Contamination (Books 0-3)

by T. W. Piperbrook

  The sound of gunshots rippled through the mountains and down to the gas station, echoing off the walls of the store.

  “Oh my God,” Delta whispered.

  The young man crumpled to the ground. Two of the men grabbed hold of his limbs, pitching his body off the side of the road like a sack of flour.

  The men in white returned to their vehicles and the SUVs began to roll forward. They were headed toward the gas station.

  Officer Dan Lowery awoke to the distant sound of gunfire. He threw his arms upwards, instinctively blocking his face. His vision was blurry, and he rubbed at his eyes. The right side of his face was numb. He peeled his cheek off the vinyl seat of the Subaru Outback, waiting for his vision to return. He must have fallen asleep.

  “Dammit,” he muttered.

  He scanned outside the windows, discerning only trees and rocks. No attackers revealed themselves. A few feeble rays of sunlight shone through the cracks in the brush, illuminating the interior of the car. How long had he been out? He guessed it had only been a few hours, but for all he knew, it could have been days.

  His daughter snored quietly from the passenger’s seat. She clutched his police jacket in her arms. Her eyes fluttered open, as if sensing his gaze.

  “Are we ok, Dad?” she asked.

  “We’re fine, honey,” he said, doing his best to quell his own fear.

  He reached under the seat and tapped the handle of the pistol for reassurance. The weapon was still there. The car doors were locked. For the moment, they were safe.

  But where had the gunshots originated from?

  Dan looked around, reacquainting himself with their surroundings.

  Earlier that morning, they had driven several miles into the White Mountains, leaving St. Matthews behind. Not a single car had greeted them on the roadway, and they hadn’t seen one of the creatures for miles. Either the things were confining their hunt to the small town, or they had yet to branch out past the perimeter.

  Once they had made it past the outskirts of town, Quinn had asked him to stop.

  “I’m really sorry, Dad. I have to pee,” she had said.

  Dan had spotted a turnoff on the road—probably one of the regular hiking spots for the locals. He had pulled the car down the path then backed into a makeshift spot between a few trees, hoping to shield the car from view.

  After his daughter had finished, he had accompanied her back to the vehicle. It wasn’t until then that he had realized how exhausted he was. He had barely slept the night before. In fact, he hadn’t slept much in days.

  Not since Julie had died.

  “We’ll get moving in a few minutes,” he had said.

  Dan remembered reclining the seat and closing his eyes, intending to doze for just a few minutes. Minutes must have turned into hours.

  He cursed himself silently. Sleeping for that long was dangerous, irresponsible. He couldn’t let it happen again—not without being certain they were secure.

  The sound of his daughter’s voice pulled him back to the present.

  “Were those gunshots?”

  “I think so,” he said. “But I don’t think they were close.”

  “What if somebody needs help, Dad?”

  The words struck him in the gut, and he felt a pang of guilt. Ever since his wife had died, his obligations had shifted.

  Up until a few days ago, his job as a police officer had been to protect the small town, to keep order in St. Matthews. At this point, though, there didn’t seem to be much left to protect. They hadn’t seen another survivor in days. From what he had seen, the whole town had been infected.

  Besides, Quinn needed him, and she was his most important responsibility. I’m only one man, he thought. I can only do so much.

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea to go back.” He averted his gaze.

  Quinn looked at him, her brown eyes narrowing. She wasn’t about to give up.

  “What if there’s another family down there?”

  Dan put his head in his hands.

  “We can’t just leave them, Dad,” she whispered.

  He looked again at the police jacket, at his daughter’s hands clenched around it. What if another child was in danger, perhaps even another little girl like his own, and he had the ability to help?

  Dan sighed, pulled the gun from beneath the seat, and started the ignition. It was times like this when he wished he didn’t have a conscience. Going back was beyond dangerous—they were probably too late to do anything. But his daughter’s courage had inspired him.

  “We’ll head back a ways, but only a few miles. If we don’t see anything, we should turn right back around and leave.”

  Quinn nodded, and he watched her eyes light up with dim hope.

  The world had turned to shit. For now, that hope would need to sustain them both.

  2

  “WE NEED TO GET OUT of here. They’ll find us,” Sam hissed.

  The storeowner jumped through the broken window and beckoned for his companions to follow. He scanned the wooden fence on the right side of the lot and the grassy embankment just below it. Up the road, the SUVs had started to move. He slipped the knife into his belt.

  “Hurry!”

  Sam started to run. Noah and the girl were right behind him, breathing heavily. He reached the fence, placed his hands on the top beam and vaulted over. He landed with a thud on the other side, sending a ripple of pain through his wounded arm. He turned to help the others. Thank God I’m not any older, he thought. His limbs ached, and his body was still in pain from the events of the last day.

  When the others had made it over, Sam turned back to the road. The SUVs had almost reached the lot.

  “Duck!” he whispered.

  The three pressed flat against the grass, peering through the yellow blades. The wind blew—a hesitant gust that shook the trees and snaked through the fence to where they lay.

  Sam’s arm began to burn even more, and he winced. He had removed the sling after the incident on Route 191—when their former companion Kendall had torn into him—but the wound was still throbbing. He stretched his arm taut, trying to get the circulation going. Delta noticed, and a look of concern spread across her face.

  He had been wrong about her, after all. He gave her a weak smile. After everything that had happened in the last day, it felt good to have her as an ally.

  The SUVs rolled to a stop in front of the store. Three men disembarked. They moved forward in unison, a white mass of coats and legs. A fourth man remained behind, scanning the edges of the parking lot.

  Their outfits were splattered with blood and remains.

  Probably from the driver in the sedan, Sam thought. Maybe even others.

  The first three marched into the store, exchanging looks and nods. Each held an automatic rifle, and they swung the barrels in front of them, eyes cold and narrow. Their feet ground shards of glass into the floor as they stepped into the gas station.

  When they had disappeared from sight, Sam let out a shallow breath. The fourth man gazed at the mountains.

  Delta began to inch backwards. He grabbed her arm. Not yet, he mouthed. He heard a noise behind him and looked back to find Noah.

  It was too late.

  Noah had already begun to slide down the embankment, his feet kicking up loose stone as he maneuvered. The pebbles ricocheted off the dirt, taking on a life of their own as they made their way to the bottom. The fourth man broke his gaze and turned towards the fence. He raised his gun.

  Sam reached for the hunting knife. The handle felt cool and stiff between his fingers. Noah had stopped moving—now hugging the dirt about fifteen feet below them. His face turned an ashen white as he realized his mistake.

  The fourth man was about ten feet away. Closing fast. The man looked in the direction of the store and opened his mouth as if ready to call out to his companions, but seemed to decide against it. His mouth curved up in a smile.

  He’d rather save us for himself.

  Sam tugged o
n Delta’s arm again. She looked at him, wide-eyed.

  “Go,” he said.

  She hesitated for a split second then scooted down the ravine towards Noah. Sam turned back towards the fence, unsheathing his knife. He started to stand.

  Wham!

  He had been struck with the barrel of a rifle.

  “Get up.”

  The man in white grinned down at him, revealing a mouthful of perfect teeth. He poked the barrel into Sam’s forehead, aiming the tip through the fence. From up close, Sam could see that the blood on his white suit was still wet.

  “I’m not going to ask again,” the man said. “And please, drop the knife.”

  The storeowner let go of the hunting knife. It hit the ground with a dull thud.

  “Tell your friends to come join us.”

  Sam glanced over his shoulder, hoping his companions were long gone. Instead, he saw them waiting at the bottom of the hill, hands clasped over their mouths in fear. He felt his heart sink. He should have told them to run earlier.

  Sam gave them a piercing look, hoping that his expression would persuade them to flee. No one moved. The gunman instructed them all to stay put and raise their hands in the air. Sam did as he was told, then turned back to face the gunman.

  The man was bending down to fit through the fence, his rifle tilted downwards. As he stepped through, he inadvertently let his gaze fall.

  This may be my only chance, the storeowner thought.

  Sam sprang for the rifle, pushing off the ground with all his weight and connecting with the man’s chest. The gun turned upwards and sandwiched between them. Both lost their balance, and the two began to roll down the hill, arms and legs flailing as each tried to get the upper hand.

  Sam pried at the man’s fingertips, but the man kept an iron-like grasp around the rifle. The coppery odor of blood filled Sam’s nostrils, and his eyes began to sting.

  His face scraped the dirt as they rolled, and he felt his cheeks being torn open from the debris. Finally, the two came to a rest at the foot of the hill, each still struggling for control of the weapon.

  Sam gave a forceful tug. The rifle came loose and skittered off into the grass. He lost his balance and fell backwards.

  The man took the opportunity to gain control, pinning Sam to the ground, digging his knees into the storeowner’s chest. He began to pummel Sam with his fists. The storeowner raised his arms to protect his face, but the blows rained down on him, and he felt his arms caving.

  The others must have heard the commotion by now, he thought. If we don’t get out of here soon, we’ll all be dead.

  Push, Sam.

  The storeowner lunged upwards with all his strength and felt the man topple backwards. Delta appeared beside him.

  “Sam, take the knife!”

  He grabbed the weapon, stuck it underneath the man’s chin.

  “Don’t move another inch!”

  The man in white grinned, his perfect teeth now stained with blood from his gums.

  “Or what? You’ll kill me?”

  “Who are you?” Sam hissed. “Why are you doing this?”

  The man spat on the storeowner. Sam wiped the blood from his face, gritted his teeth. He pressed the blade further into the man’s neck. The man started to laugh.

  “There’s no escape, you fool. You’ll all be infected soon.”

  “Are you responsible for all this? Did you poison these people?”

  Sam felt his blood beginning to boil.

  “Humanity’s fate has always been sealed,” the man said. “We’ve just given you an expiration date.”

  “You’re sick!” the storeowner yelled.

  The man’s smile faded. His eyes narrowed into slits.

  “As soon as you let me up, I’m going to kill all three of you. You know that, don’t you? You’re all as good as dead.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure.”

  Sam raised the knife. The man in white began to laugh again, mocking him. Sam thought of the young driver that had just been killed, of all the others that had been infected—of Kendall. In spite of all that, could he kill this man in cold blood? He didn’t think so.

  He began to loosen his grip on the blade. The man’s laughing persisted, blood spilling from his mouth and trickling down his chin.

  Without warning, the man lunged for the storeowner’s arm.

  Sam avoided the attack and thrust the knife downwards. Felt it connect. The blade plunged deep into the man’s chest, and the storeowner twisted the handle until he felt it scrape against bone. The man’s eyes dilated, and he gasped for breath. A ring of blood radiated outwards from the center of his white coat. Sam’s fingers slipped off of the handle and onto the grass, and he choked on his own vomit.

  Shouts erupted from the top of the hill.

  The storeowner stumbled to his feet and saw that Delta and Noah were staring at him in shock.

  “They’re coming!” he yelled. “For God’s sake—run!”

  Dan Lowery backed the car out from the underbrush and threw the car into drive. The Outback kicked into gear, the tires gaining traction on a bed of twigs and pebbles. He noticed Quinn had perked up some; she was rocking back and forth in the passenger’s seat, peering out the window at the scenic landscape.

  For a few seconds, he was able to forget what they had been through, and he smiled.

  Dan kept the car’s speed to a crawl, watching for signs of danger or activity. The forest remained quiet, seemingly oblivious to the carnage that had afflicted the town below. Too quiet.

  His mind began to churn. Why hadn’t they seen anyone else since leaving St. Matthews? Wouldn’t others have fled, as well—perhaps taking these same mountain roads? Instead, the road possessed an eerie calm, as if the landscape could erupt in violence at any moment.

  He pushed his fears aside as the car approached the intersection of Route 191. He swiveled his head back and forth, scanning in both directions.

  Nothing.

  For a split second, he debated taking a left turn, heading in the opposite direction of the city and the violence he knew to be there. He glanced to his right; his daughter was watching him like a hawk. Sometimes, it felt like she could read his mind.

  “Hold on tight, honey. Here we go.”

  He hit the gas, propelling the car forward in the direction of St. Matthews.

  Thick Ponderosa pines dominated the roadside, covering the landscape in a smattering of green. The road was devoid of guardrails, but Dan took each curve with precision, starting to recognize some of the landmarks they had passed just a few hours earlier. After a few minutes, the rural road began to slope downwards and eventually leveled out. He increased speed.

  “Dad?”

  Quinn glanced over at him, breaking the silence. She had shifted to the edge of her seat.

  “Do you think we’re going to find anyone down there?”

  “I’m not sure, honey,” he said. “If we don’t see anything in a few miles, I’m going to turn around.”

  She sat back in the seat and glanced out the window.

  “What if we’re the only ones left?” she whispered.

  Dan felt an icy feeling wash over him. It was the same question he had been asking himself for days. He gave his daughter a grim look, then refocused his eyes on the road.

  Rata-tata-tata.

  Dan bolted upright in his seat.

  Gunfire.

  If he had to guess, it sounded like it was coming from a few miles ahead. The rounds came in intermittent bursts, as if several weapons were being fired in unison. He looked over at his daughter. Her head was tucked between her knees. Maybe this was a bad idea after all, he thought.

  He slowed the vehicle to a halt, surveying the area. Although the road had straightened, mountains still lined their view on all sides. The sun beat down overhead, sending beams of light through the windshield, and Dan squinted to see through them.

  On the horizon, he could just make out the gas station they had stopped at earlier, rig
ht at the edge of St. Matthews. Grass-covered hills flanked the left side of the road and descended off into the distance. To the right, the desert landscape extended as far as the eye could see.

  Dan watched and waited. He sat up straight in his seat—one hand on the shifter, one on the wheel—ready to throw the car into reverse and turn around if needed. The engine hummed, awaiting direction.

  “Dad—look down the hill!” Quinn shouted suddenly.

  He followed her stare. A few hundred feet ahead, somewhere between the car and the gas station, three figures ran up the grassy slopes. Their movements appeared human—unlike those of the creatures they had been encountering for the past few days.

  “Regular people!” his daughter yelled. A smile spread across her face.

  Dan eased his foot off the brake, letting the car roll forward. The figures increased in size as they approached. His focus drifted past them.

  “Oh, crap,” he muttered.

  Farther up the road, three others had appeared, seemingly following the first group. They stopped, holding what appeared to be rifles, and crouched to their knees to fire.

  Rata-tata-tata.

  Quinn jumped up in her seat, hysterical.

  “Dad, we need to save them!”

  Dan felt his adrenaline kick in. He swallowed hard and stepped on the gas.

  He hoped he wasn’t making a mistake.

  For the second time that morning, the sound of gunfire filled the desert air. This time Delta was caught in the middle. She pushed her legs to their limit and plowed through the tall grass, struggling to maintain her balance on the hill’s incline.

  Thwip-thwip-thwip.

  Bullets whizzed by her head and pierced the ground around her, and she ducked instinctively, as if the blades of grass might protect her. She wondered how she hadn’t been hit yet. The men in white appeared to be trained killers, as hollow and soulless as the infected.

  Maybe they’re aiming carefully, she thought. Trying to keep us alive so they can torture us later.

  Her mind screamed these thoughts even as she fought to repress them. She tried to keep focus as she darted up the hill, her ankles twisting on the uneven ground.