She darted back into the barn.
Sheila’s eyes were half-closed and her breathing was shallow.
“Stay with me, Sheila!” she shouted.
She glanced at the woman’s stomach, where blood was still spilling from inside, creating a puddle on the dirt beside her. Meredith had never seen so much blood in her life. She gritted her teeth and looked for a towel.
I need to stop the bleeding. Put pressure on it. Then I can move her.
The rational part of her mind told her that her efforts would be useless, that no matter what she did, the woman was already on a one-way trip to death’s door. But Meredith ignored the thoughts and continued, refusing to give up.
Finding nothing in the barn, she raced back for the house, intent on retrieving a clean towel to apply to the wound. She crashed through the kitchen and into the bathroom, and whipped open the closet. Inside were several clean towels. She tucked them under her armpit and darted back for the barn.
When she got to Sheila’s side, her heart dropped even further. The old woman’s eyes were rolled back in her head, and she’d stopped breathing.
Meredith placed her fingers on the woman’s neck, but there was no sign of life, no pulse. She placed her hands on the woman’s chest, right above the gaping wound, and started chest compressions. Every few seconds she held her ear to the woman’s mouth, hoping to resuscitate her.
Blood soaked her hands, and the woman’s frail body seemed to cave underneath her touch. After a few seconds she stopped.
There was no use. Try as she might, there was nothing she could do. Sheila Guthright was dead.
Meredith covered her face with her hands and sobbed into the empty barn.
7
Dan raised his pistol at the creatures on the roof, ready to expend his last few rounds of ammunition. Sandy crouched behind him. If he had to guess, there were about ten of the things in front of him: no matter how good his aim was, he wouldn’t be able to hit them all. His only option was to incapacitate as many as he could and try to create an opening.
He trained his gun on the closest creature—a man with an unkempt bloodied beard and flannel shirt—and squeezed off a round into its head. The thing staggered back, bumping into two others behind it and collapsing to the pavement. Dan swiveled to his left, shooting a woman-creature with long dark hair, and then fired two more rounds into two things behind it.
He continued to fire until his gun clicked empty and he was out of ammunition. He’d managed to fell about six of the creatures. There were still four remaining, and they charged at him with mouths agape.
Among them were two males and two females; all were equidistant from where he stood.
He lashed out with his foot, catching one of the males in the ankle, sending it toppling downward, then struck another male in the face with his fist. The creature’s cheek was cold and hard, and the impact jarred his knuckles.
In spite of the pain, he kept on. The things had pressed Sandy and him backward so they were only a few feet from the edge of the roof: if they weren’t mauled first, they were destined to fall.
He needed to create a diversion, an opening.
“Get ready to run!” he shouted to Sandy.
One of the creatures lunged at Dan—a woman in a floral-print dress—and he grabbed it by the fabric and flung it from the roof. Of the three creatures remaining, only one was on its feet.
“Go!” he yelled to Sandy.
The girl darted from behind him, making a beeline for the entrance.
The last female latched onto his arm.
Dan wrenched himself away and took a step closer to the edge of the roof. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the pavement looming thirty feet below. He attempted to sidestep, but the two things on the ground had recovered, and the three creatures had walled him in.
There was nowhere to go.
He covered his head with his hands, trying to push his way between them, but none budged. Hot breath filled the air above, drawing closer, and he thrashed his arms to no avail.
Was this the end? After all they’d been through, would this be his demise?
He’d almost given up when a familiar voice rang out across the rooftop.
“Dad! Duck!”
Dan dropped to the ground. Gunshots rocked the air above him, and he pressed himself against the asphalt. One by one the creatures collapsed on top of him, crushing him in a tangle of limbs. He wrenched his body from side to side, doing his best to free himself.
This time he was able to fling them off.
He emerged from the heap and stared at his daughter’s frail form across the rooftop.
In her hands was the pistol he’d given her.
“Quinn!”
She lowered the gun. Sandy was standing behind her. Both of them appeared unharmed.
He sprang across the rooftop, covering the gap between them, and held his daughter close. She handed him the weapon.
“Are you mad at me?” she asked.
“For what?”
“Leaving the car.”
“Not at all. Thank God you did,” he said. “I’m not sure what I would’ve done otherwise.”
He glanced over at Sandy, who was still shaking. He opened his arms and embraced her as well.
“Now let’s all get the hell out of here.”
Three pairs of footsteps clapped the stairwell as the survivors made their way down it, hands linked in a human chain. The bank had returned to silence.
When they reached the bottom of the stairwell, Dan paused, halting them with an upturned hand. Beneath them were the bodies of the creatures he’d shot earlier. He scanned the lifeless limbs, certain that one would spring to life, but all remained still.
He cracked the door.
The main floor of the bank was dark and dismal, empty, but he knew it wouldn’t stay that way for long. Chances were that the commotion had roused other things in the area and they’d be coming soon.
“Come on,” he hissed.
He led the pair through the bank, stepping over the paperwork and debris he’d traversed just minutes earlier. To his right were the glass offices and windows. He kept one eye trained on the outside.
When they were halfway across the bank, he saw movement outside.
Dan paused mid-step.
“What is it?” Quinn whispered.
He put his finger to his lips, waited. The movement was coming from a bakery across the street. Inside the building, he could see several smashed coolers, a table and chairs, and a counter. Everything beyond that was black. He strained his eyes, but none of the shadows changed shape and nothing moved.
“I’m not sure. Let’s go. Carefully.”
He pulled them onward. When they reached the front door, he inched it open with his forearm. The road in front of them was deserted. The station wagon was parked just as he’d left it, a blue beacon in an otherwise demolished landscape.
Dan pushed the door open the remainder of the way. The hinges squeaked, echoing into the street and the surrounding buildings. Without the hum of electricity or the din of traffic, the entire city had become a conduit for sound, and he shuddered at the disturbance.
Before they could proceed, footsteps sounded, and he pushed the girls back inside.
He pressed his back against the open door. The beat grew louder. Clutching the pistol between his palms, he snuck a glance into the street.
To his surprise, the source was immediately apparent. Rather than one of the creatures, the footsteps belonged to a man.
The man was running in a full sprint down the middle of the street. He was wearing a black jean jacket and dark jeans, sporting a thick shock of black hair and several days worth of scruff. Dan knew the man from town—he’d been arrested multiple times
for theft. The man’s name was Reginald Morris. By the looks of it, the man had somehow survived the infection.
But what was he doing out in the open, and why was he running?
And more importantly, what was he running from?
Dan stuck his head back out in the open, but saw nothing in pursuit of the man. Reginald had quickly closed the gap between the bakery and the front of the bank. His feet pounded the pavement, and his breathing was loud and uneven.
The man threw a glance over his shoulder, then at the bank, locking eyes with Dan.
“Reginald!”
Dan stepped out into the open and waved his hands, but the man continued, ignoring his cry. Reginald tore up alongside the station wagon, tried the handle, and flung open the door. Then he jumped inside.
“What’re you doing?” Dan shouted.
Dan dashed into the street, frantically trying to stop the man, but it was too late. The door locks had already clicked shut and Reginald had started the engine.
Before Dan could react, the man peeled off down the street, leaving a plume of exhaust in his wake.
Quinn and Sandy ran up behind him, both of them yelling as well.
Dan wiped his hands across his face, resisting the urge to scream out in frustration. Even if he did, there’d be no one to blame but himself.
He’d left the keys in the car on purpose, to allow his daughter a means of escape should something happen to him. He’d had no idea that she would end up leaving the car, no idea that she wouldn’t think to take the keys.
More importantly, he couldn’t have predicted that another survivor would stumble across them, using the opportunity to rob them of the only thing in the world they had left.
It was a chain of events that, in retrospect, could only be credited to bad luck.
Dammit.
“What are we going to do?” Quinn whispered.
He hesitated.
“We need something else to drive.”
The task would be a lot more difficult than it sounded. By the looks of it, many of the vehicles had been damaged or crashed. Of those that were untouched, not all of them had keys. Even if they were to procure another vehicle, they’d lost their entire stock of uncontaminated food and drink.
Dan struggled to keep his composure.
“We’d better get moving,” he said.
Before he could take a step, Sandy stopped him.
“I know where he’s going.”
“Who?”
“Reginald. The man who stole your car.”
“You know him?”
“Yes. He’s one of the survivors I’ve been staying with.”
Dan eyed her with suspicion. “Why didn’t you say something earlier? Why didn’t you yell out to him?”
“I tried, but it all happened so fast. If he’d seen me, I’m sure he wouldn’t have driven off. He probably came looking for me.”
“Do you know where he went?”
“Yes. He would’ve driven back to the lumberyard.”
“Is that where you’ve been staying?”
“Yes.”
“How many of you are there?”
“Ten.”
Sandy looked at him, her eyes tearing up.
“I had no idea Reginald would do this. We all agreed that if we found more survivors, we’d do our best to help them. I can’t believe he stranded us.”
Dan sighed. “I’m not surprised. In fact, I know Reginald pretty well myself.”
He briefed the two of them on Reginald’s background, as well as the man’s run-ins with the law.
“I only met him two days ago,” Sandy said. “He seemed nice enough. This is my fault. If I hadn’t gotten stuck up there—”
“Don’t worry about it, Sandy. We’ll get the car back. The lumberyard is only a twenty-minute walk from here. We’ll just have to be careful.”
He glanced down the street, which was still devoid of movement. Even though the area appeared to be clear, he knew it was far from safe.
Given the noise they’d created—both from their encounter with the creatures and their encounter with Reginald—Dan was certain more things would be right around the corner.
As if on cue, a series of crashes erupted from the adjacent block.
He motioned the girls onward.
“Let’s go. There’s no time to waste.”
8
Meredith stared at the three bodies on the ground in front of her. After Sheila passed, she’d covered them with sheets, placing them next to each other in the barn. It seemed like the decent thing to do.
The last thing she wanted was for the animals to get at them.
In a normal situation—if a situation like this could ever be called normal—she would have left the bodies in place and waited for the police. But the circumstances were far from normal, and her instincts told her help wouldn’t be coming soon.
She wasn’t sure if it would ever come.
Meredith staggered outside into the field, letting the warm sun glance off her face. For a moment, she convinced herself that all of this was imagined, that she was lying in bed, about to awaken.
But each time she glanced back into the barn, the sheets were still there, and so were the people underneath.
Her closest neighbors—Ben, Marcy, and Sheila—were all dead, and Meredith was alone.
She wandered back into Sheila’s house in a daze, her mind still reeling, and stepped through the kitchen and into the living room. On top of an antique-looking table was an equally old-looking television, and she hit the power button and turned it on.
Static.
She hit the channel buttons, flipping from station to station, but came across nothing but black and white fuzz. Gone were the newscasters with their warnings and speculations, gone were the televangelists with their prophecies of doom.
It was as if Meredith was the last person on earth.
She turned off the set and walked back to the phone, once again dialing every number she could think of. The phone rang and rang.
She hung up the receiver, hands trembling. After a few seconds, she wandered over to the window.
Meredith could see the road from here. The asphalt was long, flat, and empty. Not a car going in either direction. If something widespread were happening, wouldn’t she see someone trying to escape? Wouldn’t someone eventually drive by?
The only thing she could think of was that they were all stuck in a situation like her. Either they were infected, or they were being attacked by someone who was.
The thought made her shudder.
Regardless of where everyone was, there must be police somewhere. And even if they were preoccupied, she needed to let them know what had happened.
She glanced over at the front door, which was still hanging open from where Ben had crashed into it. A breeze had begun to blow over the fields, and the door creaked on its broken hinge, swaying back and forth in the gentle air.
She dug out her car key and walked toward it.
The center of town was a few miles away.
Her best option—her only option—was to head to Settler’s Creek and look for help. There were bound to be people there. There had to be. She’d find whomever she could, then locate the police and tell them what happened.
She’d made it halfway across the living room when she paused. If she were going into town, she’d need a weapon.
“The rifle,” she said aloud.
She doubled back outside and to the barn.
The rifle lay right where she had left it, and she picked it up, carrying it with her. She’d only gotten as far as the door when she thought of something. In the time she’d collected the rifle and headed for the door, a name had crossed her mind.
&nbs
p; John Parish.
Of all the phone numbers she’d dialed, his hadn’t been among them.
It’d been six months since they had seen each other, and even longer since they’d spoken. Their breakup hadn’t exactly been on the best of terms.
Still, regardless of what had transpired between them, shouldn’t she at least try to call him?
What if John was there? What if he needed help?
She gripped the rifle in her hands, still wrestling with the idea, and strode toward the pickup. Even under these circumstances, the thought of phoning him had her stomach twisted in knots.
She pictured his chiseled face, his dark hair, the hint of stubble that seemed to be permanently affixed to his cheeks. She’d fallen for him. Hard.
And he’d done nothing but betray her.
She thrust the image of his face from her mind, continuing toward the vehicle. His store was located right on the edge of town, about fifteen minutes away. She’d have to pass by it on the way in. If he were there, she’d stop and make sure he was ok.
But what if he was in trouble now?
Meredith’s stopped mid-stride. Before she knew it, she’d detoured past the truck and ran the front door.
She would dial his number once. Make sure he was all right. He probably wouldn’t answer anyway. Nobody else had.
She snagged the receiver from the wall and punched the numbers by heart; surprised she still remembered them.
How could I forget?
The phone was silent for a minute as it connected.
The dead air felt like an eternity.
Finally, the other line rang, and she could feel her fingers shaking on the hard plastic, her heart thudding in her chest.
Would it be worse if John answered, or worse if he didn’t? What would she say to him?
She pressed the phone to her ear, afraid that she might miss his greeting. The phone rang and rang.
On the sixth ring—just as she was about to hang up—someone answered.
Contamination Box Set [Books 0-7] Page 45
