Contamination Box Set [Books 0-7]

by Piperbrook, T. W.

  He’d already learned that back at the salvage yard.

  Several minutes later, after hearing nothing outside, Dan tucked his pistol in his holster and grabbed hold of the shelf, and with Sandy’s help, he began to move it away from the door.

  As before, the shelf began to creak, and Dan winced at the noise. The last thing he wanted was for the things outside to return. When the entrance was clear, he paused again to listen.

  The room was silent except for their breathing.

  “Ready to go?” he asked.

  The girls nodded their heads in unison. He beckoned for them to get behind him and opened the door.

  The air still reeked of garbage, but it’d taken on a new scent, mingling with the stink and sweat of the creatures. The resultant smell was nauseating. Dan covered his face with his free hand and maneuvered across the trash to the edge of the dumpster. When he’d reached the wall, he tucked the weapon in his belt and leapt up for a look across the parking lot.

  All was quiet in the immediate vicinity. No sign of their pursuers.

  He looked behind him, confirming that the girls had followed him.

  “I’ll go first,” he whispered.

  He hoisted his leg over the side and dropped to the pavement. In the distance he heard a scream, too high-pitched to be human.

  “Come on!” he urged.

  He lifted the girls over to join him. Once they were all in the lot, Dan directed the group along the wall of the building.

  The transition from dark to daylight was glaring, and he squinted his eyes to see in front of him. Without the security of the storeroom to protect them, he felt naked and exposed.

  When they reached the edge of the building, he stopped and poked his head around the corner. The alley was narrow and filthy, littered with papers, cans, and newspaper. At the end was a body lying facedown in a drainage puddle.

  He looked both ways—behind them and in front—but saw nothing.

  The three stepped through the alley. As they progressed, he had the sudden feeling that they’d be surrounded, sandwiched in the middle by a legion of creatures. Despite his vision, nothing appeared, and they soon found themselves back on the main road. Dan took stock of their location. They were still in the downtown area, which, for St. Matthews, wasn’t quite large at all.

  In fact, having already traveled half the distance to the lumberyard, he figured they only had about a ten-minute walk in front of them.

  Under normal circumstances that would have been a breeze, but he knew better than to think that now.

  About a block later, they happened on a vehicle with the windows open. Dan ducked his head inside. The keys hung from the ignition.

  The road ahead looked clear and unobstructed.

  “Let’s give it a try,” he said. “If it starts, get in.”

  He opened the driver’s side door and turned the key. The engine sprang to life. The girls opened the doors and got into the vehicle—Sandy in the front, Quinn in the back. Once he’d taken the driver’s seat, he locked the doors and rolled up the windows.

  “Do you know how to get to the lumberyard from here?” Sandy asked.

  “Yes,” he said. “But we’d better get moving. Those things probably heard us from a mile away.”

  The girls nodded.

  “Buckle your seatbelts and hold on tight.”

  To Dan’s relief, the path to the lumberyard was clear. Although there was some wreckage and rubble on the street, there was nothing he couldn’t avoid. Using his knowledge of the town, he navigated some of the lesser-known thoroughfares, doing his best to avoid the rambling creatures they came across.

  In a few cases, Dan had to increase speed to avoid a reaching hand or a hurtled body, but none of the creatures were able to latch onto the vehicle.

  Sandy and Quinn remained silent. Unlike before, they didn’t engage in any conversation; rather, they stared out the window as if intent on keeping guard of their surroundings.

  Dan appreciated their vigilance, but at the same time, he was nervous.

  With Sandy in the front seat, he felt the weight of another’s life in his hands. How could he protect not one, but two others, when he could barely protect himself?

  His only hope was that the lumberyard was secure, that they could get inside without issue. Reginald had stolen their vehicle, and there was a good chance he might not let them in, especially if he’d recognized Dan at the bank.

  Dan would have to tread carefully.

  After driving for several minutes, he slowed the vehicle, following a path of cracked pavement that led to their destination. Like the salvage yard, the lumberyard was somewhat removed from the rest of the town—the road that led to it contained only a few other abandoned commercial buildings.

  He watched the surrounding structures with a nervous eye. Although the doors and windows were smashed, the interiors were covered in shadow, and he could only imagine what might be lurking inside.

  His gaze drifted to the passenger beside him. Sandy was sitting upright in her seat. As they rolled further down the road, she pointed at one of the nearby buildings.

  “There’ll be a guard in there,” she said. “Slow down.”

  Dan followed her gaze to a small square building on the right-hand side of the road. He recognized it as a small shipping and receiving center for a local trucking company. At one time, when the economy was better, the entire road had been booming with business. In recent years, most companies had shut down and the owners had moved on.

  The receiving center—comprised of white painted plywood and several windows in front—had been boarded up, the door barricaded by a sheet of metal. In looking closer, Dan saw something he hadn’t noticed before.

  The black tip of a rifle was pointing through an opening in one of the windows.

  He ground the car to a halt. Even if it were another survivor, it would be best to exercise caution when approaching them. As he’d learned from Bubba in the salvage yard, the events of the last week had rattled the townspeople, and there was no predicting how anyone would react.

  Especially if the person was working with Reginald.

  Before he could devise a plan, Sandy jumped out of the vehicle and darted toward the building.

  “Wait!” Dan shouted.

  But he was too late. The girl had already covered most of the gap between the building and the car, and she waved her arms over her head, signaling the person inside.

  “Charlie!” she called out.

  The rifle followed her movements; for a minute Dan was sure the person was going to fire. He opened the door and poked his head out, using the cover of the vehicle to aim his pistol at the building.

  “Get down, Quinn!” he yelled into the vehicle.

  For several seconds, all was still.

  After a brief pause, the weapon disappeared into the building. Sandy looked back at Dan.

  “It’s OK,” she said.

  A few seconds later, a man rounded the corner of the building, emerging from somewhere in back. His face was gaunt and worn, and he was wearing a black hooded sweatshirt. His dark hair was matted with sweat, and he had the beginnings of a beard. He looked to be in his mid-twenties.

  He gave Sandy a quick hug, and she returned the embrace.

  “I didn’t think you were coming back,” he said.

  He propped his rifle in the dirt next to him and stared at the station wagon, where Dan was still hovering over the top. Dan had since lowered his gun, but he kept his body hidden behind the vehicle.

  “Who are these folks?”

  “This is Dan Lowery, and his daughter Quinn is in the car. Dan used to be a police officer,” Sandy said.

  “Glad to meet you, Dan,” Charlie called.

  Sensing that the ma
n was harmless—or at the very least, that he wasn’t going to shoot them—Dan left the cover of vehicle and walked toward him. He extended his hand and shook hands with the man.

  “There are more of us up the road a ways. Do you have any idea what’s going on here, officer?”

  “It’s a long story,” Dan said. “We can tell you on the way. We were hoping to get our station wagon back.”

  “Reginald took their car,” Sandy blurted. “And he left me in town to die.”

  Charlie’s face furrowed.

  “Why would he do that?”

  “He used to be a criminal. It sounds like he—”

  “Listen,” Dan interjected. “We don’t want any trouble. I think this may have been a misunderstanding. We just want to talk to him and sort this out. It’s not safe out here. We should all get indoors.”

  Charlie nodded in agreement.

  “Come with me,” he said. “You can pull around back.”

  “We were hoping to get right to the lumberyard.”

  “Oh. Well that’s fine, too. If you want I’ll come with you. I’m exhausted, and Hector was supposed to take over for me an hour ago.”

  Dan headed back to the vehicle with Sandy and Charlie in tow. When they reached it, they got inside. Charlie propped his rifle between his knees.

  “Thanks for the lift.”

  “No problem.”

  Dan switched the vehicle into drive and proceeded along the worn road. The tires bounced over rocks and sand, and he alternated his gaze between the rearview mirror and the road ahead, ensuring that their course was safe.

  “So you’re a police officer?” Charlie asked, his brow raising.

  “Yes. At least I was, before all of this happened. I was one of only four in town, but the others didn’t make it.”

  Dan studied the man beside him. If he was from St. Matthews, he didn’t recognize him.

  “Where you from, Charlie?”

  “I’m from Texas. I was out here on a road trip with two of my friends, and we got sidetracked when the shit hit the fan. Some men on I-40 started shooting at us. I was the only one that got away.”

  Charlie’s eyes grew wide, and he turned his attention out the window. Dan wondered how many times he’d told his story, whether it ever got any easier. He suspected it didn’t.

  “Sandy says there are ten of you at the lumberyard?”

  “Yea. Reginald, Sandy, myself, and seven others. There used to be more of us, but a few people decided to leave and never came back.”

  “Did you all know each other before this?”

  “No. Most of us met up in town, in the midst of all this shit. It was Reginald’s idea to come here. Ever since we arrived, we’ve been taking turns at the guard station and running into town for supplies.”

  Dan nodded. They were almost at the lumberyard; he could see the closed gates from here.

  “Will somebody be here to let us in?”

  “There should be. We’ve been taking turns keeping watch. We had a few close calls with the things almost getting over the fence, which is why we set up the extra perimeter at the guard shack. It gives us a little extra time to prepare.”

  “Got it.”

  Dan slowed the vehicle to a stop about ten feet from the entrance. Beyond the chain-link fence he saw several buildings: a main warehouse, a small red building that looked like an office, and a repository for lumber that was stored outside. The place looked deserted.

  “Are you sure anybody’s home?” Dan asked.

  He looked behind him and noticed that Sandy and Charlie were both looking toward the small red building on the other side of the fence. He followed their stare, but saw nothing of interest. The small structure had only one door facing the gate; it was closed.

  “Usually somebody’s inside. I think it was Tom’s turn to watch,” Charlie said. He frowned. “We don’t usually leave the entrance unmanned. I’ll go and rattle the gate to get their attention. Wait here.”

  Dan watched as the young man exited the vehicle, leaving his rifle in the car. He stalked over to the fence, scanning in all directions, and then clasped his fingers around it and started to shake.

  “Tom? You in there?”

  Charlie pressed his face against the metal, peering into the yard. After a minute, Dan saw movement from the red building: the door cracked and a face peeped out.

  Without warning, the door swung open and the person inside started to shoot. Sandy screamed out for them to stop, but she was too late.

  The bullets had found their mark, and Charlie pitched backward and collapsed in the dirt.

  15

  The town center was only a few minutes away. As she drove, Meredith kept a close watch on John, suddenly fearful that he would lose consciousness.

  If he passed out, how would she revive him? What if there was no help to be found?

  Since leaving the furniture shop, she’d seen no signs of life on the roadway, no evidence that others had survived. The quiet in the air was all encompassing. Instead of giving her relief, it gave her unease.

  “Stay with me, John,” she said.

  Her companion had slumped over further in the seat, his head pressed against the windowsill. It looked like his leg had started bleeding again. She reached over and shook his shoulder, and he blinked to attention.

  “Sorry. I’m trying to stay awake,” he said.

  In the horizon, Meredith could make out specks of buildings growing closer. It was the first inkling of town she’d seen since everything started happening, and she felt a sense of dread creep through her body.

  Normally the town gave her a sense of comfort, but not today.

  Minutes later she was passing the first signs of civilization. She hit the brakes, inspecting each structure. On the surface, the buildings seemed normal enough. The houses and shops were all as she remembered them: quaint, familiar, and inviting. Aside from the lack of people, it might as well have been another day in town, and she could very well have been on one of her grocery runs or taking a trip to the store.

  It was when she looked closer that the subtle differences started to reveal themselves.

  Doors had been left open; windows were ajar. Although the town was small and trusting, things seemed different than usual, as if an aura of foreboding had descended over the buildings.

  About a block into town she noticed a shadow in one of the windows, and she hit the brakes and slowed to a stop. The figure was in motion, roving from one room to the next. Although she was unable to make out the person’s details, she knew whom the house belonged to. The owner’s name was Deborah Fratzel.

  Meredith cranked down the window and called out toward the building.

  “Deb? You in there?”

  The figure became more animated, roaming even faster. Like many of the other properties, the entrance to Deborah’s house was open; Meredith could make out the woman’s living room through the front door.

  “Hello?”

  The figure was at a window adjacent to the living room, on the right-hand side of the house. Before Meredith knew it, the figure was on the move. The person crashed through the living room and out into the open, descending down the front set of steps and toward the pickup.

  It was Deborah, but her hair was wild, her fingernails poised and feral. Her face was covered in blood, as if she’d dipped herself in a vat of the crimson fluid. Meredith flashed back to the scene she’d witnessed earlier—the one with Sheila and Marcy—and shuddered.

  She hammered the gas pedal with her foot, tires spinning, and tore off down the road. In the mirrors she saw Deborah chasing behind them.

  As they progressed deeper into town, more shadows appeared in the windows, but she knew better than to stop. All of their movements were erratic, their gestures inhum
an.

  With the streets barren, Meredith was suddenly conscious of the noise she was making. The town had fallen into relative silence—no machinery running, no chatter of conversation—and the pickup’s engine seemed exponentially louder, echoing off the surrounding buildings like an air horn.

  Before long, the shadows around her had emerged onto the street. The creatures had picked up on the noise, and they barreled out of the surrounding entrances with alarming speed.

  Meredith recognized many of their faces, but instead of welcoming grins, their mouths had drawn up into possessed sneers. She pushed the truck faster, tumbling through the streets in a haze.

  Everything she’d known was gone.

  She opened her mouth to speak, but the words came out in little more than a whisper.

  “We shouldn’t have come here.”

  She looked next to her for John’s reaction, but his eyes had closed and his hands had collapsed to his sides. She listened frantically for a sign that he was breathing, but heard none.

  All she could hear was the roar of the pickup’s engine as the vehicle drove deeper into a town that felt like hell.

  Several streets later, having outrun her pursuers, Meredith took a left-hand turn into a parking lot with two small office buildings. Both were brick and square; each held a sign out front. The one on the left belonged to Dr. Steadman.

  She needed to get John help, and fast.

  Her only hope was that somehow the doctor had escaped the infection, that maybe he was somewhere inside. The nearest hospital was towns away.

  The parking lot contained several vehicles, but none were occupied. Meredith backed into the handicapped space right next to the door and threw off her seatbelt. She leaned over and touched John’s neck, searching for a pulse.