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

by James Schannep

  * * *

  As you don your custom-fit kendo armor, you take the time to mourn for the uncertainty of it all. Will you ever know what happened to Sal? To Christian? Will you really meet up with Mason again? With your sister? Will Master Hanzo and the twins be safe here? And—perhaps most pressing—will the other students still find their families alive and well? It’s just Nathanael, Haley, and Nolan now.

  After saying farewell and journeying outside the dojo, you push all those thoughts from your mind. You will only survive this if you remain mindful of the present.

  Across the street, on the rooftop of the hardware store, you see two silhouettes in the morning light. One is of a man holding a rifle, and the other—a woman—waves in greeting. You wave back and continue on.

  “Where’s your car?” Nolan asks.

  “As fate would have it, it is being serviced today. Perhaps this is a blessing in disguise? I fear the roads are more easily navigated on foot. Look around.”

  Each city block that you pass has an abandoned military containment section. Yours was the epicenter, with the grocery store parking lot allowing room for tents, while the store itself must have provided your daily meal rations. The grocery store is completely cleaned out.

  The day threatens to be a warm one, made warmer still by all the hiking. You’ll want to check convenience stores for water bottles along the way. The new sword fits perfect along your side, but the weight is different. Much heavier than the shinai the children carry. Much like your burden. Focus, you tell yourself. That doesn’t matter now.

  All that matters are the half-dozen people who stumble forward. Seeing them up close, all your skepticism of the concept of the living dead vanishes. One man has seven bullet holes in his chest, yet stumbles and gropes at you all the same. There’s a woman whose lower jaw is missing; completely ripped off. Her tongue lolls out of her exposed throat, like a dog on a hot day. Each walking corpse has injuries that don’t bleed and skin so pale, it could glow.

  “Ready yourself! Strike and move, just like practice. This is no different.”

  The sword sings out with a metallic shing! as you unsheathe the blade. It glimmers in the early light, ready to serve your will. In movements so practiced they’re nearly unconscious, you rush forward and bring the sword down on lucky Mr. Seven’s forehead, splitting it open like a melon. The sword may be a family heirloom, but if was crafted by a master and kept battle-ready by Hanzo.

  It’s a shock to the system how easy it was to dispatch a human man. You stare at the corpse as his bifurcated brain pools out onto the pavement; no longer living in any sense of the word. Only when your students scream does your attention return to the present.

  They shout, just like you taught them, to enliven their spirit when they attack. With small, controlled steps, they engage the remaining ghouls. Striking, parrying, and evading the groping hands, they make your own spirit soar. Moving in concert with their rhythms, you dispatch the walking corpses in turn as the students batter them away with the wooden shinai.

  In only a few short moments, the battle is won.

  “I couldn’t be more proud,” you say, wiping your blade clean before sliding it into the scabbard.

  Nathanael, Haley, and Nolan grin, unafraid.

  “What now, sensei?” Nolan asks.

  • “I’m going to take you home, youngest to oldest.”

  • “I’m going to take you home, based on who lives closest.”

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Pill Popping

  “C’mon, let’s snag some antibiotics or something,” you say.

  A woman in scrubs runs past you, down the other hall. Her latex gloves are coated in gore, along with the front of her scrubs, surgical mask, and plastic operating glasses.

  “I need to get me one of those masks,” Jason remarks.

  Would be nice if you’d brought your paintball mask, wouldn’t it? You round the corner to the Pharmacy waiting room, where you’re met by a violent display in-progress. A scraggly blond man throws a chair at the customer window, but it bounces off the security glass.

  “Open the goddamned doors!” the man screams, now brandishing a nickel-plated hand cannon.

  A woman cowers behind him with greasy, matted brown hair and grungy clothing. She holds her hands over her elbows, hugging herself, and sways back and forth.

  “Junkies?” Jason whispers.

  The blond man reels on you, waving his pistol wildly. “You fucking cops?”

  Jason looks to you, fear deep on his face. This guy really must be strung out if he thinks a couple of kids are cops. What now?

  • Explain that, no, you’re not cops. In fact, you want to help him break into the pharmacy.

  • Engage. He clearly has no idea what he’s doing with that piece, and that makes him a liability.

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Pray for Mercy

  You slip down to the floor, pull out the kneeling bench, and slide under the next pew. You’re almost completely hidden by the profile of the narrow bench. Sometimes it pays to be skinny.

  While violence erupts all around, you stay as still as you can, hands up over your face to muffle your adrenaline-fueled heavy breathing, as well as to stop the smell from reaching you.

  Viscera slaps against the linoleum floor. Bright red human innards and dark brown excrement. The piss of a hundred terrified prisoners runs down their legs and onto the floor. You close your eyes, not wanting to see, but you can still hear the terrible screams. The anguish and pain. You were caught up in a prison riot once, but that was anger that deafened your ears back then. Now it’s pure terror.

  Then you hear an inhuman growl and feel someone claw against your flesh. Your eyes shoot open and you see a dead man, a living corpse with his throat ripped open and one eye gouged out. The vocal chords in his ruined throat still sing out, and you can see them, sticky and wet.

  Then the man bites into you.

  You’re INFECTED!

  Pray Tell

  The main sanctuary is dimly lit, with the overhead lights turned down low enough to highlight the stained-glass window murals and the glow of candles on the altar. Probably should blow those out while there’s still power, you think. Might need them later.

  As your eyes adjust, you realize there are upwards of thirty people gathered here. There’s a low murmur of prayer, Hail Marys, and those speaking quietly to one another. At least half the congregation wears blood-spattered clothing or makeshift bandages.

  “I think we might have had better luck at the hospital,” Jason says.

  “No,” a meek voice offers from behind.

  You turn to see a blonde woman in her fifties. She’s well-dressed in white pants and a floral blouse, bedazzled in gold jewelry. After a second look, you notice the material is blood-flecked. Her face is painted in makeup by a practiced hand; it’s beautiful, really, and you feel a twinge of jealousy. It’s stupid, you know, but it makes you realize you’ll never have to worry about finding a date for the prom.

  “I’m Angelica. I think I’ve seen you two in here a few times. Normally I’d say you shouldn’t have those…things…in here,” she says, indicating your weapons, “but this isn’t normally, is it?”

  “Have you been to the hospital, Ms. Angelica?” you ask.

  She clutches at her rosary crucifix. “Prayer is all that can save us. Modern medicine is failing all around us, but here, here we have hope in our Lord.”

  “Yeah, well, you can hope in one hand and shit in the other—see which one holds more.”

  “Jason!” you scold.

  Your brother shrugs. “Let’s check on Dad.”

  • “She’s right, Jay. We need hope, now more than ever. Let’s see how Dad’s holding up.”

  • “I want to check out the donated supplies in the annex before we go.”

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Predatory

  The gate leading to the base is usually manned by two or three Security Forces cops, but they’re nowhe
re to be seen. Either abandoned their post or dead. Not sure which is worse, you think.

  The gate itself is destroyed. The onrush of people seeking safety on the base left the ID-check lanes clogged by smashed cars and trucks. Can’t take your Camry with you, so it’s time to chug as much water as you can before abandoning ship.

  With Bob on your back, Isabelle at your side, and your M4 (let’s call him Mitch, as long as we’re naming gear) in your hands, you head out into town on foot. Might as well name the revolver you’ve got holstered too. She seems like a Deb. Where should you take your little family?

  The businesses right outside the base are the kind you always cautioned young Airmen to avoid. The kind looking for a quick score from eighteen-year-olds flush with their first big payday. Now, these stores might be your best hope for safety. Is that irony? It seems like irony, you think.

  It’s already dark out and getting darker fast. Suddenly you’re hit with a chill, and a wave of fear washes over you. As you look for the source, you see the street lights shut down block-by-block. All the lights in the surrounding buildings go dark in a rolling blackout. Last to go are the neon signs, which flicker, and finally die.

  Thinking quickly, you duct-tape a flashlight to Mitch’s barrel. Duct-tape was the first thing you put in Bob, so it takes a minute to dig it out. In that minute, an undead trio stumbles onto your path, and you finish wrapping the flashlight as fast as you can. With only seconds to spare, you put the three of them down. Eleven shots left inside Mitch. Time to get inside for the night.

  Where to?

  • The tattoo parlor. With its tough-guy design scheme, nobody will mess with me in there.

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

  • 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.

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Preparing for Life

  “Hooah,” he says, then peels back his collar to show the Latin phrase tattooed around his collarbones. “Haven’t heard much from the King since they took the compound. Got any news?”

  “You mean the Duke?”

  “Shit, you really were there! No offense, but I didn’t see him letting bedmates out to drive his wheels.”

  “I’d have been his Duchess…if things went right. I’m sad to report that the compound has been overrun.”

  “Damn. Nothing left?”

  “Anyone still there is sick, I can promise you that. In fact…if you can call in an airstrike, that’d be a mercy.”

  “You’re here to initiate Plan X-ray?”

  “Ummm…?”

  “Sorry, you probably weren’t told the codename. In the event of a total loss, Duke set it up that the compound would be firebombed.”

  “Yes. That’s exactly why I’m here. Call it in.”

  The soldier nods solemnly. “We’re evacuating from the hospital. Turn right and follow the soldiers. I’ll see that you get a seat on one of the birds.”

  You nod, then turn, rolling up your window as you go.

  “That was some quick thinking,” Angelica says.

  You shrug. “I work at an auto shop. I’m used to bullshitting the customers.”

  The road is narrow from all the barricades; wide enough to drive down, but not enough to turn around. One way only—ahead. You’re funneled down the street and eventually come to St Mary’s Hospital.

  But when you pull up, you’re greeted with a full-scale battle. Men stand atop military-grade Humvees, firing massive machine guns. One guy tosses a grenade into a crowd of undead, and after the deafening explosion, none are left walking. Now they’re crawling. The damage is disgusting, but still they come.

  And there are a lot of them. It’s like the whole city is converging here. You’ve never seen so many people in one place, even on television. Still, there’s some hope. You see a military helicopter in the sky and another one that has landed on the rooftop. Time to take your bludgeoning weapons from the back and go. Where to?

  • Stay here. Use the soldiers for cover and await extraction.

  • Head in. There must be someone inside who can fly you out in that chopper.

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Present Reality

  “I was just out here,” you say, “And—”

  But words fail you when you see the homeless guy wearing a doctor’s white robe and surgical scrubs. You can tell he’s not a real doctor because of the filth on the clothes and the scraggly red beard that hangs down to his chest.

  Wait, no, that’s not a beard. His face is skinned, peeled and sagging—which gives it the shape of a red, fleshy beard. The homeless/doctor/thing gurgles a growling moan, then stumbles towards you. As a crowd, you back away, but there’s something fascinating about the way he moves. And doesn’t bleed.

  A gunshot roars through the silent moment, taking the thing by the shoulder, but that doesn’t even bother the fiend. Another round bursts through his chest, but still, nothing. Then his head explodes into pulp and the man falls to the ground, still.

  “Get the fuck back inside!” a man’s voice roars.

  It’s a SWAT van with a sniper on the roof. He smacks the side of the van and the black behemoth peels out and speeds away.

  “Has the whole world gone loco?” Stephen asks.

  “We need to know how big this thing is,” Owen says.

  With a knowing nod, the group follows the manager inside to the lobby TV. After adjusting the input from DVD to cable, he flips on the TV. Alison Argyle, oddly calm, reads from the teleprompter, “In an ironic twist, it seems many of those killed are users of the new longevity wonder drug Gilgazyme®. It’s still unknown if there is a connection between the drug and the homicide sweep hitting major urban centers across the country. No spokesperson for the creators of Gilgazyme® has agreed to comment as of this broadcast…”

  The television is suddenly taken into local control and your community Sheriff appears on the screen.

  “The Governor has declared a state of emergency,” the Sheriff announces. “But we are as of yet unprepared for any sort of mass evacuation. We’re working as hard as we can to set up aid stations and sanctuaries. In the meantime, work with friends and neighbors. Find a group. Nobody can beat this thing alone. And…we need all the help we can get.”

  The image switches to a stationary, soundless Please Stand By message. There you have it. You’re on your own, but so is everyone else.

  The room is silent, each man taking the news at his own pace. You know enough to realize that action is required in a crisis. After a moment, you clear your throat and say, “It’ll pass. We just need to…

  • …Get supplies. Split up and meet back here.”

  • …Head home; wait this thing out with family.”

  • …Lock the garage down tight. Right here, right now.”

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Price for Flight

  The cruiser comes to life with a satisfactory growl. You put the car in gear and drive out of the motorpool, turning towards the front gates. Shit! The gates. Usually, someone manually opens those things so vehicles can pass through the inner and outer fences going to and from the motorpool. In your rear-view mirror, you see the guards from the armory heading your way. They set up and take aim. Damn!

  Looks like you’re going to have to ram the gates. You floor the gas pedal and briefly fishtail as you peel out and accelerate towards freedom. The guards open fire and you duck down, keeping your eyes just above the gap in the steering wheel.

  In about six seconds, you’re already up to sixty mph by the time you reach the first fence. The cruiser smashes through the metal with ease, but the airbags deploy, punching you in the face. In reflex, you wrench the steering wheel and flip the car.

  * * *

  When you come to, you’re back in the SHU. You’re wearing a
neck brace, and everything hurts. You groan as you try to sit up. Really, you should probably be in the infirmary. The fact that you’re not is bad news for the prison, and worse news for you.

  You can’t be sure what happens out there, but you can guess. No one comes back for you, not even at mealtimes. It’s an agonizing four days before you finally expire from lack of water.

  THE END

  Pride before the Fall

  You turn and sprint away, knowing full well that you don’t need to be the fastest, you just don’t want to be the slowest. Tyberius outpaces you easily and Hefty is right on your heels, but Jose and Angelica don’t have a chance.

  You look back, watching the lion close in on them, and turn away just as Jose raises his cleaver to defend himself. You can’t watch.

  When you turn your attention forward, four lionesses charge in from the sides. One takes out Tyberius while two more go for Hefty and one for you. Perhaps if you had read the signs at the zoo, you’d know that the females do the primary hunting. And they just brought your group down together.

  THE END

  Prison Break

  The industrial-strength file chews up the bars and spits out curled iron shavings, decorating the cell floor like a Greek god’s bathroom after some mighty manscaping. Celly leans into the task, adding his weight to the force against the bar.

  When he offers the file to you for a turn, the rod is hot from friction. Looking closely, you see that the textured edge of the file has grown dull from the labor. Doesn’t matter, you really only need one bar, and without any guards to stop you, you’ll have one pried off in only half an hour. After his second turn, Celly yanks the bar back and forth, breaking the last bits through brute strength.