Contamination Box Set [Books 0-7]

by Piperbrook, T. W.

  He awoke to the sound of birds.

  He opened his eyes slowly. His arm was throbbing, but he was alive. A piece of clothing was bound taut against his forearm, and he realized someone had fashioned a makeshift sling.

  “Thank God,” the girl said from beside him. “I was sure you weren’t going to wake up.”

  Sam sat upright, bracing himself on the ground with his good arm. His head was spinning.

  “I think it’s just a superficial wound, but we’ll need to get it tended to as soon as possible,” she said.

  He gazed off in the direction of the cliff, which was now illuminated by the morning sun. Aside from tire marks in the road, there was no evidence of the two vehicles. The air still held the faint odor of rubber and metal.

  “Noah, Kendall, the RV—” he started.

  Delta opened her mouth, but was unable to speak. Her eyes welled up, and she looked off into the distance.

  “Do we need to check?”

  “I already have,” someone called out from behind them. Sam turned.

  It was Noah. His face was streaked with tears, and he held his glasses in the air, inspecting one of the cracked lenses.

  Sam nodded and took to his feet. He felt sick to his stomach. He had only known Kendall for a short time, but he felt awful for the kid. Nobody deserved to die like that.

  “I’m sorry, Noah,” he said. He knew words wouldn’t suffice for what his companion was feeling.

  Sam looked down at his arm. It appeared the homemade wrap had stopped the bleeding. His legs felt stiff, as if atrophy had already begun to set in. He flexed his calves to renew the circulation.

  The roar of motors had been replaced by the sounds of nature. Trees rustled in the breeze, and chirps and chatters sprung from unseen animals. The road ahead curved upwards, promising a difficult journey.

  He wondered if they should stop and say a prayer for their fallen companion. It seemed like the right thing to do.

  Sam made his way to the edge of the cliff. The others followed. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. They stared in silence over the horizon for several minutes. Sam finally turned around.

  “Which way?” the girl asked.

  “Well, I think we both know what’s back there.” Sam motioned back from where they had come. She nodded. The three continued into the mountains—this time on foot.

  They walked for several hours without seeing a hint of civilization. Despite the circumstances, the scenery was breathtaking. Mountain ranges capped the skyline, stretching as far as the eye could see. Birds soared overhead, keeping a passive watch on the travelers. The three kept to the far edge of the road, avoiding the treacherous plunge that seemed to accompany each turn.

  Sam’s arm was sore, but he had been able to keep up the pace. He had lost some blood, for sure, but not enough to sap all his strength. In any case, he was grateful to have survived.

  When the next sign finally appeared, it seemed out of place in the otherwise untouched landscape. Pockets of brush had grown over its face, and the print was barely legible.

  St. Matthews—2 Miles.

  Sam breathed a sigh of relief. He motioned toward a large, flat rock on the side of the road.

  “Can we stop here for a minute?” He grimaced. He needed a rest.

  “Sure,” the girl said.

  She held his good arm and eased him into a sitting position, then took a spot next to him. Noah drifted to the edge of the road, staring at something in the distance. He had barely spoken a word since the accident.

  The girl looked at him, her blue eyes still wet with tears. She held her knees to her chest, but didn’t speak. They sat in silence for a few minutes. Finally, Sam spoke.

  “I know who you are,” he said.

  She nodded, but didn’t act surprised.

  Her hands went to her pocket, and she pulled out a folded envelope, handing it to him. The sealant had smeared down the side, as if she had been holding on to it for a long time. Sam slipped his fingers inside and pulled out a newspaper clipping stuck to the bottom. He unfolded it and smoothed out the creases.

  It was David Monroe’s obituary.

  “It’s over,” she whispered. “I’m sorry for what happened to your family.”

  Sam’s pressed his face against his knees.

  For the first time in two years, he wept.

  The road began to curve downward. Sam welcomed the change, which made it easier for him to walk in his weakened condition. Noah and the girl held him up on either side, ensuring he kept his balance.

  He looked up into the sky. The sun climbed higher, breaking through the trees and enveloping his face in warmth. It was the same reception he would have received in White Mist as he set about his morning routines at the store. Like most days, he would have been alone, struggling to keep thoughts of his family at bay. Now, Sam found himself welcoming the new day with renewed vigor.

  It signified he was still alive. And for the moment, that was all he could ask for.

  BOOK TWO: CROSSROADS

  PART ONE – DIRECTION LOST

  EPITAPH

  In Loving Memory CSM 1949—2013

  You will be missed…

  1

  Edge of Town

  St. Matthews, Arizona.

  Delta was the first to hear the noise. At least, she thought she was. She looked around the room at her companions, but they continued rifling through the contents of the gas station, seemingly unaware of the disturbance. She approached the front window for a closer look. The glass had been shattered inwards, and the remnants of the windowpane crunched beneath her feet.

  Someone laughed behind her, and she turned.

  “Anyone want to go shopping?” Noah smiled grimly, holding up a fistful of cash from the open register. He let the bills filter through his fingers and onto the floor. It was the first time he had spoken in hours.

  Delta resumed her stare out the front window. The gas pumps were empty. The garbage barrels next to them had been tipped over, their contents strewn across the lot. One of the hoses had been disconnected, and it coiled in loops across the cement. Sam came up beside her. She noticed he was holding a hunting knife—he must have found it amongst the rubble. He turned the handle in his palms.

  “Everything ok?”

  “Yeah, I think so,” she said, still unsure. “I thought I heard something, but maybe it was just my imagination.”

  She had been traveling with Sam—a storeowner from White Mist, New Mexico— and Noah for just over a day. Noah had been heading home from Albuquerque to Vegas, but hadn’t quite made it.

  She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and continued to peruse the floor. Dried goods and supplies were scattered everywhere; some torn open. She eyed an untouched loaf of bread, wondering if it would be worth the effort to open it. A puddle of blood stained the floor next to it, and her stomach turned. She wasn’t the least bit hungry.

  Delta wondered if the last visitors to the gas station had made it out alive. Aside from the red stains, there were no bodies. At least, none they had found yet. In spite of the warm temperature of the desert morning, she shivered.

  “We should get moving soon,” Sam warned. “This place has been pretty picked over.”

  A noise outside drew her attention. This time she was able to identify the source. It sounded like a car engine, and it was getting closer. She tensed up.

  “Noah—get down!” Sam called across the store.

  Noah dropped to his knees. His eyes were wide behind his glasses. He moved in a half-crawl to join the others, avoiding shards of glass and debris.

  Delta and Sam huddled next to the broken windowpane, peering out into the parking lot. The sky had taken on a gray tinge. Massive clouds rolled in from over the mountains, plugging up
the sunshine that had greeted them earlier that morning. A few birds circled overhead, but their chirping had been drowned out by the sound of the car motor.

  A wooden fence bordered the right edge of the lot; beyond it was an embankment covered in yellow grass. The road lay off to the left, after which was miles of brown desert. The noise was coming from the opposite side of the gas station. Whoever was driving must be coming from town.

  Within seconds, a green sedan sputtered into the parking lot. The passenger’s side had been caved in, the quarter panel pushed into the front tire. The bumper hung to one side, threatening to fall off, and it dragged across the pavement with a sickening scrape. Delta was surprised the car was still drivable. The vehicle rolled in between two of the pumps and stopped. Its brake lights cast a red glow behind it.

  Delta hunkered down further. Noah crouched next to her, chewing the ends of his fingernails.

  The driver put the vehicle into park, and Delta heard the engine level out. A puff of exhaust billowed out from the tailpipe, wafting into the air and then dispersing. The person inside remained still. Delta strained to see inside, but could only make out a shadow.

  After a few seconds, the brake lights shut off, and the car door opened halfway. A leg swung out of the vehicle, as if to test the waters, and then a face poked out from the doorframe. The driver was a young man, his eyes frantic and bloodshot. He stared in their direction, but it was unclear whether he had spotted them.

  Delta leaned forward to get a better look. The young man appeared to be no more than twenty years old. His head was covered in a mop of brown hair, and his jeans were ripped at the knees. He gazed toward the store for a few seconds, then ducked back inside the car and slammed the door.

  “Should we go out there?” she whispered to Sam.

  Sam shook his head and signaled for her to wait. His other arm was drawn to his chest. In his hand he clutched the hunting knife, his knuckles white.

  The sedan’s brake lights flickered on again and the tires spun. Suddenly, the tires screeched and the vehicle shot forward, weaving between the pumps and careening out of the parking lot. In seconds it was traveling up the road, heading toward the mountains.

  Wrong way, Delta thought.

  Sam stood, relaxing his grip on the knife.

  “We should have warned him,” she said.

  “I’m guessing he already knows.”

  The three watched the car climb upwards in the distance, ascending the narrow mountain road. Delta could still feel her heart pounding against her ribcage. She stretched her knees, stiff from her position on the floor, and stood. The vehicle took a sharp turn around a distant bend.

  “Things must be just as bad in town,” Sam said.

  “I’m sure it can’t be any worse than where we’ve come from.”

  Delta did her best to stay positive, but her anxiety deepened.

  A screeching in the distance drew their attention once more. The sedan had rounded another curve in the road and was once again visible. Its brake lights shone behind it, and it had come to a stop. Two white SUVs now blocked the road in front of it.

  “What the hell?” Sam muttered.

  Four men in white suits emerged from the vehicles. From Delta’s view, they were little more than specks on the horizon, their features indiscernible.

  The men in white pointed toward the sedan; she heard the faint sound of voices, as if they were arguing with the driver. Her pulse quickened. The sedan’s taillights flash as the young man tried to throw it into gear.

  He’s trying to escape, she thought.

  Before the young driver could react, one of the men in white pulled out a long black object from the back of the SUV. It looked like an automatic rifle. Delta clasped her hands against her face.

  “Oh no…”

  The others ripped open the sedan door and dragged the young man out from inside. He screamed, holding his hands in front of his face.

  The one with the gun fired.

  Rata-tata-tata.

  The sound of gunshots rippled through the mountains and down to the gas station, echoing off the walls of the store.

  “Oh my God,” Delta whispered.

  The young man crumpled to the ground. Two of the men grabbed hold of his limbs, then pitched his body off the side of the road like a sack of flour.

  The men in white returned to their vehicles, and the SUVs rolled forward. They were headed toward the gas station.

  Officer Dan Lowery awoke to the distant sound of gunfire. He threw his arms upwards, instinctively blocking his face. His vision was blurry, and he rubbed at his eyes. The right side of his face was numb. He peeled his cheek off the vinyl seat of the Subaru Outback, waiting for his vision to return. He must have fallen asleep.

  “Dammit,” he muttered.

  He scanned outside the windows, discerning only trees and rocks. No attackers revealed themselves. A few feeble rays of sunlight shone through the cracks in the brush, illuminating the interior of the car. How long had he been out? He guessed it had only been a few hours, but for all he knew, it could have been days.

  His daughter snored quietly from the passenger’s seat. She clutched his police jacket in her arms. Her eyes fluttered open, as if sensing his gaze.

  “Are we ok, Dad?” she asked.

  “We’re fine, honey,” he said, doing his best to quell his own fear.

  He reached for his holster and tapped the handle of the pistol for reassurance. The weapon was still there. The car doors were locked. For the moment, they were safe.

  But where had the gunshots originated from?

  Dan looked around, reacquainting himself with their surroundings.

  Earlier that morning, they had driven several miles into the White Mountains, leaving St. Matthews behind. Not a single car had greeted them on the roadway, and they hadn’t seen one of the creatures for miles. Either the things were confining their hunt to the small town, or they had yet to branch out past the perimeter.

  Once they had made it past the outskirts of town, Quinn had asked him to stop.

  “I’m really sorry, Dad. I have to pee,” she had said.

  Dan had spotted a turnoff on the road—probably one of the regular hiking spots for the locals. He had pulled the car down the path then backed into a makeshift spot between a few trees, hoping to shield the car from view.

  After his daughter had finished, he had accompanied her back to the vehicle. It wasn’t until then that he had realized how exhausted he was. He’d barely slept the night before. In fact, he hadn’t slept much in days.

  Not since Julie had died.

  “We’ll get moving in a few minutes,” he had said.

  Dan remembered reclining the seat and closing his eyes, intending to doze for just a few minutes. Minutes must have turned into hours.

  He cursed himself silently.

  The sound of his daughter’s voice pulled him back to the present.

  “Were those gunshots?”

  “I think so,” he said. “But I don’t think they were close.”

  “What if somebody needs help, Dad?”

  The words struck him in the gut, and he felt a pang of guilt. Ever since his wife had died, his obligations had shifted.

  Up until a few days ago, his job as a police officer had been to protect the small town, to keep order in St. Matthews. At this point, though, there didn’t seem to be much left to protect. They hadn’t seen another survivor in days. From what he had seen, the whole town had been infected.

  Besides, Quinn needed him, and she was his most important responsibility. I’m only one man, he thought. I can only do so much.

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea to go back.” He averted his gaze.

  Quinn looked at him, her brown eyes narrowing. Sh
e wasn’t about to give up.

  “What if there’s another family down there?”

  Dan put his head in his hands.

  “We can’t just leave them, Dad,” she whispered.

  He looked again at the police jacket, at his daughter’s hands clenched around it. What if another child was in danger, perhaps even another little girl like his own, and he had the ability to help?

  Dan sighed, pulled the gun from his holster, and started the ignition. It was times like this when he wished he didn’t have a conscience. Going back was beyond dangerous—they were probably too late to do anything. But his daughter’s courage had inspired him.

  “We’ll head back a ways, but only a few miles. If we don’t see anything, we should turn right back around and leave.”

  Quinn nodded, and he watched her eyes light up with dim hope.

  The world had turned to shit. For now, that hope would need to sustain them both.

  2

  “We need to get out of here. They’ll find us,” Sam hissed.

  He jumped through the broken window and beckoned for his companions to follow. He scanned the wooden fence on the right side of the lot and the grassy embankment just below it. Up the road, the SUVs started to move. He slipped the knife into his belt.

  “Hurry!”

  Sam ran. Noah and the girl were right behind him, breathing heavily. He reached the fence, placed his hands on the top beam and vaulted over. He landed with a thud on the other side, sending a ripple of pain through his wounded arm. He turned to help the others. Thank God I’m not any older, he thought. His limbs ached, and his body was still in pain from the events of the past day.

  When the others had made it over, Sam turned back to the road. The SUVs had almost reached the lot.