, and come to a spatter of brain against the wall. The picture of Grandpa from WWII has miraculously stayed clean, but the black-and-white photo of Eisenhower chewing out his generals is filthy.
“That needs to be us,” Dad says. “They had no clue the horrors they were getting into, they just knew there was an evil that needed to be stopped. And that’s what we’re faced with now. See this?” he points to the framed art on the other side, the print of Rosie the Riveter.
She stares at you with her stern determination, rolling her sleeve with fist pumped in the air, flecks of blood against the glass frame adorning her uniform in an apropos symbol of your own call to action. She proudly proclaims, “We Can Do It!”
“I need you to be like Rosie, Sport,” your father says, the same look of determination on his face.
Do you have it in you? Rosie the Riveter was a symbol. A leader of those who grew up thinking they were helpless; that other people were in charge of the world. She inspired a generation to stand up and do their part. How can you be like Rosie?
Not much of a choice here:
• Mask your uncertainty. Stand tall, shoulders back, and say, “What do I need to do?”
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Overpriced
With so many windows, the moonlight makes it possible to search the gift shop. It’s abandoned, though many of the park’s paying customers seem to have swiped a t-shirt and a snow-globe on their way out. Still, you get to feast on a dinner of chocolate designed to look like rocks. Worth it? Maybe for the calories, but you’ll be sleeping on an irritated stomach—and a pile of stuffed dogs with stiff leashes attached, meant to look like they’re being walked.
* * *
The next morning, you regroup at the front.
“Okay, I’m thinking we’ll split the park right down the center, east and west, north and south, as viewed from the Ferris wheel,” you say. “Report back for lunch. We’re looking for flashlights, food, anything useful.”
“Haven’t you ever seen a horror movie?” Angelica asks.
You cross your arms across your chest. After a terrible night’s sleep on the stiff, cold floor, it’s too early for this crap. “Yeah, I have. And in case you didn’t notice, it’s broad daylight outside. There’s no full moon. No thunderstorm. No goddamned eclipse. And you’re no virgin in peril, lady.”
“I’m putting up with your ‘leadership’ so I don’t have to be alone,” she says, firmly.
Tyberius and Hefty avoid eye contact, waiting to see what you’ll say. After a moment, you go with:
• “You’re putting up with it because you’d be dead without me. We’re splitting up. You three go together, I’ll take Jose. Meet back here.”
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Painting the Office
“Open the godda
mn door!” you shout, but the ranger only backs away.
It’s locked, and you can’t blast through with your 10/22. But Jason gets it, and puts his 16-gauge up against the door handle. With a BOOM, the door is open.
“Where’s your first aid kit?” you demand.
The Ranger huddles in the back corner of the office, wide-eyed and clutching at some kind of canister.
“Are you bit?” Jason asks.
She shows off a bite-wound on her collarbone and your brother raises his shotgun. BOOM—he puts her out of her misery. You set to looking for a first aid kit.
“Sarah, stop,” he says.
When you turn back, you see he’s torn away his trousers to get a better look at the wound. There are clear, undeniable teeth-marks in his flesh.
“I don’t want to end up like Dad. You gotta shoot me, sis. I’m ready.”
You swallow hard, then take a deep breath. He’s right, and you know it.
“I love you, Jay.”
“I know,” he says with a half-hearted smile. “You have to survive. Dad always said mom lived on inside our hearts. I always thought it was cheesy, but… Just survive, okay? Take us with you.”
Then he closes his eyes. You raise the rifle, hands shaking.
• Do it, shoot him and survive. Once bitten, soon biting.
• No, you can’t. He’s your brother! Lock him up here and leave.
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Paint It Black
The children nod solemnly, and no doubt Nathanael shares your fears—if the door is open, it’s possible you’ll find only sorrow inside Nolan’s house. The entry carpet is stained with clumsy trackmarks too numerous to count. The black smudge by the door blooms into the intruders’ tracks, spiraling out like petals on a deadly flower.
The kitchen is straight ahead, and all the cabinets are open. Like a plague of locusts came through—not a single food item was spared. Maybe his parents packed up and left? Or maybe someone came and pillaged the home.
“Hello? Is anyone here? It’s Lucas Tessh—”
“Master Tesshu!” Nathanael shouts from outside.
You turn and run, sword at your side practically leaping from its scabbard and out into open air as you rush from the house.
Three walking corpses have encircled the children. Two women and one man; little doubt as to their intentions when they grope and snarl for your pupils.
“Back!” you command.
In Kendo, rarely do you engage more than one opponent at a time, so you quickly prioritize the attackers. The man is nearly a foot taller and at least thirty pounds heavier than his companions, so he’s the biggest threat. But one of the two women is closer to the children.
In a split second, the decision is made, and you put down the trio of attackers with three clean swipes. That was too close. If you had been further inside the house, you might not have made it back in time.
“Where’s my mom and dad?” Nolan asks.
“Not home,” you say. Adding,
• “We’ll stay the night, just in case they’re out looking for you.”
• “Let’s continue on to Haley’s and Nathanael’s, then we’ll try back here on the return trip.”
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Parenting Done Right
His form distorts through streaming tears but you wipe your eyes, hold your breath, still your aim, and squeeze off a shot. A single red hole, no wider than pencil-thick, appears on the Zulu’s forehead and just like that, the man collapses.
You fall to your knees, eyes burning and heart in your throat. Jason tries to comfort you, to tell you that you did the right thing, but you can barely hear him. Instead, you hold your brother tight until his sobs break through and you rock him in your arms like you did when he was a baby.
After a time—five minutes, five hours, who knows—the tears stop and you compose yourself.
• Things are likely to get worse from here. Take one more look around for supplies before we go.
• I can’t spend another minute here. Take the Jeep and get as far away from here as you can.
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Parenting Expert
“The roads are blocked, and you’re in no shape to go anywhere,” you say, putting your back against the door to the outside.
“I know…what’s best for my son,” she practically growls.
“Not if you’re thinking about taking him out there! A man was just shot!”
“Now you’re holding us hostage?”
“If I have to save you from yourself, so be it.”
“Tesshu-san, enough! Let them go,” Hanzo says, bringing the boy to his mother.
“But master…”
“The code, yes, yes, I know—the code. Bushido says to help others, not to bend them to your will.”
He’s right, and you know it. Only one choice here:
• Tell her, “Good luck. When you find the authorities, tell them I am here, watching over the other children.”
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Parish the Thought
Father Thomas, along with an altar boy and several other men, hold and bind the flailing stranger in a white sheet. Your father reclines against the altar, drifting in and out of consciousness. You get a distinct feeling—he’s next.
“What are you doing?” you demand.
Father Thomas stands and steps toward you. “He has the possession, your father?”
“What. Are. You. Doing?” you say more firmly, both hands on your rifle.
“This is the devil’s work, this mass possession. If we stop them from spreading evil, the Lord will shine his light upon them, rebuke the devil inside, and the faithful shall be healed. Let us keep your father here, child, he’ll be safe in the House of God.”
They’re wrapping and immobilizing the infected like mummies. For what? Exorcism? Faith healing? Jason looks to you. What do you think?
• Well, it’s more merciful than shooting the infected, right? Maybe it’s worth holding onto hope.
• They can keep the stranger, but you and Jason are taking Dad and leaving this place.
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Parting Ways
She assures you that Sal will be fine; that they’re headed straight for the army. Still, you’re left with a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. Who fired that shot out there? If it was the army, that means they’re firing on unarmed civilians, which is insane, even if the guy was insane. And if it wasn’t the army…that means there’s a vigilante lunatic who’s taken the law into his own hands.
“Sensei…” Mason says, pulling you from your thoughts. When you look back to your students you see full, almost cartoonishly frightened eyes, like in the anime of your childhood.
“The music, let’s listen,” you say. “Remember, achieve peace within…?”
“Achieve peace without,” the students chant in unison.
“Allow me,” Master Hanzo says.
But when the old man makes it to the boom box, it isn’t the tranquility CD that he plays, but the radio—which is tuned to an emergency broadcast. The newsman speaks with the cadence of a disc jockey, clearly uncomfortable with the weighty position he finds himself in.
“We’re getting, ahh, reports of neighborhood closures? Is that right?” there’s a pause, then he comes back, “Can’t say for sure how many, it’s all unsubstantiated right now, but I what I can say—what I know for sure—is that downtown is in a state of chaos. Steer clear of St. Mary’s Hospital. There was some kind of incident, and based on the images of gasmasked troops we’ve seen, for my money, it’s a terrorist attack. Okay…my producer says I shouldn’t say that, but the conclusion is the same: Stay indoors, people. Traffic is stopped and there are National Guard barricades cropping up all over downtown, so it’s not like you’re going anywhere anyway, right? We’ll get you more info as we get it, so stay tuned, but in the meantime—smooooth Jazz.
“Here to take you away, it’s Art Blakey and the Jazz Messengers with Moanin’
,” the DJ signs off and a saxophone takes over.
“Master Hanzo, why don’t you bring the radio into your office? Christian, help him with that. Then grandfather can tell us if he learns anything new. Maybe try to call some of the parents, okay?” you say, taking the radio and handing it to your pupil.
“They’ll come get us?” Haley asks.
“Of course your parents will come.”
The door dings and you turn. “Luke?” the woman says.
“Who are you?” Nolan asks.
“Class, this is my Imouto—my sister. Meet Melissa Tesshu.”
But this is no time for a formal introduction, you can see that much from her appearance. She wears her St. Mary’s hospital administrator badge and lanyard with blouse untucked and pants ripped on the left knee. Her hair is disheveled and makeup runny from tears or sweat, or both.
“How did you…?” you start. Then, after collecting your thoughts, you say:
• “What is it like at the hospital?”
• “What is it like outside?”
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Passover
“No way, Celly. I’d never touch your shit. Don’t I remember catchin’ you looking through my mail for nakey pics? Those blankets came as-is. If somthin’s missin’, take it up with laundry crew.”
Deny, deny, counter-accuse, deny—the most effective way to lie.
“Okay, okay, keep your shirt on, amigo. I was just looking forward to doing some carving when I got out, comprende?”
PATHOGENS: Who Will Survive the Zombie Apocalypse? (Click Your Poison Book 4) Page 29