Contamination Box Set [Books 0-7]

by Piperbrook, T. W.

  The desert sun had long since reached its apex, and was now starting its descent into the mountains. A few errant beams of light made their way through the passing clouds and illuminated the salvage yard, and Delta squinted to see past them.

  In the distance, she could see the silhouette of a man standing on one of the other RVs. He held a pistol in his hand, and was surveying the landscape beyond the fences that surrounded the lot.

  “Hey, Delta!” the man called. “Were you able to sleep?”

  She recognized Dan’s voice and headed towards the RV.

  “A little,” she said.

  She reached the vehicle, found a metal ladder on the side, and climbed onto the roof to join him.

  “Have you seen anything?” she asked.

  “Nothing yet, thankfully. I never realized how beautiful things could look from the top of a salvage yard,” he joked.

  Delta smiled. “Funny how the apocalypse puts things into perspective.”

  “Do you think that’s what this is?”

  “It certainly feels like it. I always thought that some higher power would step in and make that decision, though—when to end things, I mean. I never thought we would be exterminated by some of our own.”

  Dan turned his head. “I wish I could agree with you. But in a lot of ways, it feels like this is a long time coming.”

  Delta nodded. She looked down at her black flats, which were scuffed and torn from running. Her feet hurt, and she had blisters on her heels. She sat on her haunches to relieve some of the pain. Dan resumed his gaze over the horizon.

  “Do you have any other family in town?” she asked.

  “No one close by. Both my wife’s parents and mine are gone. How about you?”

  “My father passed away recently, so I’ve pretty much been on my own.”

  The two fell into silence. After a few minutes, Delta watched the shack door swing open about a hundred feet away. Bubba and Noah emerged from inside, talking in hushed voices. She was unable to hear what they were saying.

  Noah broke off and headed to the opposite end of the yard. Bubba noticed them watching and gave a hearty wave.

  “All clear?” he yelled.

  Dan nodded and waved back.

  “I’m going to see what Noah’s up to,” Delta said, getting to her feet. She walked across the top of the RV, mounted the ladder, and descended the steps.

  By the time she had reached the ground, Noah was at the far right corner of the yard, furthest from the entrance and the guard shack. He had climbed onto the bed of a pickup truck, and was sitting on the side. She made her way over to him and smiled.

  “Room for one more?”

  “Sure!” He shimmied over, and Delta took a seat on the same side as him.

  “Were you able to sleep?”

  “Not much,” he confessed. “Too much to think about.”

  She nodded. “You know, I think this is the first time in twenty-four hours that we haven’t been running. It feels kind of nice for a change.”

  “I know. I could get used to this.”

  Delta looked over at him. His glasses were crooked on his nose, the frames held together by a piece of tape. His collared shirt had a rip in the shoulder, and he was missing two of the three buttons. His eyes were green—she hadn’t noticed that before. Hadn’t had a chance.

  She wondered how she must look to him. Her clothes were ripped, too, and she could use a shower.

  “How’s your foot?”

  “It’s better, thanks. Bubba helped me clean it, and I wrapped it up with a fresh bandage. Thank God it’s not my driving foot.”

  “Well, hopefully you won’t have to drive for a while, so you can rest up,” she said.

  Noah glanced up at her. He reached for her hand.

  “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m leaving, Delta.”

  “Are you kidding?”

  “I can’t stay here. My family is in Portland. I need to find them. I need to make sure they’re ok.”

  Delta squeezed his fingers, fighting back the tears. She had only known him for a short time, but they had already been through so much together.

  “How are you going to get there?” she asked.

  Noah patted the side of the truck. “Bubba said I could take this puppy. I’ll just have to be careful—you know, with my foot and all.”

  “What about the others? Maybe some of us can go with you. There’s no way you can’t go by yourself,” she said.

  “It’s a long drive, Delta, and I wouldn’t want to put anyone else at risk. I’m going to tell everyone once they wake up. I’ve made up my mind.”

  Delta felt a sudden flurry of words and emotions. Her eyes welled up with tears. She fought the urge to speak, to say she would go with him. She opened her mouth, but her tongue wouldn’t move. Something held her back. It took her a minute to realize what it was.

  Sam.

  She had driven hundreds of miles to see him, hoping to atone for what her father had done. Although she had found him—had delivered the message of her father’s death—it didn’t seem like enough. How could it ever be?

  In a few short years, Delta had lost her family, her belongings, and any sense of purpose she may have once had. Of all the people left in the world, it felt like Sam was the last person who might possibly understand her.

  In some strange way, Sam had become her family.

  She turned to Noah and met his eyes, then placed her hand on his cheek.

  “Promise me you’ll be careful,” she said.

  “I will.”

  He adjusted his glasses on his nose, and Delta noticed he was blushing. She leaned in and kissed him softly on the lips.

  If these are our final days, she thought, the last thing I need is another regret.

  11

  Sam tossed and turned in his sleep, falling in and out of consciousness.

  In his dream, he stood on a ladder, carefully adjusting a white banner above the White Mist store. He ran his hand over the sign and eased the wrinkles out of the fabric. He reread the words several times to ensure they were real; his smile widening each time.

  “White Mist Trading Post – Grand Opening.”

  The front door opened beneath him, and his heart skipped a beat.

  “Whoa!” he said to the person walking out of the store. “Don’t you know walking underneath a ladder is bad luck?”

  His daughter smiled up at him and gave him a dismissive wave.

  “Dad! That’s just superstition!”

  Sam finished adhering the sign to the wood and dismounted. His wife held the ladder below. She, too, was grinning, unable to control her excitement.

  “Can you believe it, Sam?” she asked. “Everything seems so unreal.”

  He shook his head, trying to take it all in. After years of planning, they had finally succeeded in achieving one of their dreams. How many people could say that? He lowered the ladder and slid the rungs down to close it. He would return it to its place, and then they would officially be open for business.

  Sam walked past the store, unable to take his eyes off his family. Karen looked gorgeous, her long dark hair flowing over her dark skin. With each passing year, he loved her more and more.

  Chloe was her mother’s spitting image: radiant and beautiful. Over the years, he had watched her grow and mature, transforming from his little girl into a woman. In his humble opinion, she was the best daughter a father could ask for.

  The two returned his stare and waved for him to hurry up and return. He laughed and increased his speed, watched them disappear from view.

  The sound of a tractor-trailer pulling up drew his attention. He watched the vehicle swerv
e into the parking lot, kicking up dust and sand in its wake. The driver hopped out—a familiar man with a baseball cap. The man ran to the back of the truck, and Sam heard the sound of the rear door opening.

  A stampede of footsteps hit the ground.

  Sam dropped the ladder.

  Mounds of the creatures poured from the back of the trailer, their faces contorted in rage, each scrambling over the others in an attempt to get to Karen and Chloe.

  Sam watched in horror, trying to move his feet. Somehow they were stuck in place. He shouted his wife and daughter’s names, pleading with them to run and hide. The creatures continued to advance, closing in around his wife and daughter until they disappeared from sight in a parade of limbs.

  Piles of the creatures overtook the property, climbing up the storefront, over the roof, filling the White Mist store. One of them hurled towards Sam, and he held up his hands to defend himself.

  He closed his eyes and waited for the pain to come. Waited for it all to end. Instead, the creature shook him.

  “Sam, I’m sorry to do this to you,” it said.

  “What?”

  “I’m sorry to wake you, but I was wondering if you could keep watch.”

  Sam opened his eyes and stared into the face of Dan Lowery. He retracted his right hand, which had wandered down to his knife.

  “Jesus,” he muttered.

  “Are you ok?” Dan asked. His brow creased with worry.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Bad dream. No problem—I can take over.”

  “Take this,” the officer said, handing him a pistol. “It’ll be a little less messy than that hunting knife.”

  Sam smiled at him, took the weapon, and headed off to his post.

  Sam was still groggy as he stood on top of the RV. The sun had slipped from view, leaving only remnants of light behind. It was probably about six o’clock, if he had to guess. He wasn’t sure if time mattered anymore.

  Ever since Karen and Chloe had passed away, the importance of hours and days had faded. The only things that concerned him now were light and darkness. When the sun was out, they had a better chance of seeing their attackers coming. At night, they were at an even greater disadvantage than during the day.

  Even so, the salvage yard seemed as good a place as any to hole up. The fences made Sam feel a little more secure, and it was good to have the support of those around him. He had even been able to rest—though he wasn’t sure how.

  He thought back to his dream—to Karen and Chloe. Their expressions had seemed so real, and the image of them still lingered like the last rays of sunshine on the darkening day. Sam gripped his pistol tightly and scanned the salvage yard.

  To his left, in the corner of the lot, he saw Noah and Delta sitting on the back of a truck. Dan and Quinn remained in the trailer. Bubba was nowhere in sight, but he guessed that the man was still in the shack. Sam wrinkled his forehead and turned his attention to the small building, searching for signs of movement.

  Come to think of it, he had barely seen Bubba since they had arrived. Something about the man’s demeanor struck Sam as odd.

  Before he could reflect further, the fat man emerged from behind the shack, carrying his shotgun. He glanced from side to side, inspecting the lot, and he waved when he caught Sam staring in his direction.

  “Hey there! Everything going ok?”

  “Yep,” Sam said. “So far, so good.”

  Bubba nodded, and then glanced back over his shoulder as if checking on something behind him. Within seconds, he had disappeared back into the shack.

  Was he hiding something?

  Sam waited a few minutes and then climbed down from the RV. His view on the ground would be limited, but he needed to find out what was going on. He owed it to his companions. If Bubba knew something he wasn’t letting on, they deserved to know.

  The shack contained one large window on the side facing the front entrance, so Sam would be covered as he crossed the grounds toward it. He looked up at the cameras mounted above the entrance. Thank God the power is out, he thought.

  He approached the shack and then made his way around the side. Bubba had come from somewhere behind it. He rounded the corner, noticing a brown storage container sitting in the dirt. The ground in front of it was covered in boot prints.

  Sam crept up next to the container. A large padlock secured the door, and the sides looked solid—it appeared there was only one way to get inside. He looked behind him, but the lot was empty. Noah and Delta were out of view. There was no sign of Bubba.

  Was the man hiding something inside?

  Sam rapped his knuckles against the container, creating a faint echo within. Nothing. He tapped again, this time a little harder.

  Something stirred.

  Sam jumped back in surprise, heart pounding. He paused for a few seconds, but the noise did not repeat. Was he hearing things, or was there someone—or something—inside?

  After another minute, he regained his composure and approached the container again. This time, he placed his ear next to the door. A voice interrupted him.

  “Looking for something?”

  Sam jumped and aimed his pistol in front of him. Bubba stood before him, holding the shotgun. He slapped it gently against his palm.

  “Would you mind lowering the gun? You’re starting to scare me, fella,” Bubba said, but his attitude showed he was less than afraid.

  “Sure, of course,” Sam said. He returned his arms to his sides.

  The salvage yard owner stared at him, his mouth full of food, and gave him a slight smile. Sam swallowed, trying to decide the best course of action. He could either walk away now, possibly endangering his companions, or he could confront the man with what he had heard. He thought of Quinn, of Delta, and forced himself to speak.

  “Who’s in the container, Bubba? I can hear someone.”

  The salvage owner spit something onto the ground by Sam’s feet. It looked like a peach pit, but it was covered in a greasy brown film that looked like chewing tobacco.

  “That there is the co-owner of this yard—the one you’re being allowed to stay in. Ray Owens is his name. I don’t think he’d like you poking around his area.”

  Sam’s jaw dropped.

  “Has he turned into one of those—those things?” he asked.

  “Let’s just say he hasn’t been feeling himself. But whenever they get the goddamn cure for this shit, he’ll be the first to receive it. I’ll make sure of that.”

  Bubba smacked the shotgun against his hand, louder this time, trying his best to be intimidating.

  “And don’t go telling your friends he’s in there. You wouldn’t want to scare the little girl, now would ya?”

  Sam nodded in agreement, and then moved past the salvage yard owner. He kept his head down and made his way back to the RV.

  He would comply—for now. But this was one secret he wasn’t going to keep. As grateful as he was that Bubba was letting them stay there, he could not allow his companions to be in danger—especially without their knowledge.

  Besides, the man seemed to have a few screws loose. At this point, he wasn’t sure the man could even be trusted—hell, the man had essentially threatened him.

  Sam climbed aboard the RV and resumed his watch, thinking of the best way to break the news.

  12

  Brown inserted the key in the ignition of Jameson’s SUV.

  “You had better be a good driver, Brown,” Winters warned.

  Winters had his elbow on the window, asserting his authority, but Brown noticed he had been quiet since Jameson’s death. Perhaps he had seen a glimpse of his own mortality. Either that, or he’s saving his anger for the bloodshed to come.

  Brown buckled his seatbelt, trying to forget the scene at the pharmacy.

  They
had left Jameson’s body in the back of the store, buried under a pile of the creatures. In just a few minutes, their former comrade had been mutilated beyond recognition. As much as Brown had disliked the man, he had deserved better.

  Nobody deserved to die like that.

  Brown turned the key and the SUV roared to life. He threw on his seatbelt. His rifle lay on the seat next to him.

  “If you see any other stragglers, stop,” Winters instructed. “I’d like to take care of the last of them before we move on to the next town.”

  The words echoed in Brown’s head, and he struggled to ignore them. Witnessing the destruction of St. Matthews had been almost unbearable—the prospect of other towns being infected was enough to make him physically ill.

  And yet that was the plan.

  The Agents would take over the United States, region by region. They had already started with the Southwest—New Mexico, Arizona, Oklahoma, and Texas. Once those areas were secured, they would expand their empire outwards.

  The pieces of the puzzle were already in place. Brown was just one cog in the machine, helping to advance their cause.

  Most of the other Agents had joined the group at the promise of power. In return for their dedication, they would be rewarded with pieces of land to use as they saw fit—a chance to rebuild what they had destroyed.

  For Brown, joining had been a necessity, and his mission to St. Matthews a test. If he passed, his family might be allowed to live. But for how long? The Agents’ trust in him had already worn thin. What was the point in keeping him alive?

  The other SUV pulled ahead, and Brown put the car into drive and followed. The sun had begun its descent, sending beams of light through the windshield, and he lowered the visor to shield his eyes.

  The two vehicles scoured the town, patrolling one street at a time. Every so often, Brown would catch a glimpse of one of the creatures. It looked like they were searching, too—ironically, probably for the same individuals. He had seen a few of the things turn on each other, but for the most part it appeared they were saving their energy for the uninfected.