Contamination Box Set [Books 0-7]

by Piperbrook, T. W.

  The priest didn’t respond.

  “It’s because of me. This isn’t some bullshit judgment day. This is the culmination of years of planning, and I came here to make sure everything goes down the way it’s fucking supposed to.”

  The priest remained quiet, arms at his sides.

  “You see, for years I’ve watched this country go downhill—watched people destroy their bodies, watched them destroy the Earth. And nobody stepped up to do a damn thing. People may pretend they’re aware of the problems, but nobody is willing to change. And things are only getting worse. The more technology we develop, the more people learn to withdraw from the real world. There is no sense of discipline anymore, no sense of self-control.”

  “So you know what I did, Father? I developed a chemical that will change all of that. I’ve been putting it into their water, into their food supply. I’m going to wipe out the population, Father, so that we can start fresh, so that we can rebuild. Surely you can understand the reasoning behind that, can’t you? I’m doing God’s work for Him. I’m saving Him the fucking trouble.”

  The priest shook his head.

  “What, you have nothing to say now?”

  The Agent laughed again.

  “You were right with what you said before, father. There’s going to be a new era, all right. But I’m going to be the one to lead it.”

  Before anyone could react, the Agent withdrew a knife and slashed the priest. The man fell backwards and collapsed behind the altar.

  Sam gritted his teeth.

  It’s now or never, he thought.

  He took a deep breath, and then sprang at the Agent from behind the pews.

  Sam connected with the Agent’s shoulder, sending him staggering back into the aisle, and the two toppled over. Sam pounded the man’s face with his fists, ignoring the throbbing in his shoulder. He felt the Agent squirming beneath him, probably vying for one of his knives, but he didn’t dare let up.

  Delta joined the fray, and Sam felt her hands between him and the Agent, feeling around for the Agent’s blade. Her breath came in gasps, and he hoped that she could find a weapon before the other man did.

  Without warning, the Agent flung out an arm, striking Delta in the face, and she fell to the ground somewhere behind them. Her body went limp.

  Sam felt a blow connect to his face, knocking him backwards. His eyes fluttered closed for a second. When he opened them, he realized that the Agent had him pinned.

  The man reached into his waistband, pulling out a large blade and holding it up in front of Sam.

  “Do you know what this is?” the Agent asked. His breathing was heavy and ragged. Even in the dim lighting, Sam could make out the whites of his eyes. “This is a Ka-bar Classic Marine fighting knife.”

  Sam felt something wet hit his face, and realized it was blood dripping from the man above him. The man smelled awful—a combination of sweat and grime—and Sam gagged. He struggled to break free, but the man had him immobilized.

  “The Ka-bar was used by the marines in World War II, but it is still used today. Do you want to know why?”

  “F-fuck you…” Sam managed.

  “Because it works just as well today as it did back then. But don’t worry—you don’t have to take my word for it. You’re about to find that out for yourself.”

  Sam continued to writhe under the man’s weight. His nerve endings felt like they were on fire from the wound he had already received. He wrenched his body from side to side, but he was still hopelessly pinned.

  The Agent raised the knife again, this time targeting Sam’s other shoulder.

  Sam squirmed, wondering how long he could remain conscious once he was stabbed. Between the pain and the blood loss, he figured it wouldn’t be long.

  Before he could find out, another voice rang out through the church.

  It was a voice Sam didn’t recognize.

  “Drop the knife,” the person said.

  The person was standing about ten feet from Sam and the Agent, and he was holding a rifle in one hand. With the other hand, he clutched his stomach.

  “Hopper?” The Agent on top of Sam got to his feet, still holding the knife.

  “Put it down, Cromwell.”

  “Why would you want to save this pathetic piece of shit?” The Agent kicked Sam in the ribs, as if to prove his point. Sam cried out and rolled to the side.

  “I don’t give a shit about him. I’m coming for you.”

  “I didn’t think you’d—“

  “Have the strength? After you stabbed me?”

  “Let’s face it, Hopper. You’re one of the weaker ones. Besides, you have no idea who you’re pointing that gun at. I’m the head of this whole goddamn operation.”

  “I know exactly who you are. I already heard you on the phone, and I saw all the prisoners you have in those jail cells. And I heard everything you said just now.”

  Cromwell let out a short laugh and coughed and spit. He dropped the knife and grabbed his shoulder.

  “Maybe you’re a little smarter than I gave you credit for, Hopper,” he said. “Put down the gun, and we’ll talk. Maybe I’ll even give you a promotion.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Hopper doubled over, almost dropping the gun, and then righted himself.

  “You know what your problem is, Cromwell? You had a good thing going here, but you fucked it up. And all those things you said about humanity? The same can be said about you. You are the most selfish person I’ve ever met. You don’t give a shit about rebuilding the world. All you care about is yourself.”

  Cromwell glared at him.

  “You’re nothing but a sick fuck.”

  Without giving the man a chance to respond, Hopper fired the rifle, squeezing off the remaining rounds until the chamber was empty. The bullets pierced the man’s chest, and Cromwell swayed back and forth like a rag doll, arms flailing at his sides, before finally succumbing to gravity and crumpling to the floor.

  The knife fell to the ground next to him.

  Hopper dropped his empty weapon to the carpet with a thud. It looked like he could barely stand.

  “Stay right where you are!” a voice yelled from behind him. This time it was Delta. In the midst of the struggle, she had managed to get to her feet, and she was brandishing one of Cromwell’s knives.

  Hopper didn’t argue.

  She ran to Sam’s side.

  “Are you OK?” she asked.

  “I-I think so,” Sam stuttered. “But I’m not going to lie to you. I’ve been better.”

  He attempted a smile.

  “I’m going to shut the front door. Those things will be headed in here if we don’t.”

  Delta made her way down the aisle, still threatening Hopper with the knife, and collected his empty rifle as she walked by him.

  By the time she reached the door, Sam had already passed out.

  When Sam awoke, both Delta and the priest were standing over him. He had been transported to a bed in a small room. His shoulder still blazed with pain, but when he looked down, he saw that it had been wrapped up and the knife had been removed.

  He attempted to sit up, but his head was throbbing.

  “Easy, there,” Delta said. “You need to relax.”

  “Where am I?”

  “You’re in my bedroom, just above the church,” the priest said.

  Sam noticed the man had changed out of his robes into a t-shirt and pants. He had a small bandage on his forearm—presumably from where the Agent had cut him—but he seemed otherwise unharmed.

  Movement across the room distracted him, and he gazed to his left. The other Agent—the one with the stomach wound—was propped up against a wall. It looked like his injury had been wrapped up, as well, but he
appeared to be in worse shape than Sam, and his hands were tied in front of him.

  “Is the other Agent dead?” Sam asked.

  “Cromwell? Yeah, I killed him,” the man said.

  “What’s your name again?”

  “Hopper.”

  Hopper closed his eyes, then reopened them. He slid down the wall, letting his body sag beneath him. It was obvious he was in tremendous pain.

  “We’re going to need your help, Hopper.”

  “Why the fuck would I help you?”

  “We need to get to the compound to stop this thing.”

  The Agent laughed, and then coughed. When he had composed himself, he spoke. “Cromwell was the brains behind this whole thing. With him dead, the whole plan’s probably fucked as it is.”

  “I’m sure someone else will take his place.”

  “That’s the thing,” Hopper said. “I don’t think anyone else knew who he was. From what I could tell, he didn’t share his plans with anyone, and he was calling all the shots.”

  “Didn’t you say there were people being held captive there?”

  Hopper paused.

  “Yeah. He had a bunch of people in jail cells. I think he was torturing them.”

  Sam’s eyes narrowed, and he thought back to what Nathan Brown had told him. According to him, the Agent leaders were keeping Brown’s family hostage.

  “We have to get those people out of there,” Sam said. “And we need you to help us.”

  Hopper snickered. “Good luck with that.”

  “I don’t think you understand. You don’t have a choice. Like it or not, you’re coming with us.”

  19

  “This is Agent Hopper. We’re headed back in. Things are under control.”

  Before the Agent could say anything further, Sam disconnected the call. He held a gun he’d found in the Agent’s van to the man’s temple from the backseat. Delta sat at the wheel of the Agents’ cargo van—now dressed in a white jacket—and shook her head.

  “Sam, I’m not sure this is a good idea. You’re hardly in the condition for this.”

  “I’ll be fine,” he said. As he spoke the words, his shoulder throbbed, but he did his best to ignore the pain.

  Sam glanced around the floor next to him. In the rear of the cargo van were a slew of weapons, as well as several cases of untainted food. He had laid out the guns so that they would be within easy reach when they got to the compound. Currently he was holding a pistol, but once leaving the van, he figured they would need as much firepower as they could carry.

  They had left the priest back at the church. Despite all he had been through, the man refused to leave his home. Sam and Delta had promised they would return for him once they had things settled.

  “How many people are at the compound?” Sam asked Hopper.

  When the man didn’t respond, Sam reached down and pushed on his bandage. The Agent cried out in pain.

  “There’s only a skeleton crew there now. Most of the Agents are in the field.”

  “How many?”

  “I’d say about twenty people.”

  “Where are they located?”

  “All throughout the compound.”

  “What about the virus?”

  “What about it?”

  “Is it kept at the compound?”

  “Yeah. They have a lab there. It’s on the same floor as the prisoners.”

  Sam glanced out the front windshield. Since leaving the city, the mountains seemed to have increased in size and magnitude. Brown and green peaks surrounded them on all sides. The view was breathtaking, and he did his best to take it all in, trying to forget about the dangerous mission they were undertaking.

  The prospect of facing twenty Agents was daunting, especially in his wounded condition. At the same time, he knew that Hopper might not have much longer to live, and they would need the man’s help to get inside.

  At Sam’s direction, Delta took a turn off the highway, curving up onto a secondary road that wove into the Wasatch Mountain Range. He stared at the map, and then glanced over at Hopper for verification.

  “Is this the right way?” he asked.

  Hopper paused for a second, and Sam noticed that his eyes were closed. When he finally opened them, he nodded.

  Hopper let out a groan and turned sideways in his chair.

  “Can’t you untie my hands?” he asked, his breathing getting shallow.

  Delta looked back at Sam, who shook his head.

  “No,” she said.

  Since holding him captive, Sam had already gleaned as much information as possible, afraid that the man would perish on the ride to the compound. As expected, most of his suspicions had been true: the virus could only be transmitted through ingesting contaminated food, and there was no cure once someone was infected. The creatures were expected to die out within several weeks.

  According to Hopper, the organization would be crippled without Cromwell calling the shots. By taking out the compound, Sam hoped to further solidify those odds.

  Several miles later, the road wound around the base of a large mountain. Delta followed the curves, reducing the van’s speed to account for the turns. When they had reached the other side, the road leveled out, creating a path in between two other larger mountains.

  In the distance, Sam could make out a single white building. The structure was long and flat, and on the side he saw what looked like a cargo area. The road seemed to reach the compound and then die, providing only one means of both entry and escape.

  As the van approached, Sam sorted through the weapons on the floor. Even with what they had, he knew that getting in and out alive would be a long shot.

  He took a deep breath and then exhaled, hoping once again for a miracle.

  Once they had reached the building, Hopper instructed them to follow the dirt road around to the back of the compound. There they would find a loading dock that they could pull into. Before reaching the vicinity, Sam and Delta had switched positions—he would be the driver and she would ride in the rear.

  Sam adjusted his white jacket, hoping that he could blend in long enough to get into the building and rescue the prisoners inside. Delta was to remain in the vehicle with Hopper. While Hopper did the talking, she would hide in the backseat and out of view. The Agent would instruct the mechanics to refuel and inspect the vehicle—all while he stayed inside—so that he could return immediately to the field. To ensure the Agent’s compliance, Delta would hold a pistol to his back.

  It wasn’t a failsafe plan, but it would have to do.

  As the van curved around the building, Sam inspected the exterior. For the most part, the compound was windowless, providing little clue as to what was inside. After some coercion, Hopper had given him instructions on how to navigate his way through. He had also given him codes to get through the door locks.

  Sam just hoped they were the right ones. He still didn’t trust the man.

  The van tires chewed the gravel, spitting it back onto the road. A few seconds later, the bay doors came into view—enormous, red metal doors that were tall enough to fit a tractor-trailer. Once the van was within fifteen feet of them, they automatically rose.

  Sam peered into the interior of the garage as the doors retracted. Inside was a fleet of vehicles—SUVs, trucks, and cargo vans like the one they were driving. All were white and non-descript; most were in perfect condition. A few mechanics were milling about, either working on vehicles or rummaging through tools, but none seemed to be paying attention to the approaching van.

  Sam pulled the vehicle inside, finding an empty spot between two already-parked vans, and then unbuckled his seatbelt. No one came to greet them.

  “What now?” he asked Hopper.

  “Just head out. Someone will be ov
er in a minute, and I’ll deal with them.”

  Sam eyed the Agent suspiciously. He had no reason to trust him, but he didn’t have a choice. He stared into the rear of the van, catching Delta’s attention, and mouthed for her to be careful. She nodded.

  He gripped the door, doing a mental check of what he was carrying. In his pocket were two pistols, and he was going to carry a rifle with him. According to Hopper, he should have no trouble getting through the door, provided he acted casually. All of the Agents inside were armed as well.

  Sam stepped out into the garage. He could feel his heart slamming against his chest, and his shoulder hurt like hell. He had done his best to cover the wound with his jacket, not wanting to raise any further suspicion, but he was worried that the injury would leave him compromised in the event of a battle.

  As he walked across the cargo bay, he saw a few of the mechanics glance in his direction, but he didn’t return their gaze. He kept his pace even and made his way toward the building’s entrance.

  When he reached the door, he saw a numbered keypad. He pushed the sequence of numbers that Hopper had given him, followed by the pound sign. Then he waited. For a few seconds, nothing happened. He stared at the keypad, afraid to turn and look behind him, and his mind raced.

  Had Hopper given him a secret code that triggered some sort of alarm? Was it possible he had gotten the numbers wrong?

  A second later, the door buzzed and a light on the keypad turned green. He grabbed the handle, turned it, and opened the door.

  The first thing he saw was a hallway. The walls were painted white, the floors hard and linoleum. He proceeded down the empty corridor. Several doors flanked either side, but he continued past them without stopping. Behind a few he heard the sound of voices, which made him pick up his pace.

  At the end of the hallway he took a right. According to Hopper’s directions, he would only have to take one more turn, and then there would be an elevator in the adjacent corridor. He kept on, taking note of several more closed doors and listening to conversations drifting out from behind them.