Contamination Box Set [Books 0-7]

by Piperbrook, T. W.

  Beads of sweat dotted his forehead. Over the course of the day, the sun had grown progressively hotter, and as he ran, it enveloped him like a warm blanket. Aside from his tattered shorts, Noah was wearing only a polo shirt and shoes. He should’ve been comfortable, but instead, he was red and overheated.

  One of the men coughed.

  Noah ducked behind a tree. After a few seconds, he peered behind him. On the road, a few hundred feet away, he could see his pickup truck. All four tires had been flattened; the hood was smoking. One of the men was standing guard next to it.

  His pursuers weren’t letting him get away. If he doubled back, he’d be trapped. His only hope was to head deeper into the woods.

  Hide or move.

  Noah clambered forward. Given that the men had rifles, he was hopelessly outmatched. There was no way he could face them.

  One glimpse of him and they’d shoot.

  He continued on. After several more minutes of running, he realized the men had stopped. He listened closely as their low, muffled voices seeped through the forest. What were they talking about? What were they planning?

  Noah assessed his situation. The forest in front of him was thick with foliage, but there was a clearing in the distance.

  If he could get to it, perhaps he’d find help.

  The area he was in wasn’t exactly brimming with people, but civilization had to exist somewhere. He stared at the distant patch of light, gauging how many steps it would take him to get there.

  Twenty? Twenty-five? How far could he go before he was shot down?

  Staying where he was would mean certain death. He’d rather die on his feet than be mowed down on his knees.

  Behind him, the forest fell into silence.

  He flexed his hands and prepared himself to run.

  This is it, Noah. This is your last chance at escape.

  Gritting his teeth, he broke from the trees and ran.

  2

  Caddy Stevens had been fleeing all her life. The fact that she was doing it now wasn’t a big surprise.

  As she weaved through the streets of Chester, the town she’d called home for most of her life, she realized that not much had changed. The buildings were still old and decrepit, the air still smelled like a landfill, and the streets were filled with garbage.

  The only difference was the hordes of infected trying to kill her.

  Sure, things had been cleaner a few days ago, but not by much. The railing on the library steps was still loose, the abandoned steel mill was still run-down, and the gas stations still sported outdated pumps and inflated prices.

  Yep—the only obvious difference was the people. Now, instead of talking behind backs and whispering in circles, they were coming at her head-on, mouths open and nails extended.

  At least they were forthright for a change.

  Caddy bounded through the alleyway between Thomas and Stanley Streets, vaulting over a fallen garbage can, praying to God she wouldn’t trip and fall. The creature behind her was one of the fastest she’d seen. Even though she’d gotten a head start, the thing was right on her tail, its rancid breath reeking in the mid-afternoon air.

  The thing used to be Tommy Prentiss, the star of the high school track team.

  If there was one thing Caddy had learned, it was that the infection didn’t discriminate.

  Caddy was in decent shape herself. Although she wasn’t a sports fanatic, she’d kept active after graduating high school, jogging several miles each night after work. She’d mostly shied away from the drinking and partying that many of her friends engaged in, preferring the quiet company of a book to a Sunday-morning hangover.

  Up until a few days ago, she’d been a waitress at the town diner, hoping to save enough money to attend community college next fall. Those plans had gone out the window when her boss had tried to take a bite out of her.

  In any case, Caddy was grateful she’d been spared the infection. For whatever reason, she was alive, and so was her mother. Her main goal now was to bring back the food she’d ransacked from the A&P.

  Having cleared the alleyway, Caddy sprinted out into the street. Her breath came in short gasps; her lungs burned. She hoped she’d have enough stamina to outrun her pursuer.

  Caddy would’ve preferred stealth to speed, but Tommy had given her no choice. He’d surprised her in the back aisle of the A&P, teeth bared, and she’d barely gotten out alive.

  And she wasn’t in the clear yet.

  She flew down the block past a cluster of brick buildings, worried that more of the infected would pick up the chase. From what she’d seen, most of the creatures had remained in the area, picking through the remnants of the survivors like pigeons hunting for scraps. If others joined the pursuit, she wasn’t convinced she could outrun them.

  She was having enough trouble with Tommy alone.

  Earlier, she’d been in her mother’s car, but after the infected had surrounded her, Caddy had crashed it into a pole. Now she was alone and on foot. The gun holstered at her side was empty. All she had left was a knife and the bag of groceries she was carrying. She needed more weapons, but now wasn’t the time to search for them.

  She clutched the canvas bag to her chest, doing her best to keep hold of it. If she dropped the food and water, the entire trip would’ve been for nothing. And then what would become of her mother?

  Caddy shuddered at the scenario. She couldn’t think about that. Not now.

  Get home first. Worry later, she told herself.

  At the end of the block, the row of buildings ended, giving way to a desolate two-lane road. Caddy’s house was minutes away, but in order to get there, she’d have to run in the open. The fact that Tommy was chasing her made things difficult.

  She’d have to throw him off. She couldn’t lead him home.

  As if on cue, the footsteps behind her grew louder.

  Tommy was gaining ground.

  She stared at the last building on the road. It was one she recognized. Town Line Diner. In spite of the chaos below, the neon letters remained optimistically intact. It was as if her former workplace were preparing for a stream of customers, oblivious to the fact that the world had ended.

  If she wanted to ward off Tommy Prentiss, going into the diner might be her best shot. At least she knew the layout. Maybe she could throw him off; perhaps she could even trap him inside.

  There was no way she could outrun him. Not much longer, anyway.

  Caddy veered from the sidewalk and ran up the steps of the diner. She yanked at the door, relieved to find it open. If it’d been locked, she would’ve been screwed. She slipped through the entrance just as Tommy bashed into the other side of the glass. His mouth hung open, exposing a row of bloodstained teeth. Several of them had been chipped or broken; his tongue flailed in his mouth.

  And to think I kissed him once. Gross.

  Caddy pulled the door closed, ignoring the pounding of Tommy’s hands. She slipped the lock into place. Her chest heaved as she scanned the restaurant behind her.

  It’d been four days since she’d fled the diner. In the meantime, the bodies had started to decompose, though she still recognized some of the patrons she’d served.

  And somewhere inside was the body of her boss—the woman she’d killed three days earlier. Caddy swallowed and did her best to dispel the thought.

  Bang!

  She spun to find Tommy crashing against the glass, his face contorted with rage. She didn’t have much time. Caddy started along the counter, her shoes sliding on the linoleum. Behind it was the entrance to the back room as well as an exit.

  She’d only gone two steps when the front door caved.

  Tommy had gotten inside.

  3

  Noah looked over his shoulder as he crossed the clearing, certain the men would
be right on his tail. Would he hear the gunshot before he felt the bullet, or would the two be simultaneous?

  He’d already been shot once; thankfully, he’d only been nicked. It was a feeling he hoped to never have again. Despite his fears, the forest seemed empty. He saw no sign of his pursuers. Had he lost them? The thought filled him with hope. At the same time, he knew better than to trust his surroundings.

  In a world gone mad, no one was safe.

  Across the clearing was a cluster of shrubs. He navigated toward them, sweat clinging to his forehead. The ground was soft and malleable, a welcome change from the thick crunch of the forest.

  When he reached the thicket, he immersed himself in it, grateful for the cover. The forest was a maze of trunks and trees, and he continued on hands and knees, still weak and wounded. His best bet was to stay low and keep his distance from the street.

  What would his next move be? His truck was out of commission. He could return to it and survey the contents, but he was certain the men had taken everything.

  For all intents and purposes, he was back to square one.

  The pickup had contained all his belongings: his weapons, his clothing, and his uncontaminated food. Without it, he’d been robbed not only of a means of transportation, but a way to survive.

  He needed a weapon.

  He scanned the forest as he crawled, looking for a loose branch or stick. Anything would be better than his bare hands.

  After a few more feet, he encountered a fallen tree. The trunk was rife with branches. He searched for a limb of suitable size—something he could carry—and wrestled it from the bark. The branch broke with a snap. The stick was about three feet long and several inches wide, sporting a jagged end from where he’d ripped it free.

  It was a far cry from the weapons he’d had in the truck, but it’d have to do.

  It’d been several minutes since he’d last heard the men. He stopped to catch his breath, resting against the thick trunk of a tree. He was exhausted. It felt like he’d been running forever, though he knew it’d probably been only a few minutes.

  After a while, the sound of his ragged breathing was drowned out by the sounds of nature. He could hear birds cawing, insects chirping, and the faint rustle of the wind. Out of nowhere, he imagined his body decomposing in the forest, and he felt a shudder run the length of his body.

  If he died, how would his family ever find out what had happened to him?

  The thought filled him with a tremor of emotion. At this point, Portland seemed farther away than ever.

  The past few days had been something out of a nightmare, one he’d hardly had a chance to process. Earlier in the week, he’d rented a van with his best friend, making his way from Albuquerque to Las Vegas. They’d made it two hundred miles before the infection hit.

  And now Kendall was dead. Killed by his hands.

  Noah tried to force the thought from his mind, but it’d already taken hold. He could still see his best friend’s expression as he’d stabbed the shiv into Kendall’s neck; his mouth had been agape, his infected flesh spitting blood like a geyser—

  Stop it.

  Noah clenched his teeth, trying to rid his mind of the image. The only thing he needed to concern himself with was surviving and getting home. Everything else was just noise.

  His brain had too much to bear.

  He staggered to his feet. In the past few seconds, the woods had grown louder. It was as if the creatures of the forest had picked up on the silence, intent on filling the void. It took him a second to realize that it wasn’t the sound of nature he was hearing, but the sound of men.

  His pursuers had found him.

  Noah plunged through the forest, the crack of rifles echoing around him.

  Bullets pinged off the trees; branches snapped beneath his feet. He could hear the men shouting as they ran, taunting him as they fired.

  There were two voices. He wasn’t sure where the rest had gone, but he didn’t have time to think about it.

  The stick was heavy in his hands. If it weren’t his only weapon, Noah might’ve dropped it. He did his best to gain ground, knowing he was hopelessly outmatched and out of strength.

  His options were few.

  Though the forest was thick, he couldn’t see a place that would provide permanent cover. The men had him in their sights. If he were to duck behind a tree, surely they’d find him.

  A gunshot connected with a nearby oak. One of the men laughed. Were they missing him on purpose? Were they delaying the inevitable? His brain couldn’t process the reason behind their violence. It made no sense. He’d never met these men before; he’d never wronged them. And yet here they were trying to end his life.

  It was as if everything had gone out the window when the infection had taken over.

  He could only guess that the men had been waiting for an event such as this one, ready to capitalize on the chaos and insanity. In just a few short days, Noah had seen a host of unspeakable acts.

  Even now, the images of what he’d seen still haunted him. Worst of all were the things he’d done himself.

  Noah had almost given up hope when he spotted a cluster of sticks and limbs stacked against a tree. It looked like something an animal had built. The foliage was thick and brown, obscuring his view of the inside.

  Regardless of its origins, it might provide cover. Desperate, he fell to his knees and crawled inside.

  The men were several hundred feet behind him. He scooted into hiding, hoping they hadn’t seen him. A minute later, the footsteps ceased.

  “Where’d he go?”

  “I don’t see him.”

  “Split up. We’ll find him.”

  Noah held his breath, peering out between the sticks. He could see the figures of the two men in the distance. One skirted behind a cluster of trees and out of sight. The other headed toward him.

  Noah gripped the tree branch in his hands, sweat dripping from his brow. The adrenaline of the chase had prevented him from getting a good look at his attackers. Now he found himself wishing he could look away.

  The man coming in his direction was wearing a button-up flannel shirt, blue jeans, and black boots. His shaggy hair stuck out in clumps, and it looked like he hadn’t shaved in days. His jaw was set, his teeth clenched together. His rifle swayed from left to right as he scanned the forest.

  Noah remained still. Because of the limited space, he’d been forced into a crouch; branches jutted just above his head. He glanced behind him. There was an opening on the other side of the shelter. At any moment, the man would spot him and he’d be forced to run through it.

  Noah’s purple polo shirt might as well be a homing beacon in the forest. Once he was out in the open, there’d be no disguising his presence.

  The man was fifty feet away and closing. Forty. Noah inched backward on hands and knees, ready to run.

  He scoured the forest, searching for the second man, but he was nowhere in sight.

  The homemade shelter butted against a thick oak. Noah crept backward through the opening, slipping behind the nearby trunk. His pursuer stopped a few feet away. His gaze settled on Noah’s former hiding place.

  Had Noah been found?

  For a second, Noah was convinced the man could see him, that he was waiting him out. Each passing second was part of the man’s sick game, a quest to prolong the kill.

  But Noah couldn’t let that happen. He couldn’t give up on his family.

  Not now. Not ever.

  Noah leapt out from behind the oak. The man stepped back in surprise, his mouth hanging open. Before the man could react, Noah gored him in the neck with his stick. He twisted the jagged branch into the man’s throat, embedding it deeper into his flesh. The man clutched his neck in agony, blood spurting from the newly opened wound. His rifle c
lattered to the ground. Noah let go of the branch and stepped back.

  His eyes grew wide as he surveyed what he had done. But there was no time to second-guess his actions.

  He scooped up the weapon, spinning to face the forest. The second man was already in view, closing ground.

  “You son of a bitch!” the man yelled.

  Noah fired the rifle through the trees, but his shot went wide. He had no idea how many bullets were left. He barely knew how to aim.

  “Stay the fuck away from me!” he screamed.

  He fired again, watching the man take cover behind a nearby tree. The man he’d stabbed gurgled and writhed on the ground. Noah kept his gun trained on the forest in front of him, slowly backing away from the scene.

  His entire body was shaking; the rifle felt like lead in his hands.

  There was a large tree to his right. He moved toward it, watching for signs of the second attacker. He’d almost made it when the man appeared. Noah fired again. The weapon bucked in his hands; this time, the man screamed.

  Had he hit him? Was it over? Noah wasn’t waiting to find out.

  Trembling, he fled through the forest.

  4

  Tommy advanced through the diner.

  Caddy stumbled over a spilled ketchup bottle, dropping her bag of provisions. Apples and oranges and cans rolled across the tile. She cried out as her hip banged against one of the stools, and she struggled to maintain her balance.

  Dammit.

  It was too late. The food she’d scavenged was gone. Caddy skirted toward the end of the counter, dodging a host of debris. She’d almost made it when a hand latched onto the back of her shirt.

  She ripped free and swung around to face her attacker.

  Tommy was almost on top of her. His eyes—formerly deep and blue—were now an inky shade of black. It’d been years since she’d spoken to him, but she’d seen him working at his father’s hardware store. She tried to remember the last conversation they’d had, but drew a blank.