Contamination Box Set [Books 0-7]

by Piperbrook, T. W.

  There’s no way we can outrun him. We need a place to hide.

  On either side of the street, the buildings were compromised. The windows and doors had either been smashed or kicked in, and most contained roaming shadows, presumably belonging to the creatures inside.

  Something scraped the ground behind him.

  Sam heard Delta cry out, and he spun around. The Agent had tackled her to the ground, and the two rolled across the pavement, a tangle of arms and legs. When they stopped, the Agent slammed her head into the street and wedged the knife against her throat.

  Her pistol lay five feet behind her, lost in the scuffle.

  Sam raised his pistol and pointed it at the man, shouting for him to stop. The Agent looked up, his face dripping blood and sweat, and smiled. His eyes were wide—almost demonic—and he shook Delta by the hair, pushing the blade even farther into her neck.

  “Drop the gun,” he said, his voice unwavering. “Or I will slice her fucking throat.”

  Sam paused, his finger shaking on the trigger. For a second, he considered firing on the man, knowing that he could probably hit him, but his fear held him back. What if he missed?

  He looked down at Delta. Blood trickled from her mouth and nose, and she stared at the Agent with hatred in her eyes.

  “Do it, Sam,” she whispered.

  Before Sam could fire, the man rolled off of Delta and pitched the knife at him. Startled, Sam moved to the side, listening to it clatter to the ground behind him. When he looked back, the Agent had scurried behind one of the nearby automobiles and disappeared.

  Sam let loose with the pistol, peppering the car with bullets, and then made his way toward Delta. He helped her off of the ground, keeping his gun aimed at the vehicle. The street was quiet.

  The Agent must still be behind the car.

  Sam scanned the area, but there was nowhere else the man could have run. The nearest vehicle was about twenty feet away from the one he had ducked behind. The Agent must be there, waiting for them.

  He motioned for Delta to keep going. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her retrieve her own pistol from the road and then sprint several yards ahead.

  Sam walked toward the car, cutting a wide path around it so that he could see what was on the other side. He held his gun ready, thinking that any second he would have to use it. When he had almost neared the back, he heard a scrape, and then saw a flash of white going around the other side.

  He picked up speed, weaving around the car, still keeping a twenty-foot distance. He could hear the man breathing now, and it made his nerves tingle.

  An arm shot up from the passenger’s side of the vehicle, and suddenly Sam felt a flash of pain in his right arm. He lost his grip on the pistol, looked down. A small throwing knife was embedded in his shoulder. He cried out in pain and clutched the wound.

  The Agent had emerged from behind the vehicle. He walked toward Sam at an even pace, still grinning. In his hands was another knife.

  “Stop it!” Delta screamed from up the street.

  Sam held up his hands to stop her. “Stay back!”

  The Agent was only a few feet away now, and he waved the blade in Sam’s face to taunt him. Sam eyed the pistol on the ground, knowing that the other man would be on him before he could pick it up. His shoulder burned with pain, and he gritted his teeth to avoid crying out.

  With his left hand, Sam reached into his pants and pulled out his own knife. The Agent laughed.

  “What are you going to do with that?” he sneered.

  Sam swung the blade in front of him, trying to gain some room to maneuver, at the same time knowing that he was hopelessly outmatched. With his right arm wounded, he would have to rely on his left. The Agent backed away a few steps.

  Ignoring Sam’s warning, Delta started toward them, holding her gun in front of her. She was about a hundred feet away.

  “Get the hell away from him!”

  She fired off a shot, and the bullet ricocheted off the pavement near the Agent’s feet. Sam heard her squeeze the trigger again. The gun clicked empty.

  Delta yelled out in frustration.

  The Agent took the opportunity and lunged forward, lashing out with his knife and catching Sam in his already-wounded arm. The blade sliced his skin and he cried out, and then jabbed forward with a thrust of his own. He missed his mark. The Agent sprang back, circling around Sam.

  Sam eyed the pistol on the ground. He made a grab for it.

  He had just laid his fingers on the barrel when the Agent dove at him, knocking him back against the pavement. The knife in his arm embedded itself further, and Sam cried out in agony, the pain so intense that it made his eyes water. He felt the Agent’s hands around his jacket, and suddenly he was being lifted off the ground and thrown against the car.

  Sam hit the driver’s side door and crumpled to the ground. The Agent advanced on him. By the look in his eyes, he was just getting started.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Sam saw Delta running toward them, heading for Sam’s pistol. The Agent backed away from Sam and positioned himself to intercept her. When she was ten feet away, she stopped, realizing the futility of her mission.

  “Don’t worry,” the Agent said. “There will be plenty of time for us to get to know each other.”

  He lifted up his jacket, revealing a row of knives tucked into his belt. Delta took a few steps back.

  Sam clenched and unclenched his fists, realizing that he no longer had his blade. Ignoring the pain that coursed through his body, he forced himself to stand, and after steadying himself on his feet, he charged at the Agent. The man stepped to the side, but not before Sam had grabbed him by the arm, knocking him off balance. Sam swung a closed fist at the man’s face. To his surprise, it connected, and the Agent reeled back in pain.

  Encouraged, Sam repeated the maneuver, hitting the man with another left hook to the face, and then another. In the meantime, Delta retrieved the pistol. After a few more blows, Sam stepped away. As soon as he did, he heard the sound of a gunshot.

  The Agent cried out in agony. The bullet had struck him in the leg, and he dropped to the ground and immediately rolled underneath the car. Delta fired until the clip was empty, but none of her shots hit their mark. She threw the empty gun onto the ground.

  “Let’s go, Sam!” she shouted. She grabbed Sam by the arm and pulled him up the street. Behind them, they could hear the Agent getting to his feet, and then the sound of his footsteps on the pavement.

  Somehow, he was still coming after them.

  They broke into a run.

  As Sam and Delta forged ahead, several of the things trickled out of the surrounding shops and stores, joining in on the pursuit. Sam staggered on, muscling through the pain, knowing that if he stopped, it would be for the last time.

  About a block ahead was a church. He pointed, calling Delta’s attention to it. The two changed course, heading away from the street and toward the building.

  The outside was made of what looked like red sandstone, with pointed arches above the windows and doors. Although the building was square in shape, several spires jutted out like towers from the roof, penetrating the sky above the neighboring buildings. A stone walkway led to a flight of stairs, and at the end was a set of wooden doors.

  As they approached, Sam said a silent prayer, hoping that the doors would be open.

  Both their lives depended on it.

  When they reached the entrance, Delta tugged on one of the long black handles at the front.

  To Sam’s relief, the door swung open.

  Sam raced through the entrance. A second later, Delta heaved herself through behind him, and he slammed the door closed behind her and engaged a bolt on the other side.

  Something pounded on the other side of the door. Sam watched it rat
tle against the pressure, but it held tight. Sweat slid down his forehead, and he wiped his face, letting out a sigh of relief.

  It wasn’t until he heard Delta whisper that he felt his pulse quicken again.

  “Sam. Turn around.”

  He swiveled to look behind him, and another breath fled his lips.

  Though they might have escaped the Agent, they were not alone.

  In the absence of man-made light, the church was full of shadows. The ceiling contained several stained glass windows, each allowing beams of sunlight to filter into the room, but none provided proper visibility.

  Sam surveyed the interior of the church. In the center of the room was a carpeted aisle, and on either side of it were about twenty rows of wooden pews. At the head of the room was an altar.

  Standing behind it, eyes locked on Sam and Delta, was a priest.

  “I knew you’d come,” he said. His voice reverberated throughout the room. He stood with his arms at his sides, as if waiting for a response.

  “What do you mean?” Sam asked, his own voice echoing off the walls. He glanced over at Delta.

  “I left the door open, knowing that people would need my assistance.”

  Behind them, the pounding continued.

  “Do you have any idea what’s going on out there?” Sam shouted.

  “Yes. And I’ve been expecting it. Can you please unlock the doors so that others may join us?”

  “I don’t think you understand,” Delta said. “This isn’t what you think it is. This infection was created by a group of men, and right now, one of them is outside trying to kill us. If you let him in, we’re all dead.”

  The priest stared straight ahead, unmoving. If Sam hadn’t known better, he might have taken him for a statue—a sculpture made of flesh and robes.

  “Go talk to him,” Delta said. “I’ll cover the door.”

  As Sam walked down the aisle toward the man, he could see that the priest was shaking. The man appeared to be in his sixties, and his face was pale and weathered.

  The front entrance creaked and groaned.

  “Is there another way out of here?” he asked the man.

  The priest didn’t answer. Sam waved his hands in front of the man’s face, as if to shake him out of his trance.

  “If that door opens, we’re all dead!”

  The man finally lifted his arm and pointed to one of the dark corners of the room.

  “There’s a side door over there. It should be unlocked.”

  “Come with us,” Sam said, reaching for the man’s arm.

  The priest shook his head.

  “I can’t,” he said.

  Delta was already racing up the aisle. “We have to go, Sam!” she yelled.

  As she spoke the words, another crash erupted from the front of the room. Sam made one last grab for the priest, knowing it was only a matter of time until the door caved inward.

  Cromwell heaved his shoulders against the church door, his pulse racing. The wood continued to hold, and he cried out in anger. Behind him, several of the infected were almost within arm’s reach. His leg was bleeding like a sieve from the bullet wound, but he ignored the pain. The creatures were at his back now, grabbing at his jacket and giving him little room to maneuver.

  He flung back his boot, knocking the closest creature to the ground, trying to free up some space. Before he could resume working on the door, he felt hands clawing at the back of his shirt again, and he turned and lashed out with one of his knives.

  The blade severed the closest thing’s hand. The creature flailed about and then fell, overtaken by the others behind it. Cromwell continued to slice, warm fluid from the creatures spurting onto his face and arms.

  The cluster around him was growing; with each passing second, more creatures were finding their way up the steps.

  “Dammit!” he yelled.

  The doorway was bordered by railings on either side. Realizing he was outnumbered, Cromwell fought his way toward it, hoping to climb a few feet off the ground and gain some distance from the creatures. He had just reached the side when something bit his leg. He felt a surge of pain, and he gritted his teeth in anger, refusing to cry out.

  He wouldn’t allow himself to be weak like the others.

  He swung the knife in all directions, piercing heads and throats, watching the things fall to the side. When he had cleared a path, he stepped up onto the railing so he was several feet above them.

  That’s when Cromwell heard the sound of gunfire.

  Beneath him, creatures scattered and tumbled to the ground. Their bodies shook with the impact of the bullets, and they keeled over on the landing in a mountain of flesh.

  When the shooting stopped, Cromwell looked up to find the source of his rescue and saw Agent Hopper coming down the walkway.

  “You OK, Agent?” the man asked.

  Cromwell jumped down from his perch on the railing, brushed off his jacket.

  “I’m fine. Where are the others?”

  Hopper averted his eyes. “They’re all dead.”

  “All of them?”

  “Yes.”

  Cromwell felt his blood start to boil again. Who the hell had chosen these men? Clearly they were incapable of ruling in the new world.

  He would be better off without them.

  “I take it the survivors are in the church?” Hopper asked.

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll help you get the door down.”

  Hopper stepped over the bodies and rammed his body against the door. The wood splintered with the impact.

  “Why don’t you just use the rifle?”

  “I was told to conserve ammo.”

  Cromwell shrugged, allowing the man to continue. In the meantime, he cleaned off his WWII Trench Knife, wiping it off on his pants.

  Hopper forced the door open. He stood back, as if proud of the job he had done.

  “How many are in there?” Hopper asked.

  “Just two. I can handle this, Hopper.”

  “I’ll go in with you.”

  “No you won’t,” Cromwell said.

  Without batting an eye, he took a step toward Hopper and stabbed him in the stomach. The Agent doubled over, blood leaking from the wound, and dropped his rifle.

  “W-what the hell?”

  Cromwell bent down and scooped up the man’s rifle, carrying it with him as he entered the church.

  The survivors would be his and his alone.

  18

  Sam was still tugging the priest’s arm when he saw the church doors fly open. He immediately dove to the floor, taking cover behind the first row of pews. Across from him, he saw Delta do the same.

  Having lost or expended their guns, as well as Sam’s knife, the two were totally weaponless.

  For several seconds, the doorway was clear, admitting only a few hesitant rays of sunlight. Then he saw the shadow of a man, followed by the tip of a rifle.

  Bullets sprayed the inside of the church, glancing off the side of the wooden pews and shattering decorations and figurines. A few struck holes in the stained glass windows, sending new beams of light into the dim room.

  When the firing stopped, Sam poked his head up. The Agent had taken a step inside, and was now holding his position at the front, uncovered. Sam swallowed, wishing he still had his pistol.

  Before the Agent could advance another step, a voice echoed through the church. Sam looked up and saw that it was the priest.

  In spite of the shooting, the man remained standing at the altar.

  “There’s no need for violence,” the priest said. “You are welcome inside, but please leave your weapons at the door.”

  The Agent stared straight ahead. When he didn’t answer, the priest co
ntinued.

  “What’s happening out there isn’t your fault. We’re all to blame.”

  The Agent snickered. To Sam’s surprise, however, the man lowered his gun and let it fall to the floor.

  “OK, I dropped it,” the Agent said. “Now what?”

  “You may approach, if you wish.”

  The Agent paused for a second, and then took a step forward and began walking down the aisle. Sam noticed he was limping, and his progress was slow.

  I should tackle him right now while I have the chance.

  Sam’s mind screamed at him to act, but the pain in his shoulder held him back. If he were to try and fail, he was afraid of what might happen to Delta.

  Instead, he watched and waited. He peered over at Delta, catching sight of her shadow about twenty feet away, and wondered if she was thinking the same thing he was.

  The Agent continued down the aisle, his footsteps making muffled creaks in the floorboards. When he reached the altar, he stopped.

  “If we’re not to blame, then what do you think could be causing all this, Father?” the Agent asked.

  The priest looked up at the ceiling, then back down at the man in front of him.

  “Man has but a short time on Earth. It appears that He is ready to bring in a new era. Ours is not to question the word of the Lord, but to celebrate His greatness.”

  “But why us, and why now?”

  The priest lowered his head and stared.

  “I don’t think that we as humans can understand the answer to that question.”

  The Agent laughed. “That’s the biggest crock of shit I’ve ever heard, Father. Do you want to know why all of this happened? Do you really?”