“Listen, Cooper, you seem…nice, but I’m not one to take orders from random strangers, so….”
You sigh and say, “I was trying to be civil. Truth is, I think you could be useful, Sims. I really do, but I don’t take chances. I protect my friends and my friends protect me, but if we’re going to travel together, I need to know I can trust that you’ll do what I say.”
After having shaken his hand, you’re able to pick out which shoulder is the one giving him trouble. Now you grab that arm and twist.
Sims screams out in pain, but no one moves to help him. You bring him down to the ground by the arm, and he’s all too willing to follow your lead when it comes to this.
“So what’s it going to be, cuntfuck? Are we going to be friends or not?”
“YES!!!” he screams.
“And what I say goes?”
“Yes, yes! Goddammit, yes!”
After that, Sims is like putty in your hands. And the others get a reminder not to fuck with you. When you turn back, Jose is smiling.
* * *
Sims got the power back to the hotel in less time than it took for Jose to make a gourmet meal for the group. Just like at the zoo, most of the food was rotten due to a lack in refrigeration, but there were still some nonperishables and the man proves a miracle worker with rice and beans. You’re bringing people together, Kay. It’s really working. Now you just need to set up the park for the long term.
Which is why you’re sitting at the breakfast table the next morning plotting out that very idea. “Hefty, you mentioned supplies. Most everything here has expired. What are our other options?”
“We got tunnels. That’s how we use’ta get around when I worked here. Miles of tunnels, connecting ride’ta ride, shop’ta shop.”
“Underground access tunnels?” Sims asks.
“Oh damn,” Tyberius says, brightening. “That’s where they store food and shit, right?”
“Bingo,” Hefty says, “shooting” the man with gun-fingers.
“Sounds like a plan,” you say.
Hefty leads the way to the nearest subterranean tunnel entrance—a set of large-double doors at the base of the gigantic Ferris wheel. Tyberius and Jose tug at the doors, but they’re locked. There’s a keypad next to the doors and Hefty tries his old employee code, but it’s long since expired. Sims pulls out his knife to pry open the access panel for a hot-wire, but Angelica stops him.
“Why don’t we use this?” she says, pointing to an Emergency Manual Override sign posted just above a pump handle.
“Yeah, well, even a blind squirrel is right twice a day,” Sims says with a grin.
You nod and pump the override handle. There’s a deep, bass-filled thud as the pump disengages the lock mechanism and the guys at the doors go for another try at opening the tunnels. They look like standard metal doors from the outside, but there’s obvious extra mass inside and it takes concerted effort to lug the heavy doors open.
“Shoulda remembered the override,” Hefty says. “Tunnels were the emergency evacuation route after all.”
“Wait, what?” you say, with a sinking feeling.
Tyberius looks your way, then you see it on his face too. In unison, you shout, “DON’T!!!” but it’s too late.
The groaning doors give way to a massive cacophony of moans. That’s why this park was so empty! The tunnel doors were too thick for the noise to escape (or for the undead to escape, for that matter), but as the first undead stumble out of the darkness, you know you’re in trouble.
Tyberius and Jose hold tight to the doors, trying desperately to stop their massive momentum and push them closed, but there’s no time. Even if they do manage to reverse the swing, there are thousands of those things now pushing back.
In fact, tens of thousands of zombies now pour out from the tunnels. An entire day’s worth of tourists and families, park workers, plus anyone they called to join them at their subterranean sanctuary. After a week underground, every last man, woman, and child is an infected, ravenous monstrosity.
And they’re all headed your way.
The horde flows out from beneath the Ferris wheel, sending your group reeling back from snapping jaws and groping hands. The healthier, fresher corpses stumble-run after you, and you’re forced to run in the opposite direction from which you came. The other survivors flee for their lives and you desperately look for an escape route.
Bad news: the park layout and frenetic fiends at your heels leave no choice but two terrible escape routes. Split-second decision, where to?
• The gigantic maze. The ghouls lack critical thinking, and I’ll quickly lose them in the steel bramble.
• The haunted fun-house up ahead. Ghouls with LED eyes don’t scare me nearly so much as flesh-and-blood undead.
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Vestigial Law
By the time you make it back to the scene of the limo accident, an ambulance has arrived. In addition to a pair of paramedics, there are also two armed security personnel. Not exactly police; perhaps security from the hospital. Do ambulances normally travel with armed guards?
The paramedics are treating the limo driver, who’s laid out on a stretcher. He’s anemic, and crimson radiates from a wound on his neck. Something black lies under the skin, as if the veins have been filled with ink.
“I want Tasers on full charge,” one of the paramedics says to the guards.
The paramedics move to the back of the limo, open the doors and reach in to pull out a young woman. Or at least what’s left of her. It looks like she’s had her skin burned away by acid. Or eaten.
Then someone from inside the limo grabs one of the paramedics and pulls him in. A woman shrieks from inside the vehicle, or maybe that’s the paramedic. Hard to tell, especially once the scream switches to blood-gurgling. The paramedic’s hands cling to the door frame.
One of the guards pulls out his handgun and points it at the limo.
The second paramedic rushes in to grab his co-worker’s hands. The other guard hurries in with his Taser and starts shocking something inside.
“Work her back!” the guard cries.
“Shoot her!” the second paramedic screams. “Shooooot her!”
But the guard with the handgun is gorgonized by fear.
• Do it yourself. Rush in, take the handgun.
• Something is seriously wrong. Get back to the garage and warn your co-workers.
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Vigilant Vigilante
Taking the handgun from the shell-shocked guard is easy; he’s all too happy to be free from the responsibility of the weapon. You aim at the limo, looking for the source of the attack. The fiendish woman continues attacking the paramedic until he breathes his last. Then, once his heart has stopped squirting blood all over the other men, the young woman is done with him.
The others stumble back as she stumbles out at them. She has wild, manic eyes and a tongue that waggles out of her chipped-tooth grin.
“Miley…Cyrus?” you say, baffled at seeing the celebrity in this state.
As if in recognition, she turns towards you. But you’re not looking for an autograph. You pull the trigger and a third eye blooms on her forehead, all life leaving from the other two eyes. She falls on the ground in a heap, and you turn to give the handgun back to the guard. A few people have cell phones raised, capturing video. Good thing they don’t have any service, otherwise you’d be a YouTube star.
“You’re all welcome,” you say.
• Head back to the garage.
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Visitation Rights
It’s pitch-black out, which is a strange feeling, because you’ve never been outside of your cell after dark. Still, the lights of the cell block shine brightly, so you can orient yourself. The searchlights from the guard towers sweep across the prison grounds.
Avoiding the lights, you hurry past the cell block, duck behind the chapel, then continue towards the administration complex. You’ll have to go through the h
ospital in order to make it to the visitor entrance.
A hungry moan draws your attention from the base of the hospital where a skinhead corpse, missing its lower half, claws towards you. What’s worse, his moaning draws in more of the fiends.
As more of the racist zombies drop from the hospital windows, it occurs to you that this might not be a bad thing. If you can pull more away, it’ll make passing through that much easier.
• Make a ruckus, and draw more of the nutters out into the open.
• Stay quiet. Old legless is doing enough on his own. Hurry into the infirmary.
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Voicing Concerns
The next morning you spend alone, meditating, steeling yourself for possible confrontation. Finally, a few soldiers show up to deliver breakfast. Captain Delozier is not amongst them.
“Good morning. May I inquire on the whereabouts of Captain Delozier?”
The soldier you ask makes a huff that fogs up his gasmask, and you’re unable to tell if it’s a laugh of impertinence at your expense or at the thought of his superior.
“I’m sure he’s doing something important,” a second soldier replies.
“Will you radio him, please? I have some concerns I’d like to bring up.”
They say they will, then continue on their route. While you’re waiting, you tell the children to eat. No sense in having them worry, much less eat cold food. At length, Captain Delozier arrives.
“Mr. Miagi, what can I do you for?” he asks.
Ignoring the jibe, you go straight into it. “I would like to know about my students, the young Salvator and the boy Christian you took last night. The health of their parents, too.”
“Listen, they’re fine. They’ll continue to be fine for as long as I’m posted here, okay? Don’t bother me again with this kind of minutia. Anything, you know, important?”
“I’d…I’d like to come visit the children, I think.”
The captain sighs, and his intonation grows impatient as he says, “I get that you’re concerned, but that really isn’t feasible. You’ll have to trust me on this one. I mean, this is why I’m here, get me? The safety of the public is my number one concern.”
“I’m afraid I must insist, sir. Only a short visit.”
“Are you deaf? Or just willfully ignorant? Don’t forget that I’m allowing you to stay here as a favor, but I can’t have you as a thorn in my side. You’re interrupting operations with this nonsense.”
His voice gets louder and harsher with each word. The children have stopped eating, instead focused on the conversation. Master Hanzo suddenly appears beside you and says, “Please sir, continue on your business. I will talk with my friend here.”
Delozier shakes his head. “Get it together, okay? Same team.” Then he’s gone.
“Master Hanzo…” you say.
“Quiet. You are too young to remember, but the last time the government thought our people were a threat, they put us into camps. Right here, they took us from our homes. And the ones who didn’t go along quietly? The ones who caused trouble? We never saw them again. You’ll say it’s different now, but remember, the son of a frog is also a frog. If you push these men, if they see you as a troublemaker, it will end poorly. And not just for you. Think of your pupils. Now, sit, eat.”
You eat in silence, avoiding the glances of those around you, and try to think about the words of Master Hanzo. It’s true, they could have easily forced you into their quarantine tents. How far can you push them? But, by the same token, how far should you let them push you?
At length, Master Hanzo rises and excuses himself. “Local news begins soon,” he says. “Time to monitor the radio.”
“Can we listen?” Haley asks.
“Hmmm,” you intone, thinking, Is it better to shelter the students from the state of the world, or is knowledge power, in this case?
• “Yes, we should all listen. Strong body, strong mind. It is all one. To be able to defend ourselves, we must be fully aware of the surrounding world.”
• “No. Grandfather Hanzo will tell us if there is an important announcement. It’s time for class. Consider yourself lucky—you will all be ready to test for your next kyu-rank after a few days stuck in here!”
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Voyeur
You watch, hovering close against the peephole. The man’s pounding and hollering continues, and you flinch with each baritone thud against the door. Then you see what he was running from. Another man, crazed and hungry, tackles him right against the frame. For a moment, the peephole goes black. When light once again shines through, it’s against a wet, red filter.
The crazed man is biting the other man.
You step away, hands clasped tight against your mouth, speaking only with the horrified look on your face. Your brother and father know what’s happening too; they can hear it through the door. The guy shrieks in horror, wrestling for his life.
“Things are worse than they’re telling us on the news,” Jason says.
“Put the bastard down—open the door and shoot the attacker,” your father says, his words making your hair stand on end.
“Wh-what?” you protest.
“I need to see you do it, Sport.”
“But he’s unarmed…”
“So? He’s killing the other dude—just listen!” Jason says.
Your father nods.
• Pick up your rifle. Guy doesn’t deserve to be a ghoul-scout cookie.
• Refuse. That’s murder! I can’t just shoot the guy….
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Vultures
His eyes narrow and he says, “Sweet ride. Where’d you find it?”
“Abandoned. Only had a flat, so I guess somebody left in a hurry. I can swap out a spare pretty quick, though,” you say, tugging at your mechanic’s shirt for emphasis.
He steps back, looks to the rear of the car, then says, “Spare’s still on the back.”
“Uhhh, yeah, I got another one from my garage. Can’t be too careful these days.”
“No, ma’am, you cannot. I’m going to divert you to a FEMA camp we have set up nearby. Great place to ride out the storm. Turn left here and follow the line of soldiers.”
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 a fence. A huge forklift pulls up behind you. It’s holding a concrete barrier on the lift.
A pair of soldiers open the fence ahead, and you see a large open area full of people. You pull forward, but realize quickly that something is off.
“Cooper…” Angelica says, realizing the same.
The way they move, it’s almost a shuffling. Collectively, the group turns to you and moans.
“Fuck!” you shout.
Slamming on the brakes, you shift into reverse—just as the forklift slams into your bumper and pushes forward. Tires squeal, burning rubber, but the forklift is stronger. The Hummer is shoved inside and the concrete set behind you, then the forklift backs up and the fence is closed.
The dead surround the Hummer, and you’re left with no way out. But you’re not going down without a fight. You slam on the accelerator, blasting through corpses with the cattleguard. They fall before you like hell’s version of dominoes, and soon you’re no longer driving on pavement.
The 4x4 keeps the wheels spinning, sending sheets of gore out behind. Eventually, though, the hundreds of corpses prove too much and viscera gums up the engine, killing the Hummer.
Your last decision will be to die of hunger in the car, or head out into the arms of the dead for a quicker death.
THE END
Waiter
From the safety of your bunk, you watch the carnage in sil
ence. Old grudges end in shankings from people without a high school diploma who naively assume this is just another day in the slammer. Those without an axe to grind fight off the nutters, throwing punches at the undead bastards in a lethal game of bloody knuckles.
Finally, the inmates start to thin out as most of the men rush the yard outside. Those left behind are the corpses of the unfortunate and the animated corpses who feed on them.
You get up to go and the cheap mattress groans with creaky springs. Dozens of hungry eyes turn your way. For a moment, you hesitate, hoping they’ll focus back on their meals, but it looks like the nutters prefer fresh food.
Sensing that you’re on the menu, you make a break for it, but a veritable wall of undead stumbles towards you; this is a game of Red Rover for keeps. Planting your shoulder, you go for a break through the lines, but the nearest ghouls catch your baggy prison jumpsuit with gnarled fingers.
You can hear an audible snap from broken and dislocated fingers, but they don’t care. They don’t call it a death grip for nothing.
With you as the lone healthy, uninfected man in the cell block, the fiends converge on you and eat you alive.
THE END
Waiting Room
You wait patiently, but not for long. Most everyone in the tent is asleep, when the woman in the corner rises. Turned. The thick woolen blanket she wore falls off, revealing slate-gray skin and a bite wound that sits on her forearm as placidly as a butterfly on the trunk of a tree.
She scans the tent with dull, uninterested eyes, her gaze eventually coming to rest on you. Why? Because no one else is awake? You seem the most alive, perhaps? Or maybe the infected instinctively know to ignore others with a tainted bloodstream?
PATHOGENS: Who Will Survive the Zombie Apocalypse? (Click Your Poison Book 4) Page 42