“Duck!” he whispered.
The three pressed flat against the grass, peering through the yellow blades. The wind blew—a hesitant gust that shook the trees and snaked through the fence to where they lay.
Sam’s arm burned even more, and he winced. He had removed the sling after the incident on Route 191—when their former companion Kendall had torn into him—but the wound was still throbbing. He stretched his arm taut, trying to get the circulation going. Delta noticed, and a look of concern spread across her face.
He had been wrong about her, after all. He gave her a weak smile. After everything that had happened in the last day, it felt good to have her as an ally.
The SUVs rolled to a stop in front of the store. Three men disembarked. They moved forward in unison, a white mass of coats and legs. A fourth man remained behind, scanning the edges of the parking lot.
Their outfits were splattered with blood and remains.
Probably from the driver in the sedan, Sam thought. Maybe even others.
The first three marched into the store, exchanging looks and nods. Each held an automatic rifle, and they swung the barrels in front of them, eyes cold and narrow. Their feet ground shards of glass into the floor as they stepped into the gas station.
When they had disappeared from sight, Sam let out a shallow breath. The fourth man gazed at the mountains.
Delta inched backwards. He grabbed her arm. Not yet, he mouthed. He heard a noise behind him and looked back to find Noah.
It was too late.
Noah had already begun to slide down the embankment, his feet kicking up loose stone as he maneuvered. The pebbles ricocheted off the dirt, taking on a life of their own as they made their way to the bottom. The fourth man broke his gaze and turned towards the fence. He raised his gun.
Sam reached for the hunting knife. The handle felt cool and stiff between his fingers. Noah had stopped moving—now hugging the dirt about fifteen feet below them. His face turned an ashen white as he realized his mistake.
The fourth man was about ten feet away. Closing fast. The man looked in the direction of the store and opened his mouth as if ready to call out to his companions, but seemed to decide against it. His mouth curved up in a smile.
He’d rather save us for himself.
Sam tugged on Delta’s arm again. She looked at him, wide-eyed.
“Go,” he said.
She hesitated for a split second then scooted down the ravine towards Noah. Sam turned back towards the fence, unsheathing his knife. He started to stand.
Wham!
He had been struck with the barrel of a rifle.
“Get up.”
The man in white grinned down at him, revealing a mouthful of perfect teeth. He poked the barrel into Sam’s forehead, aiming the tip through the fence. From up close, Sam could see that the blood on his white suit was still wet.
“I’m not going to ask again,” the man said. “And please, drop the knife.”
Sam let go of the hunting knife. It hit the ground with a dull thud.
“Tell your friends to come join us.”
Sam glanced over his shoulder, hoping his companions were long gone. Instead, he saw them waiting at the bottom of the hill, hands clasped over their mouths in fear. His heart sank. He should have told them to run earlier.
He gave them a piercing look, hoping that his expression would persuade them to flee. No one moved. The gunman instructed them all to stay put and raise their hands in the air. Sam did as he was told, then turned back to face the gunman.
The man was bending down to fit through the fence, his rifle tilted downwards. As he stepped through, he inadvertently let his gaze fall.
This may be my only chance, Sam thought.
Sam sprang for the rifle, pushing off the ground with all his weight and connecting with the man’s chest. The gun turned upwards and sandwiched between them. Both lost their balance, and the two rolled down the hill, arms and legs flailing as each tried to get the upper hand.
Sam pried at the man’s fingertips, but the man kept an iron-like grasp around the rifle. The coppery odor of blood filled Sam’s nostrils, and his eyes stung.
His face scraped the dirt as they rolled, and his cheeks tore open from the debris. Finally, the two came to a rest at the foot of the hill, each still struggling for control of the weapon.
Sam gave a forceful tug. The rifle came loose and skittered off into the grass. He lost his balance and fell backwards.
The man took the opportunity to gain control, pinning Sam to the ground, digging his knees into Sam’s chest. He pummeled Sam with his fists. Sam raised his arms to protect his face, but the blows rained down on him, and his arms caved.
The others must have heard the commotion by now, he thought. If we don’t get out of here soon, we’ll all be dead.
Push.
Sam lunged upwards with all his strength and the man toppled backwards. Delta appeared beside him.
“Sam, take the knife!”
He grabbed the weapon, stuck it underneath the man’s chin.
“Don’t move another inch!”
The man in white grinned, his perfect teeth now stained with blood from his gums.
“Or what? You’ll kill me?”
“Who are you?” Sam hissed. “Why are you doing this?”
The man spat on him. Sam wiped the blood from his face, gritted his teeth. He pressed the blade further into the man’s neck. The man laughed.
“There’s no escape, you fool. You’ll all be infected soon.”
“Are you responsible for all this? Did you poison these people?”
Sam’s blood boiled.
“Humanity’s fate has always been sealed,” the man said. “We’ve just given you an expiration date.”
“You’re sick!” Sam yelled.
The man’s smile faded. His eyes narrowed into slits.
“As soon as you let me up, I’m going to kill all three of you. You know that, don’t you? You’re all as good as dead.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure.”
Sam raised the knife. The man in white laughed again, mocking him. Sam thought of the young driver that had just been killed, of all the others that had been infected—of Kendall. In spite of all that, could he kill this man in cold blood? He didn’t think so.
He loosened his grip on the blade. The man’s laughing persisted, blood spilling from his mouth and trickling down his chin.
Without warning, the man lunged for Sam’s arm.
Sam avoided the attack and thrust the knife downwards. Felt it connect. The blade plunged deep into the man’s chest, and Sam twisted the handle until it scraped against bone. The man’s eyes dilated, and he gasped for breath. A ring of blood radiated outwards from the center of his white coat. Sam’s fingers slipped off of the handle and onto the grass, and he choked on his own vomit.
Shouts erupted from the top of the hill.
Sam stumbled to his feet and saw that Delta and Noah were staring at him in shock.
“They’re coming!” he yelled. “For God’s sake—run!”
Dan Lowery backed the car out from the underbrush and threw the car into drive. The Outback kicked into gear, the tires gaining traction on a bed of twigs and pebbles. He noticed Quinn had perked up some; she was rocking back and forth in the passenger’s seat, peering out the window at the scenic landscape.
For a few seconds, he was able to forget what they had been through, and he smiled.
Dan kept the car’s speed to a crawl, watching for signs of danger or activity. The forest remained quiet, seemingly oblivious to the carnage that had afflicted the town below. Too quiet.
His mind churned. Why hadn’t they seen anyone else since leaving St. Matthews? Wouldn’t others have
fled, as well—perhaps taking these same mountain roads? Instead, the road possessed an eerie calm, as if the landscape could erupt in violence at any moment.
He pushed his fears aside as the car approached the intersection of Route 191. He swiveled back and forth, scanning in both directions.
Nothing.
For a split second, he debated taking a left turn, heading in the opposite direction of the city and the violence he knew to be there. He glanced to his right; his daughter was watching him like a hawk. Sometimes, it felt like she could read his mind.
“Hold on tight, honey. Here we go.”
He hit the gas, propelling the car forward in the direction of St. Matthews.
Thick Ponderosa pines dominated the roadside, covering the landscape in a smattering of green. The road was devoid of guardrails, but Dan took each curve with precision, starting to recognize some of the landmarks they had passed just a few hours earlier. After a few minutes, the rural road sloped downwards and leveled out. He increased speed.
“Dad?”
Quinn glanced over at him, breaking the silence. She’d shifted to the edge of her seat.
“Do you think we’re going to find anyone down there?”
“I’m not sure, honey,” he said. “If we don’t see anything in a few miles, I’m going to turn around.”
She sat back in the seat and glanced out the window.
“What if we’re the only ones left?” she whispered.
An icy feeling washed over Dan. It was the same question he’d been asking himself for days. He gave his daughter a grim look, then refocused his eyes on the road.
Rata-tata-tata.
Dan bolted upright in his seat.
Gunfire.
If he had to guess, it sounded like it was coming from a few miles ahead. The rounds came in intermittent bursts, as if several weapons were being fired in unison. He looked over at his daughter. Her head was tucked between her knees. Maybe this was a bad idea after all, he thought.
He slowed the vehicle to a halt, surveying the area. Although the road had straightened, mountains lined their view on all sides. The sun beat down overhead, sending beams of light through the windshield, and Dan squinted to see through them.
On the horizon, he could just make out the gas station they had stopped at earlier, right at the edge of St. Matthews. Grass-covered hills flanked the left side of the road and descended off into the distance. To the right, the desert landscape extended as far as the eye could see.
Dan watched and waited. He sat up straight in his seat—one hand on the shifter, one on the wheel—ready to throw the car into reverse and turn around if needed. The engine hummed, awaiting direction.
“Dad—look down the hill!” Quinn shouted suddenly.
He followed her stare. A few hundred feet ahead, somewhere between the car and the gas station, three figures ran up the grassy slopes. Their movements appeared human—unlike those of the creatures they had been encountering for the past few days.
“Regular people!” his daughter yelled. A smile spread across her face.
Dan eased his foot off the brake, letting the car roll forward. The figures increased in size as they approached. His focus drifted past them.
“Oh, crap,” he muttered.
Farther up the road, three others had appeared, seemingly following the first group. They stopped, holding what appeared to be rifles, and crouched to their knees to fire.
Rata-tata-tata.
Quinn jumped up in her seat, hysterical.
“Dad, we need to save them!”
Dan’s adrenaline kicked in. He swallowed hard and stepped on the gas.
He hoped he wasn’t making a mistake.
For the second time that morning, gunfire filled the desert air. This time Delta was caught in the middle. She pushed her legs to their limit and plowed through the tall grass, struggling to maintain her balance on the hill’s incline.
Thwip-thwip-thwip.
Bullets whizzed by her head and pierced the ground around her, and she ducked instinctively, as if the blades of grass might protect her. She tried to keep focus as she darted up the hill, her ankles twisting on the uneven ground.
Behind her, she heard the footfalls and rapid breathing of her companions. Somehow Delta had taken the lead, and her heart sank like a stone as she realized she had no destination.
Even if they managed to escape their pursuers, where would they go?
The three survivors had no home base. No safe haven. The world had turned upside down in the course of a day, and they’d been caught in the shuffle.
The shouts behind her increased in volume, and Delta realized that the gunshots had stopped. She glanced back. The men had discovered the body of their companion and were waving their arms and rifles in frenzy. It appeared they were angered more by the survivors’ insubordination than by the death of their compatriot.
Delta turned back to the path in front of her. As she did so, she locked eyes with Sam. Beads of sweat streamed down his face. His eyes had taken on a dull sheen, as if he were still trying to comprehend what had just happened. Once again, he’d been forced to commit unspeakable actions.
They all had.
She wondered if these things got easier over time; she hoped like hell she wouldn’t have to find out.
Thwip-thwip-thwip.
The bullets resumed, and Delta yanked her attention back to the slope. To her right, the field continued to descend, leveling out after a few hundred feet. Up the hill, the fence ran another thirty feet and then came to an end. Would it be wiser to stick to the main thoroughfare—to maintain their sense of direction and increase their chance of finding help? Or would they be better off heading into the desert, making their way into the wilderness of the White Mountains beyond? Her legs were starting to buckle. She wondered how long she could keep up the pace.
Before she could decide, Noah cried out from behind her.
She looked back and saw he had been hit. He clutched his foot, hollering in pain.
“Noah!” she cried out.
“Keep going!” he screamed.
Delta ignored him, falling to his aid. Their pursuers closed the gap behind them. One of them crouched in the grass to take better aim.
“Oh my God, Noah—your foot!”
The edge of Noah’s sneaker had been torn off, exposing a mixture of blood and skin underneath. He walked on his heel, face creased in agony, his eyes pleading with her not to look.
“Just go, Delta!” he said, tears forming in his eyes.
Sam came up alongside them and grabbed Noah’s arm. Their pursuers were gaining ground. Delta gritted her teeth and held onto her companions. If they were going to die, they would go together.
“What the fuck?” one of the men screamed from behind her.
She glanced back over her shoulder. The man was pointing to the top of the hill, past the fence. Delta shifted her focus.
A blue station wagon careened down Route 191, approaching rapidly. The tires squealed as it took a turn, and it spun to a stop about forty feet ahead.
Delta strained to see inside the vehicle. Was this an enemy? Another threat to avoid? If so, they were officially surrounded. Out of luck.
Noah stumbled, and she fought to keep herself upright.
The window of the car rolled down, and Delta saw an arm waving back and forth from the driver’s seat. Without warning, the rear door flung open, and a man’s voice cried out from inside.
“Get in!”
Dan’s foot hovered over the brake pedal, his arms shaking on the wheel. Three people clambered up the grassy slope towards the vehicle, their eyes fixed on the open door.
“Stay down, Quinn!” he hissed to his daughter.
As the survivors got clos
er, Dan could make out more details. There were two men and a girl. The young man in the middle appeared to be injured; he hobbled on one leg, wincing in pain. A pair of glasses bounced on the tip of his nose, threatening to fall off of his face.
The second male was older and had a tan complexion. It looked like he had a wound on his arm. The girl was dark-haired, in her mid-twenties.
The rattle of gunfire continued from somewhere down the slopes. Dan had lost sight of the gunmen, but he knew they couldn’t be far behind. He retrieved his pistol from his lap and positioned his arm on the windowsill.
“Don’t shoot!” the girl screamed at him.
“It’s ok!” Dan shouted. “We’re here to help. Just hurry and get inside!”
The trio piled in the backseat, a bundle of sweat and nerves, and Dan hit the gas, rocketing the car forward. He heard the backdoor slam.
The shooters had reached the road—Dan could see them now in the rearview mirror. Bullets pinged off the pavement, and he heard a few shots connect with the bumper. He swerved to the far side of the street, trying to throw off their aim. The car tires gripped the road with precision—a testament to his years on the force.
“Hang on tight!” he instructed.
Just ahead, he saw the gas station where he and Quinn had stopped just hours before. It was in even worse shape than he remembered. The store’s contents were spread through the parking lot, the windows smashed, pumps unraveled and left on the pavement. Two white SUVs were parked out front.
“Are those their cars?” he asked.
His new passengers looked up, gasping for breath. The girl answered.
“Yes.”
“At least we have a head start on them,” Dan said with relief. “Are you on foot?”
“Unfortunately, yes. We had a van, but we lost it back in the mountains. There used to be four of us…”
“I understand.”
Contamination Box Set [Books 0-7] Page 18
