Contamination 5: Survival (Contamination Post-Apocalyptic Zombie Series)

by Piperbrook, T. W.

  Caddy laughed. “Old sayings never lie.”

  A burst of static on the radio interrupted their conversation. Noah jumped to attention, reaching for the dial. In between the static was a voice. He spun the knob from left to right, trying to home in on the signal. After a few seconds he could make out the words.

  “Repeat, all survivors in the area should report to the checkpoint on I-70 to receive food, shelter, and medical treatment.”

  Noah looked over at Caddy. Her face lit up, her mouth hung open. Unable to contain himself, he yelled into the air and pulled his companion in for a hug.

  Noah kept the broadcast on while they drove, afraid the man’s voice would fade and disappear. Thankfully, it remained clear and strong.

  According to the map they’d found, the location was only an hour away. Noah found it hard to believe that assistance could be so close. For the past few days, his journey had seemed impossible, the road from St. Matthews to Portland longer than ever. Not only would the checkpoint provide them with food and a safe haven, it would bring him one step closer to home.

  Right now, he couldn’t envision traveling hundreds of miles straight. He wasn’t even sure if it’d be possible. Between road blockages, the agents, and the infected, his trip had already undergone several detours. He’d already been forced off his original path.

  It was a wonder he’d made any progress at all.

  “Do you think they’ll have showers there?” Caddy asked, her face still beaming.

  Noah looked down and wrinkled his nose. “I sure hope so. For everyone’s sake.”

  They laughed.

  “I’m not sure what I’m looking forward to more—a change of clothes or a hot meal. Right now, either of those would seem like heaven,” Caddy said.

  Noah eyed the few remaining packages of food on the seat, feeling the urge to tear one open in celebration, but he knew better. If the past week had taught him anything, it was that commodities like food were too scarce to waste.

  After several miles of uninhabited road, the car started up an incline. Noah stared at the gas gauge.

  The gas had drained to an eighth of a tank.

  “I’m going to pull over and fill up,” he mentioned.

  “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

  Caddy beckoned to the road ahead, where a few abandoned cars had cropped up. He studied the horizon, but saw no signs of movement.

  “I’ll get past them, just in case,” he said.

  The girl nodded, and he kept driving. The vehicles grew closer—two sedans that seemed to have run off the road in tandem. Noah wondered if they’d been in an accident. Perhaps the drivers had been so anxious to escape that they’d collided with one another. One of the driver’s side doors was hanging open into the road. He took the left lane to avoid hitting it.

  It was then that he noticed the arm waving from the interior.

  Noah hit the brakes as they passed by. He stared into the open vehicle. A bloodied man was hunched over in the seat. His eyes followed the F150 as they passed by.

  “Did you see that?” Noah asked. “There was someone alive in there!”

  “Maybe it was one of the infected.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Caddy craned her neck behind them. Noah kept his eyes on the rearview mirror, but they’d already made progress up the road, making it impossible to see.

  “It looked like a survivor. We should go back.”

  He saw fear in Caddy’s eyes. She swallowed but said nothing. Noah kept his foot off the gas and brake, letting the vehicle coast. He contemplated the options. They could continue past the man and send back help when they reached the military compound.

  But in that amount of time, the man might be dead. Besides, what if they never reached the checkpoint? What if there was no checkpoint after all?

  Noah thought back to where he’d been just a few days ago. If Caddy had decided to pass him by, he was positive he would’ve died.

  He applied the brakes and pulled off the road, then turned the vehicle in the other direction. The tires kicked up gravel as they transitioned from dirt to pavement.

  “Is there a first aid kit in the glove compartment?”

  Caddy shook her head. “I didn’t see one.”

  “Shit.”

  “I’ll look again.”

  Caddy dumped open the bin, sifting through the papers while Noah picked up speed. The broken-down vehicle—and the figure inside—loomed closer. As they approached, Noah could see that the man’s arm was still moving, waving them down as if using the last strength he could muster.

  Noah skidded to a halt across the street from the downed car. He could see the man inside more clearly now. The survivor was middle-aged, with a scruffy beard and disheveled hair. Blood flecked his face and stomach. It looked like he’d been severely injured. His seatbelt hung loose from his chest; one hand lay in his lap.

  Noah threw the vehicle into park and grabbed the door handle.

  “Wait here!” he cried.

  Noah threw open the door. The sun glanced off his face, and he shielded his eyes from the glare. He’d only taken a step when Caddy screamed.

  Her warning hit him too late.

  Noah saw a flash of movement as the man raised his arm, then the glint of a gun.

  The impact of the bullet knocked Noah backward. In an instant, his body became a tidal wave of pain.

  29

  “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit…”

  Caddy tried to contain her panic. Try as she might, she was unable to control herself. The words ran out of her mouth like gunfire, spraying the air as she drove the F150 down the road.

  If she hadn’t pulled her rifle and shot the man, Noah surely would’ve been killed. But it was too late. The damage was done.

  Now she could only pray. Drive and pray…

  Noah lay in the passenger seat next to her, his eyes opening and closing, blood gushing from underneath the bandanna she’d tied to his arm. She’d been able to pull him back into the vehicle, but only with enormous effort. He’d been lucid for a few minutes, but now he was starting to lose consciousness. If he didn’t get help soon, he’d die.

  She’d tried to warn him. She’d seen the man pulling his weapon. But by that time it’d already been too late—Noah had stepped out of the vehicle.

  Her eyes flicked to the rearview. She watched the survivor’s car disappear. She had no idea why the man had fired, and now she’d never know.

  The reason didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was getting Noah to the checkpoint.

  As she drove, the sound of static filled the vehicle. Noah had left the radio on. The announcer’s voice bled over the airwaves, repeating the same message over and over. Beside her, Noah gasped for breath.

  She stomped the accelerator, the map dangling from her hands as she clenched the wheel. She’d been foolish to let him turn back. She should’ve insisted they keep going.

  They’d almost made it, for God’s sake.

  She studied the gas gauge, remembering what Noah had said minutes before turning around. The needle hovered on the red line. They hadn’t stopped to refuel, but she couldn’t worry about that now. She’d have to take the chance of running out; time was of the essence.

  Each passing second felt like an eternity, an impediment to getting Noah assistance. She found herself wishing she could fast-forward time. If she could skip to the checkpoint, everything would be OK. She’d get her friend help and he’d survive and then they’d figure out what came next.

  And he was her friend.

  For the short time they’d known each other, Caddy had grown fond of him. In some ways, he felt like her brother. The thought of losing him felt like needles in her heart. They’d already been through so much together, and now that they were reaching the last leg of their journey, she couldn’t let him slip away.

  She couldn’t lose him like she’d lost her mother.

  Besides, there were people waiting for him. He had family to g
et back to.

  More than anything, Noah had to reach them. And the only thing standing in his way was the set of roads before her.

  Caddy floored the accelerator. She swerved as she took the turns, listening to the shift and rustle of objects behind her. Gas cans clanked in the trunk bed.

  She looked over at Noah. Her companion had slumped over in the seat, eyes fluttering. She hadn’t buckled his seatbelt, afraid she’d injure him, but now she was wondering if she should have. As she took the turns, his body pitched and heaved, inching farther down in the seat.

  His arm was covered in blood. Even with the bandanna tied over the wound, blood soaked through the fabric, dripping onto his bare skin and staining the seat.

  In just a few minutes, Noah’s groans had reduced to a whisper.

  “Hang in there, buddy. Stay with me,” she said.

  The checkpoint couldn’t be much farther. They’d already driven most of the distance; at the rate of speed she was driving, the trip couldn’t take too long.

  She’d get him there if it was the last thing she did.

  Caddy slowed at the sight of brake lights. Up ahead was a line of cars, a fence, and a row of vehicles in camouflage brown and green.

  Ahead of her was help.

  She watched as several helicopters cut across the sky, their blades whirling above them.

  After all she’d been through, the prospect of assistance seemed surreal. If she’d had more time, Caddy might’ve questioned what she was seeing. Instead, she tore ahead, the pickup’s engine roaring.

  There was no time for reflection. There was only time to act.

  In spite of the traffic in front of her, she kept her speed the same, veering around the cars and into the breakdown lane. A few frightened faces turned in her direction, specters behind glass, but she plowed forth, concerned only with getting her friend to safety.

  Noah hadn’t made a sound in several minutes. She was terrified she was too late.

  Five hundred feet from the blockade, she heard the blare of a megaphone.

  “Stop the vehicle right now or we’ll shoot!”

  She hit the brakes. Guns poked up from behind vehicles, rifles pointed in her direction. The pickup ground to a halt. A cluster of soldiers ran for cover, ducking behind the military vehicles. She jabbed the button on the driver’s door and rolled down the window.

  “Help! I need help! I have someone in here who’s been shot!”

  “Step out of the vehicle!” the man on the megaphone blared.

  Caddy complied, keeping her arms over her head as she exited.

  “On your knees!”

  She dropped to the ground as instructed. The soldiers moved into formation around her. A few others trained their rifles on the vehicle, keeping a buffer between themselves and the pickup.

  “My friend’s in the car!” she screamed. “He needs help!”

  She glanced into the vehicle, realizing that Noah had fallen over in the seat. His eyes were closed, his mouth hung open. He looked dead.

  “Hurry!”

  The soldiers were wearing masks. They picked her up off the ground and frisked her, then locked her in handcuffs. Several crept over to inspect the vehicle. When they’d reached the passenger side window, one of the soldiers yelled to the others.

  “We have a man down! He needs medical attention!”

  Caddy felt tears slipping down her face. She cried as two of the men led her away.

  “This is just a precaution, ma’am,” one of them stated.

  She nodded that she understood, following them away from the vehicle and toward the encampment. As she walked across the dirt, she kept her eyes on the scene behind her, watching several paramedics in hazmat suits jog over from behind the fences. Two more followed, wheeling a stretcher.

  “I want to go wherever he goes,” she managed through her tears.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, but you need to come with us. We have procedures in place.”

  She glanced at the soldier, hoping to convince him, but his face was stoic. In spite of what was happening, his presence filled her with a sense of relief. It represented some of the law and order that seemed to have disappeared over the last week.

  She just hoped Noah lived to see it.

  30

  Caddy sat in a small, enclosed trailer with the doors and windows shut. Thick shades barred light from the outside. The only light provided was from a lamp on a nearby table, and she squinted against its glare. From somewhere outside, she heard the hum of a generator.

  On one side of her was a man with brown hair and dark eyebrows. On the other was a man with shaggy gray hair and a moustache. Both of them scrutinized her for a minute before speaking.

  “What’s your full name?”

  “Caddy Stevens.”

  “And where did you say you were from again?”

  “Chester, Colorado.”

  “Who is the young man you’re with?”

  “His name is Noah Chambers. Is he OK? Is my friend OK?”

  The two of them glanced at each other, their expressions impossible to read. The man with gray hair looked down and began typing on a tablet.

  “He’s being treated,” he said.

  Caddy stared at the man’s computer, hoping to catch a glimpse of what he was doing, but the screen was hidden from view.

  The man with dark hair took over the conversation.

  “Have you felt any unusual symptoms in the past twenty-four hours? Nausea? Headaches? Fever?”

  “No. I already told the medical personnel all this. You already ran your tests, remember?”

  She held up her arm, indicating the bandage from where her blood had been taken. The last hour had been a blur of tests, exams, and people in white suits, and she’d cooperated without protest. Her only thought had been of her friend.

  “Any unexplained changes in mood? Depression? Anger?”

  Caddy felt a surge of frustration. Her friend was severely injured—possibly dying—and here she was being forced to answer more questions.

  “How do you expect me to feel? My friend has been shot. All I want to do is see him!”

  “Once we’ve finished here, you can check on your friend. What have you eaten for the past day or so?”

  “I don’t have the virus. Your tests should’ve concluded that. I must be immune like everyone else here. Now, if you’ll let me out of these cuffs, I’d like to check on my friend.”

  The men exchanged a glance.

  “Can you describe the last few days for us? How did you get here?”

  Caddy shook her head. It was clear the men weren’t going to let her go—not until she’d proven her story. Without further prompting, she dove into the details of her survival. She told of her struggles in town, the way she’d boarded up her house, and her meeting with Noah. She told of the men who had tried to kill her, the death of her mother, and their subsequent escape.

  Then she relayed what Noah had told her about the agents. She told the men of the safe food they’d discovered in the truck, how they suspected they were immune, and how they’d heard the broadcast.

  The men watched her with interest, but neither seemed surprised. A few times they nodded; the older man typed. It was as if they were listening to the story they’d expected to hear and were waiting for confirmation of what they already knew.

  When she’d finished, the men gave each other a look. After a few seconds the older man produced a set of keys. He set the tablet down and rose from his chair.

  “We may have more questions for you later,” he said dryly.

  “When can I see my friend?”

  “Private Peters will show you to your temporary living quarters. She can take you to medical. After that, you’ll need to stay in the compound, and you won’t be able to leave until things are cleared.”

  “How long will that take?”

  “We don’t know yet.”

  “Is there a cure for this thing? How far has the virus spread?”

  “We�
�re not at liberty to discuss that. When we have more information, we’ll—”

  “Forget it.” Caddy nodded to her cuffed wrists. “I just want to see Noah.”

  After leaving the trailer, Caddy was introduced to a female soldier whose nametag read “Peters.” The woman, who sported cropped red hair and had a thin scar on her chin, led Caddy to her living quarters.

  “Your friend is in surgery. You won’t be able to see him for a while.”

  “How long is a while?”

  “We don’t know yet.”

  Caddy opened her mouth to argue, but the expression on the woman’s face told her that the answer was final.

  The living area consisted of row after row of faded green tents. Survivors mingled among them, talking to each other or sitting on folded camp chairs set up in the aisles. Caddy could smell food. In spite of her worry, her mouth began to water.

  “After you get cleaned up, you’ll probably want to get something to eat. There’s food and water located at the end of the aisle.”

  Peters gestured into the distance, past the rows of tents.

  “Thanks,” Caddy said.

  As they continued walking, Caddy peered into a nearby tent, catching sight of a woman on a cot. Several small children were playing cards on the ground. Although the accommodations weren’t luxurious, they were a welcome sight to someone who had been forced to take to the road.

  Caddy felt her demeanor begin to soften. Back in the trailer, she’d been angry at her situation, worried about Noah. Now she realized she was in a far better situation than she’d been before. At home, she’d been living in constant danger from both lunatics and the infected. Here she’d have food, water, and shelter, as well as protection from the chaos.

  Peters led her through the row of tents, sidestepping several survivors who were engrossed in conversation. Caddy heard the words “National Guard” and “state of emergency” among the discussions. She tried to eavesdrop, but by the time she tuned in to a speaker, the person was already behind them.

  “How many survivors are staying here?” she asked Peters.