Contamination Box Set [Books 0-7]

by Piperbrook, T. W.

  After clearing the ravine the trees thickened even further, and Sam and Delta moved forward at a slower pace, selecting paths between the trunks. A few times, the roots extended above the ground, forcing them to step over them.

  After one such obstacle, he heard Delta grunt behind him, and he paused to wait for her. He reached out for her hand and helped her along.

  “What do you think happened to White Mist, Sam?” she asked.

  “I can’t even begin to imagine.”

  “Do you think someone’s living at your store?”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised. Unless it’s already been overrun by those things.”

  She nodded grimly.

  “Do you think you’ll ever go back there?”

  He stopped and shrugged. “At this point, I’m not even sure I’d want to.”

  After about half a mile, the forest thinned, providing easier travels. Sam noticed a road forking away from Route 191, and he pointed toward it.

  “I bet there’s a campground at the end,” he said. “Maybe that’s where those creatures came from.”

  When they reached the road, they stepped out onto it. The street was narrow—providing room for only one vehicle at a time—but it contained several pull-offs for travelers to pass one another. The area was eerily silent, making the claps of their footsteps seem even louder.

  A ways down, they noticed a brown sign pointing to a campsite a mile ahead. There were still no vehicles in sight.

  “Do you think anyone’s here?” Delta asked.

  “It doesn’t seem like it, but we should probably stick to the woods just in case.”

  Sam crept back into the trees and removed his pistol. Delta did the same. Up ahead, the road curved, blocking their view of anyone—or anything—that might lie beyond.

  As they rounded the corner, Sam noticed a foul odor in the air. He let one hand off the gun and covered his mouth with his shirt.

  “What is that?” Delta hissed.

  He looked at her, ready to respond, but he could tell she already knew the answer. It was the smell of death, and as they walked it grew stronger with each passing step.

  The campsite slowly came into view—several RVs and cars were parked in a semi-circle, with two picnic tables lining the center. There was no sign of movement, human or otherwise. Sam took the lead, signaling for Delta to stay behind him, and then halted about twenty feet away.

  What he saw made his stomach hitch.

  Strewn about the campground were the remains of several campers. Heads and limbs had been scattered along the forest floor, and blood had been smeared across the outside walls of the RVs. The stench was so powerful that it had permeated the entire campsite, and Sam’s eyes welled up from breathing it in.

  In the middle of the campsite was a fire pit. Amidst the ashes were a slew of beer cans and wrappers—remnants of a party that had long since ended. Sam reached out his hand, checking for warmth, but the embers were cold.

  “We should check inside the RVs,” he said. “See if there are any survivors.”

  Despite his suggestion, he already knew what the answer would be.

  The entire campsite was dead.

  2

  Agent Cromwell pushed off the ground with his knuckles, his biceps flexing as he completed his morning repetitions. About five feet away, another man sat behind a row of computer screens, watching as they flicked from location to location.

  “Are you even counting, asshole?” Cromwell asked the other man.

  The asshole’s name was Agent Hopper, and it was obvious he hadn’t been.

  “Hopper!”

  Startled, the man swiveled in his chair.

  “That makes twenty-four,” he said.

  Wrong, Cromwell thought. It actually makes twenty-six.

  Rather than berate the man further, Cromwell held his tongue. The last thing he needed was to blow his cover. After a few more push-ups, he got to his feet and joined the other man at the desk.

  Remember—as far as he knows you’re just another soldier. You have no authority over him. None that he’s aware of, at least.

  “You see anything outside the base?”

  “Nope. Quiet as usual.”

  “That’s good.”

  For the last week they had kept their eyes glued to the cameras, searching for any signs of disturbance outside the Salt Lake City compound, as well as keeping watch on the Agent vehicles in the field through dash-mounted cameras. So far, things were running smoothly. Cromwell was delighted, but he couldn’t say he was surprised. As always, his planning had been impeccable, and his execution was turning out to be even better.

  In just a few short days, his plans had started to reach fruition. The bulk of the southwestern states had been destroyed, ravaged by the effects of the contamination. Most of the remaining survivors had been hunted down and killed. The government had been unable to pinpoint the source, and the majority of the troops that had been sent in had taken ill with the virus or overtaken.

  And the best was yet to come.

  Before long, the Agents would expand their empire outwards, extending beyond the desert and into the surrounding states. It wouldn’t be long before they controlled the entire United States. Eventually, they would take over the world.

  Cromwell smiled at his own ambitiousness.

  If only my father could see me now.

  His father had always said he wouldn’t amount to anything. That was before Cromwell had killed him, of course.

  Feeling rejuvenated by his exercise, he patted Hopper on the back and walked toward the exit.

  “Do you mind if I step out for a minute?” he asked.

  Hopper shrugged. “No problem—just make sure you’re back before long. I wouldn’t want the leaders to think we’re in here slacking off.”

  “I doubt they’ll notice,” he said.

  “You never know.”

  Cromwell restrained himself from laughing. There were no leaders—at least, none that were in any real position of authority. The only person Cromwell had to answer to was himself.

  If they only knew.

  After verifying that there were no survivors in the campground, Sam and Delta inspected the vehicles that had been left behind. There were three thirty-five-foot RVs, a beat-up Ford Explorer, and a Chevy Impala.

  Delta had perked up some, but Sam noticed she had been doing her best to avoid looking at the bodies.

  A search of the vehicles revealed little of value—the food was old and spoiled, and though there were several full beverages left behind, Sam didn’t trust anything other than the food and water they had brought with them. Unfortunately, there were no weapons other than a few kitchen knives. It appeared the group had been there strictly for camping.

  The keys to both the Impala and the Explorer were in one of the RVs. Both vehicles fired up without hesitation. After checking the contents, Sam found that each contained a set of jumper cables.

  “We should take one of the cars back to the truck so we can jump it.”

  “After we jump the truck, why don’t we take two vehicles? I can drive one, and you can drive the other,” Delta suggested.

  They had discussed the point back in St. Matthews, but Sam had thought it best to ride in one. With two cars, it would be too easy to get separated, and also easier for potential enemies to notice them.

  “I think we should stick with the pickup. I don’t think it’s wise to split up.”

  With a reluctant nod, Delta moved toward the Explorer. She opened the door and then climbed into the passenger’s seat.

  “I take it you’ve rejected the Impala,” Sam said with a smile, remembering her old vehicle.

  “Too many bad memories.”

  He stepped into the car to j
oin her, shut the door, and then started the ignition.

  As they pulled out of the campsite, Sam looked in the rearview, still sickened by the carnage that had taken place there. His best guess was that some of the campers had been infected and then turned on the others. No matter what had happened, the scene was a grisly reminder of what they were up against.

  The two drove back to the truck in silence.

  When they reached the intersection of Route 191, Sam scanned both directions, watching for signs of any other vehicles. The interstate was barren, deserted. Directly ahead of them, a scenic overlook provided a majestic view off the side of a mountain: peaks and valleys stretching into the horizon, birds flying overhead, and trees that pointed into the sky.

  Sam paused a moment to take it all in, and then turned back the way they had come.

  The truck was only a few minutes up the road. Sam recalled where they had pulled in the night before—a makeshift dirt road between the trees—and turned the Explorer down the same path.

  The pickup was in the same position. There were no signs of disturbance.

  Luckily, there was enough room to park the vehicles side by side. Sam retrieved the jumper cables, then jumped out of the Explorer and set to work on connecting the two vehicles.

  Delta sat in the pickup, waiting for his signal. When he announced he was ready, she turned the key in the ignition. The engine sputtered and came to life. Sam let out a sigh of relief and disconnected the cables.

  “You ready to get going?” he called out to her.

  “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

  For the first time that day, she cracked a smile.

  Sam jumped into the passenger’s seat and glanced over at her, noticing that she looked different. While at the campsite, Delta had located an elastic band, and she had pulled her long, dark hair into a ponytail. Her blue eyes seemed to sparkle in the daylight, and for a split second she reminded Sam of his daughter. Had Chloe survived, the two would have been about the same age.

  “Do you want to drive?” he asked.

  “Am I allowed to?”

  Sam gave a chuckle.

  “If we’re going to survive this thing, we’re going to have to work together.”

  “I feel bad about the battery.”

  “No need to keep apologizing. When life gives you a shitty hand, all you can do is move forward.”

  He patted her on the knee.

  “I don’t want to hear another word about it,” he said.

  Traveling through the mountains proved to be much easier in the daytime.

  While Delta was driving, Sam examined the map he had been given by Officer Dan Lowery back in St. Matthews, which was actually a page ripped from an atlas. On the bottom were a set of hand-written instructions, and the corners were yellowed and torn.

  According to Dan, they would be taking Route 191 for most of the trip, crossing from Arizona into Utah, and then heading into the mountains near Salt Lake City. Judging by mileage alone, the trip should be about nine hours, but their slow start the night before had already set them back.

  Sam stared at the page, tracing a path with his eyes over the lines and colors. Although he had traveled through many states, he’d only been to Utah once, and most of the roads were unfamiliar to him.

  With a nervous sigh, he placed the map back in the glove compartment.

  It wasn’t necessarily the drive that had him worried, but the journey to get there. On top of that, Sam had no idea what would happen when they got to Salt Lake City.

  He hadn’t thought that far ahead yet.

  In their interrogation of one of the Agents, they had learned the details of the plan. The goal was to wipe out the population of the United States, and then build a new society that only a select few would control. According to the Agent, the operation was being run out of a compound in Salt Lake City.

  The entire plan was enough to make Sam sick to his stomach.

  The United States had always been challenged by threats from foreign soil, but to think that a plot had been hatched internally was mind-blowing. He thought back to the words one of the Agents had said a few days prior.

  “Humanity’s fate has always been sealed. We’ve just given you an expiration date.”

  The words had been enough to give him chills. Whoever these people were, there would be no reasoning with them, no logic that would dissuade them from their plan.

  The only way to stop them would be by force.

  Of course, that was easier said than done.

  In the back of the truck, Sam and Delta had accumulated several weapons, but certainly not enough to stop an army of the Agents, never mind the roaming infected.

  And then there were the other lunatics on the road—the folks who had taken the infection as a sign to wreak their own havoc. They had already run into a few already, and the encounters had nearly cost them their lives.

  As they weaved through the mountains, Sam felt a surge of apprehension. There was no telling what they might run into in the days ahead.

  He looked over at Delta. Her hands were locked on the wheel, and her eyes flitted across the road with quiet intensity.

  “How’re you holding up?” he asked.

  “OK, I guess. I mean, I’d prefer to be on a cruise somewhere, but I don’t see that happening.”

  He smiled. “What did you used to do before…you know, all of this?”

  “I was in school at one point, but I never finished. It was hard to concentrate with all that was going on with my father.”

  “I can’t imagine having to deal with that at your age.”

  “It was nowhere near what you had to go through.”

  He let his eyes fall to the floor, and then let out a deep sigh.

  “What happened to my family isn’t your fault, Delta.”

  “I know. I just wish I could have seen the warning signs.”

  He reached for her hand.

  “There was no way you could have known.”

  Outside, the road narrowed as it wrapped around the uneven contour of the White Mountains. The pavement was worn and unkempt, the two lanes barely wide enough to fit two full-size vehicles.

  Before the two could finish their conversation, they were distracted by a rumbling noise from somewhere outside. It sounded like it was getting closer.

  “What the heck is that?” Delta asked.

  “I’m not sure.”

  Sam poked his head out the open window, scanning in all directions for the source. Ahead of them was a sharp curve in the road, and he could only see about a hundred feet in the distance. Everything else was blocked from view.

  “I think someone’s coming,” he warned.

  To their right was an enormous mountain cliff with no guardrail, to the left a wall of granite. There was no place to pull over or turn around.

  “Crap,” Delta said. “What should I do?”

  “Slow down. If it’s a car, we don’t want to risk running into it.”

  She hit the brakes, reducing the vehicle’s speed to a crawl. The roaring increased in volume and echoed off the rocks in front of them.

  “It sounds like a motorcycle,” Sam yelled. “Pull off to the side.”

  “There’s nowhere to go!”

  The pickup screeched to a stop, just inches from the mountain’s edge. Seconds later, a motorcycle careened around the corner, weaving back and forth across the road.

  In a panic, Sam realized the bike was headed straight toward them.

  3

  After leaving the compound’s control room, Cromwell made his way to his private quarters. Like all the other Agents’ rooms, his was only a hundred square feet, and contained only a single cot and a bureau.

  Unlike the rooms of other Agents, however
, his room was soundproof. He had designed it that way on purpose—to allow him to keep cover among the other Agents, but also to conduct his business undisturbed.

  There were several other areas of the compound that only he had access to, but Cromwell preferred his room. It gave him pleasure knowing that all around him, Agent soldiers carried out his orders, unaware that their leader was living quietly among them. It also helped him keep a keen eye on his subordinates without their knowledge.

  Cromwell walked into his room and made his way to the bureau, pulling open the top drawer. Here, in addition to his personal items, was a single phone—a secured line that helped him keep contact with his underlings. He often used it in conjunction with several other phones that he kept on him.

  He picked it up and dialed a sequence of numbers. After a few rings, someone answered.

  “O’Connor,” a voice said.

  “How are we looking?”

  “Great, sir.”

  “No issues?”

  “None to speak of.”

  “Good.”

  O’Connor was stationed in Oklahoma City. From the sounds of it, the infection was right on schedule.

  Cromwell hung up the receiver, beaming.

  If things went any better, he would have to pinch himself.

  Sam reached across Delta and grabbed hold of the wheel, but the pickup had already stopped. There was nowhere left to go.

  The motorcyclist wrenched the handlebars, turning the bike sideways and forcing it into a skid. Sam watched the bike fly past them, filling the air with the smell of smoke and burnt rubber, and then come to a stop about thirty feet behind the pickup.

  The driver killed the ignition, plunging the road into silence.