They had just started running again when they heard more gunshots in the distance, and then the sound of a woman screaming. The two sprinted past the rows of dumpsters and docks, heading in the direction of the commotion.
After several minutes, they emerged back on the main road. Parked across the street was a white cargo van.
Sam grabbed Delta’s hand and the two slowed to a stop.
The side of the van was windowless. Unlike most of the other cars on the street, however, the tires and windshield were intact. Before he could scope it out further, he saw movement in the driver’s seat, and he abruptly turned and ducked into a nearby alley, pulling Delta along with him.
“What is it?” she hissed.
“I think it’s the agent’s van. Someone’s inside.”
“Shit.”
“We’ll have to find another way around and be careful that they don’t see us.”
The gunfire continued in the distance.
“Let’s see if we can circle the block and head toward the noise,” Sam said.
He peered out of the alley, verifying that no one had given chase, and then the two darted back in the direction they had come. After a few blocks, they crossed the street and ran down an intersecting road.
The side street contained several brick buildings; according to the signs, they housed an insurance agency, a marketing firm, and a lawyer’s office. The doors were closed, and there was no sign of activity. For a brief moment, he wondered if there were other survivors holed up inside, watching them. He stared through the windows in front, but could make out only blurred shapes in the darkness.
At the end of the next block, the two turned left and immediately stumbled upon two creatures. When they caught sight of Sam and Delta, the things’ mouths dropped open and they shambled forward with arms raised.
Sam had since discarded his shotgun, which was empty. He pulled his pistol and aimed at the first of the two, which was only fifteen feet away. Delta held up her hands to stop him.
“No!” she said. “They’ll hear the gunshots!”
Nodding, he dug into his waistband and removed the hunting knife he had stored there. He held it at his side as the first thing approached. Its eyes flicked between Sam and Delta, as if deciding which to target first. Before it could make a decision, Sam raced forward to close the gap, and thrust the blade deep into its neck. It fell writhing to the ground, spraying a burst of yellow fluid onto the pavement.
The second creature had come up behind it, and it lashed out with an open hand, narrowly missing Sam’s arm. He backed up a few steps to regain his balance. The thing charged, hissing and salivating, and he jabbed the knife into its chest, watching it stumble backward; then finished it off by slicing its throat. Its head flopped uselessly to the side, and it walked several more steps before crumpling to the pavement.
He wiped his knife on the ground and stuck it back in his pants.
Surprisingly, Sam and Delta were able to travel the next few blocks uninhibited. For the moment, the screaming and gunshots had stopped, and they strained their ears, listening for clues of the survivor’s location.
Despite the fact that the street was littered with cars and debris, they kept to the middle of the road, avoiding dark alleys and doorways that could conceal would-be attackers. Up ahead, Sam noticed a dense slew of buildings: a bank, a post office, and a several restaurants. At the end of the block was a parking garage.
As they advanced, he found himself holding his breath once again. Because many of the cars contained remains, the air was filled with the coppery odor of blood, the smell so thick and powerful that it filled the city streets.
After passing the post office and bank, Sam found himself peering into the restaurants just beyond them. The windows were gone, and he could make out movement within. A few of the creatures rustled about, coming in and out of view, and several times he and Delta had to duck behind the nearest automobile to avoid being seen. They scurried forward to the next block.
The parking garage loomed to their left—a cement formation comprised of four levels. Between each floor there was an open gap, and Sam could make out rows of cars still parked inside. According to a sign on the building, the entrance was located on the other side, on the street parallel to the one they were on.
A scream pierced the air. Sam paused in mid-stride, ducking behind a stalled Ford Taurus. Sensing the noise had come from somewhere above him, he glanced up.
A woman hung from the top level of the parking garage. Her hands clung to the lip of a cement wall and her feet dangled beneath her, kicking as she tried to find purchase.
“Help!” she shrieked.
Before Sam or Delta could react, several men in white coats emerged above her. The woman yelled even louder, pleading for them to pull her to safety. The men laughed as they watched her struggle, and then proceeded to pry her fingers from the wall.
She lost her grip with one hand at a time—her body swinging wildly back and forth—and then plummeted four stories to the ground below.
Delta let out a scream as she watched the woman fall. She quickly covered her mouth to stifle it, but it was too late.
The agents had already shifted their attention to the road.
Hopper and Erickson sat in the van, listening to their superior shout at them on the other end of the speakerphone. They had just informed the man about the two other agents that had perished in the shopping center.
“How could this have happened? Two of your crew are already dead? Didn’t you just fucking get out there?”
The two remained silent.
“Who the fuck’s in charge over there?”
Neither answered.
“That wasn’t a rhetorical question. I expect an answer.”
Erickson looked at Hopper and cleared his throat.
“That would be me, sir.”
“Well, what a hell of a job you’ve done, Agent. You should be ashamed.”
Erickson lowered his head.
“Where are you now?” the agent leader asked. “And where the hell is the other team?”
“We broke into two groups, sir.”
“Unacceptable. Find them and stick together, you fucking morons. The next time you call me better you’d better have some good news.”
The phone disconnected. Erickson let out a heavy breath, his face alternating shades of red, and gripped his rifle. Outside, several creatures picked their way through the rubble, seemingly unaware of the men in the van.
“What are you waiting for, Hopper?” Erickson asked suddenly.
Hopper jumped to attention.
“Stop sitting there like a fucking pansy. Let’s go find the others.”
The two opened the doors and got out. As they did, they noticed a figure running at them from several yards away. Hopper raised his gun and started to aim, and then noticed that the person was wearing a white jacket.
“Cromwell? Is that you?” Erickson called out.
When the figure was close enough, Hopper confirmed that it was indeed his shift mate. The man’s face was covered in blood spatter, and he charged at them with a knife in his hand.
“Don’t just fucking stand there!” Cromwell yelled as he approached. “There are survivors on the next street over!”
“Where are the other agents?” Erickson asked.
“On the top of the parking garage, keeping watch. Let’s fucking go!”
Erickson opened his mouth to protest, but Cromwell had already passed by them, heading full speed toward the nearest intersection.
“But we’re supposed to stay together,” Erickson muttered.
He shook his head and then started after the other agent. Hopper followed. They had only gone a few steps when footsteps sounded on the pavement behind them. The two turned. Another figure was careening in their direction.
This time it wasn’t one of the agents, but one of the creatures.
The thing collided with Erickson, sending him sprawling to the ground. The agen
t kicked and screamed, but the thing had already begun to tear into his chest, and his rifle clattered onto the pavement.
Hopper moved to the other agent’s aid. He swung the butt of his rifle at the thing’s head, hoping to deter it, but it continued, unfazed. Erickson screamed in agony, his white jacket now drenched in blood and innards. The creature continued to claw at the man, ripping into his stomach, oblivious to the blows from Hopper’s rifle.
After a few seconds Erickson grew still, his face frozen in an expression of agony. Hopper stepped back and fired on the creature, the bullets ripping through its flesh, and watched it topple to the ground.
When he had killed it, he glanced back down the street, hoping for some assistance from Cromwell, but the man was long gone.
17
“DELTA—GET DOWN!” SAM YELLED.
From on top of the parking garage, the agents had begun to fire. Sam and Delta crouched behind the Ford Taurus, listening to the sound of bullets pinging off of the cars around them.
“How many are there?” Delta whispered, her face pressed against the passenger’s side door.
“I saw four a minute ago. But I only see three now.”
“What should we do?”
Sam glanced around them. The next car was about fifteen feet away; to make progress, they would need to run out into the open. After a few seconds, the gunfire stopped, and he craned his head to look inside the car windows. The men appeared to be repositioning.
“Stay right where you are,” he said.
Sam crawled to the front quarter panel, and then aimed over the hood and began to fire back with his pistol. His first couple shots missed, but on the third, he connected with one of the agents, sending the man toppling backwards. He ducked back below the Taurus.
“Got one,” he said.
Delta gave him a thin smile. “Good shot.”
Before he could contemplate another move, Delta stood and began to fire with her own weapon. Sam heard the bullets ricochet off the side of the garage, and then heard several men cry out. Delta crouched back down next to him and patted his shoulder.
“I think that takes care of the other two,” she said.
“Are you serious?”
Sam peered back over the hood, looking for signs of life on the rooftop, but saw none. He waited another minute to be sure. Hearing nothing, he started to stand.
“What about the fourth?”
“I’m sure he’ll be coming soon—probably with reinforcements. We need to get out of this area. Stay low.”
The two began to run, still crouching, headed for the next car. As they did, Sam noticed the body of the woman who had been thrown from the parking garage. She lay facedown on the street, her limbs contorted at multiple angles, and a puddle of blood had pooled around her head.
Wincing, he ducked behind the next car, a Toyota Highlander. Delta soon joined him. He poked his head up, staring at the rooftop once again, and then the street around them.
“I don’t see anything,” he said.
She nodded her head in agreement.
“Do you still have that map?” he asked.
Delta dug in her pockets, pulling out the wrinkled page of the atlas. She handed it to Sam, and he studied the street map of Salt Lake, deciphering the best way out of the city. Then he peered inside the Highlander, looking for a key, but spotted nothing in the ignition.
“We’re going to need a vehicle. Start looking for any that might have keys.”
Sam moved on to the next vehicle. Despite its position in the road, it looked like the owner had locked it before fleeing on foot. He continued on, but the next few cars were locked, as well, containing no keys.
Behind him, Delta had stopped to stare at a body on the road.
“Come on, keep going!” he called back.
At the next vehicle, Sam stopped. It was a pickup truck, and the keys were still dangling in the ignition. The seats were stained, but he didn’t see any blood or bodies, and as he stared at the road ahead, he could almost envision a way out around the wreckage.
It wasn’t much, but it was a start.
He opened the door and climbed into the vehicle, reaching over to start the engine.
“Delta, I have something!”
There was no answer from behind him.
“Delta?”
He looked through the back windshield and felt his jaw drop. Delta was racing toward him on the street, her eyes wide with terror.
Behind her—and closing fast—was one of the biggest agents he had ever seen.
“Run!” she screamed.
Sam hopped out of the vehicle, knowing he wouldn’t have the time to fire it up, and began to sprint up the road. Even though he had gotten only a brief glance at the man behind them, the agent’s appearance was enough to send chills down his spine.
The man appeared to be in his mid-forties, and in peak physical condition. His muscles bulged out of his white jacket, and his legs were propelling him at an incredible speed. His face was soaked in blood and gore, his mouth twisted into a maniacal grin. In his hands was a knife.
He was closing fast.
Sam gasped for breath, running faster than he’d ever thought possible. He flew by the cars almost as fast as he saw them, and he twisted and turned as he avoided debris on the road. Just behind him, he could hear Delta’s frantic breathing as she fought to catch up.
Several times he faltered, but he didn’t look back, fearing he would lose precious time if he did. The slap of footsteps behind him was unnerving, and the sound seemed to grow louder as he progressed down the roadway.
There’s no way we can outrun him. We need a place to hide.
On either side of the street, the buildings were compromised. The windows and doors had either been smashed or kicked in, and most contained roaming shadows, presumably belonging to the creatures inside.
Something scraped the ground behind him.
Sam heard Delta cry out, and he spun around. The agent had tackled her to the ground, and the two rolled across the pavement, a tangle of arms and legs. When they stopped, the agent slammed her head into the street and wedged the knife against her throat.
Her pistol lay five feet behind her, lost in the scuffle.
Sam raised his pistol and pointed it at the man, shouting for him to stop. The agent looked up, his face dripping blood and sweat, and smiled. His eyes were wide—almost demonic—and he shook Delta by the hair, pushing the blade even farther into her neck.
“Drop the gun,” he said, his voice unwavering. “Or I will slice her fucking throat.”
Sam paused, his finger shaking on the trigger. For a second, he considered firing on the man, knowing that he could probably hit him, but his fear held him back. What if he missed?
He looked down at Delta. Blood trickled from her mouth and nose, and she stared at the agent with hatred in her eyes.
“Do it, Sam,” she whispered.
Before the storeowner could fire, the man rolled off of Delta and pitched the knife at Sam. Startled, he moved to the side, listening to it clatter to the ground behind him. When he looked back, the agent had scurried behind one of the nearby automobiles and disappeared.
Sam let loose with the pistol, peppering the car with bullets, and then made his way toward Delta. He helped her off of the ground, keeping his gun aimed at the vehicle. The street was quiet.
The agent must still be behind the car.
Sam scanned the area, but there was nowhere else the man could have run. The nearest vehicle was about twenty feet away from the one he had ducked behind. The agent must be there, waiting for them.
He motioned for Delta to keep going. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her retrieve her own pistol from the road and then sprint several yards ahead.
Sam walked toward the car, cutting a wide path around it so that he could see what was on the other side. He held his gun ready, thinking that any second he would have to use it. When he had almost neared the back, he heard a scrape, and then saw
a flash of white going around the other side.
He picked up speed, weaving around the car, still keeping a twenty-foot distance. He could hear the man breathing now, and it made his nerves tingle.
An arm shot up from the passenger’s side of the vehicle, and suddenly Sam felt a flash of pain in his right arm. He lost his grip on the pistol, looked down. A small throwing knife was embedded in his shoulder. He cried out in pain and clutched the wound.
The agent had emerged from behind the vehicle. He walked toward Sam at an even pace, still grinning. In his hands was another knife.
“Stop it!” Delta screamed from up the street.
Sam held up his hands to stop her. “Stay back!”
The agent was only a few feet away now, and he waved the blade in Sam’s face to taunt him. Sam eyed the pistol on the ground, knowing that the other man would be on him before he could pick it up. His shoulder burned with pain, and he gritted his teeth to avoid crying out.
With his left hand, Sam reached into his pants and pulled out his own knife. The agent began to laugh.
“What are you going to do with that?” he sneered.
Sam swung the blade in front of him, trying to gain some room to maneuver, at the same time knowing that he was hopelessly outmatched. With his right arm wounded, he would have to rely on his left. The agent backed away a few steps.
Ignoring Sam’s warning, Delta started toward them, holding her gun in front of her. She was about a hundred feet away.
“Get the hell away from him!”
She fired off a shot, and the bullet ricocheted off the pavement near the agent’s feet. Sam heard her squeeze the trigger again. The gun clicked empty.
Delta yelled out in frustration.
The agent took the opportunity and lunged forward, lashing out with his knife and catching Sam in his already-wounded arm. The blade sliced his skin and he cried out, and then jabbed forward with a thrust of his own. He missed his mark. The agent sprang back, circling around Sam.
Sam eyed the pistol on the ground. He made a grab for it.
He had just laid his fingers on the barrel when the agent dove at him, knocking him back against the pavement. The knife in his arm embedded itself further, and Sam cried out in agony, the pain so intense that it made his eyes water. He felt the agent’s hands around his jacket, and suddenly he was being lifted off the ground and thrown against the car.
Contamination (Books 0-3) Page 36