Contamination (Books 0-3)

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Contamination (Books 0-3) Page 14

by T. W. Piperbrook


  “What the fuck?” Kendall yelled.

  The girl had dropped her arms, and was squinting to see inside the van. She was holding a rifle—one that was strangely similar to the one Sam had dropped in White Mist.

  “That’s my gun!” Sam cried out from the backseat.

  Hearing them, the girl aimed it at the windshield.

  “Stay back!” she screamed. “Or I will fucking shoot!”

  “We’re going to get out slowly,” Sam said out the window.

  “No, you’re not! Stay where you are!”

  “Look, we’re in the same boat as you,” he said calmly.

  She lowered the gun, and Noah saw that she was sobbing. Sam took the opportunity to open the door.

  “We’re not here to hurt you—we’re looking for help, just like you.”

  She let the rifle fall to her side.

  “Where’d you get that gun?”

  The girl stepped backwards as she looked at Sam, seemingly in disbelief. Her eyes narrowed, and she had stopped crying.

  “From your store—from White Mist. There was a dead body in the parking lot, and the place was torn apart. What the hell is happening?”

  Noah’s brow creased. How had she known it was Sam’s store? Did he know her? It certainly didn’t seem so.

  “Is your car drivable?” Sam asked.

  “I-I don’t think so,” she stammered.

  “Let’s get it off the road. We don’t need another accident to deal with,” he said, motioning for Noah and Kendall to get out of the vehicle.

  Noah was immediately struck by the girl’s beauty, and his demeanor softened. Her eyes were blue, similar to his, but she had a strange intensity that seemed to radiate throughout her whole persona.

  Her shoulder-length hair was dark, perfectly complementing her olive skin. She wore a gray tank top and a pair of skinny jeans. Her lips were full and curved, and they wavered as she surveyed the scene. She looked to be in her mid-twenties. Noah noticed that her neck was red and bruised, and she had a cut on her arm.

  The body on the ground drew his attention. He covered his mouth.

  “We should move him, as well,” Sam said.

  Noah held his breath, and they each took a leg, gently tugging the body onto the gravel beside the highway. The road was still stained with pieces of the victim’s face.

  “I can’t believe this is happening,” the girl whispered.

  Noah moved towards her, holding up his hands. “Listen, it’s ok. What’s your name?”

  “Marie,” she said, after a pause.

  Noah’s glasses slid down his nose, and he gently propped them up. He introduced his companions.

  “Did you already call the police, Marie?”

  She motioned towards the broken cellphone on the ground, throwing her hands up in despair. Noah and Kendall looked at each other, shaking their heads. It was as if they had been cut off from the whole world.

  “We’d better get moving,” Noah warned.

  He watched the others jump into the backseat, and then helped the girl inside.

  20

  DELTA SAT QUIET IN THE passenger seat of the van, chewing her nails. She couldn’t believe she had finally found him. Sam was alive.

  She glanced back at him in amazement, and her hand went automatically to her pocket. The picture was still there. She had lied about her name. Given the events of the evening, she wasn’t sure how he would take the news. It wasn’t time yet. Things were just too…horrific.

  She noticed that Noah was watching her. His eyes darted sideways behind his black-rimmed glasses, and he seemed nervous. She couldn’t blame him. She watched the Chevy disappear in the passenger mirror, trying to dispel the memories that went with it. Despite the late hour, she was still intensely awake.

  She doubted she would ever sleep again.

  “How do you guys know each other?” she asked.

  “That’s a long fucking story,” Kendall grinned from the backseat, doing his best to lighten the mood.

  Sam began to narrate the events of the evening, and she listened with horror. It was as if the whole world had gone insane, save for those in the van. And even then, she wasn’t so sure. She looked at herself in the mirror, inspecting her own blue eyes. They seemed darker than she remembered, as if they had been tainted forever with unspeakable events.

  Things were different now, indeed.

  When Sam finished, Delta described her own discoveries at White Mist, which fell in line with the story she had just heard. She continued on, reaching her struggle on the highway, and then felt her voice trail off. She bit her lip and looked away.

  Noticing her discomfort, the driver changed the subject.

  “How’d you end up in White Mist, Sam?” Noah asked.

  The storeowner leaned forward in his seat. He paused for a minute, as if reluctant to share.

  “I’m actually from New York, believe it or not,” he said. “I didn’t move to New Mexico until I was a teenager. I hated the desert at first…but then it sort of grew on me. I had never liked the snow or cold, anyhow, so that was probably my saving grace.”

  “I agree with you on that one.” Noah made a face.

  “My dad owned a small bookstore in Albuquerque. I worked alongside him for years, learning the business while I went to college. I think he expected me to take over for him. But my heart just wasn’t in it. I wanted to make my own way. I was stubborn. When I was twenty-two, I met my wife...” He paused, trying to compose himself.

  “I’m sorry,” Noah said, sensing his pain.

  Delta turned toward the window, trying to suppress her own emotions. It was painful to hear the story from the other side. The storeowner continued.

  “My wife and I got married, and we had a daughter. I worked at an insurance agency. My wife worked second shift as a nurse. One day we saw a listing online for White Mist. It was sort of a joke between us at first—we could own an entire town! Besides that, we could quit our day jobs. We used to talk about it every night before bed, how eventually we wouldn’t have to answer to our bosses.” He smiled at the memory.

  “Well, I got my wish. A few weeks later I was laid off from the insurance company. My employer blamed it on the economy, but I think he just figured out he could make more money for himself. We took it as a sign. Why not make our dream a reality? Before we knew it, we were setting up shop in White Mist. A few years ago, my wife and daughter passed away unexpectedly.”

  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.

  The storeowner 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

  CHAPTER 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 disagre
e.

  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 not only 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 that 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 would meet 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 began moving 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 had 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 had cultivated a keen sense of people’s intentions—often by talking to them for just a few minutes.

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

  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 was leaning down from the top of the truck now, trying to secure his shot.

  “Your warning is up!” the megaphone blared.

  “Go! Go!” Sam yelled.

  Noah threw the vehicle into reverse, feeling the trailer buckle as it began to jackknife. He hit the gas and accelerated forward 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, this time hitting the trailer. Noah hit the gas, increasing their speed and kicking up dust around them. The van veered left, and Sam watched the pickups across the road start to move. They were trying to head them off.

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

  “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 seemed to back 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 started to ascend.

  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.

 

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