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

by James Schannep

  “Worthless piece of shit,” you say, tossing the rifle.

  “They don’t sleep,” Tyberius says.

  “I got that, thanks,” you say. Then, to Angelica, “Try your Taser on the next one.”

  “Won’t work,” Hefty says.

  But Angelica nods, and it doesn’t take long to find a suitable candidate. She fires, ironically, on one of the zoo’s security staffers. The undead man seizes for an instant, but the shock isn’t continuous and he continues unaffected.

  Angelica drops the Taser and Jose finishes it off with his cleaver.

  “Tried to warn ya,” Hefty says. “Non-lethals don’t work. Gotta brain ’em.”

  “Just tell me now. Are you gonna be a problem? I can’t have my people second-guessing me.”

  The thin guy shakes his head and says, “We in this together. The living, that is. What, you wanna get eaten?”

  “Is that an offer?” you say, eyebrow raised. Attempting to disarm them.

  Thin guy flushes, and the big guy laughs. Gives you a handsome smile and says, “Listen, we’re all a little hungry. It’s okay with you if we get some lunch, huh?”

  • “Fine, but don’t think that makes us together.”

  • “Sure, you go your way, we’ll go ours.”

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Retail Therapy

  The road is clogged by wrecks and traffic, but you’ve spent more than enough Friday nights at the mall to find a detour using the Jeep’s 4x4. The parking lot is overflowing and gunfire peppers the night air. Looting is in full force.

  “What are we doing here again?” Jason asks. “We have food and water at home. Ammo too. What else do we need?”

  “Let’s assume you’re about to be stuck at home for months on end, what would you grab?”

  Jason shrugs. “Videogames?”

  “Let’s assume no power.”

  “Boardgames?”

  “Jay, we just won a shopping spree! Remember that bomber jacket Dad said we couldn’t afford? It’s on a 100% off sale! This is your last night out. Ice cream? C’mon, I’m buying whatever you want.”

  Now he’s on board and you rush inside. There are whole armies of looters waging territorial gang wars but as a pair of small kids, you’re not even a blip on the radar. It probably doesn’t hurt that you’re better armed to boot. Staying unseen as best you can, you go for essentials: Top-shelf perfume for a future without regular showers, boxes and boxes of tampons for—

  “Ah, we can use those as bandages, right? Good idea, let’s stock up,” Jason says.

  You nod, trying not to blush.

  Jason gets his bomber jacket and a pair of mirrored aviator sunglasses. Next, you swing by the shoe store together, looking for the newest, most expensive styles. That’s when things get really chaotic.

  Zulu are in the mall, you realize. Several men hold down a dead, pale-skinned woman and pull off her necklace and rings while she snaps her jaws in frustrated hunger. Another man uses a sledgehammer to bash away an attacker, whom he sends crashing through a Tipi cultural display.

  Several wandering corpses seem to be fighting a biker gang, but instead of taking it seriously, the bikers spray the dead with soda water. Then they start throwing pies into the faces of the ravenous Zulu like it’s all some joke.

  “That has got to be the dumbest thing I have ever seen,” Jason says.

  In truth, it makes you feel kind of bad for the infected. They may be Zulu, but isn’t this a little disrespectful of the dead? These were people, once upon a time.

  • “I gotta put these Zulu down. Watch my six.”

  • “Let’s get out of here before these morons get everyone killed.”

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Riveting

  You shake with fried nerves while your vision grays and narrows. Instantly sweaty, cold and clammy, with light-headed nausea and chest pains. It’s hard to breathe. Blood is everywhere, and you don’t even remember the last few minutes. You’re suffering from shock, you know from your lifeguard course.

  Closing the door to the office, you slump against it. You want to sob, to let it all out, but something feels dead inside of you. And why not? Dad is dead, Jason is dead…Sarah is dead? It would be so much easier if that were true. If you could be together, as a family. With mom even. With mom.

  You think to what Jason said, about mom and dad living on. And now Jason too. Then you think about dad in the living room, pointing at the World War II pictures. Rosie the Riveter. We can do it!

  Maybe…maybe they’re all dead. Maybe Sarah died with them. But if you act like Rosie, become Rosie—tough and strong and motivated—maybe they’ll all live on inside of you.

  “We can do it!” you say aloud.

  We. Mom, Dad, Jason, Sarah. Together, all your best qualities combined into Rosie.

  Rolling up your metaphorical sleeve, you stand up, wipe your tears away, and scan the office for anything useful. A flashing light on the radio control panel catches your eye, so you start there. When you flick it on a deep, gravelly voice comes through. He’s saying, “—it won’t be our last, God willing. Any and all survivors are—”

  “Hello? Hello???” you say, clutching the CB-style transmitter and depressing the talk switch. You’re desperate not to be left alone, with just bodies and bad memories.

  “—smission-only message, we are not currently capable of two-way communication,” the voice continues when you release the switch. So it’s only a recording? You slowly lower the radio mic, but listen, hopeful the message will repeat itself or that someone might respond. The radio crackles.

  “If anyone is out there, know that you’re not alone. This is Colonel Arthur Gray of the civilian camp, Salvation, broadcasting in the blind. We have food and shelter and weapons. This may be humanity’s greatest threat, but it won’t be our last, God willing. Any and all survivors are welcome to join us at the old reformatory off Route 14. I repeat, this is a transmission-only message, we are not currently capable of two-way communication.”

  Salvation. Your heart flutters. A civilian outfit, but paramilitary run—by a Colonel, no less! Hot damn! Heading back out away from the gore, you take a more detailed terrain map from the office. Good news: the reformatory is on your map. Bad news: it’s not close; a couple weeks’ hike, at least. You’d have to essentially skirt the whole town. Maybe a month in the woods.

  But you’ll have Dad’s skills, Jason’s sense of humor, Mom’s compassion, and Sarah’s grit. You’ll survive, help anyone you can, but shoot anyone who’s bit. And if you have to help someone who’s bit, you’ll take a part of them with you. That’s how it works now. Why?

  Because we can do it!

  Click to Continue…

  Roadside Rest in Peace

  Though the dead are slow, they are persistent. And just like you, they appear to have no choice but to congregate. On the way here, you saw one of the dead shuffling with a terribly mangled leg. Knowing she couldn’t possibly catch up, you let her be. Big mistake.

  The moaning when they see the living—that’s what calls in others. So now you know. You can’t let a single be. You have to kill them all, or more will come, and the ones they call will call in more, until it snowballs out of control.

  Which is why you scan for the dead while waiting for Tyberius to finish his pit stop. The block doesn’t look like much. There’s a pawnshop where a man sitting in the window lies dead, shot. There are plenty of twice-dead ghouls on the ground too. Lots of bullet casings. Ty focuses on a hardware store where the entrance is caved in like it was shot by a tank. It’s possible; the rest of the building is coated with huge gunshot pockmarks that must’ve been caused by something military-grade.

  “A man and woman was here,” he says. “Across the street at the karate place—a full class of kids was hiding too.”

  You look over to the dojo he points out, but there are no signs of people anywhere.

  “Whole National Guard barricade here but now…so many people—do you thi
nk they made it out?”

  You don’t say anything, and Angelica simply looks away. Jose continues to wait patiently, but Hefty tries to comfort his friend.

  “Sure, man. Some of ’em, anyway. They had to, right? Mathematically….”

  Tyberius nods, but doesn’t look convinced.

  “We ready to go?” you ask.

  He simply turns and starts walking.

  • Head to the amusement park.

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Runner

  While waiting for Josh to go get lunch, you get to work on another car. Annnnnnd finish the job. What the hell is taking him so long? Might as well park it and bring the next one in.

  Except the lot out back is full; no spaces to park the car. Frustrated, you open the side gate so you can drive around and park the car in the front lot. When was the last time the back lot filled up? You can’t remember it ever happening, but it makes sense if phones are down and you can’t tell anyone their ride is ready for pick-up.

  After parking, you get out just as a young man comes sprinting up. He’s probably a recent high-school grad, or rather, a dropout, from the looks of it. He’s got all the tell-tale signs of a meth-head. Wild eyes, disheveled greasy hair, and blood spotting his torn t-shirt.

  “Gimme a ride, lady!” he shouts.

  “No,” you say, in as low a register as your voice will allow.

  “C’mon, please—”

  “Step off, junkie, before I have to hurt you,” you growl. He just stares, more bewildered than anything, then looks over his shoulder. “Kid, I don’t want to have to call the cops.”

  He laughs like someone who can’t believe their ears and continues running. You watch until he turns the corner, then walk back through the side gate, closing it before heading into the garage.

  “Is lunch here yet?” Craig asks.

  Ignoring the question, you say to the group, “Everybody take a minute to call all your completed jobs. Try your cells.”

  “Mine stopped working a while ago,” Stephen says.

  Craig pulls out his cellphone, taps the screen a few times, then holds it up. Several tones go off, then a pre-recorded message says, “We’re sorry, all circuits are busy now. Please try your call again later.”

  “The hell?” Brian says.

  When you look up, you see Josh in the lobby, heaving for breath, hands on his knees. Owen pats him on the shoulder. Without a word, the four of you in the garage rush over to join them.

  “Just calm down,” Owen says.

  “They’re fucking eating each other!” Josh screams, more manic than you’ve ever seen the man. He stumbles, then slumps onto the couch.

  “Get him some water!” Owen shouts.

  “They…shot…guy was…crazy…” Josh wheezes, completely out of breath. The guy’s a chain smoker, and probably hasn’t run in years, but something has him spooked.

  • The TV. Check the news. See what’s going on out there.

  • Go outside, see for yourself what he’s running from.

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Rush Hour

  Sobbing, throat tied in a knot; you focus on driving as best you can. 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.

  It’s fully dark out now, and there’s no sign of the police officers. You look into the rear-view mirror to see if they’re behind you, shocked when you catch sight of yourself: Face almost as red as your hair, and streaked from sobbing. The Jeep’s headlights suddenly glint off something on the road, then everything becomes a blur as the Jeep flips.

  You finally open your eyes, looking at the world from an inverted angle. You can’t be sure how many times the Jeep rolled, but it ended with the roll-bars against the pavement. Several figures wander the road ahead and a low, breathy moan is terribly amplified by the tunnel to the rear. A whole chorus of the damned.

  You reach for your rifle—just beyond your grasp. The first figure to come clear in the headlights is a man in a business suit, his necktie pulled so tight that his eyes literally bulge from his head. The white oxford shirt he wears is smattered in gore up to his nose.

  More follow. Mothers, fathers, children. Truck drivers, cops, commuters. They all come for you.

  THE END

  The Sandman’s Daughter

  You end up sleeping in a cemetery. The infected aren’t dead bodies rising from the grave, they’re living souls turned into undead fiends. Which means there shouldn’t be much in the way of Zulu here. Plus, the wrought-iron fencing should keep you safe for the night. Jason takes first watch and you fall fast asleep.

  In the dream, you’re standing amidst a sea of uniform white crosses marking the graves of all those who served this country and paid the ultimate price. Despite the lack of inscriptions, you know the gravestone before you is Dad’s. Jason lies nearby, curled in the fetal position, weeping.

  All at once, the crosses start sinking into the earth, just like quicksand, all save your father’s. Jason sinks into the ground and you go to save him, but Dad climbs out of the earth, the green grass oozing away like swamp water.

  “Let’s be together, Sport. Forever.” He grabs you and brings you down into the muck.

  You scream out, and just like that, you’re awake. With a Zulu right on top of you.

  The undead construction worker holds you down, chewing on your right forearm. With incredible pain, you can actually hear the ghoul’s teeth crack and crunch against your bones.

  Jason shoots awake at the sound of your screams, then, with a deafening KABOOM! he blasts the man point-blank in the face with his shotgun. You push the corpse off and feel your forearm for the bite. Miraculously, the Kevlar sleeves kept his teeth at bay. You’ll have bruises from the pressure, but that’s it. Didn’t break the skin.

  “Asshole!” you cry.

  “I fell asleep…”

  “You get tired, you wake me up, understand?”

  “I’m sorry—”

  “No! No goddamn apologies, Jay. When you’re on watch, you’re on watch. It just doesn’t happen again, got it?”

  Your brother nods, his eyes welling with equal parts terror and tears. You want to comfort him, but you swallow the words. He has to learn. After a beat, you say, “I bet that guy followed us from the tunnel. Must’ve missed him, somehow, but that means this place ain’t secure. We gotta keep moving. There’s prolly more, definitely on their way after that shotgun blast.”

  Jason doesn’t reply. Instead, he hands you the map and compass. You unfold the map, take note of the tunnel, and see what’s nearby. The map gets a little “fuzzy” outside of town; that is to say, everything surrounding civilization is marked by a unified green blotch.

  • Into the woods. We can find supplies and a more detailed terrain map at a Ranger Station—Helpful, knowledgeable, friendly!

  • Stay close to home. Your shooting range isn’t far off, and it’s better to stick close than to head off into unfamiliar territory.

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Scooter

  You grab an umbrella from the patio furniture display and take it like a lance, jousting your way through the crowd. Aiming for the guy who pointed you out, you charge towards the door. Why you? your head swims. Who are these guys?

  The man goes for his handgun and you slide the action on the umbrella, sending the canvas open and locking the umbrella in the open position. A gunshot cracks and a hole appears in the umbrella tarp, the bullet missing you by inches.

  The tip is padded to avoid children accidentally skewering each other, so you don’t damage the guy when you smash into him, but you do manage to knock him into the lawn chair display and splay him out on the floor.

  Then you make it outside. Your motorcycle is right where you left it, and you turn the key and shift into first gear. That’s when the gunshots fire in earnest. Several hit you in the torso, k
nocking you off the bike.

  “Goddammit!” the leader shouts. “I wanted her for breeding stock!”

  With any luck, you’ll bleed out. If not, the rest of your life won’t be pleasant.

  THE END

  Screwed

  The inside of the club is exactly how you pictured it. Horseshoe stage set before pleather seats; dark and seedy. You share dinner with the strippers while telling about your recent mission—leaving out the bit about the US being at fault for the plague that’s tearing the world apart and eating it. The women listen with rapt attention, clearly impressed by your heroics.

  After dinner, they lead you to a back room with a VIP tag on the door. Inside, there’s an honest-to-goodness rotating bed. And a bottle of champagne on ice.

  “Is this…?” you ask.

  The women disrobe without a word, then move to help you with your clothes. Let’s be honest, Sims, you’re a red-blooded, weak-willed, American male. You could die tomorrow, why not live tonight?

  * * *

  After the best night of your life, you awaken with a growling stomach and a full bladder. Stretching, you get up for a racehorse of a piss and find you’re alone. The place is empty, and the women are gone.

  With a note of panic, you check your gear. Both firearms are gone, along with the rest of your food and water. They left your mostly-empty pack, your gas-mask, and your knife, Isabelle.

  Those bitches, they took your stuff and just left you here. You feel so…used. Then you shrug.

  “Totally worth it,” you say, chuckling to yourself.

  Well, no food, no water. Can’t stay here.

  • Time to go scavenge.

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Security

  “Guy can’t take a fuckin’ hint,” Brian says.