The older man sighed with relief. Dan noticed that his cheeks were scuffed and torn, as if he had recently engaged in a scuffle.
“Thanks for picking us up. We would have been dead if you hadn’t,” the man said. “I’m Sam. This here is Delta, and this is Noah.”
He gestured toward his companions in turn.
Dan nodded. “No problem. I’m Dan Lowery, and this is my daughter, Quinn.”
Quinn turned in her seat, gripping the top of the headrest. She studied her new companions with inquisitive eyes. Her gaze settled on Noah, who was clutching his knee and staring down at his right foot.
“Are you all right, mister?”
“I hope so.” He attempted a smile through clenched teeth.
“Were you hit?” Dan asked.
“Yeah, but I don’t think it’s too bad.” He grimaced, clearly in pain.
Delta leaned across the seat and inspected her friend’s injury. She looked upset.
“Your foot is bleeding, Noah. We need to get that wrapped up,” she said.
Dan reached over to the glove compartment and popped it open. He pulled out a first aid kit and threw it into the backseat.
“There should be gauze and bandages in there. It’s not much, but we can get more supplies in town.”
He swallowed after he spoke the words.
Dan and Quinn had already escaped St. Matthews once, and yet here they were, about to head back into the arms of the infected. To the place where his wife’s body lay, unburied. A pit formed in his stomach, and he fought to suppress it.
The roar of engines interrupted his train of thought. He looked in the rearview.
Behind them, the SUVs peeled out of the gas station.
Maybe we won’t make it to town after all, he thought.
3
Brown clung to the edge of his seat in the SUV, the road shaking beneath him. The contents of his stomach swirled in his gut, and he fought the urge to be sick. He clenched his rifle between his knees, squeezing until he lost circulation—anything to take his mind off the nausea.
Winters sat in the driver’s seat across from him, yelling and stomping on the gas. Brown watched the RPM indicator rocket upwards and then stick, as if unable to keep up with the car’s increasing speed. Winters cursed and hit the dashboard with his hand.
“C’mon, you piece of shit.”
Brown scanned the road ahead of them. He felt his vision start to blur and the dull throb of a migraine coming on. He had never been carsick before, but he imagined this was what it felt like.
There’s a first time for everything, he thought. He had had a lot of firsts lately.
His first time shooting at a human being. His first time watching someone die from a knife wound to the chest.
He let go of the seat, clapping his hand against his forehead. Winters took notice.
“What’s the problem?” he asked.
“Nothing,” Brown said. “I’m fine.”
“Keep focused.”
“I will.”
“Do you know why we’re here, Brown?”
“No.”
“Because the Agent that was stationed here couldn’t keep control. Now we have to play cleanup.”
Brown opened his eyes and removed his hand. He looked back at the road. The pavement flew by underneath the SUV, and houses appeared at the roadside. The other white vehicle pulled up alongside them, and he could see the other driver, Jameson, through the window. The man was fixated on the station wagon in front of them.
Brown let his eyes drift until they were out of focus, his mind wandering.
He thought of the young man in the sedan that they had killed. Brown thanked God he hadn’t been the one to shoot him. But that didn’t make the situation any easier—and it certainly didn’t make the man any less dead.
For now, his hands were clean. But he knew it wouldn’t stay that way for long.
His headache subsided a little, and he glanced back outside. The streets were deserted and destroyed. Brown found himself hoping that there were no other survivors—at least none outside of the few they were following. That would mean fewer difficult decisions. As soon as he had that thought, he realized how selfish it was.
He was essentially hoping that everyone in St. Matthews was dead.
Winters swore again; this time he sounded excited. The car in front of them had reappeared.
“All right, you fuckers. Here we come.”
Brown shuddered inside, but kept his calm. The SUV hit a bump underneath them and he secretly wished the vehicle would pop a tire.
Delta switched places with Sam so she could be closer to Noah. She opened the first aid kit. Noah had been applying pressure to the wound with a towel, and it appeared that the bleeding had stopped.
“You must have only been nicked. Thank God,” she said.
“I think my shoe took the brunt of it.” Noah smiled weakly, looking at the sneaker that lay on the floor. A flap of the rubber had been peeled off, and splotches of his blood marred the interior.
She helped him clean the wound as best she could and then wrapped his toe with a bandage. She realized again how lucky they had all been—any one of them could have been killed. Her mind turned to Kendall, and she found herself grateful that she hadn’t lost another companion.
“Thank you for picking us up,” she said to Dan.
He nodded.
“Don’t thank me yet. Your friends are right behind us.”
Delta turned in her seat. The SUVs had appeared behind them, two objects moving on a still backdrop. How ironic, she thought. In a land of the infected, it’s the humans we have to fear.
About fifty feet back, one of the vehicles swerved, hugging the interior lane. Delta noticed the black barrel of a rifle poking out of the passenger’s side window.
“They’re going to shoot us!” she cried.
As if on cue, the rear windshield shattered. Delta ducked her head and reached out instinctively for Noah. She felt his hand—warm to the touch—and she clasped his fingers until she could feel his pulse. The little girl in the front seat started to cry.
“It’s ok, Quinn!” Dan shouted.
The engine screamed as he pushed the car to the limit. Although she had a clear view, Delta refused to look at the speedometer. She knew they were going fast—too fast—and she clenched her eyes shut, hoping the driver wouldn’t lose control.
Instead, she stared at the floor, her head tucked between her knees. The bullets continued behind them. On the floor, she saw a flyer for a town fundraiser. She tried to focus on the words, reading them over and over, but comprehending nothing. They may as well have been letters typed in a foreign language, hieroglyphics on a piece of papyrus.
The car veered hard to one side, and she fell into Noah’s lap. Sam leaned against her from the other side, the three of them creating a human chain. Dan yelled something, but she was unable to hear over the wind whipping in through the broken back window. Her hair swept over her face, blocking her vision. The driver shouted again. This time she could make out the words.
“Stay down!”
Delta planted her feet on the floor. The vehicle swayed back and forth as they took several more turns. Something shifted in the open space behind her. Grocery bags. She remembered seeing them earlier. It sounded like their contents were spilling as the car raced forward.
Delta cleared her hair from her face. In the front seat, she saw Quinn part her fingers and peer through them; their eyes met. She figured the girl couldn’t be more than ten years old. Quinn had stopped crying, but she still dabbed at her eyes, and her cheeks had wet trails where tears had been. It looked like she was trying to put on a brave face.
Delta thought back to her own childhood. What she would have been doing at ten years old? Her bi
ggest concern probably would have been completing her fifth grade science project, or convincing her father to let her stay up late to watch television. Certainly nothing close to this. She wondered where the little girl’s mother was; that made Delta think of her own.
Delta’s mother had left when she was a toddler. She had never known her.
She wondered if her mother was still alive. Even if Delta had seen her, she wouldn’t recognize her face.
The car ground to a halt, and the little girl broke eye contact. Delta braced her arms against the seat in front of her, waiting to hear gunshots, ready for rough hands to pull her out of the car.
Instead, she heard the sound of Dan’s voice.
“Everybody get out and follow me. There’s a door at the end of the alley. Head to it as quickly as you can.”
Brown hung his head out the window of the SUV, wind whipping through his brown bangs, his rifle heavy in his hands. He pressed his legs against the interior of the car door to brace himself, then had a moment of panic. What if he hadn’t shut the door tightly enough? For a split second, he envisioned it flying open; saw himself falling onto the road beneath the tires; his head squishing like an oversized grape.
He wondered if Winters would even stop.
“What the fuck are you waiting for, Agent? Fire!”
Brown’s eyes teared up from the wind. Ahead of him, the blue station wagon swerved in the road, making it difficult to aim. He pursed his lips and squeezed off a round. Brown heard the sound of glass shattering, saw three figures disappear from view in the backseat. His heart raced.
“Did you hit one?” Winters yelled.
“I think so,” he lied.
“Go for the tires! Maybe we can flip ‘em.”
Brown’s hands trembled. He focused on the rear tire, wondering how long he could avoid the inevitable. He had been taught how to shoot—had passed all the Agent leaders’ tests and requirements. They knew he was perfectly competent with the weapon. If he delayed much longer, his companion would get suspicious.
Then he would end up dead like all the others.
The blue station wagon veered to the left. For a moment, he thought it was going off the road. Maybe I hit the driver, he thought with a shudder. But the vehicle quickly corrected its course, tires screeching, and then veered onto a side road. Winters cursed and slammed on the brakes, trying to mimic the turn. The SUV groaned, and its tires locked up. Brown felt them going into a skid, and he ducked back inside the window.
“Piece of shit!” Winters screamed, slamming his fist into the steering wheel.
The other SUV shot past them and continued the chase; it looked like Jameson had missed the turn, as well.
The vehicle screeched to a stop. Brown jolted forward, the rifle crunching between the dash and his ribcage. He grunted in pain, his muscles stiffening with the impact. His companion hadn’t noticed. Winters’s forehead was lined with veins, his eyes red, his teeth clenched. He threw the SUV into reverse and put his arm over the seat.
The car creaked, one of the back rims thumping against the pavement in violent rhythm. One of the tires must have popped. Brown held his hand over his mouth, covering a cautious smile. If there were a God, perhaps his prayers had been answered.
Winters sneered. “They’ll pay for this.”
Brown nodded grimly, knowing that they would.
PART TWO – CIRCLE OF TRUTH
4
Dan sorted through his keychain, shooting looks over his shoulder down the alley. Besides the occupants of the Outback, there was no one else in sight. He unlocked a steel door, pushed it open, and ushered his companions inside.
He looked back again.
The alleyway was a dead end, flanked by buildings on either side. If their pursuers discovered them, there would be no way out—they would effectively be trapped. But staying on the road would be even more dangerous. It was a risk he had to take. He gripped his pistol and stepped through the doorway.
“Is there a light in here?” Sam whispered from behind him.
Dan groped the wall near the entrance and found the switch, flicked it on. The hallway lit up in front of them; two red emergency lights cast a dull glow over the room. The power must finally be out, he thought. He swung the door shut behind them and locked it.
“I’ll go first,” he said.
The back entrance seemed secure, but the creatures could have made their way in elsewhere. He held out his pistol, crouched into an officer’s stance.
The hallway contained two other doors—one at the end of the hallway, and one on the right. His wife’s office was the first door. He glanced at the nameplate next to it, and a flood of memories came rushing back.
“Leonard Fullman, CPA.”
Julie had been a part-time receptionist here. Dan had often visited her on her lunch breaks, taking her out to eat at the local restaurants or going for a walk through the center of town.
Before she had been infected. Before he had killed her.
Dan swallowed the lump in his throat. He clenched his eyes shut and reached for his daughter. She was right behind him, clinging to his shirt. He held up the keychain. Which one was it? He knew Julie had a spare key—she’d opened the office on occasion. There were a few he didn’t recognize, and he tried one, then another, each without success. On the third try, he found the correct key. It slipped into the lock, and the doorknob turned.
He stopped to listen. Looked behind him.
His companions returned his stare, their eyes red in the glow of the emergency lights. Quinn wheezed slightly. It sounds like her asthma is getting worse. He would need to get her an inhaler—if they survived long enough.
Hearing nothing, Dan inched open the door. It slid against the floor, finding resistance on the rug. He pushed harder. Still stuck.
“I need a little help,” he whispered.
Sam stepped to his aid, leaning his shoulder against the wooden door. It budged—but only a little.
“I think there’s something against it,” Sam said. “Maybe there’s someone inside.”
The two paused for a moment. Through the crack in the doorway, it looked like all the lights were out in the office. The red glare from the hallway trickled into the room, but they could only make out the outlines of desks and chairs.
Was someone barricaded inside—a survivor?
The others peered in, leaning over Dan’s shoulder to get a look.
“Stay back,” he said to them. “Let’s try again, Sam.”
Dan braced his feet on the floor, arched his back, and pushed again. Sam did the same. They heard a scraping sound from inside—the sound of a heavy object moving across carpet. After a few seconds, they had created an opening of a few feet—enough to admit them.
“I’ll go first,” Dan said.
He stepped inside and reached for the lights on the wall. He flipped the switch, but the room remained dark. For a split second, he thought about calling out into the room. If there were survivors inside, he didn’t want to alarm them. The thought of the creatures held him back. He strained his eyes in the darkness.
The office consisted of one large, windowless main room. Three private offices flanked the far wall, all with their doors closed. Through one of the office windows, he could make out a row of venetian blinds. One of the slats was open, as if someone had been peeking out. A narrow beam of light shone through the crack.
If they were being observed, nobody let on. The office was quiet.
Dan looked to his left and saw the object that had been obstructing the entrance. A shelf. Someone must be here, he thought. He looked behind him, holding up his palm so the others would stay put. Sam had already slipped into the room and was examining one of the desktops, searching for a weapon. He held up a wireless computer keyboard—the best weapon he could find
—and nodded at Dan to proceed.
Dan surveyed the room, scanning for places a person could hide. There were several desks in the room, each with computers and various office supplies. File cabinets spanned the length of the walls on either side. Dan maneuvered to each of the desks and pushed the chairs aside with his feet, but uncovered nothing. He looked toward the far end of the room.
The offices.
He crept toward the first door, his feet padding silently on the carpet. The first office was pitch black. He tried the door handle. Locked. He reached for the keys again, but withdrew his hand—he doubted Julie would have had access. He moved on, pulled the next handle. The middle office was locked, as well.
Only one remained: the one with the open slat in the blinds. Heart stammering in his chest, Dan put one hand on the door. He tried the handle, expecting resistance from the other side. The handle turned freely.
He kicked open the door with his foot and aimed the pistol in front of him.
“Police!” he yelled out of habit.
Silence. The desk was unmanned, but the chair had been swiveled around to face the window. He saw a few objects on the floor, a pile of folded clothes on the desk. Someone had been here at one time. Hiding.
Perhaps they had found a way out.
“Behind you!” Sam yelled suddenly.
Suddenly, a dark mass came at him from behind the door. Fuck. The figure overtook him, hissing and spitting, and he fell to the floor. The gun flew from his grasp; he threw up his elbows, trying to protect his face.
The smell was awful. The thing’s chest heaved over him, and its fingers dug into Dan’s arms, searching for a handhold in his flesh. He pushed against it, but the creature had him pinned.
The creature’s rancid breath was in his face now, and Dan felt a sudden surge of fear—not only for his own life, but his daughter’s. He saw a shadowed figure above them. Sam. The man rammed the keyboard down on the thing’s head. Once. Twice. Still, the creature did not let up.
Contamination Box Set [Books 0-7] Page 19
