What if Isabelle had survived?
He clutched the rifle, torn by a new dilemma. He tried to remember what Caddy had said about the family. He was certain she’d said they were all infected, but what if she’d been mistaken? What if the young girl was hiding in her room, alone and scared?
What if the knock had been a cry for help?
Noah aimed the rifle up the stairs, heart thundering. Out of nowhere, he pictured his own family. For all he knew, Mom and Dad and Ricky were still alive. But Isabelle’s family had been stripped away. If he didn’t save her, who would?
His mind screamed at him to turn around, to run out of the house, but his conscience pulled him backward. Before he knew it, he was climbing the stairs. He needed to be certain.
The whimper came again. This time there was no mistaking the sound. It was from a little girl.
Noah reached the landing and stared through the half-open doorway into the child’s bedroom. From this angle, he could see a bedpost and the corner of the bureau, but no signs of Isabelle. He took one step. Then two.
His view became clearer, but the right half of the room was still obstructed. He noticed a closet in the far left corner. Would she be hiding there? Or would she be out in the open?
He slipped through the opening, holding the rifle at chest level. The last thing he wanted to do was scare her, but he didn’t want to take any chances, either.
In contrast to the rest of the house, the room was clean. There were a few dolls and toys on the floor, but the place didn’t appear to have been ransacked. Perhaps the looters—as unconscionable as they were—had decided to give the child’s room a pass. Either that or there was nothing of value inside.
Did anything even have value anymore?
He’d just taken another step when he saw an outfit lying on the bed: a child-sized skirt, complete with leggings and shoes.
Had Isabelle been hiding here all along? Was she too frightened to leave? He envisioned her tidying her room and playing with her things, trying to recreate some semblance of normalcy in a world that’d gone haywire. What if she’d been alive the entire time, waiting for her parents to return?
He needed to find her. He needed to get her out of here.
He moved deeper into the room. There was no one in plain sight. That left two hiding spots: the girl was either in the closet or under the bed. He bent down until his face was level with the floor. A white bed skirt surrounded the mattress. He reached out with his hand, thought better of it, and used the barrel of his rifle instead.
The underside of the bed was a myriad of shadows. He scanned from left to right, searching the dark corners. His eyes landed on a shoebox, a stuffed animal, and a pile of clothes, but there was no one underneath.
Until there was.
Noah jumped back as something moved under the bed.
“Isabelle?” he hissed.
The room was silent.
He crept back over, keeping a safe distance from the mattress. The girl must be afraid. He couldn’t blame her. If he were in her shoes, he couldn’t be dragged out of hiding, either.
He lifted the bed skirt again, hoping to coax her out. Before he could locate her, something darted out at him. Noah fumbled for the rifle and struggled to take aim.
It wasn’t the girl, but a gerbil.
The animal skirted past him, frantic. He watched as it scurried out of sight and disappeared into the hallway. Noah looked across the room. An empty cage was sitting next to the bureau, the door open. Inside it was a vacant exercise wheel.
Someone must have let the gerbil out.
Noah’s pulse still roared behind his ears. He shook his head. At least he wasn’t hearing things. He might be crazy, but his senses were intact.
He got to his feet, doing his best to dust off the fear that had plagued him since entering the house.
The closet door crashed open, revealing the snarling visage of Isabelle.
12
The infected girl was on him before he could fire a shot. She tackled him to the ground with unbelievable strength. It was as if the virus had supplied her with superhuman capabilities, giving her the brute force of someone twice her size. Noah fought to keep her at bay, recoiling as her teeth grew near.
He still had a grip on the rifle, but the weapon was sideways. Unable to fire it, he attempted to use it as a blockade, a last-ditch barrier between him and the ravenous little girl.
He stared into her eyes—two black marbles without reflection or emotion. Her skin was gray and wrinkled, as if ready to peel off her and reveal a new person underneath.
He pushed the rifle away from him, hoping to throw the little girl off, but Isabelle kept her deadly grip on the stock and barrel. She snapped at him over the top, doing her best to gnaw his flesh.
Noah turned his head. If the girl got ahold of him, it’d be over. Once she took the first bite, she’d keep tearing and clawing until he was dead. He needed to get out from underneath her. He needed to break free.
A second later he got his opening.
He thrust his knee upward, catching her in the stomach. The girl let out a screech and released her grasp on the gun.
Noah shoved the rifle upwards, connecting with her jaw, and sent the little girl reeling onto the floor. Then he scampered to his feet. He raised the gun, intending to fire off a round, but Isabelle had already pounced.
Noah fell backward against the bed. The frame slid across the floor a few inches; the clothes tumbled off and onto the carpet. Isabelle flailed at the bed, tearing at the bed sheets in an attempt to get at him. He could see the door out of the corner of his eye, but he didn’t dare make a run for it.
The second his back was turned, she’d shred him.
Instead he rolled across the bed, avoiding her reaching hands, and got to his feet on the other side. He took aim with the rifle.
Isabelle stopped, as if sensing her predicament. He studied her face, searching for any semblance of the little girl she once was. She looked left and right, black eyes swiveling as they scanned the dolls and posters that’d once occupied her time. Did she have any recollection of what she’d been? Did she have any idea what had happened to her?
“Isabelle!” Noah called.
He paused, finger on the trigger, holding a bead on her head. He’d killed several of the things before, but he’d never faced one so young. The girl finished surveying the room and eyed him from the other side of the bed.
“Isabelle!” he repeated. “Can you hear me?”
Her face relaxed for a moment. He watched as she lowered her arms and sniffed the air. Could she understand what he was saying? Were his words getting through? The little girl stopped snarling. Her dark eyes locked on his face.
“I can help you,” he tried. “If you’ll listen to me. We have a safe place across—”
The infected girl leapt from the bed, letting out a shriek that filled the room. Her mouth hung open in rage; her hands clawed the air.
Noah fired.
The shot connected with her head. Isabelle fell to the bed like an empty sack, a lifeless body comprised of clothes and hair. Her hands went still.
Tears streaked Noah’s face, blurring his view of the room and the body. He circled around the bed, still pointing the rifle, but the little girl was dead. There was nothing he could’ve done.
There never had been.
He remained in the room for several seconds, staring at the girl and her belongings. He tried to tell himself it wasn’t his fault. In the end he’d pulled the trigger, but it was the men perpetrating the infection who’d loaded the gun.
Maybe the agents were right. Maybe mankind’s destiny had been decided from the beginning. Maybe they were all meant to die.
Noah wiped his face on his sleeve. Even if he somehow survived this nightmare, there’d be no taking back what he’d done, and no forgetting it.
Keeping one hand on the gun, he knelt down and picked up the clothes that had spilled to the floor, then draped them over the
little girl’s face.
When he returned to the road, the sun was shining. He held his hand over his eyes to avoid the glare and inspected the ruined street. Because of the gunshot, he’d expected a horde to approach at any minute, putting off his plans to leave.
Instead, the street was calm and silent.
He patted his pockets, worried he’d dropped the car key in the scuffle, but he found it in his shorts.
He shifted his gaze to the window across the street, looking for Caddy, but she was gone. Had she heard the gunshot? He couldn’t imagine she hadn’t.
As if in response, footsteps echoed in front of him and Caddy ran down the walkway.
In her hands was a knife.
“Are you OK?” she called.
Noah glanced back at the house he’d just come from. He opened his mouth to speak, but couldn’t find the words. Isabelle had been Caddy’s neighbor. Even though his life had been at stake, even though he’d only been protecting himself, he still felt a wave of guilt. If only he could’ve done something differently…
“What happened? I heard a gunshot.”
Caddy looked him up and down, checking for wounds.
“One of them got inside the house,” he said finally. “But I took care of it.”
“I was worried about you.”
“I’m OK.”
“Did you find the keys?”
Noah jangled the keychain in the air. The sight of it seemed to brighten Caddy’s face.
“Is your mother all right?” he asked.
“She’s fine. She heard the gunshot, but I was able to calm her down.”
“That’s a relief.”
Noah did a quick survey of the area, still wary of the noise. He could only hope there were no creatures close by, and if there were, that they were otherwise engaged. Hopefully, the fact that he’d fired inside had muffled the noise.
“Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to make a commotion. You should get back inside,” he said to Caddy. “It’s not safe out here. I’m going to wait a few minutes, make sure no more of them show up, and then I’m going to head out.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yep. I’ll make it quick. If I don’t find anything, I’ll come back.”
“OK. I’ll head back inside and keep watch.”
In spite of her statement, she lingered. She gave him a long look, as if she were afraid she might not see him again.
“Be careful, Noah,” she warned.
“I will.”
Without another word, she padded up the driveway and disappeared around the back of the house.
Noah retreated back to the McDonalds’ garage, stuffing the encounter with the little girl back in his memory banks. His mind was cluttered as it was; there was no time to deal with it now.
He had a mission to undertake.
If he didn’t find provisions for himself and his companions, the three of them would starve. He forced the image of the little girl to dissolve as he walked back across the street and to the garage. When he reached the car, he retrieved the key from his pocket and used it on the driver’s side door.
The interior lights popped on at the helm. Noah opened the door, taking in the smell of fresh leather. In a world where everything was falling apart, the car was a refreshing change. Noah got inside and shut the door.
He placed the rifle on the seat next to him and started the engine. The car purred around him. The hybrid vehicle was nearly silent; it would provide good cover in the deserted streets. He’d never driven one before. In comparison to this, all his rides had been gas-guzzling antiques.
This is as good as it gets, he thought.
He forced a smile and put the car into reverse, then rolled out into the road. The sun shone at his back; warm rays bounced off the console. As he shifted the car into drive, he gave one last glance at Caddy’s house. Although he couldn’t be sure, he thought he noticed a dark shadow waving at him in the upstairs window.
13
Noah placed the directions on his lap. According to Caddy, his truck was only a few miles up the road; it shouldn’t take him long to get to it. He just hoped he wouldn’t encounter anyone else on the way. His only thought was to get safely to his destination and back.
Outside Caddy’s neighborhood, the area gave way to trees and forest. Noah flicked his attention from the road to the rearview mirror, expecting someone to fall in behind him and give chase. It’d been over a day since he’d been run off the road, and driving the streets still gave him a sense of unease.
As he’d learned thus far, danger was inescapable; the only thing prolonging his life was luck and time.
In any case, being in the vehicle was better than being on foot, and he was grateful for the cover. The windows and doors provided a layer of protection he hadn’t had while in the woods.
The roads were straight, with an occasional curve. Every time Noah took a turn he cringed, expecting to find some new source of danger around the corner. Other than a few abandoned vehicles, however, the road stayed empty.
Noah would’ve liked to wait longer to return. But the longer he waited, the less chance there’d be something in the truck. With looters running rampant, it wouldn’t take long for the vehicle to be picked over, if there was anything left to pick through at all.
He maintained a speed of forty-five, doing his best to avoid the wreckage and debris. A popped tire could get him killed. Changing it would mean he’d have to get out of the vehicle, and getting out would mean he’d be exposed to danger.
He waited for a straightaway before glancing down at the directions.
According to the loopy scrawl of Caddy’s handwriting, the next turn should be coming up. He’d take Whited Street. After that he’d travel only a few minutes before reaching the abandoned pickup.
He’d just glanced up when a figure stepped onto the road in front of him.
Noah cried out in surprise and stomped the brakes. The tires screeched as he tried to avoid the oncoming pedestrian; he tugged at the wheel, doing his best to swerve. The two were on a collision course.
There was no time to change direction, no time to hit the horn.
The car collided with the pedestrian, flinging the figure over the hood and onto the pavement. Noah came to a stop in time to see the body rolling in the road behind him. Heart pounding, he threw the vehicle into park and exited.
What had he done? Had he killed someone?
It took him a second to determine the figure was still moving. The person groaned from the pavement, writhing back and forth in agony. He jogged over to the person’s side, bile creeping up his windpipe. The thought of injuring someone else was enough to make him sick.
He’d already been responsible for enough bloodshed.
It wasn’t until he reached the person’s side that he noticed something was off. The figure was moving erratically, and the groans weren’t cries of pain, but cries of hunger. Noah crouched on the asphalt five feet away.
“Hello?” he tried.
The figure swiveled, revealing grayed skin and an opened mouth.
The creature had once been a man with short gray hair and a moustache. The thing snapped at Noah, trying to reach him, but its legs were incapacitated. Noah stared at it for several seconds, filled with relief.
There was a wallet lying on the road next to it.
Noah reached over and snatched the wallet from the pavement. He flipped it open, reading the name on the license inside.
“Benjamin McDonald,” he muttered.
The address was nearly identical to Caddy’s. He glanced at the hybrid, then back at the thing on the ground. The creature had pulled itself onto its elbows and was sliding across the pavement, scraping open fresh layers of skin to get to him. Noah retreated several steps.
In his mission to get to the truck, he’d accidentally found Isabelle’s father.
Had they been together at one time? Had they separated? He doubted the creature was cognizant, but either way, seeing it crippled struck
a chord in him.
Nobody deserved this. Neither the man nor his family.
Noah reached into his belt and removed a kitchen knife he’d brought from Caddy’s. The creature continued to crawl toward him, eyes glazed.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
He raised the knife over his head and rammed it into the creature’s skull.
The roads were starting to look familiar. According to Caddy, Noah’s truck was only a few miles west of her house. He was getting close.
All around him were tall oaks and pines, their limbs reaching into the heavens. There were no houses in sight. Unlike the streets he’d just been on, this one was clean and undisturbed. Not a car in sight. He remembered the scenery from a day earlier. At the time, he’d been grateful for a reprieve from the destruction.
Now he knew better.
His mind flashed back to the moment he’d noticed the black truck looming behind him. He’d known the vehicle wasn’t a good sign. He just hadn’t known how bad a sign it was.
The men inside had ridden up alongside him, heads hanging out the windows. He’d tried to accelerate, but his pickup had been old; theirs had been faster. Before he knew it, they’d struck him like a battering ram. Noah had instinctively turned to the right, edging into the breakdown lane, driving dangerously close to the forest.
The men had persisted, screaming at him, shouting things he couldn’t hear. Between the adrenaline and the focus needed to stay on the road, he’d barely had time to look at them, let alone hatch a plan. Instead, he had clung to the steering wheel and done his best not to lose control.
It wasn’t until the F150 raced in front of him and applied the brakes that he’d lost all hope.
Despite his best efforts, Noah had skidded off the pavement and into the trees. He’d been reaching for his gun when the driver’s side window had shattered. Hands had pulled him from the vehicle; fists had pummeled his face.
The pain had been immediate and intense. Before he knew it, Noah had been on the ground, wincing as boots kicked his ribcage. The men had continued to shout. This time he’d caught bits and pieces of the conversation.
Contamination 5: Survival (Contamination Post-Apocalyptic Zombie Series) Page 6