Contamination (Books 0-3)

by T. W. Piperbrook

  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 seemed 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 began to crunch on the road, and the noise muffled 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 could make 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.

  Noah raised the bat in response, looking wildly in all directions.

  The kid had been right. It was the damned beef.

  “Forget the RV,” he whispered. “We need to get back in that van and get as far away as possible. It’s too dangerous.”

  He turned in the opposite direction, leading with the pistol. Behind him, the van door was open. Delta had gotten out. He motioned for her to get back inside.

  “I thought I heard voices,” she explained. She turned and hopped back into the van, opening the door to a crack. As she got inside, an object fluttered to the ground behind her.

  Sam reached down and picked up the object. He ran his fingers over it in the dark.

  It felt like a photograph.

  25

  NOAH JUMPED BACK INTO THE driver’s seat. He fumbled in his pockets for the keys, and then realized he had left them in the ignition. His roommate leaned forward from the backseat.

  “What happened?” Kendall whispered. “Was somebody in the RV?”

  “We didn’t get that far,” Noah said. “It’s bad, man. That newspaper article, the attacks—they’re all related. There was a radio on the picnic table...”

  “Let’s get out of here, Noah!” Sam interrupted.

  Noah turned the key. The van fired up without hesitation. He exhaled loudly and put it into reverse. He would need to turn the vehicle around.

  “We should ditch the trailer.” Kendall cursed from the backseat.

  “We can do that later,” Sam said. “We need to get out of here. Out of this state. It’s our only hope.”

  Noah began to maneuver backwards, sliding the steering wheel in the opposite direction from the turn. He felt the trailer start to jackknife, and put the van back in drive. Normally, he was pretty efficient, but his nerves had started to kick in.

  He pulled forward towards the RV, intending to begin a sharper turn. As he did so, a pair of brake lights snapped on, casting a red glow on the hood of the van.

  Somebody was inside the RV.

  The camper’s engine fired up, filling the night air with a plume of exhaust. Noah pulled forward, then reverse
d, attempting to change course. In front of them, they could still see through the window of the RV. A hand moved toward the shade, tugging at the bottom. It spun upwards and rolled on the track. A bearded man stared out at them, dressed in a camouflage jacket and pants. He pressed a shotgun against the window and stared into the van. His eyes were bloodshot, as if he hadn’t slept in days.

  “Forget turning around—just go!” Sam yelled.

  Noah hit the gas hard, feeling the tires burn out on dirt and gravel. The van leapt into motion, screeching onto the roadway and heading deeper into the mountains. In the passenger seat next to him, the girl clung on to her seat, knuckles white.

  Noah glanced behind them, catching the glare of headlights. He gunned the engine. The RV had pulled out of the inlet, and was now right on their tail.

  26

  SAM TWISTED THE PISTOL IN his right hand. With the trailer behind them, his view of the RV was poor. He considered leaning out of one of the windows and firing at it. But with only two bullets left, his chances of landing a well-placed shot were slim.

  Were they sure the person behind them was an enemy? After all, they had been the ones who had breached the campgrounds, creeping up on someone’s territory.

  On the other hand, if he were the person or persons in the RV, he would have chosen to drive in the opposite direction, not to pursue an unknown vehicle filled with people. Especially if the RV owner had heard the radio broadcast. Nothing seemed to make sense.

  If Sam had heard that announcement prior to today, he wasn’t sure he would have believed it. In fact, a few times during the night he had pictured himself waking up in his bed in White Mist, shaking off the remnants of a bad dream.

  Especially after what had happened to Karen and Chloe. For the past few years, he had struggled to find purpose in his existence, to find a reason to keep going.

  He thought back to his first few months alone, when the pain was sharp and condemning. He had blamed himself for leaving that night at the hotel. If only he had been there. If only he could have saved them.

  His remaining family had suggested he sell White Mist and return to Albuquerque, to surround himself with people who could provide comfort and support. He had stubbornly refused.

  Instead, he had continued to operate the store alone. Routine provided escape, and the daily chatter of transient customers provided a window to normalcy. He would not find that in the arms of his family. They would only remind him of what he had lost with their sympathetic gestures and downturned glances.

  He was better off alone. Or so he had thought. He looked around at the other passengers.

  Right now, the people in this van needed his help.

  Sam felt a surge of strength overtake him. He smiled as he pictured Karen’s face as she joked with him that he needed to change his eating habits. If only she knew how right she had been.

  The roar of the RV grew louder, jolting the storeowner back to reality. It sounded as if the vehicle were intent on ramming into the trailer. He squeezed the handle of the gun. He needed to find a way out of the situation—for all of their sakes.

  Sam felt something smooth in his left palm, and realized he was still gripping the object he had found on the ground. He looked down at it, and saw that it was indeed a picture.

  Through the dim lights of the van, he saw a familiar face staring back at him. It was a picture of him from several years back. Right around the time his family had been murdered.

  On the back a few words had been scrawled in neat cursive.

  Sam Cook. White Mist, New Mexico.

  In a flash it all became clear. The girl had been searching for him.

  David Monroe—the man who had murdered his family—had a daughter.

  Sam remembered now. It had been a few years, but he vaguely recalled her presence in the courtroom during the trial. At the time, he had been so distraught that he erased some of the details from his memory. She had been hiding in the back—probably ashamed at what her father had done.

  Now, as he stared at the back of her head, he found himself wishing he had paid more attention.

  He tucked the picture in his pocket. He had known something wasn’t right about her from the moment they had first met on the highway. Something about her blue eyes and demeanor seemed—well just off.

  For all he knew, the girl could have been watching him for weeks—months even—trying to determine the right way to approach him. She had finally succeeded, in the midst of the chaos that was now playing out around them.

  Maybe she was part of that chaos.

  From the front seat, her head turned to the side as the van shook. He caught a glimpse of her eyes, which seemed darker than he remembered.

  The van jolted forward, skidding slightly as the RV slammed into them from behind. Sam had two bullets. He knew he’d better make them count.

  27

  THE RV BEGAN TO HONK and flash its lights. Noah heard the sound of someone yelling, and then realized the sound was coming from his own mouth. The van wound its way into the mountains.

  Route 191 had thinned out even more. With every turn, the van’s headlights illuminated a new curve in the road. One wrong maneuver would send the van and trailer tumbling hundreds of feet off of a remote cliff. If someone were to come looking for them, it would be years before they were found.

  And nobody knew they were here.

  Aside from that, the contamination had probably infected most of the southwestern states. He thought briefly of his family in Nebraska, and felt a small sense of relief. At least they were farther away. Maybe they’re safe, he thought.

  Kendall was crouching between the front seats, staring out the side mirrors.

  “He’s going to ram us off the edge!”

  Delta gripped the bottom of her seat, biting her lips. In the back, Sam clutched the pistol, deciding the best course of action.

  The storeowner spoke up. “We can try stopping suddenly when we get to a straightaway. Maybe it will scare him enough to back off. We can’t continue to be hit from behind—it’s too dangerous. Those trailer tires are thin.”

  “I don’t see anything remotely straight coming up, Sam!” Noah warned. “Besides, with the way he’s ramming us, I doubt he’d care if we stopped.”

  The RV revved its engine behind them and came in for another pass, brushing the back of the trailer. One of the trailer tires kicked up off the ground with the impact. Noah heard a thud, and pictured the couch colliding with the trailer walls.

  “We’re going to pop a tire!” Kendall yelled.

  Up ahead, Noah saw a tight curve approaching to their left. “Sam, do you think you can get off a shot when we round this bend?”

  Sam squeezed beside him, next to the driver’s seat, and poked his head out the window.

  “We’ll find out soon enough!” he yelled against the wind.

  Noah let up on the gas as the van rounded the turn. The trailer pitched to the side. He heard Sam fire a shot into the night, and then the sound of glass shattering behind them.

  28

  SAM HAD HIT HIS MARK. The RV’s front windshield collapsed into tiny fragments. The headlights blinded him, but he could see the silhouette of the driver hunched over in the seat. He wasn’t sure if the man was ducking, or if he had been hit.

  He hoped for the latter.

  Noah let off the gas and the van slowed to a crawl.

  “Is he dead?”

  “I’m not sure. I wouldn’t assume anything at this point,” Sam said.

  “We should probably check, right? What if he’s not one of those things? What if he was just trying to defend himself?” Noah asked.

  Sam nodded grimly. Even though the RV driver had been trying to kill them, the man might still be alive. He looked at the pistol. He had one bullet left.

  The girl shifted in her seat, and he quickly turned his attention to her. He wasn’t sure if she could be trusted. He needed to find out what else she was hiding, but he would have to wait until the present situa
tion was dealt with.

  The van came to a stop. Its headlights lit up the side of a beautiful mountain range. Green foliage and trees peppered the landscape. Sam found himself thinking this area would remain untouched for years to come. Especially with no one left to develop it. The thought gave him little comfort.

  The edge of the cliff was dangerously close. He figured the tires couldn’t be more than a foot or so from slipping into the darkness below. Although he couldn’t see off the side, he imagined the drop was several hundred feet. His stomach hitched.

  “I’ll check on the driver,” he said finally. He opened the door.

  The RV’s headlights blurred his vision. After a few seconds, his eyes began to adjust, and he was able to assess the damage to the vehicle behind them. Shards of glass clung to the window frame. The driver was keeled over in the front seat.

  Sam shuddered. In one night, he’d been responsible for the death of two living things. He relaxed his grip on the pistol and fought the urge to be sick.

  The man certainly appeared to be dead. But he needed to be sure. He needed to know.

  He thought back to White Mist, to the trucker whose body probably still lay in the dirt. He wondered if the man would ever have a proper burial, if, somewhere, his family was looking for him. Certainly, the man in the RV had had loved ones as well, regardless of the circumstances he had found himself in. The door hung open, and Sam looked down to find his footing.

  “Sam, wait!” Noah hissed.

  The storeowner looked back again. The shadow in the RV had begun to move.

  “He’s still alive!”

  Had he been biding his time? Maybe he’d been waiting for them to approach so he could resume his attack at close range.