Read INFECTED (Click Your Poison) Online
Authors: James Schannep
Tags: #zombie, #Adventure, #Fiction
INFECTED (Click Your Poison)
A Click Your Poison book
by
James Schannep
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental
Copyright © 2012 by James Schannep
All rights reserved.
Second Kindle Edition
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Schannep, James, 1984—
INFECTED: a Click Your Poison book / James Schannep
COVER ART BY NIKKI JANSEN
For Michaela, who makes the Zombie Apocalypse worth surviving.
Special thanks to my crack team of zombie survivalists: Chris Boyes, Damon Bosetti, Mike Beeson, Kelli Mears, Jon & Tara Black, Kevin Hullihan, Brian Yoakam, Justin Jones, Lanette Hastings, Nathan St. Pierre, Colin Merrin, Ross Wichard, Richard Young, and Matt Sarda—thank you for your notes, expertise, encouragement, friendship, and ability to endure my inability to talk about anything other than this book.
To my copyeditor: Linda Jay Geldens, cover artist: Nikki Jansen, and to Paul Salvette and the team at BB eBooks. Thank you all for your generosity and professionalism.
And to my family, for your unyielding enthusiasm and support.
Here’s how it works: You, Dear Reader, are the main character of this story. Live, die, and rise again—based solely on the merit of your own choices. The rules are a little different than the print gamebooks of the 1980s and 1990s; as an ebook, you simply click the links to progress through the story. Each link represents a choice, and there’s no going back, so choose wisely. Will YOU survive the zombie apocalypse?
CLICK HERE
to begin. Good luck.
You’re not very good with directions, are you? You’re not supposed to go through the pages in this book. Stop when you see the links and click your choice. So, go back and begin the proper way. Don’t ruin it by progressing page-by-page; you’ll just turn something potentially fun into something certainly stupid.
Congratulations on finding this book’s only Easter egg. Go ahead onto
www.jamesschannep.com
to brag about how outside-the-box you think. Seriously though, there’s nothing else in here, so don’t bother looking for it. Scout’s honor.
I
mmortality can be yours.
That’s right. After successful testing on lab rats,
Gilgazyme
® is now ready for public consumption. It’s a revolutionary new gene therapy, invented by Dr. Richard Phoenix and Dr. Lewis Deleon, which promises to end aging after only one dose. Simply use the patented inhaler, and let science take care of the rest. Your flawed genetic code will be removed, and replaced by a new and improved stream in which you’ll never age another day (this statement has not been evaluated by the FDA).
Stay young and beautiful forever with
Gilgazyme
®.
•
“Stay this age forever? I’ll sell my house, my kids, whatever—Sign me up!”
•
“Does anyone else think this is a bad idea? No freaking way I’m going anywhere near that poison.”
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
D
eath hangs in the air like a bad pun. Despite the clumsiness of the individual zombie, the swarm has proven to be adroit murderers. The proof is in the pudding-like substance that coats the walls and streets.
You immediately notice a flaw in your plan: several undead wander the street around the pawnshop. None has seen you yet, but with this many out in the open, it wouldn’t take much to call in the horde. Then
you’d
become fresh pudding.
Guns are priority one, and you’re sticking to that plan. You hide behind a nearby bus stop. It doesn’t provide much protection, but it’s better than standing in the middle of the street. You remove your binoculars, and reconnoiter the storefront.
A sign, prominently placed, reads, “CHEAP GUNS—NO BACKGROUND CHECK!!!!!!!” Beyond this is the brick-and-mortar building. Odds are the door is locked, but as Jack Nicholson proved in
The Shining,
it only takes one maniac with an axe to make short work of a locked door.
Behind you, a husky voice mutters something akin to, “
Hey.”
You turn around to see some punk skater kid, with dried blood on his broken teeth and your mortality locked in his eyes. He masticates, his jaw chomping his own tongue, like some kind of craven cow chewing its cud, then lets out a moan.
Oh goddammit.
The other undead snap their heads over to you like feral hounds that’ve just caught the scent of mutton. From as far as three blocks away they are coming for you, each adding its own moan to expand the radius of the call exponentially.
Time to run.
•
Screw it, go back to that corner market. It should be far enough in the other direction.
•
Time to go underground. Literally. Into the sewers and out of the open!
