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-Tyler William Piperbrook
[email protected]
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
T.W. PIPERBROOK WAS BORN AND raised in Connecticut. He has been writing since childhood, but Contamination is his first published work. In addition to writing, the author has spent time as a full-time touring musician, touring across the US, Canada, and Europe.
He now lives with his wife, a son, and a Boston Terrier that hates squirrels.
If you enjoyed the Contamination series, please leave a positive review, as this helps other readers discover new works! Thanks for supporting indie authors!
Email: [email protected]
Web: http://twpiperbrook.blogspot.com/
READ ON FOR A PREVIEW OF
CONTAMINATION 4: ESCAPE!!!
PREVIEW OF
CONTAMINATION 4: ESCAPE
1
“Daddy, wake up!”
Hands pawed frantically at Dan Lowery’s arm and a voice hissed in his ear. When he opened his eyes, he could just make out the frightened visage of his daughter, her eyes wide, lips trembling. He immediately grabbed for the 9mm he had tucked under his pillow and jolted from the floor.
“What is it?” he mouthed.
His daughter pointed to the side window of the RV, where a thin sliver of moonlight crept through a crack in the blinds. He padded over to it and peered out, prepared to see a face on the other side, fingernails rapping on the glass.
The window was empty.
Still, he knew his daughter had heard something. She wouldn’t have woken him up if she hadn’t.
He pressed his forehead against the pane. They’d positioned the RV diagonally in a corner of the lot, allowing them a view of the entire salvage yard as well as a clear path to the front gate. At the slightest hint of trouble, Dan wanted to be ready to leave.
Now, as he stared out into the dark and ominous lot, he wondered if the time had come.
Between the absence of power and the darkness of the night, the salvage yard was a tangle of shapes and shadows, and if he stared hard enough, almost all of them appeared suspicious. Ever since they’d arrived, Dan had felt less than comfortable, but given their situation, the options were limited.
Even so, he’d known they couldn’t stay forever.
Quinn joined him at the window, gripping his shoulder. With her free hand, she pointed to a group of dark objects in the yard. Dan followed her stare and his body tensed.
One of the shadows was moving.
“Stay still,” he whispered.
The figure was hovering by one of the junked vehicles near the front entrance. Every so often, its head would swivel or an arm would wag.
Dan scoured the remainder of the salvage yard, but saw no sign of any other intruders. So far they’d been lucky. In the few days since their companions had left, Dan and Quinn had seen only a few straggling creatures make their way to the salvage yard. Each time, he’d easily taken care of them through the fence, and none had posed any immediate threat to him or his daughter.
Until this moment, none had found their way inside.
Dan stared at the creature lurking in the shadows, unnerved. He’d assumed that if one of the things attempted to climb the fence, he’d hear it, asleep or not.
This one seemed to have simply appeared.
No matter how the thing had gotten in, Dan knew he had to take care of it. He wouldn’t be able to rest until he did.
He rose to his feet. Before he could turn, his daughter snagged his attention again.
“Dad, look!” she whispered.
Two more shadows had appeared next to the other one. Unlike the first, these were moving quicker, and it looked like they were headed in the direction of the RV. These worried him, but what he saw next made his heart drop in his chest.
The front gate—the one that he’d kept locked since they’d arrived—was hanging open.
Dan’s lowered the shade.
“What’re we going to do, Dad?” Quinn asked.
“We’re leaving.”
“But Dad—“
“Listen to me carefully, honey. I need you to get in the passenger’s seat and buckle your seatbelt, just like we talked about. Can you do that?”
Even in the darkness, he could see the outline of her head as she nodded. He stalked toward the front of the vehicle. His daughter followed, clinging to the back of his shirt.
He’d just reached the driver’s seat when something clicked the door handle. He froze, reaching for his daughter. A similar noise sounded from the opposite side of the RV.
Thank God he’d locked the doors.
Pistol in hand, he crept to the driver’s seat and peered out the window, just in time to see a shadow scurry to the rear of the vehicle. He pushed his daughter toward the passenger’s seat and sat down himself.
He’d left the key in the ignition. He reached down to verify that it was still there.
It was. Dan swallowed.
Here goes nothing.
He turned the key, preparing for the engine to fire up and expose their position. He’d been starting the RV every day to ensure everything was in operating condition, and each day it had fired up without issue.
Only this time, when he turned the key, nothing happened.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered.
He tried again, but to no avail.
“Daddy, what’s wrong?” Quinn hissed.
Before he could answer, Dan heard a bang on the rear windows, and then the sound of someone trying the door handle in back.
Dammit.
He leapt up from the driver’s seat and grabbed his daughter’s arm, leading her to the back of the vehicle. In the rear, past their bedding and their few belongings, was a door leading to a small bathroom. He found the handle, ripped open the door, and ushered her inside.
“In here,” he said.
“But Dad—“
“No arguments, Quinn. Don’t come out until I come to get you.”
“But what if something happens to you? What if you—“
“I’ll be fine, honey.”
He gave her one last squeeze and then shut the door. In spite of his words, he was less than assured. The banging had increased in fervor; it sounded like the doors were going to crash open.
He aimed his pistol in all directions, trying to anticipate which one of them would fly inwards first.
What he didn’t anticipate was the front windshield shattering.
Dan dove to the ground as bullets whisked through the interior of the RV. He hit the floor hard, scraping his elbows and knees on the thin carpet, and bit down on his lip. Blood sprayed the inside of his mouth, and he clutched the gun as glass rained down in the front of the vehicle.
He heard shouting and commotion from outside now, and he struggled to his knees, certain that someone would be coming in after them.
Dan crawled to the rear of the driver’s seat and ducked behind it, his pistol to his chest. The gunfire had ceased, and he poked his head around the headrest, trying to get a glimpse of the outside.
No sooner was his head was in view than a pair of headlights snapped on from the salvage yard, illuminating the interior of the RV. He slipped out of sight, but he was too late. The voices had increased in volume; it was evident that someone had seen him.
Was it the agents? A gang? Another band of survivors?
Regardless of who it may be, one thing was certain: if they remained inside the RV, him and his daughter were sitting ducks.
He shot a look behind him at the bathroom. The door had been opened to a crack, and his daughter’s face emerged from the darkness.
She called out his name. This time, instead of motioning for her to
stay put, Dan motioned for her to move toward him. She scampered across the floor and into his arms. He handed her the pistol; she took it in surprise.
“Remember what I showed you?”
She nodded.
Yesterday he’d given her some simple instructions on using the weapon, telling her that someday she might need to use it.
He just hadn’t expected that day to come so soon.
She held the gun, eyes wide, while he reached underneath the bench seat next to them and pulled out a shotgun.
“Stay behind me, Quinn,” he said. “We’re going out the side.”
He pointed to the passenger’s door across from him, which for the moment was quiet. He crawled over to it and unlocked the door. He put his finger to his lips, instructing his daughter to be quiet, and grabbed the handle.
Then he threw it open, knocking into someone on the other side.
It was a man in a white coat—one of the agents. Before the man could react, Dan let loose with the shotgun, spraying him with its blast. The man collapsed into the dirt and was still.
The yelling had risen to a fever pitch in front of the RV.
“Come on, Quinn!” Dan shouted.
He jumped out onto the dirt, using the door for cover, and sent her scurrying behind him. Then he leaned around, officer’s stance, and fired off another round toward the gate. He heard someone grunt in the distance, but he kept moving, guiding his daughter behind a broken-down car about twenty feet away.
They ducked behind it just as gunfire exploded once again.
How many of them were there?
A few days earlier, two agent vehicles had paid a visit to the yard. Both agents had been killed, and afterwards, the remaining survivors had driven the agent vehicles out into the desert to hide them.
Even so, Dan had feared that the other agents might not be far behind. He just wished him and his daughter had left sooner.
He glanced next to him, taking in his daughter’s small frame and form under the glow of the headlights that cut across the yard. She was still clutching the pistol, and it looked like her hands were shaking.
I’ve got to get us out of this.
In the past few days, they’d survived a town ravaged by infection, car chases, and multiple encounters with the agents. On top of that, they’d managed to keep their sanity in spite of losing Julie—the love of Dan’s life and the mother to Quinn.
And here they were again, fighting for their lives.
Dan reached over, borrowing the pistol from his daughter, and swung it over the back of the vehicle they were hiding behind. He could see the attacker’s vehicle now—a cargo van with the lights blazing, parked just inside the front gate.
There were two men lurking beside it. At the sight of him, they lifted their weapons and started to advance. Despite their lack of cover, they seemed confident that they would hit their mark, and even with the vehicle in front of him, Dan found himself rattled by their demeanor.
He fired off a volley of suppressive fire, forcing the men darted back to the van. One of them opened the driver’s side door and fired around it, and Dan hunkered down, listening to bullets rip through the air. Quinn lay on the ground next to him, her hands clamped over her ears.
After a few seconds the shooting stopped, and Dan poked up again and squeezed off a round. This time he hit his mark, downing the agent to the left of the van. The other man—the one behind the driver’s side door—appeared to be reloading.
Instead of crouching again, Dan remained poised and ready. When the other man reared his head, he aimed and fired.
The bullet struck the last man in the chest, sending him sprawling to the ground.
Dan waited several minutes for someone else to emerge, but all he heard was silence, a stark contrast to the gunshots from moments before. The air was filled with dust and dirt, creating a smoky residue under the headlight’s glare.
The men on the ground remained motionless.
Even if he had gotten all of them, he was certain that more would be coming. There was no question in his mind of what needed to happen next: he and his daughter needed to leave.
Dan wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead and turned to face Quinn. She had already seen enough bloodshed; the last thing he wanted to do was expose her to any more.
To his surprise and confusion, the ground next to him was empty.
Where had she gone?
He swiveled to find her, heart thumping, scanning the perimeter of the yard. Why would she have left his side? She’d been right next to him a second ago; he couldn’t imagine her running off without him.
“Quinn!” he shouted, panic overtaking him.
He looked in all directions. Even if it meant searching the whole yard, the whole state, he’d find her. He glanced back to the RV, thinking that maybe she may have run there. He’d only taken two steps when he heard a noise to his left. He turned and saw a four-foot shape in the dark.
Quinn.
Before he could call out to her, a dark shadow appeared from behind her. Dan’s entire body tensed.
Walking toward him, gun pressed against his daughter’s temple, was one of the agents.
Contamination (Books 0-3) Page 40