The things kept closing. Hurry! he wanted to scream.
Brown fired off another round of shots, sweating now. He wondered if anyone had ever died of fear before—or if he would be the first. He was almost out of bullets. Finally, Winters gave the signal.
“All right, let’s fucking go!”
Brown lowered the weapon and dove for the vehicle. He whipped open the passenger’s side door and climbed inside, slamming the door shut behind him. A chorus of fists began to pound on the windows around him, and the SUV began to shake. Winters fired up the engine and threw the vehicle into drive.
“Hold onto your panties, Brown!”
Two of the creatures were at his window now, clawing at the glass, salivating. He watched as one of them ripped off the mirror; he saw others struggling to hold on as the SUV began to move. Brown turned in his seat, looked out the rear window. A few of the creatures clung to the tail of the vehicle.
Winters swerved from side to side, trying to dislodge the clinging bodies. Gray hands pawed at the windows, and Brown began to fear that they would get inside, somehow break through the reinforced glass. One by one, the things began to drop from sight, falling onto the road and underneath the tires. The SUV continued on, driving over heads and limbs as if they were nothing more than obstacles in rocky terrain.
After a few minutes, the vehicle’s exterior was clear except for one creature on the rear bumper.
“You may have to knock that thing off, Brown.”
“How?”
“I’ll roll down the rear window. You can hit it with your rifle.”
Brown sucked in a breath, stared back at the thing. It had begun to pound on the glass; it sounded like the window was close to shattering.
“Go on! Get the fuck back there!” Winters screamed.
Brown climbed between the seats, his legs trembling. He threw himself over the back row of seats and dropped into the rear cargo area. The creature grew enraged at the sight of him, its mouth hanging open, fogging up the glass with its breath. Brown fought to keep his balance, struggling to raise his rifle. Before he could react, the window began to inch downward, and he saw the creature’s hands darting for his neck.
“What the fuck!” Brown screamed in surprise, swinging the butt of the rifle in front of him. He caught the creature in the head, and it screeched in anger. Cold fingers closed around his windpipe and he began to gag, staring into a face devoid of remorse.
The thing had once been a middle-aged man—perhaps a truck driver, or a factory worker. It wore a checkered flannel shirt and jeans, now ripped and smeared with blood. Its teeth were gray and cracked, and it filled the air with its rancid breath.
Brown jabbed the rifle past its molars and into its throat, closed his eyes, and squeezed the trigger.
He was immediately covered in a backdraft of gore. The thing’s body fell out of sight and rolled away on the pavement.
Brown looked down at his white suit jacket, which was now tainted with flesh. He wiped at his face, his cheeks wet with blood and filth, the taste of adrenaline pooling on his tongue. He spat out the back window and fought the urge to vomit. His companion yelled at him from the front seat.
“You didn’t have to shoot it, asshole. What a Goddamn mess you’ve made.”
Winters shook his head in disgust and hit a button on the front console. The rear window purred as it rolled back into the frame of the SUV.
Delta parted the blinds for one last look out the office’s front window. A handful of creatures had congregated in front of the building, as if sensing the group’s presence. They must have heard the gunshot. She released the slats.
“Three thousand, two hundred, and fifty-six,” Dan said from behind her.
“Huh?”
“That’s how many people lived in this town, last time I checked. My guess is that almost of all of them have turned into those things.”
Dan looked at his pistol, rotating it in his hands, as if he hoped it would magically increase in size and power. The others were in the main room, doing one last search for weapons and supplies.
“So that’s what we’re up against, Delta,” he said. “Well, at least in St. Matthews.”
“Do you think this is the work of the government?” she asked.
“I wouldn’t put it past them. The way the world is today, it could have been anyone. Terrorists, right-wing activists, crackpots—you name it. Even my own partner couldn’t be trusted. A Goddamn police officer.” He looked down at his weapon. “I definitely didn’t see that one coming.”
Delta looked up suddenly, locking eyes with him.
“I hope you don’t think that we—” she started.
“Don’t worry, I trust you folks. I can see you’ve been through a lot.”
She swallowed and lowered her head.
Dan patted her on the shoulder and resumed his watch out the window.
Delta suddenly felt a sense of calm wash over her. Here, she felt safer than she had in days. In spite of what was going on around them, they were surrounded by walls and locked doors.
It certainly beat roaming the desert on foot.
A beam of light suddenly shone into Leonard Fullman’s office, playing off the walls and creating shadows where darkness had once resided. Quinn bounded into the room behind it.
“Dad, I found a flashlight!”
“Turn it off, Quinn. We don’t want to draw those things attention.”
“I’m sorry, Daddy.”
She looked at him with sullen eyes, and he squeezed her arm.
“Good work helping out, honey.”
The rest of the group returned to the office. Most were empty-handed, though Sam had discovered a large kitchen knife in a sink in the corner. Noah carried a hammer and a baseball bat.
“All the phones are dead,” the storeowner said.
“Even when the phone lines were up, I couldn’t get through to anyone,” Dan said. “And now the electricity’s out. I wonder if those things got into the power plant.”
Rata-tata-tata.
Gunshots erupted again from somewhere in the distance.
Delta snuck another look out the window. The creatures had multiplied—there were at least twice as many as before. A few had begun to creep along the other side of the glass.
“We should get moving,” Dan said.
The group huddled together, navigating from the office to the main room. From behind them, something began scratching on the glass window. They know we’re in here, Delta thought. She hoped there weren’t any creatures waiting in the alleyway, and that they hadn’t surrounded the car.
“Stay behind me,” Dan ordered. He whipped open the door to the hallway, arms extended in front of him, and then waved for his companions to follow.
The red lights in the corridor buzzed and crackled. One of them began to flicker as they walked underneath it. Delta wondered how long it would be until they all went out and until the entire building went black.
Until St. Matthews became a dark, teeming mass of the things.
Delta continued the down the hallway, keeping her place in the middle of the group, clutching a tire iron she had taken from the office. She stumbled slightly, and felt someone touch her shoulder. She looked back. Noah gave her a weak nod, and she returned the gesture with a smile.
Dan stopped at the end of the hallway and turned to face them.
“I’m going to check the alley first and make sure the area is secure. When I say go, everybody make a run for the car.”
He kicked open the door, swiveled his pistol.
“All clear! Go! Go!”
Delta felt her legs start to churn. She followed Sam outside and found herself squinting as the bright light hit her eyes. The station wagon sat in the alley, untouched. She breathed a sigh of relief. She saw the headlights flash once and heard the car beep as Dan unlocked the doors with the remote key.
Sam opened the rear door, ushered her inside. She slid across the seat and towards the opposite window,
craning her neck to ensure her companions were behind her. Once she had gotten in, she saw Dan let go of the door and make a run for the vehicle.
A screech erupted from the mouth of the alley. Dan halted in mid-sprint.
His gaze went past the vehicle and he raised his gun. Delta turned her head. One of the creatures was running at full speed toward the Outback, legs wobbling, clothes torn. Dan fired off a shot, sending it reeling to the ground. A second later he was in the car, slamming the door shut.
Delta stared out the back window at the crumpled body of the creature, waiting for it to move. She felt the car tires begin to roll, and then heard a crunch as they backed over one of its limbs.
“The survivors can’t be far,” Winters said.
He picked up his cellphone, pressed a few buttons, and put it up to his ear.
Brown nodded in agreement, but kept his eyes glued to the window. He caught a glimpse of himself in the passenger’s side mirror. His face was marred with the creature’s remains, his cheeks covered in sanguine fluid. He wiped his sleeve across his face, but the blood remained.
Winters began to talk into the cellphone, but Brown blocked him out. He focused instead on the landscape outside. He realized that if he concentrated, he could pick out the creatures amid the ruins of the town. They weren’t always visible—some were out in the open, sure, but others wandered empty buildings and picked through corners of empty lots.
He tried to envision the town before the infection, but found it almost impossible; it was as if the town had always been this way—demolished and devoid of humanity. He had never been to St. Matthews before now.
There were many places he had never been.
Brown’s hometown was San Antonio, Texas. For most of his life, he had remained within the city limits. His parents had worked for the state—both in blue-collar positions, often putting in overtime to ensure their family was provided for. Their vacation time had usually been spent on sick days and errands in lieu of family trips.
Brown’s father had pushed him hard growing up, making sure he focused on his studies and ensuring that he never missed a day of school.
He often joked that his favorite subject had been recess. And see how far that got me, he thought.
According to his father, technology was the key to stability.
“If you keep up with that, you’ll always be needed somewhere,” his father had always said. “You gotta go where the money is, son.”
Brown had done his best to never disappoint them. Early on, he had taken to computer programming; had locked himself in his room late at night, honing his skills.
After high school, he had been accepted into the University of Texas at Tyler on a scholarship, ready to pursue a degree in Computer Science. Though he had received several other offers, Brown had insisted on staying local. After all his parents had done for him, he’d opted to stay close to home.
Brown thought back to his first day on campus. He remembered pulling up to the school in his beat-up old Honda Civic, lugging his bags to his dormitory. Before then, he hadn’t been much farther from home than Austin. Now he was almost five hours away from his family—close enough to travel home if needed, but far enough to feel worlds apart.
His life had suddenly seemed bigger, full of promise. He had walked onto that college campus with bright eyes and boundless ambition, ready to accomplish whatever he set his mind to.
It hadn’t taken long for things to fall apart.
Brown had been the first to arrive to the dorm room. He remembered unpacking his things with nervous hands, wondering when his new roommate would arrive. He had talked to the kid on the phone once, over the summer, but it had been hard to get a read on him. He knew his roommate was pursuing a degree in Social Science, but knew little else about him. He remembered hoping that they would become great friends.
Brown had just finished unpacking his clothes when he’d heard a knock at the door. He remembered traveling the distance from the bed to the door, heart hammering in his chest. He had never lived with someone else before—other than his parents, that is. The moment had been nerve-wracking, but exciting.
Palms sweaty, he had opened the door.
The kid standing before him had given him a firm handshake and a nod, and then walked in purposefully, as if Brown barely existed. He lugged a canvas duffel bag and sported a green army shirt and a pair of boots laced over the cuff of his jeans. He had inspected every inch of the room, opening closets and windows, even rifling through the clothes Brown had put away.
When he was finished, he had thrown his belongings on the bed with a thud.
“I’m Joseph,” he had called over his shoulder. “Joseph Winters.”
6
NOAH CHAMBERS SAT IN THE back of the station wagon, arms folded, trying to ignore the dull pain in the side of his foot. The car reversed out of the alleyway, then tore onto the main road. He looked out the window, half-expecting a horde of creatures to follow, but saw nothing in the immediate vicinity. He focused on the mountains in the distance, his mind starting to drift.
He tried to recall the last time he had seen his family.
His mom and dad lived in Portland—had lived there for their entire lives. He had grown up in the outskirts of the city, in a middle-class home right next to Havenhurst Park. Summers had been spent throwing a baseball, walking the dog through tree-filled streets. His older brother Ricky had lived there, as well; the two were only a few years apart. For most of their childhood, Noah and Ricky had been inseparable.
Once Ricky graduated high school, things had changed. He had fallen in love with a girl he’d met at college, and within months, they had gotten married. Noah had stayed close with him, but there was always a barrier after that. His brother had become focused on a career, on creating a new life. Gone were the days of playing catch or heading down to the city center; now Ricky was making plans for a family of his own.
After Ricky left, the house had seemed much bigger, emptier. His parents were great, but Noah felt the need to find his own way. With little to tie him down, Noah had opted for a college out of state, eventually settling on Arizona State University. The desert had always intrigued him. It was a long way from Portland, but it was an experience he couldn’t pass up.
After graduating, he had made his way to Las Vegas. Had met Kendall. The two had connected immediately; in many ways, his new roommate reminded him of his brother Ricky. Although he hadn’t realized it until now, Kendall had filled the void he had felt since moving away from his family, from his brother. He had imagined they would remain friends for years to come.
Now his best friend was gone.
Noah blinked away a tear and wiped his face. He wondered about his parents and Ricky. Were they still alive—perhaps trapped in a similar situation? He couldn’t imagine them being dead.
At this moment, he could still picture his mother in the kitchen preparing lunch, his dad in the garage waxing the car. Noah closed his eyes; he imagined himself walking into his old house, giving them both a warm embrace.
When he opened them, Delta was staring at him.
“Is your foot feeling ok?” she asked.
Her hair blew across her face and her blue eyes studied his.
“I’m doing all right,” he lied. He unfolded his arms, adjusted his glasses.
“What were you thinking about?”
“About home. About my mom and dad, my brother.”
“I’m sure they’re fine,” she reassured him. “According to the radio broadcast you heard yesterday, only a few states in the southwest were affected.”
“They must be worried sick about me,” he said, trying to crack a smile.
“Hopefully the wrecking yard will have a phone or a radio so you can get ahold of them.”
Noah nodded, unconvinced. The car began to accelerate, and he looked into the front seat. Dan was focused on the road ahead, hands sliding across the steering wheel as he maneuvered through a barrage of back alleys and side stre
ets. Quinn had begun to fidget, and she threw a few uneasy looks behind her.
Noah turned his head, felt a gust of air from the hole where the back window had been. He braced himself in his seat as the station wagon took a sharp turn.
Behind them, two SUVs followed suit.
“We found them again, sir. And we’re back with Jameson,” Winters said into the cell. He paused for a minute. “No problem. We’ll take care of it.”
He dropped the phone into his lap and stomped on the gas. Brown leaned out the passenger’s side window, taking aim at the backseat of the station wagon. Three heads appeared, shifting from side to side with the movement of the vehicle. He wondered how long he could hold out before he would have to shoot one of them.
Not long, if he had to guess. His partner began to scream at him.
“Fire, Brown!”
Brown heard the roar of another engine and looked to his right. Jameson had joined the pursuit. Brown glanced at the other driver, but his eyes were fixed on the target in front of them.
Why am I the one shooting? Brown asked himself. But he knew the answer.
Winters was enjoying this—making Brown get all the blood on his hands. If only I could have been the driver, he thought. If he had been the one controlling the vehicle’s speed, he could have driven the damn thing off the road.
The SUV began to gain ground on the station wagon, closing the gap between his rifle and the people in the backseat, between life and death. Brown looked through the open back window, caught a glimpse of a little girl in the front seat. He could tell she was terrified, and she ducked down when he aimed at her.
He thought of his own sister, trapped in a holding cell in God-knows-where. The agent leaders had shown him a video and told him she was alive. He didn’t know if he believed them, but he couldn’t take any risks. She was only eleven years old—probably about the same age as the girl he was looking at now. He felt a single tear slide down his cheek and immediately tried to retract it. He wondered if Winters had noticed. He would blame it on the wind, of course.
Contamination (Books 0-3) Page 20