Contamination Box Set [Books 0-7]

by Piperbrook, T. W.

  “How fucking ironic,” she muttered, clutching the rifle.

  Toward the counter, a rotary phone had been stretched to the end of its cord. The handset was off the base. She was certain it wouldn’t be operational. A quick tap on the dial lever confirmed this.

  Behind the counter, a wood-paneled door stood ajar, leading into what she guessed was a storage area. She proceeded toward it and then stopped. What if it was a trap? Once through the door, she could easily be corralled and contained—even killed.

  But there may be someone in there, waiting for help. Possibly even Sam Cook. For a second, she considered calling out in the darkness. Instead, she pushed open the door with the tip of her rifle. It moved without a sound.

  Residual light from the store seeped into the small room, and Delta made out only shelves and shapes. A string brushed against her face, and she jumped slightly before realizing it was a light switch. She let go of the rifle with one hand and tugged it.

  The room sprang to life. On either side of her were two enormous metal shelves filled with model cars. She recognized a few of them—a vintage Chevy Bel Air convertible, a Ford Thunderbird, and a Lindberg. One of her uncles had been a car fanatic, and had talked about the antiques incessantly during her childhood. She looked down the rows. Each appeared to be more detailed than the last. She imagined it had taken Sam hours to build each one.

  A wave of sadness swept over her, overtaking her fear, as she pictured the man spending countless hours alone constructing them.

  Aside from the models, the room contained only a few boxes at the far end—probably overstock from the store’s dried goods. She saw no other shadows or corners in which a person could hide. Relieved, she swiveled back into the log cabin store, turning off the light switch off behind her.

  The store was just as she had left it.

  She proceeded through the screen door and into the parking lot. The night now resonated deep black. To her left, she heard the trailer door flapping against the side of the house, suddenly animated by a gust of wind. She’d almost forgotten: she had one last place to check.

  Delta made her way toward the trailer, gaining confidence with each step. If she could rule out the Sam’s presence, she’d feel more comfortable leaving to find help. She quickly crossed the parking lot, mounted the single stair, and peered inside. Like the storage room, the trailer home was dark and ominous. She felt along the inside wall and immediately found a switch. She flicked it on, waiting for a response from inside.

  Nothing.

  She continued through the entrance. The trailer home was quaint and simple, sporting minimal decoration. It seemed spacious enough for one, but she couldn’t imagine living there with a family. Her stomach sank again at the thought, realizing it was no longer an issue for the man.

  After a few seconds, she determined that the main areas were empty. The only room she hadn’t searched was the bathroom. On the way in, she had noticed that the door was open, and had almost dismissed it.

  Someone could be hiding in the bathtub, she thought.

  She tried to push the image from her mind, but it grew inside her like a well-watered seed. She needed to check.

  Leading with the gun, Delta propped the door and clicked on the light switch. The bathroom lit up, and she bumped into one of the cabinets. The room contained only a toilet and sink, offering little room to maneuver. The brown shower curtain was a tangle of folds and creases, blocking her view of whatever lay inside. She swallowed hard. Surely anyone behind it would already be aware of her presence, and could be waiting for the right moment to launch an attack. She threw the curtain aside with her free hand.

  A row of shampoos and conditioners lined the side of the tub.

  No assailant waited for her.

  As she turned away, something on the bathroom mirror caught her eye. Attached to the glass was a yellowed newspaper clipping, held on by two folded pieces of tape. It was an article she remembered well, dated two years ago on June 22, 2008. A tear slid down her cheek, catching momentum and dripping into the sink. She blotted her face with the back of her hand.

  For the past two years, she’d lived the pain of losing a loved one. She could only imagine how Sam felt—waking up every morning to the same routine, surrounded by reminders of what he had lost.

  David Monroe—her father—grinned at her from the photograph. Why had he done it? She had asked him once, before the trial, but he’d refused to speak. It was the same stoic attitude he’d maintained through the entire proceedings. Now that he was dead, she realized that the answers might never surface.

  Delta ran out of the trailer home and into the night, leaving the door open. The rifle moved at her side with each step, offering little comfort. She tried to focus on the matter at hand. The parking lot was still empty, and the dead figure lay where she had left him.

  And somewhere, she thought, Sam is alive.

  She jumped into the Chevy, turned the key, and tore out of the parking lot towards I-40.

  She failed to notice the figure crouched in her backseat.

  11

  The van tires crunched the asphalt as the vehicle pulled into the Arizona Visitor’s Center. Sam twitched his hands nervously. He envisioned a legion of men similar to the one in White Mist, slinking towards the van in unison, ready to tear into the van and its passengers. Instead, the parking lot was deserted.

  Kendall pointed at a lone SUV parked in one of the spaces.

  “Somebody’s here.”

  The parking lot spanned the width of the building. A few painted rows were reserved for tractor-trailers and industrial vehicles, and ten or so parking spaces flanked the front. The faded lines between them offered little delineation. Noah headed right for the SUV, which appeared to be parked in the handicapped spot.

  “Hang back a little,” Sam cautioned. “We don’t know who may be in there.”

  The van came to a halt about ten feet from the vehicle. Its headlights shone directly at the SUV, which had dark, tinted windows. Although it was hard to be certain, it looked empty. Sam stared past it to the brick building. Apart from the single vehicle, the place looked vacant.

  The owner of the SUV must have gone inside.

  “I’ll go in and look for help,” he said. He’d already dragged his companions through enough.

  Noah still gripped the steering wheel. His eyes were wide behind his glasses.

  “I’m coming, too,” Kendall said suddenly.

  The tattooed kid grabbed the bat and stood, indicating that he’d made his decision. Whether it was youthful naivety or bravery, Sam wasn’t sure, but he appreciated the company.

  The two exited the van and stepped out into the night.

  They approached the SUV and peered inside. The car was impeccably clean. A black briefcase was tucked neatly on the floor of the passenger seat. Two more rested in the back, identical to the first. Sam noticed it was parked evenly between the lines, giving him hope that its owners hadn’t been in a hurry when they’d stopped. The car had white government plates.

  Sam hovered near the vehicle and motioned for Noah to turn off the van lights. Although everything appeared to be in order, his trust in strangers had grown thin, and he wanted to preserve the element of surprise if possible. The headlights flicked off, and Sam and Kendall were immersed in shadow.

  The parking lot contained a few feeble overhead lights. Each one gave off a sickly yellow glow, as if its bulbs were about to die. When Sam’s eyes adjusted, he noticed a large yellow sign in front of the building. It sported a cactus on one side, and a small patch of trees on the other.

  Welcome to Arizona.

  The Grand Canyon State.

  The Visitor’s Center was made of brick, constructed with alternating patterns of brown and red. It was comprised of three walls and a roof, with a large opening
in the front through which travelers could enter. Plastic shelves lined both sides of the main room, each containing a variety of flyers for guests to peruse. Beyond the main room was a single corridor with bathrooms on either side.

  Something else caught Sam’s eye. On the right wall in the main room was a payphone.

  Sam felt a pinch on the back of his neck, and he swatted the air. His shirt was soaked in sweat. The bugs must have smelled his presence. He waved for Kendall to follow, and the kid complied, wielding the wooden bat. Sam thought of the attacker at White Mist and realized that the weapon hardly seemed adequate.

  They walked toward the entrance. As if on cue, one of the overhang lights died with a fizzle. Sam was temporarily blinded, and he banged his leg hard against the wall, scraping off a layer of skin. He cursed under his breath.

  “Did you hear that?” Kendall paused.

  Sam strained, but heard nothing at first. Then he noticed it: a faint, consistent banging coming from the one of the doors in the corridor straight ahead. He could just make out the familiar white symbol painted on the door. It was the men’s restroom. The noise travelled through the hallway and into the open area before them, pulsing rhythmically to an unknown beat.

  RAT-tat-tat.

  Kendall left the cover of night and entered the Arizona Visitor’s Center, now visible to anyone outside that might have been watching. Sam followed, casting glances behind them every few seconds to ensure they were not being shadowed.

  The walls on either side of them contained displays filled with tourist information. One of the displays—a plastic shelf—had been knocked to the ground, its contents strewn across the cement floor.

  Sam eyed the multi-colored brochures that announced some of Arizona’s tourist attractions. Among them were maps for the Grand Canyon, the Hoover Dam, and the White Mountains—all of which drew a steady stream of tourists, and helped bolster his business. Tucked between the brochures was a single newspaper. Some wayfarer must have decided he didn’t have time to read it.

  The payphone was about halfway across the room, and they reached it in a few steps. Kendall pointed at it with his bat. The handset had been torn from its metal connector and placed on top of the base. Sam’s heart sank. They proceeded past it and entered the lone corridor.

  Sam trailed behind his companion, stopping intermittently to listen. They passed the first door on the left without incident, but when they reached the second, the banging seemed to increase in volume.

  RAT-tat-tat.

  Kendall nudged open the door with the baseball bat. It gave way without effort, casting a white glow in the dim corridor. Surprisingly, the door didn’t make a sound.

  When they entered the bathroom, Sam was immediately hit with the scent of ammonia. The room contained a row of empty urinals on the left side, and a few enclosed stalls just past them. The once-white walls had taken on a yellow tinge, probably embedded with several layers of cigarette smoke. The mirrors held a foggy hue, as if the Arizona heat had permanently corrupted the glass.

  The sound intensified. It echoed off the walls and amplified in his ears. He drew his attention to the last stall, and the noise’s source became apparent.

  The door was swinging open several inches at a time, then slamming closed against the plastic frame. A man’s shoe was kicking it from the inside.

  12

  Noah locked the doors as soon as his companions exited the van. Being alone and weaponless wasn’t a great position to be in, but he was glad to have the security of the vehicle.

  He glanced around the interior, searching for another means of defense. Besides some discarded wrappers and empty water bottles, there wasn’t much to be found. The pair had traveled light.

  On the initial trip, the van and trailer had been filled with their employers’ belongings. In fact, almost every window had been obscured by a cardboard box or piece of furniture. Noah had found it difficult to navigate, oftentimes sticking his head out of the window to account for the many blind spots.

  Now, on the journey home, the van seemed uninhabited. The backseat was empty, as well as the side panels. He flipped open the glove compartment, finding nothing but the driver’s manual, registration, and paperwork for repairs.

  Underneath the first bench seat behind him were two bags. Kendall had brought only a slim red backpack, which was sparsely filled with a few items of clothing and toiletries. Noah’s was a little larger; he’d packed a camouflage duffel bag with similar contents, but also a few other odds and ends, including books and magazines.

  He looked out the window just in time to see Kendall and Sam enter the men’s room. Why had they gone in there? The idea of the pair in an enclosed room, out of view, made him a little nervous. Keeping one eye on the entrance, he leapt into the backseat and retrieved his bag. He unzipped it, pushed aside his clothing, and rifled through the remaining contents. He had an idea.

  Although he was currently unemployed, Noah had received a degree in psychology from Arizona State University, where he had excelled in every subject. In fact, he had graduated with a GPA of 3.9, just shy of making class valedictorian. It wasn’t until afterwards that he realized how difficult it was to practice in the profession.

  In addition to excelling in his studies, Noah was also very capable with his hands. As a young man, he had received several merit badges in the local Boy Scout troop. For many young boys, those skills would soon be forgotten, taking a backseat to life’s other demands. However, he had kept the lessons etched in his memory, and was always ready to apply them when needed.

  Noah extracted his shaver from a small blue bag. He removed the blade, bending the plastic until it cracked, but made sure not to damage the metal inside.

  Next, he removed his toothbrush, which was made of hard rubber. Using the blade, he sliced at it with precision, removing its head, and then inserted the razor in the grooved slot he had carved in the top. He swung the makeshift weapon into the air. An inmate at the state prison couldn’t have done any better, he thought with a nervous smile.

  Although crude, it would have to do. He may be able to do some damage in close combat. However, using it would mean he would be in close proximity to any would-be attacker. He hoped he’d never have to test it out.

  Gripping his new weapon, Noah replaced his bag and hopped back into the front seat. As he did so, a glimmer of movement from outside drew his attention.

  He looked up. Through the opening in the brick walls, he had a full view of the main room and the hallway beyond. Kendall and Sam were nowhere in sight. He assumed they were still in the men’s room, as he hadn’t seen them exit. The corridor was littered with shadows, and he blinked through his glasses to ensure he was awake.

  One of the shadows seemed to flicker.

  He leaned forward in the seat, his pulse racing, hoping to catch another glimpse.

  Whatever it was seemed to have disappeared.

  I must be imagining things, he thought.

  He tilted his head back with a sigh and waited for his companions to return.

  13

  At the sight of movement in the last stall, Sam jumped backward, colliding with the bathroom entrance behind him. The shoe gave one final push on the door and the stall closed. The lock rattled against the frame, and then went silent.

  Kendall raised the bat, eyes wide. He put a finger to his lips, signaling for Sam to be quiet, and continued forward.

  Not a good idea, kid, Sam thought to himself. They had no idea what they may be up against. The violent attack in White Mist had proved that much.

  Whoever was in the bathroom stall could be toying with them—luring them into a situation they could not escape. He pictured the scarred man at the gas station, sliding his fingers across the pumps with calculation. Perhaps it was the same attacker, intending to finish the job he had started.

 
But how would he have gotten here? Only one car had passed them on the highway from White Mist to the Arizona Visitor’s Center. And the vehicle hadn’t stopped. It seemed as if they, too, were running from an unseen danger. Perhaps they’d even seen what happened at his store.

  Sam scanned the bathroom. Towards the end, a small stained glass window sat about eight feet from the ground. Other than that, the only way out was through the door behind them.

  They passed the urinals, reaching the occupied stall. Sam could make out a figure through the cracks. It moved slightly, sensing their presence. Kendall raised the bat above his head and reached for the handle.

  Before he could react, the door swung open.

  A man stared at them from the toilet seat, his eyes filled with fear. Blood covered his abdomen and face, and his stomach was flayed open. Pieces of intestine coiled over his suit pants, spilling onto the floor below. The man gripped a pistol in his hand, his body shaking as he tried to lift it.

  When he saw them, he dropped the weapon and the gun clattered to the floor.

  “Oh my God—what happened?” Kendall whispered.

  The man’s lips moved, but his mouth produced no sound—only red spittle. Then, before they could speak with him, his body went limp and his eyes rolled back into his head. Kendall released the stall door and retched onto the floor in front of him.

  “Let’s get the fuck out of here—now!” Sam shouted.

  What kind of sick person would do this?

  He thought back to the assailant with the scar. If that thing had gotten ahold of them, Sam was certain they would’ve faced a similar fate.