Read Online INFECTED (Click Your Poison) by James Schannep - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: James Schannep
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the sword, its fine edge coated in viscera and algae.
From beneath, the man pulls up Rosie; she coughs up water and holds onto her hero with panic. Her eyes are wide and black sludge pours out of her mouth.
“Are you alright?” you ask.
She nods, coughing still. “I swallowed some swampwater, but other than that…”
“No bites?” asks the mystery man.
Rosie still has hold of her rifle, and moves it defensively between her and the man. “No bites,” she says, all business.
“That is good,” the man says. He turns to you and holds a hand out for his sword. “I am Lucas Tesshu. I head toward sanctuary on foot, would you care to accompany me?”
Rosie looks at you.
• “Absolutely! We’re headed there ourselves.”
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Defend the Homestead!
Y ou were either born with extra courage or lacking in prudence, but either way, you go to town on these zombies. They break out the boards on your living room window and you crack their skulls open as they start to crawl through. One, two, three zombies down. Your adrenaline is really pumping now.
From the moaning outside, it’s certain they’re still coming, but there’s a break in the action so you start boarding the window back up. You get two boards up when you hear a crash from your kitchen. There’re a couple of ghouls back that way. Just as you finish fixing the front window, they break the boards down in the kitchen window.
You sprint back and smash the baseball bat against them as hard as you can. It sometimes takes two or three hits, but you release their brains like hitting a piñata with your eyes open. You take out the two who tried to breach the kitchen but there isn’t time to board the windows back up because the zombies are coming in through the living room again.
Despite arms that are burning with exhaustion, you keep going strong. The stench of the undead is fearsome, and their bodies start to pile up. The alarm, the moaning, or both—prove more effective than you might have thought, and your home is soon swarming with undead.
They’re coming through the kitchen and the living room at the same time and then you hear the crash of the glass from your bedroom window. It’s too late to make it down to the basement or up to the attic, and they’ve got your house surrounded, so there’s no chance of escape.
This is it. It’s just your homerun-slugger versus the dozens of hellspawn streaming into your house. You won’t go down without a fight, and you manage to take two more to the grave before you’re overwhelmed and eaten alive. You watch in unbearable pain as your innards become outards.
They’re ravenous and don’t leave enough of you to rise again.
THE END
Deleon’s Office
M eticulously clean and spartan, this is the office of someone with an OCD-standard of cleanliness. The only object worthy of interest is the computer. There’s an audio file up on the screen, and you figure it’s worth finding out what kind of music the guy listens to, so you hit Play. But it’s a voice recording, not music. You won’t find out which bands appeal to genetic researchers today. Instead, you turn the volume low and move your mop back and forth across the floor while listening closely.
Phoenix: I need you to sign this, endorsing the product. Then let’s break out the bubbly.
Deleon: I don’t know, I’d like to do more tests.
P: What? Since when? What’s happened?
D: They just seem… bored.
P: Bored? Who gives a shit? Let ’em decide how to spend their time after they’ve handed us their life savings.
D: Certain test groups have stopped sleeping, they don’t eat—
P: Hell, maybe this’ll end world hunger too!
(pause)
P: Okay, look, Deleon, all we have to do is slap something on there saying “Not evaluated by the FDA” and we’re golden.
D: I’d like to start a new batch; see if I can cut out these outlier groups.
P: Fuck that. It could take years! You’re still young, but I need this! (pause)
P:
From beneath, the man pulls up Rosie; she coughs up water and holds onto her hero with panic. Her eyes are wide and black sludge pours out of her mouth.
“Are you alright?” you ask.
She nods, coughing still. “I swallowed some swampwater, but other than that…”
“No bites?” asks the mystery man.
Rosie still has hold of her rifle, and moves it defensively between her and the man. “No bites,” she says, all business.
“That is good,” the man says. He turns to you and holds a hand out for his sword. “I am Lucas Tesshu. I head toward sanctuary on foot, would you care to accompany me?”
Rosie looks at you.
• “Absolutely! We’re headed there ourselves.”
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Defend the Homestead!
Y ou were either born with extra courage or lacking in prudence, but either way, you go to town on these zombies. They break out the boards on your living room window and you crack their skulls open as they start to crawl through. One, two, three zombies down. Your adrenaline is really pumping now.
From the moaning outside, it’s certain they’re still coming, but there’s a break in the action so you start boarding the window back up. You get two boards up when you hear a crash from your kitchen. There’re a couple of ghouls back that way. Just as you finish fixing the front window, they break the boards down in the kitchen window.
You sprint back and smash the baseball bat against them as hard as you can. It sometimes takes two or three hits, but you release their brains like hitting a piñata with your eyes open. You take out the two who tried to breach the kitchen but there isn’t time to board the windows back up because the zombies are coming in through the living room again.
Despite arms that are burning with exhaustion, you keep going strong. The stench of the undead is fearsome, and their bodies start to pile up. The alarm, the moaning, or both—prove more effective than you might have thought, and your home is soon swarming with undead.
They’re coming through the kitchen and the living room at the same time and then you hear the crash of the glass from your bedroom window. It’s too late to make it down to the basement or up to the attic, and they’ve got your house surrounded, so there’s no chance of escape.
This is it. It’s just your homerun-slugger versus the dozens of hellspawn streaming into your house. You won’t go down without a fight, and you manage to take two more to the grave before you’re overwhelmed and eaten alive. You watch in unbearable pain as your innards become outards.
They’re ravenous and don’t leave enough of you to rise again.
THE END
Deleon’s Office
M eticulously clean and spartan, this is the office of someone with an OCD-standard of cleanliness. The only object worthy of interest is the computer. There’s an audio file up on the screen, and you figure it’s worth finding out what kind of music the guy listens to, so you hit Play. But it’s a voice recording, not music. You won’t find out which bands appeal to genetic researchers today. Instead, you turn the volume low and move your mop back and forth across the floor while listening closely.
Phoenix: I need you to sign this, endorsing the product. Then let’s break out the bubbly.
Deleon: I don’t know, I’d like to do more tests.
P: What? Since when? What’s happened?
D: They just seem… bored.
P: Bored? Who gives a shit? Let ’em decide how to spend their time after they’ve handed us their life savings.
D: Certain test groups have stopped sleeping, they don’t eat—
P: Hell, maybe this’ll end world hunger too!
(pause)
P: Okay, look, Deleon, all we have to do is slap something on there saying “Not evaluated by the FDA” and we’re golden.
D: I’d like to start a new batch; see if I can cut out these outlier groups.
P: Fuck that. It could take years! You’re still young, but I need this! (pause)
P:
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