John also told her about life in Detroit. He’d said that he’d lived there his whole life, but he’d always hated the city. When he was twenty-two, he’d taken a bicycle across the country by himself, taking in the sights and sounds of all the states he’d never seen. And though he’d appreciated the coasts, he’d always had a soft spot for the Midwest.
Meredith had told him all about her childhood on the farm—how she’d inherited it from her parents when they passed away, how she’d been working there ever since. She’d always wanted to travel, she’d said, but she hadn’t had the chance.
“Maybe we could travel together someday,” John had said.
The two had laughed at the thought. A few moments later they’d kissed.
They’d been inseparable after that. When she wasn’t running the farm, Meredith would visit John at the furniture shop, and when he wasn’t building furniture, John was helping Meredith in the fields.
Despite their budding relationship, there’d been no talk of anything further. Each remained in their respective homes, living in tandem, enjoying the time they were spending together.
The people in town had been happy for them. Meredith’s friends had only kind words to say about John, and she’d found herself happier than she’d been in a while.
Until six months ago when everything changed.
Meredith had been visiting John at the furniture shop when it happened. Per her usual routine, she’d brought him a late breakfast of fresh-cooked eggs and toast. She’d always enjoyed seeing him in the late morning—Meredith was an early riser. After taking care of her harvesting before sunrise, by eleven o’clock she was ready for a break. And though the meals she brought John were often cold, he’d never complained.
On that day, John had been working on a custom rocking chair for Mrs. Ashby, one of the elder residents of the town. Upon seeing Meredith, he’d stopped what he was doing and joined her in the shop, happily devouring his breakfast.
They’d been talking about a movie when someone walked in behind them. Meredith had been facing the back wall; John had been facing the entrance. Although Meredith hadn’t seen the woman at first, she’d seen the expression change on John’s face.
His mouth had hung open, and he’d dropped his plate on the floor.
“Hello, Eve,” he’d said.
Meredith had swiveled in her chair, suddenly facing a woman with straight, dark hair and pursed lips. The woman was wearing a stylish black blouse, a gray skirt, and carried a designer purse. She didn’t look like anyone Meredith recognized.
“Who’s this?” Meredith had asked.
Both John and the woman had stared at her. After a few seconds, John had answered, his face beet red.
“This is my wife.”
11
After storming out of the furniture shop, Meredith had jumped into her pickup and peeled out of the parking lot. Tears had been streaming down her face; a pit had taken root in her stomach.
John had lied to her. In the months she’d known him, he’d never mentioned having a wife. Even when he talked about Detroit, he’d never alluded to the fact that he was married, or even that he’d been dating.
It was as if he’d carefully omitted that detail, hoping that Meredith would never find out. The thought had made her sick. What else had he lied about? Was John even his real name?
Regardless of who John was or what else he’d lied about, Meredith had vowed one thing: she’d never talk to John Parish again.
Over the next few weeks John had called her repeatedly, even stopping by her house several times. Each time she’d refused to speak with him.
Eventually he’d left a letter in the mailbox.
According to the letter, John had been separated from his wife for over a year, and until recently, he’d had no idea where she was or what she was doing. He said he’d wanted to tell Meredith, but was afraid of how she’d react.
Meredith didn’t know what to believe. Even if the letter was true, John had destroyed her trust, and to her, trust was everything. He should’ve told her the truth from the beginning. He shouldn’t have lied.
Weeks passed, and after a while, John stopped trying to contact her. Even still, Meredith had gone out of her way to avoid the furniture shop, taking a detour of several miles so as not to see him when she went into town.
Despite her anger, she’d never mentioned anything to her friends or neighbors. She’d always believed in privacy, and her love life was her business. Besides, Meredith was ashamed. She’d been lied to and deceived, and she was deeply hurt and embarrassed.
As the months wore on, Meredith began to move forward. She resumed her normal route to town, and though she tried not to look over, she still saw John’s blue truck in the gravel lot. Occasionally she’d even catch a glimpse of him through the open front doors, arranging his wares or working on his latest piece of furniture.
But she’d never stopped. Not even once.
Now, as she drove down the rural road, she realized all that was about to change. The world was a different place, and John was in trouble.
No matter what he had done to her, he needed help. And that took precedence over anything that might’ve happened between them.
Meredith sank the gas pedal to the floor, propelling her pickup faster than she’d driven in years. Fields whipped past her, and the road hummed beneath her tires. If she didn’t reach John soon, she might not make it in time to help him.
She might be too late already.
Back at Sheila’s house, she’d gotten a taste of what she was up against, but that was nothing compared to what she assumed was out there. It’d been difficult enough fighting for her life against Ben and Marcy; she couldn’t imagine it getting any worse.
The furniture shop was only a few miles away. Before she knew it, she’d rounded the last curve that stood between her and the building. She could see the building on the horizon now—a square, wooden structure that dotted the landscape. From here, everything looked just as she remembered it. She could even decipher the outline of John’s blue pickup in front of the store.
Please God let him be all right.
She repeated the words in her head, her stomach turned upside down with nerves.
When she got closer, her heart began to hammer. There was movement outside the building. Too much movement. She squinted her eyes and lowered the visor, hoping what she was seeing wasn’t real. At the same time, she knew that it was.
The furniture shop was surrounded by a mob of people.
About thirty people—infected people—crowded the walls, banging and kicking to get inside. Hands and limbs flailed, and bodies toppled over one another. Above it all, a chorus of moans and hisses wafted into the air, sending needles of fear through Meredith’s body.
She weaved to a stop in front of the building, leaving a thirty-foot buffer zone between the vehicle and the horde, and fumbled for the rifle. When she had it in her hands, she reached for the door handle. Then she stopped short.
What was she planning to do? With that many of the infected, her weapon was as good as useless. She only had a few rounds left, at best—certainly not enough to combat all of them.
She leaned her head out the window and screamed.
“John! Are you in there? Yell back so I can hear you!”
She paused, giving him a chance to respond. The noise from the infected increased in volume, and several of them turned to face her. She saw several feet starting to trudge toward her, and she transitioned her foot from the brake to the gas.
“John!”
There was still no sign of the man, and no response.
A handful of the creatures were running in her direction now, and she stomped the gas, kicking up gravel behind her. The truck rolled across the loose stone; the infected grew closer.
&
nbsp; Maybe if I can lure them away…
She flung the rifle on the seat and hit her horn. Once. Twice. Three times.
More of the infected peeled themselves from the walls of the furniture shop, joining the others in pursuit of the pickup. She hit the horn again, but this time she held it down, the tone blaring into the air and drowning out the sounds of the creatures.
The forerunners of the group were within feet of the vehicle, and she hit the gas and sped back toward the road, keeping one step ahead of them. The things faltered and fell as they lunged for the bed of the vehicle.
“Come on!” she screamed as she diverted them from the building.
She stared in the rearview at the furniture shop, but there was still no indication that John had heard her, or even that he was alive. Almost all of the creatures had fled the structure.
Having successfully gained their attention, she toggled the gas and brake, leading them step-by-step away from the premises and back into the road.
As she watched them in the mirrors, Meredith realized that she recognized many of the faces. Jerry Winsted. Harold Coleman. Mary Beth Cooper.
All of them were snarling and red-eyed, mouths agape. She glanced back at the rifle. Even if she had enough bullets, could she really shoot these people? She didn’t think so. A tear slid down her cheek.
Everything seemed so unreal. How could this have happened so fast? And how had she escaped it? Was John one of them already?
The pickup hit the pavement, entering the main road. The creatures—all of her former friends and acquaintances—were still in tow.
Meredith glued her eyes to the lone, deserted building behind her, waiting for a sign that the man she loved was still alive.
But there was nothing.
“I’m sorry, John,” she whispered.
All intentions aside, she must’ve gotten there too late. Maybe there’d never been time at all.
A second later, just as she’d given up, she saw something in the driver’s side mirror.
The door of the furniture shop had opened to a crack, exposing a bloodied hand, and a man’s voice was screaming her name.
12
Dan crashed the Buick through a café window, shattering the glass and sending shards of debris over the hood of the vehicle.
“Get down!” he yelled to the two frightened girls in the backseat.
As soon as the vehicle came to a stop—the front half wedged in the store’s entrance, the rear exposed on the sidewalk—he flicked on the headlights, brightening the store’s interior, and opened the driver’s side door.
Dan glanced over the seat behind him. Sandy and Quinn were huddled together, their lips quivering. Through the rear window he saw a flurry of hands pawing at the vehicle.
“Climb over the seat! Hurry!”
He reached out and grabbed the girls, one at a time, helping them over. Then he ushered them through the open front door and got out himself. He withdrew his pistol. Several of the creatures had made their way to the side of the vehicle, and he squeezed off a few suppressive shots, knocking them back.
“Run!” he shouted.
Sandy and Quinn took off to the back of the store. After firing a few more rounds, he followed suit.
Dan weaved through a maze of chairs and tables, doing his best to ignore the groans and shuffles of the creatures behind him. He glued his eyes on a door in back. If they could reach it, they’d have a chance at escape.
His daughter made it to the door first. She tried the handle, and to his relief, the door swung open. She and Sandy raced into the darkness beyond.
Dan was right on their tail; a second later he was through the doorway. He slammed the door and fumbled for the lock. Without power, the room was pitch black, and he slid his hands frantically around the door’s surface while bodies slammed the other side.
Finally he found a bolt at the top and slid it into place.
He turned to locate the girls, but could see nothing in the darkness.
“Quinn? Sandy?” he hissed.
He felt a hand tap his arm, and he jumped before realizing it was his daughter.
“I can’t see anything, Dad. I’m scared.”
The pounding on the door had increased in volume, and he could barely hear her whispered words.
“It’ll be ok, honey. We just need to find the back entrance.”
He took hold of her hand and led her deeper into the darkness, holding out his pistol at arms length. From the other side, he felt Sandy take hold of his arm.
He bumped something with his waist, and he grabbed onto it, determining that it was a shelf. He slid his hands along the smooth edge and followed it toward what he hoped was the back of the store.
Sweat poured down his face in droves. In the enclosed space they were in, the air was thick and humid. The stench of rotting food clogged his nostrils, and he held his breath to avoid the smell.
When they reached the end of the shelf, he struggled for balance, his feet crunching unseen objects. Finally his hand hit a wall, and he felt around it until he located the outline of a door.
He was still searching for the handle when the door behind them crashed inwards. Light flooded the room, and when he looked back, he saw a tangle of bodies plowing toward them.
“Let’s go!” he shouted to the girls.
He found the handle and threw the door open.
A second later they were in the open air, the sun shining down upon them as they raced across an empty parking lot.
Quinn still clenched his hand, but Sandy had taken the lead, sprinting several steps ahead of them.
“Sandy!” he shouted. “What’re you doing?”
The girl forged ahead as though she hadn’t heard him, her shoes slapping the pavement. He yelled for her again. Finally she glanced back.
“Follow me!” she cried.
Dan felt Quinn’s hand slipping from his fingers. Despite his attempts to pull her onward, she was having trouble keeping up. A crash erupted from behind them.
The creatures had made it outside.
He kept his eyes glued to Sandy, watching her hurdle a distant curb. Beyond it was a brick building with four metal exit doors. Dan recognized the rear entrances to a small shopping center. The girl was heading right for them.
To his surprise, rather than aiming at one of the doors, she was heading in the direction of a green metal dumpster. The top was open and folded to the side.
If the girl were to hurl herself inside, she’d immediately be trapped.
“Sandy—no!” he shouted.
Behind them, the things were narrowing the gap. Footsteps drummed the asphalt; hungry cries escaped into the air. Every few seconds Dan heard the crash of the door they’d left through, repeatedly pounding the wall as a new surge of creatures passed through it.
He had no idea how many of the things were in pursuit, but judging by the noise alone, it sounded like an army.
Sandy had reached the dumpster. Dan watched in dismay as she vaulted up the side, clung to the edge, and then pulled herself up and over.
He risked a glance over his shoulder. The road behind them was a stampede of bodies. A few of the creatures had set their sights on the dumpster.
“Sandy! Get out of there!”
He screamed the girl’s name, but she didn’t respond.
Dan was starting to outpace Quinn. He could feel her lagging behind, stretching his arm like a piece of rope. For a split second he wished he could carry her, but even if they had time to pull off the maneuver, he doubted they’d move any faster.
The dumpster was only twenty feet away. He had a decision to make.
He could either go after Sandy, risking the lives of him and his daughter, or he could search for an alternate place to hide.
He surveyed the remainder of the parking lot. There were two other buildings, one on either side of the building they were running toward. Both had alleyways in between. Their best bet was to slip down one of the alleys. Hopefully they could lose some of the creatures; perhaps they’d even find a better place to hide.
The thought of abandoning Sandy made him sick, but what choice did they have?
Maybe by going in the opposite direction, they could lure some of the things away from her. Without warning, Sandy’s head appeared over the top of the dumpster.
“Dan! This way!” she screamed. “I know a way in!”
At the last second Dan changed course. He veered toward the dumpster, pulling his daughter ahead of him, and lifted her up the side. Sandy was waiting at the top, and she grabbed Quinn’s hands and hoisted her over. With his daughter in safely, Dan leapt up and grabbed the side, pushing with his forearms.
Fingers groped at his pant legs, and he fell slightly. The first wave of creatures had caught up, and the air behind him was filled with hisses and wails. He kicked the air, but each time he freed himself his legs hit another snag.
“Daddy! Grab my hands!”
Quinn and Sandy had stationed themselves at the top, tugging on his arms and shirt to facilitate the climb. Dan kicked the outside of the dumpster, found purchase, and pitched himself over the top.
He landed face-first in a pile of spilled garbage. The smell permeated his nose and lungs, and he coughed and spat.
“Over here!” Sandy shouted, beckoning to the other side of the dumpster.
Dan clambered to his feet. On the interior wall was a sliding plastic door, and the girl had opened it to reveal a dark hole beyond. She slid through the opening and disappeared inside.
Contamination Box Set [Books 0-7] Page 47
