Contamination (Books 0-3)

by T. W. Piperbrook

  When he was fairly certain that they were alone, Sam returned to the front window and peered out the glass. A few of the creatures had spread out in other directions, but a group of five had made their way onto the walkway.

  Sam and Delta crouched on the floor next to the storefront window.

  “I don’t think they saw us come in,” he whispered. “Keep still.”

  From their position, they could make out a tangle of arms and legs, the creatures walking almost on top of each other as they advanced. Of the five, three were male. All looked to be in their early twenties—each sporting khaki shorts with either a t-shirt or a tank top. Just a few days ago, this same group may have been trolling these walkways looking for new summer outfits, or window-shopping for the latest bargains.

  Now their intentions were much darker.

  As the creatures approached—now only ten feet away—Sam found himself holding his breath, as if they might somehow sense his presence. Beside him, Delta sucked in shallow gasps.

  Before long, the things were in front of the window, arms swaying back and forth, eyes flitting from side to side. Sam studied their faces, searching for some sign that they were still human, but found none.

  At one point, one of the males lifted its nose in the air, as if trying to track the scent of its prey, but quickly dropped its chin to his chest, a string of mucus dripping from its nose. When the group finally passed, Sam let out a nervous sigh, relaxing his grip on the shotgun.

  His relief was short-lived.

  Without warning, the male with the dripping nose turned around and walked back to the window, pressed its mouth against the glass. Its teeth were stained with blood—probably from a previous meal—and its eyes bulged as it peered inside.

  Sam met its eyes, praying that the thing couldn’t see in.

  It tapped its fingers on the glass, testing the strength of the window, and then stepped back a few feet.

  “Sam,” Delta hissed through clenched teeth. “I think he sees us.”

  Sam stayed still. He didn’t dare move a muscle or reply. The other creatures had stopped now, as well, and were making their way back to their companion. The male swayed his head from left to right, as if to crack his neck, and then launched himself against the storefront window.

  The pane rattled and shook.

  Sam and Delta leapt backwards, almost falling on top of each other. They scrambled back among a rack of clothes, trying to hide, but they both knew it was too late.

  They had been spotted.

  Nothing could have prepared Hopper for what he saw when he entered Salt Lake City. He had seen things on the monitors, sure, but that was way different than seeing things up close.

  Being on the scene was much, much different.

  When he was a child, his parents had taken him to visit the city several times. Hopper hailed from a small town in Wyoming, and to get to Salt Lake, his family had had to drive about six hours on the same interstate, I-80 West. Though the landscape had been sprawling and beautiful, Hopper remembered the drive taking forever. Once in the city, his parents had taken him to the museum, and on a tour of historic Temple Square. He recalled being impressed by how old the buildings were—at the time, they were the tallest he had ever seen.

  Now, Salt Lake City had already been reduced to ruins. The once-impressive architecture had been overshadowed by the chaos on the city streets. Cars had been left sideways in the road, building windows and doors were smashed and broken, and bodies were everywhere.

  The infected looked even worse.

  The city’s former residents looked barely human; they scuttled along the empty streets, arms hanging low, mouths open, all dripping fluids from various cuts and wounds. Their clothes were ripped and torn, shirts and pants dangling off their ravaged bodies. Some had no clothes on at all, left to wander the streets without a shred of dignity. None seemed to notice.

  This is what you’ve been waiting for, Hopper told himself.

  Even though he had been expecting it, the sight was unnerving.

  As the cargo van navigated its way farther into the city, the driver—an agent named Erickson—barked out instructions to the other three passengers. Engrossed in the world outside, Hopper picked up only bits and pieces of what the man was saying. Most of it was information he had heard before.

  “You are to stay in the vehicle at all times unless instructed otherwise.

  When a survivor is found, work together as a unit until the person or persons are eliminated. Do not waste ammunition on anything other than survivors unless absolutely necessary. The infected will die off on their own over the course of the next few weeks.

  The virus is not contagious. It is not transmitted through the air, a wound, or a bite. The only way to catch it is by consuming tainted food or drink. Do not eat anything other than the rations in the vehicle.

  If you see anything suspicious or alarming while out in the field, let me know immediately. We will return to the van and contact our agent leader.”

  A few seconds later, Hopper felt the vehicle pull over and stop at the side of the road. Erickson threw the van into park and turned to face Hopper and the other troops.

  “All right, boys. I just saw some activity across the street. I think we have found ourselves some survivors. Remember the rules, and don’t fuck up.”

  15

  SAM AND DELTA CLUNG TO each other in the clothing store, watching the creatures ricochet off the glass.

  “There has to be a back entrance,” Sam said. “Did you see one?”

  “No. But I wasn’t looking.”

  He stood, letting go of her hand, and made his way to the rear of the store. Behind them, the creatures continued to throw themselves against the window, and he thought he heard a crack.

  “Hurry!” he shouted.

  Leading with his gun, he wove his way through mannequins and display racks, eyeing the counter in back. Beyond it was the dim outline of a door. He heard another loud crash from the front—this time the unmistakable sound of glass breaking—and wondered how much of the storefront window had caved in. Were the creatures already making their way inside?

  Sam ran around the counter and tried the door, finding it unlocked. He opened it, walked through, and found himself in a storeroom. Immediately, he wished he had brought a flashlight. The room was almost pitch black. Shadows were everywhere, and he advanced with caution, hoping that nothing was waiting for him within.

  He waved at Delta to stay put and then started to advance.

  His arms and legs brushed racks of clothing, and he jumped several times, certain that the garments were really hands trying to grab him.

  Across the room, he saw a thin rectangle of light, and assuming it was an exit, he made his way toward it. When he got there, he felt the handle of a crash bar and gave it a shove. The door clicked but didn’t budge.

  “Dammit!” he hissed.

  Delta came up behind him, startling him, and he spooked again.

  “I think they’re in the store,” she whispered.

  “The door won’t open.”

  “Where should we go?”

  He looked across the room to the open door, convinced he saw dark shapes moving in the store. He turned and jiggled the crash bar again, but it wouldn’t move.

  “I’m going to shoot it. Step back.”

  “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

  “Yes. Be ready to run.”

  Before she could protest, he pushed her back and fired. The explosion rocked the small room, and with a swift kick, the door flew open and daylight poured in.

  “Go!” he shouted.

  The two raced outside, already hearing footsteps behind them. They immediately found themselves on a loading dock with a six-foot drop to the ground. Below them were two large dumpsters, several bags of trash, and about twenty hissing creatures.

  “Fuck!”

  The two darted back into the storeroom. Two of the creatures were already waiting, and he cocked the shotgun an
d fired off another shot, sending them tumbling to the floor. Sam turned, noticing that a few of the things from the loading dock had already clambered up the edge. He reached for the exit door and tried slamming it shut again. Although it wouldn’t close all the way, he was able to wrench it into the frame.

  Even so, he knew it would do little to stop the creatures on the other side.

  Sam clutched the shotgun, waiting for one of the things from the front of the store to jump out at him, but none did. When they reached the door at the other side of the storeroom, he peered out into the store. As he expected, the front window had been smashed in, with only a few shards of glass left clinging to the frame.

  Out in the store, three creatures made their way through the displays, clawing at the mannequins around them. A few more were outside on the walkway.

  “We’re going to have to fight our way through,” Sam whispered.

  He inched into the room and trained his weapon on the closest creature, which was about fifteen feet away. Before he could squeeze the trigger, a round of gunfire burst from somewhere outside.

  Out on the walkway, several of the creatures collapsed onto the cement.

  The things in the store turned around in surprise and began to head toward the commotion. As soon as they passed through the broken window, their bodies were pummeled with bullets, and they fell over in a crumpled heap on top of the others.

  Sam and Delta stared in shock. Had someone come to rescue them? Sam lowered his gun, peering across the store. If there were other survivors, perhaps they had heard the noise and had come to offer their assistance.

  A few seconds later, his hopes were destroyed.

  Two men in white coats appeared in the window, guns raised. They examined the creatures on the ground and stepped inside the store, intent on exterminating the survivors.

  Hopper climbed through the broken window of the storefront, scanning the interior for signs of life.

  “I know they’re in there,” said Erickson. “I saw two of ‘em go inside.”

  The two proceeded into the store, crunching shards of glass with their boots. Hopper scanned the aisles and displays, but saw nothing. In the back he noticed another door. He motioned to it with his rifle.

  Behind them, the other two agents stood on the walkway, standing guard against any creatures that might come roaming by. The second van—the one containing Cromwell—had driven up the road. According to the radio, they had chased another group of survivors into a nearby parking garage.

  Hopper advanced through the store, parting racks of clothes. He bent down to look beneath them, wondering if the survivors were hiding there, but didn’t see anything unusual. Toward the back of the store he saw a checkout counter, and behind it, a door. Perhaps they were hiding in another room.

  He stopped to listen, and Erickson paused with him.

  The store was silent. Somewhere in the distance, he could make out the sputter of gunfire. If the survivors had been here, it was possible they had already left. Perhaps they had escaped out another exit. Even so, he continued on.

  When he reached the door past the counter, he turned the handle. It was locked. Hopper stepped back and thrust out his boot, connecting with the wood. The door held.

  “Step aside. I’m going to shoot it down.”

  One of the other agents screamed from outside.

  The two agents spun to face the entrance, just in time to see one of the other agents fall to the ground. One of the creatures was on top of him, snarling.

  “Fuck!” Erickson yelled. “Let’s go!”

  They raced through the store and onto the walkway. The agent on the ground had already been torn apart and disemboweled, and he lay on his back, blood pouring out of his mouth. The creature on top of him hissed, holding pieces of intestine in its hand. Erickson fired at it with the rifle, reducing its head to a fleshy pulp.

  Hopper looked for the remaining agent. He finally spotted him running across the pavilion below.

  “Hey!” he yelled. “Where the hell are you going?”

  Erickson raised his rifle. “Is that motherfucker trying to leave us?”

  The two began to sprint down the walkway, feet pounding the concrete. When they reached the stairs, they vaulted down them, skipping most of the steps. The fleeing agent was halfway across the pavilion, and he looked back when he heard the others, giving them a frightened look.

  In front of him, a horde of about twenty creatures had emerged from one of the storefronts, and they clambered down the stairs and into the pavilion.

  Hopper and Erickson stopped at the bottom of the stairs, watching the things advance.

  “Fuck that,” Erickson said. “I’m not going down there.”

  The creatures were almost on top of the fleeing agent, and he screamed. Hopper raised his rifle, aiming at the things from across the pavilion. Before he could fire off a shot, Erickson stopped him.

  “Don’t,” he said. “Conserve ammo, Hopper.”

  Hopper watched as the horde overtook the agent, clustering around him and dragging him from view. His screams echoed through the pavilion for several more seconds and then ceased.

  16

  CROMWELL STOOD UP BEFORE THE van had even stopped moving. He gripped his rifle and stared out the front windshield, watching as three survivors—a middle-aged man and two women—scampered into a nearby parking garage.

  “There they go!” he shouted.

  “Relax, Cromwell. We’ll get them,” Roberts said.

  The van pulled up to the curb and the four agents jumped out. Cromwell immediately ran to the head of the group. He had waited long enough.

  He raced down the sidewalk, clutching his rifle to his chest, and veered up the paved ramp into the garage. The windows to the ticket station had been smashed, the gate ripped in half. Inside, several cars had crashed into one another—perhaps as the drivers scrambled to get out. Behind them, the building was filled with cars.

  Ahead of him, the three survivors turned a corner, heading up a ramp to the next level. They glanced over their shoulders at the approaching agents, and then one of them—a woman with blonde hair—stopped.

  “Help us!” she shouted. “We need help!”

  Cromwell smirked. He raised his rifle, aiming at her stomach. Before he could pull the trigger, a volley of shots rang out from behind him. Two of the other agents had already fired on her, and she twitched from side to side as the bullets impacted her body. She collapsed to the ground, her body full of holes. Cromwell turned in anger.

  “What the fuck?” he screamed. “She was mine!”

  “Relax, Agent.” One of the others smiled at him. “There’ll be others.”

  Cromwell glared at the man and then continued up the ramp.

  The other two survivors had disappeared from sight, but he could still hear the remaining woman screaming. As he rounded the corner and headed up the incline, he was surprised to see three creatures careening down the ramp in his direction.

  “Remember to conserve ammo, Cromwell,” Roberts warned.

  Cromwell turned to face him, his face red with anger, and dropped the rifle onto the ground. He opened his jacket, revealing four knives he had tucked in sheaths. He withdrew an eight-inch blade and waved it in front of Roberts.

  Roberts stared at him. “Whatever floats your boat, Cromwell.”

  Cromwell spun back toward the things and ran at full speed, leaving the other agents behind. He swung hard, slashing at the first thing’s neck, and then lunged at the second, piercing its chest. He withdrew the blade, watching as a cascade of fluid dripped from the wound, and then plunged the knife into its throat. The third was upon him, and he kicked it backward with his boot, spearing its eye socket with the blade. It fell to the ground, convulsing, and then was still.

  The second creature—the one he had stabbed in the chest—was still alive and writhing on the ground. He stood over it, holding the handle of the knife with two hands, and began to plunge the blade into its face, continuin
g long after it had stopped moving.

  He felt a hand on his shoulder, and he turned, holding up the blade. One of the other agents jumped back, startled.

  “Easy, Cromwell!”

  He licked his lips, tasting something vile, and then smiled. Without a word, he retrieved his rifle and started back up the ramp toward the survivors.

  Sam released the breath he had been holding for several minutes, and then stepped away from the storeroom door.

  “I think they’re gone,” he said.

  Delta sighed, wiping her face. Behind them, the creatures from the loading dock had begun to pound on the door. Sam had moved a few clothing racks in front of it, but he knew it wouldn’t hold for long.

  “Did you hear all those gunshots?” Delta asked.

  “Yes. They’re probably chasing down other survivors.”

  She stared at him with tears in her eyes. “What should we do?”

  “Let’s get outside and assess the situation. We won’t be much help if we’re dead.”

  He pulled open the storeroom door and peeked out into the clothing store, confirming that the agents had left, and then the two made their way out. When they reached the walkway outside and peered over the railing, they noticed a cluster of creatures in the pavilion.

  “We need to get out here,” Sam said. “Let’s go this way.”

  He pulled his companion in the opposite direction, heading farther down the walkway. After a few hundred feet, he saw a flight of stairs leading behind the shopping center.

  “Down here.”

  They ran down the steps, pausing at the bottom to take a breath. On either side were more loading docks. A few hundred feet to their right, Sam could make out some of the creatures they had encountered before.

  “I don’t think I’ve had this much exercise in years,” he said, panting.

  “Well, I don’t think it’s over yet.”

  In the distance, several of the things had begun creeping in their direction.

  He tugged Delta’s hand, urging her the other way.