Contamination (Books 0-3)

by T. W. Piperbrook

  Sam hit the driver’s side door and crumpled to the ground. The agent advanced on him. By the look in his eyes, he was just getting started.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Sam saw Delta running toward them, heading for Sam’s pistol. The agent backed away from Sam and positioned himself to intercept her. When she was ten feet away, she stopped, realizing the futility of her mission.

  “Don’t worry,” the agent said. “There will be plenty of time for us to get to know each other.”

  He licked his lips and lifted up his jacket, revealing a row of knives tucked into his belt. Delta took a few steps back.

  Sam clenched and unclenched his fists, realizing that he no longer had his blade. Ignoring the pain that coursed through his body, he forced himself to stand, and after steadying himself on his feet, he charged at the agent. The man stepped to the side, but not before Sam had grabbed him by the arm, knocking him off balance. The storeowner swung a closed fist at the man’s face. To his surprise, it connected, and the agent reeled back in pain.

  Encouraged, Sam repeated the maneuver, hitting the man with another left hook to the face, and then another. In the meantime, Delta retrieved the pistol. After a few more blows, Sam stepped away. As soon as he did, he heard the sound of a gunshot.

  The agent cried out in agony. The bullet had struck him in the leg, and he dropped to the ground and immediately rolled underneath the car. Delta fired until the clip was empty, but none of her shots hit their mark. She threw the empty gun onto the ground.

  “Let’s go, Sam!” she shouted. She grabbed the storeowner by the arm and started to pull him up the street. Behind them, they could hear the agent getting to his feet, and then the sound of his footsteps on the pavement.

  Somehow, he was still coming after them.

  They broke into a run.

  As Sam and Delta forged ahead, several of the things began to trickle out of the surrounding shops and stores, joining in on the pursuit. Sam staggered on, muscling through the pain, knowing that if he stopped, it would be for the last time.

  About a block ahead was a church. He pointed, calling Delta’s attention to it. The two changed course, heading away from the street and toward the building.

  The outside was made of what looked like red sandstone, with pointed arches covering the windows and doors. Although the building was square in shape, several spires jutted out like towers from the roof, penetrating the sky above the neighboring buildings. A stone walkway led to a flight of stairs, and at the end was a set of wooden doors.

  As they approached, Sam said a silent prayer, hoping that the doors would be open.

  Both their lives depended on it.

  When they reached the entrance, Delta tugged on one of the long black handles at the front.

  To his relief, the door swung open.

  Sam raced through the entrance. A second later, Delta heaved herself through behind him, and he slammed the door closed behind her and engaged a bolt on the other side.

  Something pounded on the other side of the door. Sam watched it rattle against the pressure, but it held tight. Sweat slid down his forehead, and he wiped his face, letting out a sigh of relief.

  It wasn’t until he heard Delta whisper that he felt his pulse quicken again.

  “Sam. Turn around.”

  He swiveled to look behind him, and another breath fled his lips.

  Though they might have escaped the agent, they were not alone.

  In the absence of man-made light, the church was full of shadows. The ceiling contained several stained glass windows, each allowing beams of sunlight to filter into the room, but none provided proper visibility.

  Sam surveyed the interior of the church. In the center of the room was a carpeted aisle, and on either side of it were about twenty rows of wooden pews. At the head of the room was an altar.

  Standing behind it, eyes locked on Sam and Delta, was a priest.

  “I knew you’d come,” he said. His voice reverberated throughout the room. He stood with his arms at his sides, as if waiting for a response.

  “What do you mean?” Sam asked, hearing his own voice echo through the walls. He glanced over at Delta.

  “I left the door open, knowing that people would need my assistance.”

  Behind them, the pounding continued.

  “Do you have any idea what’s going on out there?” Sam shouted.

  “Yes. And I’ve been expecting it. Can you please unlock the doors so that others may join us?”

  “I don’t think you understand,” Delta said. “This isn’t what you think it is. This infection was created by a group of men, and right now, one of them is outside trying to kill us. If you let him in, we’re all dead.”

  The priest stared straight ahead, unmoving. If Sam hadn’t known better, he might have taken him for a statue—a sculpture made of flesh and robes.

  “Go talk to him,” Delta said. “I’ll cover the door.”

  As Sam walked down the aisle toward the man, he could see that the priest was shaking. The man appeared to be in his sixties, and his face was pale and weathered.

  The front entrance creaked and groaned.

  “Is there another way out of here?” he asked the man.

  The priest didn’t answer. Sam waved his hands in front of the man’s face, as if to shake him out of his trance.

  “If that door opens, we’re all dead!”

  The man finally lifted his arm and pointed to one of the dark corners of the room.

  “There’s a side door over there. It should be unlocked.”

  “Come with us,” Sam said, reaching for the man’s arm.

  The priest shook his head.

  “I can’t,” he said.

  Delta was already racing up the aisle. “We have to go, Sam!” she yelled.

  As she spoke the words, another crash erupted from the front of the room. Sam made one last grab for the priest, knowing it was only a matter of time until the door caved inward.

  Cromwell heaved his shoulders against the church door, his pulse racing. The wood continued to hold, and he cried out in anger. Behind him, several of the infected were almost within arm’s reach. His leg was bleeding like a civ from the bullet wound, but he ignored the pain. The creatures were at his back now, grabbing at his jacket and giving him little room to maneuver.

  He flung back his boot, knocking the closest creature to the ground, trying to free up some space. Before he could resume working on the door, he felt hands clawing at the back of his shirt again, and he turned and lashed out with one of his knives.

  The blade severed the closest thing’s hand. The creature flailed about and then fell, overtaken by the others behind it. Cromwell continued to slice, warm fluid from the creatures spurting onto his face and arms.

  The cluster around him was growing; with each passing second, more creatures were finding their way up the steps.

  “Dammit!” he yelled.

  The doorway was bordered by railings on either side. Realizing he was outnumbered, Cromwell fought his way toward it, hoping to climb a few feet off the ground and gain some distance from the creatures. He had just reached the side when something bit his leg. He felt a surge of pain, and he gritted his teeth in anger, refusing to cry out.

  He wouldn’t allow himself to be weak like the others.

  He swung the knife in all directions, piercing heads and throats, watching the things fall to the side. When he had cleared a path, he stepped up onto the railing so he was several feet above them.

  That’s when Cromwell heard the sound of gunfire.

  Beneath him, creatures scattered and tumbled to the ground. Their bodies shook with the impact of the bullets, and they keeled over on the landing in a mountain of flesh.

  When the shooting stopped, Cromwell looked up to find the source of his rescue and saw Agent Hopper coming down the walkway.

  “You OK, Agent?” the man asked.

  Cromwell jumped down from his perch on the railing, brushed off his jacket.


  “I’m fine. Where are the others?”

  Hopper averted his eyes. “They’re all dead.”

  “All of them?”

  “Yes.”

  Cromwell felt his blood start to boil again. Who the hell had chosen these men? Clearly they were incapable of ruling in the new world.

  He would be better off without them.

  “I take it the survivors are in the church?” Hopper asked.

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll help you get the door down.”

  Hopper stepped over the bodies and began to ram his body against the door. The wood splintered with the impact.

  “Why don’t you just use the rifle?”

  “I was told to conserve ammo.”

  Cromwell shrugged, allowing the man to continue. In the meantime, he cleaned off his WWII Trench Knife, wiping it off on his pants.

  Hopper forced the door open. He stood back, as if proud of the job he had done.

  “How many are in there?” Hopper asked.

  “Just two. I can handle this, Hopper.”

  “I’ll go in with you.”

  “No you won’t,” Cromwell said.

  Without batting an eye, he took a step toward Hopper and stabbed him in the stomach. The agent doubled over, blood leaking from the wound, and dropped his rifle.

  “W-what the hell?”

  Cromwell bent down and scooped up the man’s rifle, carrying it with him as he entered the church.

  The survivors would be his and his alone.

  18

  SAM WAS STILL TUGGING THE priest’s arm when he saw the church doors fly open. He immediately dove to the floor, taking cover behind the first row of pews. Across from him, he saw Delta do the same.

  Having lost or expended their guns, as well as Sam’s knife, the two were totally weaponless.

  For several seconds, the doorway was clear, admitting only a few hesitant rays of sunlight. Then he saw the shadow of a man, followed by the tip of a rifle.

  Bullets sprayed the inside of the church, glancing off the side of the wooden pews and shattering decorations and figurines. A few struck holes in the stained glass windows, sending new beams of light into the dim room.

  When the firing stopped, Sam poked his head up. The agent had taken a step inside, and was now holding his position at the front, uncovered. Sam swallowed, wishing he still had his pistol.

  Before the agent could advance another step, a voice echoed through the church. Sam looked up and saw that it was the priest.

  In spite of the shooting, the man remained standing at the altar.

  “There’s no need for violence,” the priest said. “You are welcome inside, but please leave your weapons at the door.”

  The agent stared straight ahead. When he didn’t answer, the priest continued.

  “What’s happening out there isn’t your fault. We’re all to blame.”

  The agent snickered. To Sam’s surprise, however, the man lowered his gun and let it fall to the floor.

  “OK, I dropped it,” the agent said. “Now what?”

  “You may approach, if you wish.”

  The agent paused for a second, and then took a step forward and began walking down the aisle. Sam noticed he was limping, and his progress was slow.

  I should tackle him right now while I have the chance.

  Sam’s mind screamed at him to act, but the pain in his shoulder held him back. If he were to try and fail, he was afraid of what might happen to Delta.

  Instead, he watched and waited. He peered over at his Delta, catching sight of her shadow about twenty feet away, and wondered if she was thinking the same thing he was.

  The agent continued down the aisle, his footsteps making muffled creaks in the floorboards. When he reached the altar, he stopped.

  “If we’re not to blame, then what do you think could be causing all this, Father?” the agent asked.

  The priest looked up at the ceiling, then back down at the man in front of him.

  “Man has but a short time on Earth. It appears that He is ready to bring in a new era. Ours is not to question the word of the Lord, but to celebrate His greatness.”

  “But why us, and why now?”

  The priest lowered his head and stared.

  “I don’t think that we as humans can understand the answer to that question.”

  The agent laughed. “That’s the biggest crock of shit I’ve ever heard, Father. Do you want to know why all of this happened? Do you really?”

  The priest didn’t respond.

  “It’s because of me. This isn’t some bullshit judgment day. This is the culmination of ten years of planning, and I came here to make sure everything goes down the way it’s fucking supposed to.”

  The priest remained quiet, arms at his sides.

  “You see, for years I’ve watched this country go downhill—watched people destroy their bodies, watched them destroy the Earth. And nobody stepped up to do a damn thing. People may pretend they’re aware of the problems, but nobody is willing to change. And things are only getting worse. The more technology we develop, the more people learn to withdraw from the real world. There is no sense of discipline anymore, so sense of self-control.”

  “So you know what I did, Father? I developed a chemical that will change all of that. I’ve been putting it into their water, into their food supply. I’m going to wipe out the population, Father, so that we can start fresh, so that we can rebuild. Surely you can understand the reasoning behind that, can’t you? I’m doing God’s work for Him. I’m saving Him the fucking trouble.”

  The priest shook his head.

  “What, you have nothing to say now?”

  The agent laughed again.

  “You were right with what you said before, father. There’s going to be a new era, all right. But I’m going to be the one to lead it.”

  Before anyone could react, the agent withdrew a knife and slashed the priest. The man fell backwards and collapsed behind the altar.

  Sam gritted his teeth.

  It’s now or never, he thought.

  He took a deep breath, and then sprang at the agent from behind the pews.

  Sam connected with the agent’s shoulder, sending him staggering back into the aisle, and the two toppled over. Sam immediately began to pound the man’s face with his fists, ignoring the throbbing in his shoulder. He felt the agent squirming beneath him, probably vying for one of his knives, but he didn’t dare let up.

  Delta joined the fray, and Sam felt her hands between him and the agent, feeling around for the agent’s blade. Her breath came in gasps, and he hoped that she could find a weapon before the other man did.

  Without warning, the agent flung out an arm, striking Delta in the face, and she fell to the ground somewhere behind them. Her body went limp.

  Sam felt a blow connect to his face, knocking him backwards. His eyes fluttered closed for a second. When he opened them, he realized that the agent had him pinned.

  The man reached into his waistband, pulling out a large blade and holding it up in front of Sam.

  “Do you know what this is?” the agent asked. His breathing was heavy and ragged. Even in the dim lighting, Sam could make out the whites of his eyes. “This is a Ka-bar Classic Marine fighting knife.”

  Sam felt something wet hit his face, and realized it was blood dripping from the man above him. The man smelled awful—a combination of sweat and grime—and Sam gagged. He struggled to break free, but the man had him immobilized.

  “The Ka-bar was used by the marines in World War II, but it is still used today. Do you want to know why?”

  “F-fuck you…” Sam managed.

  “Because it works just as well today as it did back then. But don’t worry—you don’t have to take my word for it. You’re about to find that out for yourself.”

  Sam continued to writhe under the man’s weight. His nerve endings felt like they were on fire from the wound he had already received. He wrenched his body from side to
side, but he was still hopelessly pinned.

  The agent raised the knife again, this time targeting Sam’s other shoulder.

  The storeowner squirmed, wondering how long he could remain conscious once he was stabbed. Between the pain and the blood loss, he figured it wouldn’t be long.

  Before he could find out, another voice rang out through the church.

  It was a voice Sam didn’t recognize.

  “Drop the knife,” the person said.

  The person was standing about ten feet from Sam and the agent, and he was holding a rifle in one hand. With the other hand, he clutched his stomach.

  “Hopper?” The agent on top of Sam got to his feet, still holding the knife.

  “Put it down, Cromwell.”

  “Why would you want to save this pathetic piece of shit?” The agent kicked Sam in the ribs, as if to prove his point. Sam cried out and rolled to the side.

  “I don’t give a shit about him. I’m coming for you.”

  “I didn’t think you’d—“

  “Have the strength? After you stabbed me?”

  “Let’s face it, Hopper. You’re one of the weaker ones. Besides, you have no idea who you’re pointing that gun at. I’m the head of this whole goddamn operation.”

  “I know exactly who you are. I already heard you on the phone, and I saw all the prisoners you have in those jail cells. And I heard everything you said just now.”

  Cromwell let out a short laugh and began to cough and spit. He dropped the knife and grabbed his shoulder.

  “Maybe you’re a little smarter than I gave you credit for, Hopper,” he said. “Put down the gun, and we’ll talk. Maybe I’ll even give you a promotion.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Hopper doubled over, almost dropping the gun, and then righted himself.

  “You know what your problem is, Cromwell? You had a good thing going here, but you fucked it up. And all those things you said about humanity? The same can be said about you. You are the most selfish person I’ve ever met. You don’t give a shit about rebuilding the world. All you care about is yourself.”