Free Clickers vs Zombies by Brian Keene, J.F. Gonzalez Page A

dose of venom. Probably a good five ounces or more. I wonder what the toxicity rate is?
    On the heels of that thought, he noticed that his hands were growing warm.
    Al frowned and brought his gloved hands up. They were slick with the creature’s blood and other abdominal fluids, now bubbling and frothing intensely. With rising alarm, Al detected a faint odor beneath the surgical mask as his palms grew hotter. A second later, he felt the first sting of acid burn—like hot grease landing on your bare skin while standing at a stove. Al yelped and quickly tore both gloves off his hands and let them fall to the floor.
    “Ahhh!” Al yelled. He backpedaled, crashed into the table behind him again, noting that the skin along the base of his left thumb was turning fiery red. The pain was a burning sensation but it started to fade immediately once the gloves came off. Likewise, the warmth that he’d felt along both hands—palms and the back of his hands and fingers—was starting to fade as well. He rushed over to the water station and washed his hands. Then he splashed water on his face guard, just as a precaution.
    Jesus Christ, what the hell?
    Al looked at the floor with wide-eyed amazement. The bubbling, frothing of the fluids on the gloves continued, culminating in a cauldron. They were melting.
    It’s the venom, he thought, his breath rising and falling fast. My God, its venom is so toxic that it’s—
    It wasn’t impossible to come across a creature so toxic that having its venom touch the skin would cause a reaction. Certain snake venom had that capability. But to completely melt a pair of latex surgical gloves?
    Alfred was overwhelmed. He needed assistance and he needed it ASAP. Stepping away from the shattered remains of the creature on the examination table, Al lifted his face mask, pulled down the surgical mask and picked up the phone on the wall near the locked door. He dialed a series of numbers and waited until the line was picked up on the other end. “Dr. Post here,” he said. “We have a problem.”
     
    Redondo Beach Pier, California
     
    Gary Goodman and John Hydo were playing games in Ted’s Arcade halfway down the pier when Steve Watanabe peeled in. He was out of breath, eyes wide, tan features deathly pale. “Guys, you hear what’s going on at Catalina Island?”
    “No, and I don’t care,” Gary said. He was seated in the Rocket Launch game, intent on blowing the Evil Lord Balazar back to the galaxy he came from. He was only two levels away from reaching the Zenith level, which would blast him into a completely different stratosphere. “Fuck off.”
    “Those weird lobster things that killed those people in Huntington Beach last night ate some chick on Catalina!” Steve exclaimed.
    Gary turned to Steve and he saw that everybody within earshot had also heard the news. Whatever games kids were playing were now abandoned as John leaned forward.
    “What happened, where’d you hear this?”
    “On the radio!” Steve said. “KROQ broke in to an announcement. They’re closing the beaches!”
    “Closing the beaches?” Somebody else exclaimed.
    The news Steve had delivered echoed around the arcade and within moments the entire place was buzzing with the news and the atmosphere darkened. Gone were the high-pitched catcalls, the excited talk, the jabber of friends. Now the mood had changed. It was not unlike the mood immediately after the terrorist attacks on September 11, 2001. Or so Gary had heard. He’d been only five years old when that happened, but he remembered his mother picking him up from day care early that afternoon. He remembered the look on her face, the mood of the day care aides, the teachers, the other parents.
    It was very much like this.
    Something big is happening , Gary thought. It’s like the end of the world or something .
    He climbed out of the driver’s seat of the Rocket Launcher and joined his friends in learning what was happening on Catalina Island. Minutes later,