Contamination Box Set [Books 0-7]

by Piperbrook, T. W.

  Sam looked out the window as the words rang through the van. Delta wanted to reach out to this man, who had lost so much and was now facing—well, whatever the hell they were up against. It didn’t seem fair. It was as if some higher power suggested he hadn’t suffered enough.

  Sam fell silent.

  Outside, the streetlights became farther apart, and the highway wrapped itself in darkness deeper than she had ever remembered. Delta shifted in the passenger seat, wondering where it all went wrong.

  She wanted desperately to talk to him, and to tell him who she was. But that would have to wait.

  PART THREE – NEW HEIGHTS

  21

  Hector Castillo made his way through the slaughterhouse methodically, writing notes on a clipboard. Although he had a team dedicated to the inspections, he preferred to be on-site alongside them, monitoring their progress and double-checking their findings.

  He felt he was a fair boss, but several employees had complained that he was a micro-manager, undermining their daily activities and lowering morale. He liked to think that his techniques bolstered productivity and kept his subordinates honest.

  Currently, his team was inspecting a beef plant in El Paso. As employees of the United States Federal Government, Hector and his crew were part of the FSIS— the Food Safety & Inspection Service. Their job was to ensure the quality and safety of the beef being produced in the southwestern plants. In Hector’s mind, they were the unsung heroes of the food industry.

  Many of the plant owners tended to disagree.

  Since starting his position ten years ago, he’d seen thousands of consumers fall ill due to illegal substances that were fed to the cattle. The most common—Clenbuterol—was a steroid that farmers used to bulk up their livestock before they were slaughtered. In the past year, Hector had closed down several plants for the use of this one drug alone.

  Currently, he was observing the unloading dock, where the cows were prepped and transferred from the trucks to the slaughterhouse. There were ten bays, each with its own crew. Even to the experienced eye, the facility was huge. There were almost more workers than he could count, all focused on maintaining the flow of cattle from pen to chute.

  This particular plant not only serviced several local states, but also exported meat to Mexico. As such, it was subject to strict standards in the way the meat was procured, killed, stored, and distributed according to the USDA. It was his job to determine these standards were being met.

  Hector continued to mark his notepad, perusing a checklist that he adhered to for every inspection. Occasionally, a few of the workers met his gaze, watching for any signs that he was displeased. It was often difficult to gauge their natural behaviors. Most of the time, the plants were prepared for an inspection. In the case of a surprise visit, they were prompted to follow all best practices in the event that they were being monitored.

  Hector was interrupted at the sight of one of his agents, Victor Sanchez, who was approaching rapidly.

  Victor was an imposing figure. At six-feet-two inches, he towered above most of the workers in the plant, and was heads above his superior, who was just over five feet. In addition to being physically intimidating, Victor had impeccable judgment. Hector trusted him more than most of the top members of the FSIS organization.

  “Hector, we need to talk,” he said quietly.

  Hector nodded, and the pair moved toward the exit. A few of the plant workers looked up at them surreptitiously, keeping an eye on them while still tending to their work.

  “We just received the results on the last shipment. It’s not good.”

  “Clenbuterol?” Hector asked.

  “Not even close. I wish it were that simple. We need to shut this plant down immediately.”

  Hector looked up at his employee’s face. The man’s brow was creased with worry. Hector had never known him to be wrong before.

  Hector didn’t waste any time. In a matter of seconds, he was on the phone with upper management at FSIS headquarters. He was instructed to stop production at the plant and immediately quarantine the facility. Reinforcements would be on the way.

  He hurried to the plant’s front office. The plant controller was standing in the doorway, as if he had been expecting them. His name was Raymond Marconi, and Hector had disliked him immediately.

  The controller was a short, heavy-set man, and he wore a purple shirt, which was buttoned halfway to expose several gold chains. His underarms were stained with sweat, and beads of perspiration lined his forehead.

  “Mister Castillo, what can I do for you?” He smiled, as if his formality would ward off suspicion.

  “We’re shutting the place down. We need to take further samples immediately. I’ll need a list of all the deliveries that have been made this week as soon as possible.”

  “What are you talking about? We can’t shut the whole facility down. Are you crazy?”

  “If you don’t cooperate now, I’ll make sure this place closes for good, and never re-opens. Do you understand?” Hector glared at the man.

  He looked down at his phone, noticing that a text message had come in.

  According to the home office, the plant had been linked to serious illnesses in the surrounding states. Word of the contamination had already spread to the media. Any further shipments needed to be contained immediately.

  They needed to move fast.

  22

  “Where were you headed, Marie?” Noah asked.

  “To Phoenix,” Delta replied. “I was going to stay with my aunt for a few weeks. I’ll bet she’s worried sick.”

  Sam’s brow furrowed, and he stared at the back of her seat. Something didn’t add up.

  Working at the gas station, he’d met a variety of customers. As the sole proprietor, he needed to be leery of shoplifters, robbers, or anyone else who may interrupt his business. Over the years, he’d cultivated a keen sense of people’s intentions—often by talking to them for just a few minutes.

  For the most part, he’d been lucky. He’d only run into trouble a handful of times, mostly with teenagers trying to pocket small-ticket items. In those cases, he’d simply demanded they leave the store. Occasionally, the shoplifters had threatened to become violent, and he’d called in the police.

  Now, he sensed there was more to the girl’s story, though he wasn’t sure what it could be. He made a mental note to inquire further when the time was right.

  “I think there’s an exit coming up in a few miles,” he indicated.

  There were a few small towns past the Arizona Visitor’s Center. Certainly one would have a police station. Although he rarely ventured outside of White Mist, he’d gained knowledge about the surrounding area from his customers.

  The nearest town to White Mist was Gallup, which sat about ten miles to the east—the opposite direction. Over the few times he had called Gallup for assistance, he had never seen the same police officer twice, which was probably because Gallup was a larger city. He certainly did not know any by name, and would not recognize any of their faces if he saw them again.

  He was even less familiar with the exits past the Arizona border.

  “I see a sign up ahead.” Noah pointed into the distance.

  “If we don’t have any luck there, we may have to head back east. I’m certain there’s a police station in Gallup.”

  A pit formed in Sam’s stomach at the thought of turning around. It would mean they would have to pass through White Mist. Although he was fairly certain that the scarred man had been the one in the back of the girl’s car, he pictured the body of the dead trucker that was still in the parking lot. By now, the birds had probably found their way to the body.

  In addition, turning around would mean they’d be close to the Arizona Visitor’s Center. He wondered if anyone else had stumbled on the bodies they had left be
hind.

  Kendall yelled abruptly, pointing to the highway in front of them.

  Up ahead, two pairs of spotlights scanned the road. They swiveled suddenly, aiming their beams at the van. Noah slowed the vehicle to a crawl as they approached.

  “Maybe it’s the police,” Sam suggested, but the absence of colored lights suggested otherwise.

  Sam could make out the silhouettes of two pickup trucks. One of their owners was standing in the bed, holding what appeared to be a megaphone. In the truck next to him, two men had assault rifles trained on the van. Although they appeared to be civilians, they were wearing gas masks.

  A voice projected into the night.

  “Stop where you are, or we’ll shoot you dead.”

  The words resonated through the van, stunning its passengers.

  Noah leaned out the window. “Sir, we’re looking for help!”

  A bullet ricocheted off the driver’s mirror, shattering the glass right below his ear. Noah ducked back inside as the shards collided with the pavement below.

  “Holy fuck! What are you doing?” he screamed out the window at them.

  “Back off, and turn around, now! The next shot is into your skull!” the man billowed. The assault rifles lifted up higher, as if to confirm his command. The man turned his head upwards. The hoses on his gas mask stretched taut.

  Sam looked outside. Across the highway, two more pickups blocked the opposing lanes. There was no getting around them. Maybe it was time to turn around. That is, if they weren’t shot and killed first.

  He scanned the landscape, searching for another way out. Several hundred feet in front of the trucks, on the other side of the highway, he noticed a narrow road heading off to the South. It looked like an exit.

  “Noah, back up and drive across the median. I think there’s an exit across the way,” he whispered.

  Another bullet ricocheted off the front bumper. One of the men with the assault rifles leaned down from the top of the truck, trying to secure his shot.

  “Your warning is up!” the megaphone blared.

  “Go! Go!” Sam yelled.

  Noah threw the vehicle into reverse. The trailer buckled as it began to jackknife. He hit the gas and accelerated onto the dirt.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” The voice was louder now. Beams of light splayed back and forth behind the van.

  Several more bullets screamed through the air, hitting the trailer. Noah hit the gas, increasing speed and kicking up dust around them. The van veered left, and Sam watched the pickups across the road start to move. The crazed men were trying to head them off.

  “To the left—over there—do you see the exit?” Sam asked.

  “I got it!” Noah shouted.

  Behind them, the man with the megaphone yelled in anger.

  The van cleared the median and hit the pavement with a thud, the trailer catching a lift of air in the process. The tires crunched with the impact, and Sam prayed they hadn’t been damaged. The exit was barely marked. A faded sign poked out of the ground at the entrance. Sam thought it may have said ‘Exit 393’, but he couldn’t be certain.

  The trucks picked up the chase, but backed off as the van approached the exit. Sam watched the lights fade into the distance as the trucks returned to their position across the road. In front of them, the road narrowed almost immediately. The engine hummed as the van ascended.

  Sam knew that Arizona contained numerous mountain ranges in addition to desert. In fact, the White Mountains were a major tourist attraction in the summer, when campers could hike, fish, and hunt. He hoped that taking the exit hadn’t been a mistake. With a van and trailer, turning around would be extremely difficult. Already the road was bordered with thick vegetation.

  A white sign confirmed his suspicion. Route 191. Although he hadn’t been there before, he knew it wasn’t a main thoroughfare.

  “There’s got to be a ranger’s station up here somewhere, or at least some other people,” he said, but his voice rang with doubt.

  “I hope they aren’t as friendly as the last bunch,” Kendall muttered.

  23

  Noah clutched the steering wheel. The road was making him nervous. Because it wasn’t a main road, there were no streetlights. The van’s weak headlights were inadequate to pierce the darkness around them.

  With the change in elevation, a new set of thick foliage had sprouted. It seemed as though the forest was growing around them, sealing them in with each passing mile. Tall green trees towered above them, providing the only barriers between them and the edge of the mountains. Noah found it hard to believe they were still in Arizona. It seemed like they were in another state entirely.

  A few miles prior, they’d come across a sign for the Coronado Campgrounds.

  “I’m willing to bet money there’s nobody there,” Kendall had chimed in from behind him, grinning. Nobody contested the comment.

  Noah sighed. It was hard to keep his faith up when everything just seemed so…hopeless.

  He thought back to the newspaper he had stumbled on at the Visitor’s Center. He hadn’t yet shared the headline with his companions. He and Kendall hadn’t eaten much lately, and they seemed to be the only people on the road. Maybe they were the only people left who hadn’t been affected by the beef contamination, and everyone else was either crazy or dead.

  The idea seemed ludicrous. But what plausible explanation could there be?

  “Sam, can I ask you something?” he called back.

  Kendall interrupted him. “Hey, buddy, if you’re not going to let me drive, then you’d better not let him.”

  “Very funny. This thing is a rental,” Noah countered. “That wasn’t what I was going to ask. Have you eaten any beef lately, Sam?”

  “I’m actually vegetarian. Why do you ask?”

  “I have something to tell you guys.”

  Sam and Kendall leaned forward between the seats as Noah shared what he had seen at the Arizona Visitor’s Center. He mentioned the headline article, as well as the smaller article about the murders in Santa Fe.

  “That could explain why these fuckers have been going insane, killing everyone,” Kendall surmised. “I mean, what else would explain it?”

  “What about you, Marie? Have you had any beef products recently?” Noah looked over at her.

  “Not in the past few days, but I’m a carnivore,” she said. “And I feel fine.”

  “Well, we should try to get a hold of a newspaper, or catch the news when we find help—if such a thing still exists in this God-forsaken state. We should double check that you haven’t eaten any of the stuff they’re recalling, just in case.”

  She nodded in agreement. She looked nervous.

  The tires crunched the road, muffling their conversation. A faded sign appeared in the road, pointing to a dirt inlet up ahead. A large RV camper sat in the lot. From somewhere inside, a single light burned, illuminating its interior.

  Kendall motioned towards it. “Up ahead!”

  “Pull up slowly, and turn off the headlights,” Sam instructed.

  Noah pulled the van up on a diagonal so it was facing the RV, and then paused. He left a buffer of about fifteen feet. That should give them a clear view around both sides of the vehicle.

  “Do you want me to go with you guys to check out the RV?” Delta asked.

  “No, I’ll go,” Noah volunteered. He looked at the girl, wondering if she was impressed. He straightened his glasses on his face.

  Sam was already off the seat, pistol in hand. He signaled to Kendall and Delta. “You two wait here. Make sure you lock the doors behind us.”

  “We will,” said Delta. Her blue eyes flashed in the darkness.

  24

  With the van turned off, the campground had fallen into an eerie silence. Sam
made his way towards the RV. There were two windows on the exterior, both half-covered with curtains and shades. Through the window on the left, he made out a single yellow light bulb hanging from the ceiling. Its glow did little to brighten the outside lot.

  A pocket of brush cracked underneath his feet, and he stopped suddenly to compensate for the noise. Noah bumped into him from behind. He’d almost forgotten he wasn’t alone.

  The RV stood motionless. He didn’t detect any movement from inside. If anyone was aware of their presence, they weren’t making an effort to greet them.

  A low hum vibrated from their right. Sam raised the pistol and pointed. He stared for a few seconds, saw nothing, and then slowly recognized the outline of a picnic table. It appeared to be empty, but a lone object sat on one of the wooden benches.

  It was a radio.

  Sam heard the hum again. He realized it was the faint sound of voices coming from the station it was picking up. The radio cut in and out, layering a hint of static over the broadcast. He leaned down next to it, keeping a watchful eye on the RV. Noah did the same.

  It sounded like they were only receiving bits and pieces of the information.

  “Art, I think we are going to need to keep repeating...recall on beef…New Mexico, Arizona, Oklahoma, and Tex…damaging physical effects...acts of violence…remain indoors…secure your homes...”

  The radio gave a piercing beep after the announcement. Sam recognized it as the tone for an emergency broadcast. He felt a creeping sense of dread make its way from the core of his stomach and into his esophagus. He wondered briefly if the message had been pre-recorded—if the broadcasters were even still alive. Maybe they were as dead as the trucker in White Mist, or the man at the Arizona Visitor’s Center. As dead as they all would be soon.