Behind her, she heard the footfalls and rapid breathing of her companions. Somehow Delta had taken the lead, and her heart sunk like a stone as she realized she had no destination.
Even if they managed to escape their pursuers, where would they go?
The three survivors had no home base. No safe haven. The world had turned upside down in the course of a day, and they had been caught in the shuffle.
The shouts behind her increased in volume, and Delta realized that the gunshots had stopped. She glanced back. The men had discovered the body of their companion and were waving their arms and rifles in frenzy. It appeared they were angered more by the survivors’ insubordination than by the death of their compatriot.
Delta began to turn back to the path in front of her. As she did so, she locked eyes with Sam. Beads of sweat streamed down his face. His eyes had taken on a dull sheen, as if he were still trying to comprehend what had just happened. Once again, the storeowner had been forced to commit unspeakable actions.
They all had.
She wondered if these things got easier over time; she hoped like hell she wouldn’t have to find out.
Thwip-thwip-thwip.
The bullets resumed, and Delta yanked her attention back to the slope. To her right, the field continued to descend, leveling out after a few hundred feet. Up the hill, the fence ran another thirty feet and then came to an end. Would it be wiser to stick to the main thoroughfare—to maintain their sense of direction and increase their chance of finding help? Or would they be better off heading into the desert, making their way into the wilderness of the White Mountains beyond? Her legs were starting to buckle. She wondered how long she could keep up the pace.
Before she could decide, Noah cried out from behind her.
She looked back and saw he had been hit. He clutched his foot, hollering in pain.
“Noah!” she cried out.
“Keep going!” he screamed.
Delta ignored him, falling to his aid. She watched as their pursuers began to close the gap behind them. One of them crouched in the grass to take better aim.
“Oh my God, Noah—your foot!”
The edge of Noah’s sneaker had been torn off, exposing a mixture of blood and skin underneath. He walked on his heel, face creased in agony, his eyes pleading with her not to look.
“Just go, Delta!” he said, tears forming in his eyes.
Sam came up alongside them and grabbed Noah’s arm. Their pursuers were thirty feet behind now. Gaining ground. Delta gritted her teeth and held onto her companions. If they were going to die, they would go together.
“What the fuck?” one of the men screamed from behind her.
She glanced back over her shoulder. The man was pointing to the top of the hill, past the fence. Delta shifted her focus.
A blue station wagon careened down Route 191, approaching rapidly. The tires squealed as it took a turn, and it spun to a stop about forty feet ahead.
Delta strained to see inside the vehicle. Was this an enemy? Another threat to avoid? If so, they were officially surrounded. Out of luck.
Noah began to stumble, and she fought to keep herself upright.
The window of the car rolled down, and Delta saw an arm waving back and forth from the driver’s seat. Without warning, the rear door flung open, and a man’s voice cried out from inside.
“Get in!”
Dan’s foot hovered over the brake pedal, his arms shaking on the wheel. Three people clambered up the grassy slope towards the vehicle, their eyes fixed on the open door.
“Stay down, Quinn!” he hissed to his daughter.
As the survivors got closer, Dan could make out more details. There were two men and a girl. The young man in the middle appeared to be injured; he hobbled on one leg, wincing in pain. A pair of glasses bounced on the tip of his nose, threatening to fall off of his face.
The second male was older and had a tan complexion. It looked like he had a wound on his arm. The girl was dark-haired, in her mid-twenties.
The rattle of gunfire continued from somewhere down the slopes. Dan had lost sight of the gunmen, but he knew they couldn’t be far behind. He retrieved his pistol from his lap and positioned his arm on the windowsill.
“Don’t shoot!” the girl screamed at him.
“It’s ok!” Dan shouted. “We’re here to help. Just hurry and get inside!”
The trio piled in the backseat, a bundle of sweat and nerves, and Dan hit the gas, rocketing the car forward. He heard the backdoor slam.
The shooters had reached the road—Dan could see them now in the rearview mirror. Bullets pinged off the pavement, and he heard a few shots connect with the bumper. He swerved to the far side of the street, trying to throw off their aim. The car tires gripped the road with precision—a testament to his years on the force.
“Hang on tight!” he instructed.
Just ahead, he saw the gas station where he and Quinn had stopped just hours before. It was in even worse shape than he remembered. The store’s contents were spread through the parking lot, the windows smashed, pumps unraveled and left on the pavement. Two white SUVs were parked out front.
“Are those their cars?” he asked.
His new passengers looked up, gasping for breath. The girl answered.
“Yes.”
“At least we have a head start on them,” Dan said with relief. “Are you on foot?”
“Unfortunately, yes. We had a van, but we lost it back in the mountains. There used to be four of us…”
“I understand.”
The older man sighed with relief. Dan noticed that his cheeks were scuffed and torn, as if he had recently engaged in a scuffle.
“Thanks for picking us up. We would have been dead if you hadn’t,” the man said. “I’m Sam. This here is Delta, and this is Noah.”
He gestured toward his companions in turn.
Dan nodded. “No problem. I’m Dan Lowery, and this is my daughter Quinn.”
Quinn turned in her seat, gripping the top of the headrest. She studied her new companions with inquisitive eyes. Her gaze settled on Noah, who was clutching his knee and staring down at his right foot.
“Are you all right, mister?”
“I hope so.” He attempted a smile through clenched teeth.
“Were you hit?” Dan asked.
“Yeah, but I don’t think it’s too bad.” He grimaced, clearly in pain.
Delta leaned across the seat and inspected her friend’s injury. She looked upset.
“Your foot is bleeding, Noah. We need to get that wrapped up,” she said. Her face was wet with tears.
Dan reached over to the glove compartment and popped it open. He pulled out a first aid kit and threw it into the backseat.
“There should be gauze and bandages in there. It’s not much, but we can get more supplies in town.”
He swallowed after he spoke the words.
Dan and Quinn had already escaped St. Matthews once, and yet here they were, about to head back into the arms of the infected. To the place where his wife’s body lay, unburied. He felt a pit form in his stomach, fought to suppress it.
The roar of engines interrupted his train of thought. He looked in the rearview.
Behind them, the SUVs peeled out of the gas station.
Maybe we won’t make it to town after all, he thought.
3
BROWN CLUNG TO THE EDGE of his seat in the SUV, feeling the road shake beneath him. The contents of his stomach swirled in his gut, and he fought the urge to be sick. He clenched his rifle between his knees, squeezing until he lost circulation—anything to take his mind off the nausea.
Across from him, Winters yelled and stomped on the gas. Brown watched the RPM indicator rocket upwards and then stick, as if unable to keep up with the car’s increasing speed. Winters cursed and hit the dashboard with his hand.
“C’mon, you piece of shit.”
Brown scanned the road ahead of them. He felt his vision start to blur and the d
ull throb of a migraine coming on. He had never been carsick before, but he imagined this was what it felt like.
There’s a first time for everything, he thought. He had had a lot of firsts lately.
His first time shooting at a human being. His first time watching someone die from a knife wound to the chest.
He let go of the seat, clapping his hand against his forehead. Winters took notice.
“What’s the problem?” he asked.
“Nothing,” Brown said. “I’m fine.”
“Keep focused.”
“I will.”
“Do you know why we’re here, Brown?”
“No.”
“Because the agent that was stationed here couldn’t keep control. Now we have to play cleanup.”
Brown opened his eyes and removed his hand. He looked back at the road. The pavement flew by underneath the SUV, and houses began to appear at the roadside. The other white vehicle pulled up alongside them, and he could see the other driver, Jameson, through the window. The man was fixated on the station wagon in front of them.
Brown let his eyes drift until they were out of focus, his mind wandering.
He thought of the young man in the sedan that they had killed. Brown thanked God he hadn’t been the one to shoot him. But that didn’t make the situation any easier—and it certainly didn’t make the man any less dead.
For now, his hands were clean. But he knew it wouldn’t stay that way for long.
His headache began to subside a little and he glanced back outside. The streets were deserted and destroyed. Brown found himself hoping that there were no other survivors—at least, none outside of the few they were following. That would mean fewer difficult decisions. As soon as he had that thought, he realized how selfish it was.
He was essentially hoping that everyone in St. Matthews was dead.
Winters began to swear again; this time he sounded excited. The car in front of them had reappeared.
“All right, you fuckers. Here we come.”
Brown shuddered inside, but kept his calm. He felt the SUV hit a bump underneath them and secretly wished the vehicle would pop a tire.
Delta switched places with the storeowner so she could be closer to Noah. She opened the first aid kit. Noah had been applying pressure to the wound with a towel, and it appeared that the bleeding had stopped.
“You must have only been nicked. Thank God,” she said.
“I think my shoe took the brunt of it.” Noah smiled weakly, looking at the sneaker that lay on the floor. A flap of the rubber had been peeled off, and splotches of his blood marred the interior.
She helped him clean the wound as best she could and then wrapped his toe with a bandage. She realized again how lucky they had all been—any one of them could have been killed. Her mind turned to Kendall, and she found herself grateful that she hadn’t lost another companion.
“Thank you for picking us up,” she said to Dan.
He nodded.
“Don’t thank me yet. Your friends are right behind us.”
Delta turned in her seat. The SUVs had appeared behind them, two objects moving on a still backdrop. How ironic, she thought. In a land of the infected, it’s the humans we have to fear.
About fifty feet back, one of the vehicles swerved, hugging the interior lane. Delta noticed the black barrel of a rifle poking out of the passenger’s side window.
“They’re going to shoot us!” she cried.
As if on cue, the rear windshield shattered. Delta ducked her head and reached out instinctively for Noah. She felt his hand—warm to the touch—and she clasped his fingers until she could feel his pulse. The little girl in the front seat started to cry.
“It’s ok, Quinn!” Dan shouted.
The engine screamed as he pushed the car to the limit. Although she had a clear view, Delta refused to look at the speedometer. She knew they were going fast—too fast—and she clenched her eyes shut, hoping the driver wouldn’t lose control.
Instead, she stared at the floor, her head tucked between her knees. The bullets continued behind them. On the floor, she saw a flyer for a town fundraiser. She tried to focus on the words, reading them over and over, but comprehending nothing. They may as well have been letters typed in a foreign language, hieroglyphics on a piece of papyrus.
The car veered hard to one side, and she fell into Noah’s lap. She felt the storeowner leaning on her from the other side, the three of them creating a human chain. Dan yelled something, but she was unable to hear over the wind whipping in through the broken back window. Her hair swept over her face, blocking her vision. The driver shouted again. This time she could make out the words.
“Stay down!”
Delta planted her feet on the floor as she felt the vehicle sway back and forth as they took several more turns. Something shifted in the open space behind her. Grocery bags. She remembered seeing them earlier. It sounded like their contents were spilling as the car raced forward.
Delta cleared her hair from her face. In the front seat, she saw the little girl part her fingers and peer through them; their eyes met. She figured the girl couldn’t be more than ten years old. The little girl had stopped crying, but she still dabbed at her eyes, and her cheeks had wet trails where tears had been. It looked like she was trying to put on a brave face.
Delta thought back to her own childhood. What she would have been doing at ten years old? Her biggest concern probably would have been completing her fifth grade science project, or convincing her father to let her stay up late to watch television. Certainly nothing close to this. She wondered where the little girl’s mother was; that made Delta think of her own.
Delta’s mother had left when she was a toddler. She had never known her.
She wondered if her mother was still alive. Even if Delta had seen her, she wouldn’t recognize her face.
The car ground to a halt, and the little girl broke eye contact. Delta braced her arms against the seat in front of her, waiting to hear gunshots, ready for rough hands to pull her out of the car.
Instead, she heard the sound of Dan’s voice.
“Everybody get out and follow me. There’s a door at the end of the alley. Head to it as quickly as you can.”
Brown hung his head out the window of the SUV, wind whipping through his brown bangs, his rifle heavy in his hands. He pressed his legs against the interior of the car door to brace himself, and then had a moment of panic. What if he hadn’t shut the door tightly enough? For a split second, he envisioned it flying open; saw himself falling onto the road beneath the tires; his head squishing like an oversized grape.
He wondered if Winters would even stop.
“What the fuck are you waiting for, Agent? Fire!”
Brown’s eyes began to tear up from the wind. Ahead of him, the blue station wagon swerved in the road, making it difficult to aim. He pursed his lips and squeezed off a round. Brown heard the sound of glass shattering, saw three figures disappear from view in the backseat. His heart raced.
“Did you hit one?” Winters yelled.
“I think so,” he lied.
“Go for the tires! Maybe we can flip ‘em.”
Brown’s hands trembled. He focused on the rear tire, wondering how long he could avoid the inevitable. He had been taught how to shoot—had passed all the agent leaders’ tests and requirements. They knew he was perfectly competent with the weapon. If he delayed much longer, his companion would get suspicious.
Then he would end up dead, like all the others.
The blue station wagon veered to the left. For a moment, he thought it was going off the road. Maybe I hit the driver, he thought with a shudder. But the vehicle quickly corrected its course, tires screeching, and then veered onto a side road. Winters began to curse and slammed on the brakes, trying to mimic the turn. The SUV groaned, and its tires locked up. Brown felt them going into a skid, and he ducked back inside the window.
“Piece of shit!” Winters screamed, slamming his fist into th
e steering wheel.
The other SUV shot past them and continued the chase; it looked like Jameson had missed the turn, as well.
The vehicle screeched to a stop. Brown jolted forward, the rifle crunching between the dash and his ribcage. He grunted in pain, his muscles stiffening with the impact. His companion hadn’t noticed. Winters’s forehead was lined with veins, his eyes red, his teeth clenched. He threw the SUV into reverse and put his arm over the seat.
The car started to creak, one of the back rims thumping against the pavement in violent rhythm. One of the tires must have popped. Brown held his hand over his mouth, covering a cautious smile. If there were a God, perhaps his prayers had been answered.
Winters sneered. “They’ll pay for this.”
Brown nodded grimly, knowing that they would.
PART TWO – CIRCLE OF TRUTH
4
DAN SORTED THROUGH HIS KEYCHAIN, shooting looks over his shoulder down the alley. Besides the occupants of the Outback, there was no one else in sight. He unlocked a steel door, pushed it open, and ushered his companions inside.
He looked back again.
The alleyway was a dead end, flanked by buildings on either side. If their pursuers discovered them, there would be no way out—they would effectively be trapped. But staying on the road would be even more dangerous. It was a risk he had to take. He gripped his pistol and stepped through the doorway.
“Is there a light in here?” Sam whispered from behind him.
Dan groped the wall near the entrance and found the switch, flicked it on. The hallway lit up in front of them; two red emergency lights cast a dull glow over the room. The power must finally be out, he thought. He swung the door shut behind them and locked it.
“I’ll go first,” he said.
The back entrance seemed secure, but the creatures could have made their way in elsewhere. He held out his pistol, crouched into an officer’s stance.
The hallway contained two other doors—one at the end of the hallway, and one on the right. His wife’s office was the first door. He glanced at the nameplate next to it, felt a flood of memories come rushing back.
Contamination (Books 0-3) Page 18