INFECTED (Click Your Poison) by James Schannep Page A

bank!” Tyberius yells. The street façade is barely recognizable, even to those who used to live and work here. The city is just a shadow of its former self. Tyberius starts to jog over to the bank, and with renewed energy, you find yourself bounding over with the rest of the group.
    The sign above the large glass entrance reads, “MARSHLAND STATE BANK,” and the interior is filled with zombies. They mill about the entry, becoming excited as you approach. No sounds escape as they pound the glass, but the streaks already present at fist-level indicate you’re not the first passers-by.
    Tyberius moves right up against the glass, fearless. His breath steams as he looks at the white-collar zombies. They, on the other hand, have no breath. “I know all these people. That dude was an asshole. Oh, fuck her. There’s my boss!”
    “So how ‘bout it, Coop? Maybe there’s an armored car inside?” Hefty says.
    She shakes her head. “They’re enclosed—and silent.”
    “We’re almost there anyway,” Sims interjects. “Actually, we’re just about exactly halfway between the guns and the school.”
    “Awww, Jeff didn’t make it out? Jeff was good people,” Tyberius says to the zombies.
    Deleon clears his throat and crosses his arms over his chest. “Look,” he says. “I don’t want to get into this debate again, but I think the loss of our supplies re-emphasizes the need to get to the school first.”
    “I don’t want to debate, either,” Cooper answers. “It’s early enough in the day that we can go get guns and take the school before dinner.”
    “Why? Why can’t it wait a few hours?” He says with anger in his voice.
    “Why? Weapons count, who’s got what? I’m out.” She holds up empty hands. You frown; she’s right about that. Some of them lost their weapons in the fire, you realize.
    Sims holds up his Rambo knife. “I’ve got Isabelle.” Hefty holds up empty hands, though you remember when he abandoned his heavy lead pipe on the night’s march. Deleon raises up his hammer for inspection.
    “One dull axe,” you declare.
    Tyberius holds up his police baton. “I’ve got this Brotha’ Beater.”
    “Ooh, bad idea,” Sims says, sucking the ooh in through his teeth. “It can’t deal a killing-blow. It’s designed that way, so…”
    Tyberius tosses it over his shoulder. “I’m out.”
    Everyone looks at Guillermo. “Jose?” Cooper asks. He raises up his frying pan and his meat-cleaver. Cooper holds out a hand. “Give me one.” He slowly shakes his head, comprehending yet refusing. She takes a step forward. He takes a step back, raising the cleaver. “Fine,” she says, giving up. “But the point stands. We won’t do well in an encounter with the undead.”
    •   “Cooper—we’re all exhausted. The guns will be there tomorrow.”
    •   “She’s right, Doc. And who knows what we’ll have to fight off at the school?”

    MAKE YOUR CHOICE

The Cure

    T he group has reconvened at the gym, and Deleon is wide awake. He holds a syringe of blue liquid, the formula glimmering in the light of the lanterns. It’s nearly sunset and the skylights don’t bathe the gym in light like they once did. “So that’s it?” Cooper asks, looking at the supposed cure.
    “I believe so. What we need now is a guinea pig. If you’ll permit me,” Deleon says, holding up his pointer finger. He passes the syringe to you and jogs off across the gym. He reaches a doorway, with the word “VISITORS” prominently painted above. With a wave, the doctor bids you come closer.
    You walk across the gym with the other group members, casting glances of doubt to one another. “Don’t be afraid,” Deleon says as he opens the double doors. From the shadows within, there’s a scraping sound, and the wet screeching of skin against the basketball court floor.
    From the recesses emerges a legless zombie, crawling its way out despite the wounds. You all instinctively go for your weapons, but Deleon holds up