Contamination Box Set [Books 0-7]

by Piperbrook, T. W.

  The footsteps dulled. Tim had reached the grass. Dan kept crawling, weaving through the field, gaining distance from his attacker. Wet blood trickled down his forehead, and he gasped quietly for breath.

  The knife shook in his hand; his vision was bleary. Police training aside, he was no match for a gun. Not with only a knife, and not in the condition he was in. His only option was to keep moving.

  The footsteps paused. Dan peered behind him, thinking he’d catch a glimpse of Tim, but all he saw was grass. The car door groaned. A moment later, the ignition shut off. Dan resumed crawling.

  Hide…hide…

  He heard nothing behind him, and the silence inspired him to increase his pace. He changed direction several times, hoping to thwart the man, looking for openings between the blades. The rasp of his breathing was loud and unforgiving. He fought to control it.

  Where was Tim?

  Dan stopped crawling and listened. He waited a few seconds, certain he’d hear footsteps, the man breathing—something. But all was quiet.

  He raised himself to a crouch. He held the knife in front of him and inched above the grass, hoping to get a bead on his attacker. The sun beat down from overhead. He could see the car in the distance, but it didn’t look like Tim was in it. From what he could tell, the street was empty.

  Boots crunched the grass.

  When Dan swiveled his head, he was just in time to catch Tim barreling at him from the side.

  They collided. Dan lashed out with the knife, but he was too late; Tim grabbed his arm and pinned it to the ground. With his other hand, Tim pummeled him in the face with the butt end of the gun, and Dan winced in pain. Were it not for the blows he’d suffered earlier, Dan might’ve had a fighting chance. But Tim had taken him by surprise.

  He was already at a disadvantage.

  Tim continued to strike him. Dan clawed at his attacker with his free hand, reaching for the man’s neck, but in his weakened state, he could barely defend himself. Dan was out of breath, out of strength. His head swam.

  “I’m going to enjoy this, Dan. I’m going to enjoy killing you, and then I’m going to enjoy cutting up Quinn and Meredith. I’ve been waiting for this.”

  He caught a glimpse of Tim’s face through the haze. The man was smiling. Tim was still pinning Dan’s knife hand, and Dan struggled to get it free. He needed to do something. If he didn’t, he’d die.

  Conjuring his last bit of strength, Dan threw back an elbow, connecting with the man’s face. Then he pulled his knife hand free. Dan turned and stabbed without aim. Tim stumbled and cried out as the knife penetrated his body. Dan didn’t know where he’d lodged the knife, but he didn’t wait around to find out. He scrambled for the grass.

  The pistol discharged, and a bullet whizzed by his head.

  Dan tumbled into the grass and crawled, throwing himself among the blades. He scrambled forward. He waited for the pain of a bullet, but it never came. He sucked in one shallow breath after another, suppressing the feeling that he was going to die. Tim cried out from somewhere behind him, cursing his name.

  Hurry…

  Dan kept moving, weaving a frantic pattern through the blades. He recalled the house they’d been at. He couldn’t be far. If he could reach it, maybe he could find cover. A weapon. Something.

  He proceeded in what he thought was the right direction, grass whipping at his sore face. His head swam, dizziness threatening to pull him under. But he was making progress. The thin rustle of commotion was getting farther off course, as if Tim had lost track of him. Dan paused and inched his head up, hoping to catch a glimpse of the house he was heading toward. A hundred feet away, he saw the roof of the garage. Tim was nowhere to be found.

  A car engine fired in the distance. The Ford Falcon. Tim must’ve gotten it started. In a flash, it hit him. Tim was no longer behind him, but for a reason.

  He was heading back for Quinn and Meredith.

  Dan struggled to find his footing, but the pain was unbearable. He fell into the grass, his head spinning, and the world pulled him under.

  Dan attempted to open his eyes, but his lids were caked shut. He couldn’t see a thing. The pain hit him at once. His face and ribs burned; his limbs felt like they were stuck to the ground. He groaned. It felt like his body had been through surgery and some sadistic doctor had woken him without medication.

  Only a crazed surgeon wasn’t responsible for this. It was Tim. The man who’d once posed as a friend, the man who’d kill Quinn and Meredith if Dan didn’t stop him. The memories filtered back, as if they’d been poured slowly into a hole in his brain, and they pressured Dan to open his eyes. When he did, the rays of the sun blinded him. He was still in the field. But Tim was gone. He’d driven off in the car.

  Goddammit. No…

  Dan pulled himself to a sitting position. The world was a nauseating mixture of sun and grass, and it spun around him, as if he were the sole attendee of a carnival ride. He forced himself to slow down, balancing his panic with the knowledge that if he moved too quickly, he’d plunge back into unconsciousness.

  After what felt like minutes, he sat upright and peered back through the broken grass. The bent blades looked like a twisted Halloween maze. He remembered crawling on his stomach, trying to get away. He needed to get to the house, to see if there was another vehicle he could take. Meredith and Quinn needed him.

  Even if he had walk on broken legs or shimmy on busted knees, he’d get to them.

  Dan wasn’t sure if anything was broken. He hadn’t gotten that far yet. But he was about to find out. He pushed off the ground to find his footing. The world spun faster. His legs wobbled, but worked. Fighting the overwhelming urge to vomit, he took a few uneasy steps, pawing at the tall grass for support. He fell twice before finding his rhythm, but soon he was making progress, working his way back to the distant driveway.

  When he reached it, he found an empty driveway, an empty garage. No means of transportation. He stared into the distance but saw no other properties. He couldn’t risk continuing. He had to double back to the house with Meredith and Quinn.

  Anger charged through Dan’s body, pushing him to walk faster. He glanced at his waist, taking in his empty holster and the empty place where his knife had been. He was defenseless.

  As he walked, Dan pictured the twisted face of the man who’d attacked him, the smile that’d revealed who Tim really was. Normally Dan was able to discern people’s true nature from a single encounter. After years on the force, he’d acquired a knack for reading people’s character. But Tim had been able to mask his intentions, as if he were a skilled actor playing a role. Dan’s doubts had been swayed by Tim’s earnest attempts to help, by the way Tim had expressed concern for the people around him.

  All of it had been a lie. Dan should’ve known by the precision by with which the man had slaughtered the creature at the barn. His only question was why the man had waited to reveal himself.

  Why hadn’t he attacked Dan earlier? Instead, he’d gotten close to the group.

  Perhaps that had been his game all along.

  Dan staggered from the grass to the road, his legs threatening to spill from under him. He fought a wave of nausea and continued onward. No matter what had happened, one thing was certain: he needed to get to Meredith and Quinn.

  30

  Keller snarled as he drove off down the road. The pain in his injured leg was bordering on agony. He’d already pulled out the blade and wrapped his wound, but the blood seeped through. The knife lay on the seat next to him.

  He was enraged by what had happened but anxious to get back to Meredith and Quinn. He’d already formulated a backup plan. That was one of the reasons he’d survived so long in the new world.

  In a few minutes, he’d reach the house where Meredith and Quinn were staying. He already had a story prepared. He’d tell
them Dan had been injured and they needed to get to him. Then he’d take them somewhere else and kill them.

  He’d tell them about Dan while was torturing them. He’d tell them Dan was dead.

  His new plan sated his anger.

  Dan would live the rest of his life in torment, knowing that he’d failed his family. It wasn’t Tim’s plan of choice, but it was a good one nonetheless.

  After he’d flayed Meredith and Quinn, he’d head in the opposite direction from Abbotsville. He had no desire to find help. Keller was already living out his dreams, and he wasn’t about to let them end.

  31

  Meredith and Quinn were in the upstairs bedroom when they heard a car approaching. Meredith darted for the window.

  She reached it and parted the shade, expecting to see her companions. What she saw made her blood freeze. There was a car in the distance, but it was coming from the opposite direction from where Dan or Tim had gone.

  It wasn’t them.

  The vehicle, a small black sedan, was approaching fast. There were two occupants, but neither fit the profile of the men she knew. What if they slowed down? What if they stopped?

  “It’s not Dan and Tim!” she hissed. “They’re coming from the wrong way.”

  She glanced back at Quinn. The little girl’s eyes were wide, her face ashen. Meredith surveyed the room. On the same wall as the door was a bureau. She considered pushing it in front of the door. But if she were to do that, they’d be trapped. She envisioned the barricades at each of the entrances. Even if they wanted to flee, she’d have to remove them, and without making noise.

  “Hold tight,” she whispered, as much to herself as to Quinn.

  Hopefully the car would pass them by.

  She stared back out the window, her pulse soaring. Just a minute ago, Meredith had been prepared to reunite with her companions and head to Abbotsville. And now she was being forced to hunker and hide.

  The car was about a hundred yards up the road. The vehicle slowed, and her heart jumped. She crouched so she was just at eye-level, the shade barely parted.

  The car weaved to the left shoulder, driving in the wrong lane. The occupants turned their heads as they surveyed the house. The driver adjusted in his seat, and she caught the glint of a gun in his lap. He rolled down the window and jabbed his finger outside.

  Keep going. Keep going.

  The car rolled a few feet farther.

  The car stopped.

  Meredith’s heart knocked in violent rhythm. Ernie sat up on the bed, his ears perked. The sedan purred as the driver idled the engine. The driver’s door opened. A man’s leg swung onto the pavement.

  Dirt-covered jeans. Black boots.

  Meredith watched with growing dread as the man came into view. The man was dark-skinned, with a black T-shirt and the beginnings of a beard. He was wearing a baseball cap. In his hands was a rifle. He spit on the pavement and advanced toward the house, studying the interior. He furrowed his brow.

  Meredith released the shade and ducked. After a few seconds of quiet, she risked another glance. She saw the passenger rummaging through the glove box. After a minute, he emerged and joined his friend. The passenger was a heavyset man in his fifties with shaggy gray hair and a white shirt. He was holding a pistol. The voices of the men echoed off the front of the house. Without the hum of appliances, the property was silent, catching every sound.

  “It looks like the place is empty,” the second man said. His voice was low, with a southern drawl. “I don’t see any cars.”

  That’s right, Meredith thought. Keep moving.

  “No blood and no bodies in the yard.” The fat man shrugged. “That’s a first.”

  “Wouldn’t you rather find someone alive? I’m getting bored. I could use a little fun.” The other man laughed.

  “Dead or alive, I don’t really give a shit. As long as there are supplies.”

  To her dismay, they started toward the house.

  The man in the black T-shirt stared at the windows. Meredith slipped out of sight, letting the shade flatten. She held her breath, as if the extra precaution might affect their decision, as if she could ward off danger. She glanced at Quinn, who was clutching her chest in fear.

  “That last house was empty. Do you think we should bother?” the first man said.

  “Might as well check it out.”

  The words were like a switch, turning Meredith’s anxiety to panic. She swallowed the acidic taste in her mouth. They needed to run out the back door.

  If the men searched the house, there was a good chance they’d be discovered. If they could make it outside, maybe they could hide in the grass.

  “Quinn,” she hissed. “Let’s go.”

  She motioned for Quinn to follow her. Ernie jumped off the bed and ran over, his tail pumping. She grabbed hold of him, hoping to keep him quiet. If he barked…if he made noise…

  She snuck into the hallway, carrying Ernie, Quinn in tow.

  They crept down the stairs, trying not to make a sound. Boots creaked the front porch. One of the men coughed. She heard them trying the door.

  “Locked,” the driver said.

  “I’ll shoot it open,” said the other.

  “Really? Why not just kick it down? Come on, man. Save bullets.”

  “All right, all right…”

  She heard one of the men back up, then the sound of boots stamping across the porch. The ensuing bang made Meredith’s heart skip. Wood splintered and caved. Meredith and Quinn had made it down the stairs, headed for the back door. She hugged Ernie tight, praying he didn’t bark. The footsteps retreated, probably preparing for another kick.

  When they reached the living room, she crept over to Quinn, her heart pounding furiously. “Help me move the barricade,” she whispered.

  The little girl nodded.

  Meredith set down the rifle, but kept hold of Ernie. She lifted the table with one hand, Quinn assisting her. The small kitchen table was light enough to move without noise. They started clearing the chairs.

  Another boot kicked the front door. The man swore from the other side. Meredith worked faster, her pulse racing. The men kicked again. The door was about to give way. There was no time…

  Meredith glanced at the windows in the kitchen, but they were blocked, the shades drawn. There’d be no getting through them, not without making noise. The men kicked the door again.

  “Back upstairs!” Meredith whispered.

  If they couldn’t get out, they’d have to hide. She tugged Quinn’s hand and they darted back up the staircase. They’d just made it to the bedroom when the front door gave way. She heard the wood splinter, then the sound of the men kicking away the pieces. The couch slid across the hardwood. Meredith motioned for the closet. She slid the door open, praying the tracks didn’t squeak. They didn’t. Meredith ducked inside with Ernie, shushing him. Then she closed the door, pitching them into darkness.

  The men were in the house. She heard them climbing over the couch, scuffing the floor with their boots.

  “Anyone home?” One of the men snickered.

  “It looks like someone was here recently.”

  “I’ll check upstairs. You check down here.”

  Footsteps creaked the floor, then the stairs; a procession that could only end in death. Meredith clung to Ernie and Quinn, praying silently, aiming the rifle at the closet door. As soon as it opened, she’d fire. The stairs groaned under the weight of a man’s feet, getting closer. The man had reached the bedroom. She heard the hiss of his breath, the subtle creak of the floorboards adjusting. Just a few steps and he’d find them. Just a few steps and…

  A car engine sounded in the distance.

  “You hear that, Marty?” the man in the room asked.

  Meredith froze. The footstep
s retreated, making their way back down the stairs and outside. She sucked in a breath, surprised she could still breathe at all, and rolled open the closet door. She hissed for Quinn to stay put, and then crept over to the window and glanced outside. Another car was on the horizon.

  Was it Dan and Tim?

  This one was coming from the right direction. The men ran out into the street and raised their rifles, aiming at the approaching vehicle.

  32

  Dan struggled as he walked down the road, trying to get back to Quinn and Meredith. The pain in his head had become overbearing, and he fell to his knees and vomited. The bile burned his throat, adding to the dizziness that threatened to pull him under.

  He couldn’t give up. Not here. Not now. He still had a ways to go to get to Meredith and Quinn. Their faces appeared through the haze, like spectral guides coaxing him onward. He glanced behind him, but he’d already lost sight of the house. He was making progress, as slow and excruciating as it was.

  The images of his daughter and sister-in-law pushed him back to standing. He walked several more paces. His eyes narrowed and came into focus, then fixated on a sign a hundred yards ahead. In order to make progress, he’d set goals. He clambered toward the diagonal white sign. There was nothing else in sight. His only companions were the dense golden fields that surrounded either side of the road, and the bright, blinding sun that seemed more foe than friend.

  He flicked his gaze to the road, hoping to find a weapon he could use when he got to the house. He ignored the fact that he could barely walk, let alone carry it.

  The country road was barren. No cars, bodies, or debris. For a moment, he considered the idea that he’d dreamt the events of the past week, or that he was dreaming now. Either would be preferable to this. He envisioned waking up at his house in St. Matthews, Julie nestled under his arm. It was a scenario he’d give anything to relive.