Contamination Prequel (Post-Apocalyptic Zombie Series)

by Piperbrook, T. W.

  In the background, the banging had lessened. He wondered if Julie had locked their daughter in her own room for her own protection, before the violent urges had taken her over—to stop from killing her own daughter.

  “Julie, please stop this,” he pleaded.

  Her mouth opened, and he noticed bits of food were stuck in her teeth, as if she had forgotten how to chew. She pushed harder, grunting as she leaned into the knife. It was the first sound she had made since his arrival.

  Somewhere in his pocket, Dan’s cellphone began to ring. He blinked away his tears and tried to stop his wife from stabbing him.

  5

  Howard drove aimlessly, trying to lose himself in the streets of St. Matthews. He rolled down the window, letting the cool mountain breeze seep into the vehicle, and contemplated having a cigarette.

  He hadn’t smoked in almost ten years. In his twenties, he had maintained a solid pack-a-day habit, lighting up whenever the desire struck him. At the time, he had little concern for the future. He had been in college then, and life was as simple as passing a few courses at Sacramento State University—just enough to keep him enrolled. At night his real life began: hitting the bars with his friends, playing pool, and chasing the young women that matriculated at the local college. Things had changed rapidly when his mother had fallen ill.

  Howard had been home for a visit when she had told him. The doctors had diagnosed her with lung cancer. According to the test results, the disease was already in the advanced stages. She had been coughing up blood for several weeks before going to the doctor, and a CAT scan had revealed the news. She hadn’t even been a smoker. Howard was devastated.

  For the next two years, he watched her deteriorate rapidly, losing the strength to walk and eventually becoming bed-ridden. Howard had dropped out of school to take care of her, working nightshifts to assist her during the day. His days were spent at chemotherapy and doctor visits, and he struggled to pay the mortgage and other bills that kept them in the house.

  As quickly as the disease had descended upon her, it was gone. His mother passed away in her sleep, only two years after being diagnosed. She was forty-six. Her passing had left him feeling angry and alone.

  After her death, Howard joined the police force, throwing his aggression into intense physical training. He shunned his previous lifestyle of drinking and smoking and aimed for a life of clarity and focus. He pushed his body to its limits, fearing that if he let up, he would be overtaken by sickness.

  Now, in the wake of the evening’s events, he found himself clamoring for a taste of his past. A cigarette would taste damn good right about now, he thought.

  In the distance, he could make out the White Mountains spiraling upwards into the heavens, oblivious to the concerns of the townspeople below. He sighed and placed his police hat on the seat next to him. He should probably be getting home.

  Howard’s pocket vibrated, and he jumped to attention. He reached for his cellphone, expecting to see the number of the sheriff, who would be calling to check up on him. His boss had instructed him to take a few weeks off—to heal and unwind from the trauma of the evening. Maybe the man missed him already.

  It wasn’t Sheriff Turner. It was Dan.

  “Hello?”

  The cellphone hissed and crackled in response. Howard smiled, assuming his friend must have placed the call by accident. He listened for a few seconds, just in case.

  “Dan, you there?”

  A crash erupted through the phone, and he held his ear away from the receiver to soften the noise. He heard the sound of heavy breathing, as if someone was winded.

  Or perhaps engaged in a struggle.

  Howard strained to hear through the static. His heart galloped as a voice cut through the line.

  “Please stop…” the person begged. The voice was Dan’s.

  Howard was only a few minutes from his friend’s house. He threw on his sirens, watching the yellows and reds pulse on the road in front of him. He grabbed his radio with his right arm and felt his wounded arm bend below the bandage. He winced and pushed the button.

  “All available units, this is Officer Barrett. I’m heading to a possible 240 at 5 Shunpike Place. Need backup ASAP.”

  He released the lever and waited, rounding the next corner and nearly hitting the curb. Mickey’s voice cut through the silence, back at him.

  “Howard? Aren’t you supposed to be at home resting?”

  “I was. I’m heading to Dan’s house now. I think he’s in trouble.”

  “I’m on my way,” the kid responded. “I’m across town. Give me a few.”

  The cruiser bounded forward, Howard’s thoughts with it. He thought of Frank’s former comrades from The Down Under, raising their bottles in defiance at him. Perhaps one had decided to seek revenge—gunning for the nearest police officer, fueled by a combination of alcohol and incoherence. It was a small town, after all. It would be easy to find one of the four policemen.

  He looked down at the cellphone in his lap, but it remained silent. He was almost to Dan’s, regardless.

  A few minutes later, he pulled onto Shunpike Place and approached the Lowery residence. The driveway was empty, but several lights blazed from inside. Normally, Dan and Julie parked their cars in the garage, so there was a good chance they were at home. At least, he hoped so. If Dan hadn’t been calling from home, he would probably be too late to assist.

  Howard exited the vehicle, drawing his gun with his bad arm. It was still numb from the anesthesia, and he wondered if he could even shoot. He hoped he didn’t have to find out.

  He crept towards the house on the paved walkway. Through the front windows, the living room appeared empty. To the right of the living room, he could make out the dining room, which was dimly lit. It appeared that the family had been in the process eating dinner. He saw plates of food on the table, and glasses that were filled with liquid. Strangely, nobody was there to enjoy it.

  Howard approached the windows for a better look. The chair at the head of the table had been knocked backwards, splintering on the dining room floor below. A glimmer of movement next to it drew his attention.

  A figure was kneeling on the ground, one thin arm outstretched high into the air. A cascade of long brown hair covered the person’s face, obscuring a positive identification, but it looked like a female.

  In her hands was a butcher knife. She was getting ready to plunge it into whoever was below her.

  His pulse began to pound. “Julie!”

  Howard leapt onto the front steps and tried the front door. It was locked. He stepped back and then lunged forward with his foot, sending the door reeling inwards. The TV had been left on in the living room, filling the house with voices, but he could hear the sounds of struggle from the next room. He ran inside.

  Howard stopped short when he got to the dining room. Dan was on the floor with Julie on top of him. From the looks of it, she was about to murder her husband.

  Dan was holding his wife’s wrist, the blade just inches from his nose. Tears ran down his cheeks, spilling onto the floor below. Julie’s face was covered in shadow, her eyes sunken into two black recesses below her brows. She moved her head upward at Howard’s arrival, but only slightly.

  Howard planted his feet on the ground, stabilizing his pistol with both hands. Pain shot through his right arm from the pre-existing wound.

  “Don’t shoot her, Howard!” Dan screamed.

  “Julie—drop the knife now!” he shouted.

  The woman shook her hair back and forth, as if trying to block out their voices. With her free hand, she started to dig into her husband’s stomach, tearing at his shirt. Dan screamed in agony, trying to break free.

  “Dammit!”

  Howard squeezed the trigger. The bullet connected with Julie’s right shoulder, sending the knif
e clattering to the floor. She toppled backwards, her white dress rippling in the air. Dan rolled out from underneath her. He was screaming now—mouthing words that Howard could not hear. The gunshot still rang in Howard’s ears, and he was temporarily deaf to the world around him.

  Julie was back up again. She threw herself across the room, this time at Howard. Blood dripped from a hole in her shoulder, and her right arm flopped uselessly at her side. Dan reached for her, catching hold of her dress, and she pitched to the side, losing her balance. Her head collided with the corner of the dining room table, and she collapsed to the floor like a sack of laundry.

  “Oh my God—no!” Dan screamed.

  Dan’s words were audible now, and he repeated them into the air. Howard watched his comrade fall to her side and push away her hair, cupping his hands around her neck—searching for a pulse, but finding none. The side of her head was sliced open, spilling her life essence onto the wood floor. Dan buried his face in his hands, and then started to stand.

  “My daughter!”

  “Where is she?” Howard asked.

  “In her bedroom…the door is locked.” Dan waved toward a key on the floor.

  “I’ll get her, Dan—just stay with Julie. I’ll call for an ambulance.”

  Howard retrieved the key and headed down the hall toward the closed door on the right, his arms shaking. He fumbled with the lock for a few seconds, finally finding the keyhole. He pushed the door open with his foot, and then let his pistol lead the way.

  A minute later he returned to his friend’s side.

  “The window’s open,” he said. “Quinn’s gone.”

  Part Two—Secret Chaos

  6

  Quinn Madison Lowery had never left home without permission. In fact, there were a lot of things she had never done. As she ran into the night, alone, she wondered if she would ever get the chance to do them.

  She liked to think she was a good kid, and respectful to her mom and dad. Besides, her father was a police officer, and he could sniff out what she was up to before she even knew it herself. He was smart like that.

  “Don’t forget, I was a kid once myself,” he often reminded her.

  She wasn’t perfect, though. Far from it. A year ago, she had been caught shoplifting at the local grocery store.

  Quinn loved to read. She had been reading ever since she could remember—books, comics, magazines, or anything else she could get ahold of. For the most part, her parents were supportive of her habit. This time, however, her mom had been in a hurry, and wasn’t in the mood to indulge Quinn’s literary appetite.

  “Not today, honey—I mean it.”

  All she had wanted was one of the newest tabloid magazines. Inside, there was an article on one of her favorite actresses. She didn’t see the harm in it.

  Unable to convince her mother, Quinn had tucked the magazine up into her shirt, securing the bottom in the waist of her blue jeans. She remembered how it felt—smooth against her stomach, but at the same time bulky and uncomfortable. In order to get out the door with it, she had needed to walk upright, arching her back like there was a metal rod in her spine. She remembered feeling a tinge of excitement as she walked out of the store, and then a moment of fear as she realized she would have to sit down in the car.

  “What’s wrong with you, Quinn? Why are you doubled over like that?” her mom had asked.

  Quinn tried to bend down, but the thick folds of the magazine were digging into her gut, and it hurt too much to move.

  “Do you have something in your shirt? Get over here!” her mother had demanded. “Lift it up!”

  Quinn had revealed the magazine, her cheeks stiff and the blood draining from her face. Without a word, her mother had snatched it from her grasp, returning to the store to pay for it. While she was gone, Quinn started to panic. What would they do with her? Would she be sent to jail? Would her father arrest her? It was such a small town—she was sure everyone would find out her secret.

  Quinn Madison Lowery was a thief, they would say. The thought made her nauseous.

  Her mother had driven home in silence, the look on her face enough to fill a thousand conversations. But that had been the end of it. As far as Quinn knew, her mother had never spoken of the incident to her father.

  Quinn promised herself she would never make the same mistake again. After all, she was ten years old now. She had learned a lot since she was nine.

  Now, as she climbed from her bedroom window and into the night, she wondered how much trouble she would be in. Would she ever be allowed to leave the house again? Her legs scraped against the windowsill, creating red marks in the pits of her knees, and she swiveled her arms and dropped to the ground below. Her heart pounded in her chest with fear.

  She fell on her butt, using her hands as a cushion to break her fall. Inside the house, she could hear grunting and banging, as if a wrestling match were taking place in the dining room. She heard a voice, too, but wasn’t sure if it was her father’s. She couldn’t take any chances. He may have a knife, too.

  The air tasted dark and thick, and she struggled to catch her breath.

  As she fled into the night, Quinn wondered who would punish her when she finally returned. After all, her mother wasn’t her mother anymore, and she wasn’t sure if her world would ever be the same.

  7

  Howard paused on the Lowerys’ front porch, searching for movement in all directions. His cruiser sat where he had left it, and the garage door was still closed. To his right, he saw the open window where Quinn must have exited, curtains wafting outwards in the subtle breeze. He couldn’t imagine she had gotten far.

  “I’ll find her, Dan,” he called behind him. “Wait here a minute—she can’t be far.”

  The officer moaned from inside, his grief spilling from the dining room and out into the night. The TV blared over him, playing the theme song of a classic detective show. Howard considered turning it off, but descended the steps instead.

  He tried to put himself in the little girl’s frame of mind. Where could she have run? He looked to his right, past the few trees that lined the property. The closest house was a few yards away. An old woman lived there. He thought her name was Sadie, but he couldn’t recall. Either way, she must be approaching her eighties, and was probably fast asleep. Her house was black inside, offering no sign that she had received an unexpected guest.

  The Reynolds family lived in the house on the left. Howard knew them well. They would often stop at the Lowerys’ for an evening barbeque. Their house, too, was dark. A single porch light illuminated the front steps, casting shadows like fingers into the yard. If they had received a knock at the door, he was certain they would have called the police by now.

  Howard swept the perimeter of the house. In just a few minutes, he cleared the front and then made his way to the backyard. He almost tripped over a piece of wood on the ground, and realized it was the side of Julie’s garden.

  Four pieces of plywood flanked the sides, surrounding a variety of green, leafy plants in the center. He strained his eyes, but didn’t recognize anything human amongst them. No figure was hiding in the interior.

  The rest of the backyard was open, and he didn’t see any other places Quinn could hide. He checked the far side of the house, but to no avail. If he had been the little girl, he probably would have run quite a ways before stopping. He imagined her trust was thin at this point. It wasn’t every day that your mother came at you with a kitchen knife.

  Howard thought back to what he had seen in the house. Julie was barely recognizable—a soulless, corpse-like version of her former self. Her eyes had seemed to penetrate through him, intent on destruction. Howard shuddered and bit his lip, trying to forget what he had seen. He succeeded only in conjuring up an image of Frank bashing his own face into the cell bars until pieces of brain matter spilled
out of his skull.

  He covered his mouth, resisted the urge to vomit, and gripped his gun. A sudden glow in the distance drew his attention. Several hundred yards away, on what must have been an adjacent street, a light had just gone on in one of the houses.

  Howard contemplated using his radio, and then withdrew his hand. He sucked in a breath and began to sprint towards the light.

  8

  Quinn ran until her cheeks were red, her stomach was tight, and her legs began to tire. She fought the urge to look back, fearing that someone would grab her if she did. Surely, whenever the scuffle ended, somebody would come looking for her. Maybe even to kill her. Her heart leapt against her ribcage. She needed to get help—and fast.

  She hadn’t dared stop at the neighbors. The noise would have attracted immediate attention. Something told her she needed to get farther away in order to have a fighting chance.

  Behind Shunpike Lane was another street—she forgot the name, but it was a nice road, and full of houses. Often, she would ride her bike there, watching the families and children. She used to dream about living there someday. The houses seemed nicer in that neighborhood. Now the houses hung in the distance: dark shapes that seemed strange and unfamiliar. She had never been there at night.

  Quinn wondered what time it was. It must be late—not a single house seemed active. The one closest to her had a small picnic table in the backyard. She could make out a dim glow from one of the back windows, probably from a nightlight. The Anderson family used to live here, but someone new had moved in last month. Her mother had been meaning to stop in to welcome them to the neighborhood. Back when things had still been normal.