Contamination Box Set [Books 0-7]

by Piperbrook, T. W.

  “Maybe,” Sandy said. She watched him. “How much gas do we have?”

  Simon read the fuel gauge. “We’re almost empty.”

  Sandy swallowed. They’d been meaning to get more gas on the next trip to town. “We’ll look for a place to stop,” she called over the backseat to Marcia. “Maybe we’ll find something to help Hector. But first we should get far away from the lumberyard.”

  The moon cast beams of light through the sparse trees around them as they kept driving. Small, one-story commercial buildings appeared on the roadside, their windows smashed by looters, creatures, or both. Sandy kept an eye on the mountains in the distance that served as a border around the town. She’d always loved the views in St. Matthews, but now the entire town felt foreign and strange, as if she’d warped into some nightmarish reality. She wondered whether she’d spend the rest of her days with the creatures a step behind.

  What if Simon was right, and they were truly the last ones left?

  Fleeting shadows ran through the trees. Every so often, a guttural screech emanated from the darkness. The broken driver’s side window reinforced a feeling of danger. Sandy hoped they wouldn’t run into Reginald on the road. The truck might as well be a bullhorn, echoing in the night. Anyone around would hear them.

  “Do you think Reginald caught up with Dan and Quinn?” she asked Simon.

  Simon shifted in his seat. He grimaced. “I hope not, for their sake.”

  Sandy watched Simon. What she wanted to say, but didn’t dare, was that she still wasn’t sure if she could trust him, either, after what he’d done at the lumberyard. But for now, she’d keep that to herself.

  He’s the only one with a gun.

  8

  Reginald, Billy, and Tom had driven far enough from the lumberyard that the commercial area had segued to the center of town. Several times, Reginald turned down cross streets and tore through alleyways, certain he’d find the station wagon. Each time he was angered to find only bodies, cars, and wreckage.

  “Maybe we should get back to the lumberyard,” Tom suggested. “The cop and his daughter are probably already dead.”

  “They’re not,” Reginald snapped, unwilling to believe otherwise. “We’ll find them.”

  “Our supplies are back there,” Billy said, cranking a thumb over his shoulder.

  “We’re not turning around yet,” Reginald said, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Maybe in a while, but not yet.”

  He watched the buildings around him, envisioning the station wagon in each parking lot. He crooked his head as he turned down a corner, certain he’d find what he was looking for.

  Where was the station wagon?

  At any moment it’d materialize. At any moment, it’d—

  Reginald took a quick turn, screeching the tires. The car jolted as he ran over a tipped garbage can. He looked in the rearview and saw it rolling away.

  “Dammit.”

  “What are you doing?” Billy asked.

  “I saw lights ahead,” Reginald said, his mind spitting thoughts faster than he could process them. Or maybe he was just thinking more clearly than the others.

  “Are you sure?” Billy asked, leaning forward and bracing his arms against the dashboard.

  Reginald increased speed as the road straightened and the headlights revealed a slew of sideways automobiles. He weaved around them, narrowly missing them, looking for the twin beams he’d seen. Where was Dan? Was it someone else? Dark shapes flitted by the Buick as they passed a slew of telephone poles. He doubted someone else would be driving in the same area, at the same time. In the past few days, they hadn’t seen many survivors.

  He scrutinized every object, searching for the station wagon. His eyes were sharp and focused as he pushed the vehicle faster. Whoever it was, he’d catch up to them.

  9

  “I see a gas station up ahead,” Sandy noted, pointing.

  Simon tapped the brakes as they approached an eerily deserted parking lot. A dark, square building sat in the middle. The moon illuminated several shadowed gas pumps, the boxes and hoses resembling mythical creatures coiled in slumber. Sandy saw no cars, as if the employees had known what was coming and had closed down. The more likely scenario was that they’d gone for help and never found it.

  “It looks deserted,” Simon agreed.

  “Maybe we can find fuel, or something for Hector,” Sandy said. “But we better make it quick. It’s not safe out here with Reginald driving around. Or with those things everywhere.”

  Simon hesitated a moment. “The power won’t be on. We’ll have to find a can.”

  Sandy nodded, familiar with the routine.

  Simon pulled into the parking lot. The headlights illuminated the building’s windows, revealing several broken ones. Other than that, there didn’t appear to be much evidence of looting. Sandy looked around. The nearest buildings were a few hundred feet away. She didn’t see any of the creatures. Maybe they’d have a stroke of luck and get in and out safely.

  Simon pulled to a stop and let the car idle. He looked at Sandy.

  “Are you coming?” he asked.

  She hesitated, recalling how he’d held a gun on her. They’d gotten along fine on previous supply runs, but things had changed.

  “I know you don’t trust me. But if we don’t get some gas and get away from here, Reginald will find us,” Simon said.

  She turned to the backseat and asked Marcia, “Will you be all right here?”

  Marcia nodded. “Sure. Be careful.”

  Sandy didn’t have to ask to know the double meaning behind that statement.

  She swallowed and exited the vehicle.

  Sandy crept alongside Simon as they walked toward the gas station. She clutched her knife in a sweaty hand. Looking back at the truck, she saw the silhouettes of Marcia, Hector, and Anabel, watching.

  “I hope they’ll be all right,” Sandy whispered.

  “They’ll be fine. We just have to make it quick.”

  She followed Simon toward the gas station’s entrance. He shone the light on the gas station’s broken windows, revealing fractured glass and an interior filled with scattered merchandise. She hoped the people who had raided the store were gone, and that they’d left behind something useful.

  The front door was locked, but they found a broken window large enough to climb through.

  Sandy quelled the sound of her footsteps on broken glass as she tiptoed inside. She immediately went to the door and unlocked it. That would be a safer way to escape. She listened for scuttling sounds warning them they weren’t alone. The air was quiet and still. Sandy recalled a birthday she’d had when her parents had surprised her. They’d taken her out to the store, and when they’d gotten back, her family and friends had been ready to spring out and sing to her. Birthdays like that had ended after her parents had died.

  Maybe if we hadn’t moved from Chicago to St. Matthews, Ben would still be alive.

  Sandy repressed the thought. For all she knew, Chicago was just as devastated as St. Matthews.

  Having determined that the store was empty, Simon investigated a tipped shelf full of medicine, pointing it out to Sandy.

  “Pain relievers,” he whispered.

  Sandy pocketed several bottles of ibuprofen. She also found some gauze and alcohol, and she carried them with her. Sandy and Simon searched the rest of the store, finding little they could use except another flashlight and some batteries. The food and drinks were tempting, but dangerous. Who knew what was contaminated?

  “I don’t see any gas cans in here,” Simon hissed. “They’ve probably already been taken. Let’s check the storage room.”

  Sandy nodded and followed. They walked over torn packages of food and scattered drinks until they reached an open door in the back that looked like it had be
en kicked down. The door hung on one hinge; the middle was dented with a mark the size of a man’s boot.

  Walking through, Sandy found herself in a backroom nearly the size of the store. A familiar, fetid odor reached her nose as she surveyed several rows of merchandise. Her heart beat faster as she looked for the source, but couldn’t find it.

  “Be careful,” Simon warned.

  She held her breath as they snuck down the first aisle, exploring the shelves and floor, looking for gasoline. On each shelf she saw only items they couldn’t use: open soda cans, packages of food that had been ripped open by looters or brave, scavenging animals.

  Walking ahead of Sandy, Simon led the way and shone the flashlight down the next aisle. An exclamation from him made her jump. She held up her knife. Sandy was certain she’d find a hissing, bloodthirsty creature. Instead she found Simon gaping at something.

  “Jesus,” he muttered, pointing at the end of the aisle.

  In between two shelves full of food, a gas station attendant laid motionless, legs splayed out in front of him, his uniform shirt smeared in blood, his face half-chewed off. Sandy gagged. She’d seen plenty of bodies in similar conditions while in St. Matthews center, but it never dulled the shock.

  “Looks like he was planning a getaway,” Simon said.

  He moved his light from the dead body to a tipped can of gasoline and a backpack stuffed with scavenged supplies. He reached for the gas can.

  Most was spilled and puddled on the floor, but there was still some inside. Simon righted the container with caution, as if the already-rotting corpse might come alive and accuse him of stealing. Then he rifled through the bag, finding only toiletries and food they couldn’t trust.

  “I didn’t see any cars outside.”

  “Me, neither. Maybe his vehicle was stolen.”

  “Either way, this gas can will do us more good than it’ll do him.”

  Exiting the store, Sandy looked for the shadows of her companions in the truck’s backseat. She was relieved to see Hector, Marcia, and Anabel craning their heads in anticipation of their return. She breathed an anxious sigh. The parking lot was as desolate as when they’d left it.

  Simon used the gas can to replenish the truck while Sandy stood next to him. A guttural cry in the distance made her tense. She looked around, but couldn’t see the creature stalking them.

  “We’re lucky to have gotten in and out,” Simon said. “Now let’s get the hell out of here.”

  10

  “Over there!” Billy cried to Reginald.

  Reginald clenched the wheel as headlights appeared in the distance. He knew he hadn’t been mistaken.

  He watched a car swerve down a street in the distance, knocking aside debris and trying to get away. Dan was probably inside, and scared. He should be. Reginald stomped the gas, narrowly missing one of the infected. The creature stumbled backward and stared after them as it disappeared into the night.

  Billy and Tom shifted nervously in their seats, aiming their rifles out the windows. Reaching the place where he’d last seen the vehicle, Reginald mimicked the vehicle’s turn, throwing on his high beams. He didn’t care if Dan knew he was coming.

  Dan couldn’t stop him now.

  They entered a dense street filled with shops and two and three-story buildings. Reginald squinted as he determined their location. Having lived in St. Matthews most of his life, he was familiar with the roads, but the absence of power threw off his sense of direction. Old landmarks were covered up or destroyed. Rubbish and debris filled streets normally filled with people and traffic. He took several turns and narrowed the gap with the distant vehicle.

  A few blocks away, several broken-down, abandoned vehicles cluttered the street. The other driver was forced to hit the brakes. After weaving in and out of a few of them, the street became impassable and the driver stopped.

  “Here we go!” Reginald yelled to the others. “We got ‘em!”

  Reginald weaved dangerously around a downed bicycle and a broken television, blocking the other car. Bright taillights illuminated the trunk. Reginald frowned.

  It wasn’t a station wagon. It was a red sedan.

  Had Dan and Quinn changed vehicles? He didn’t see how, or when, but it was possible. Perhaps they meant to throw him off. Before Reginald could make sense of the situation, two people rushed from the vehicle in a crouch, heading into a nearby building. Reginald squinted, trying to make them out in the dark. He parked the Buick and threw open the door.

  To Tom and Billy, he said, “Let’s go!”

  “It doesn’t look like them!” Tom protested.

  “Let’s go!” Reginald repeated.

  He jumped from the vehicle and surveyed the interior of the sedan. A warning bell announced the door was ajar. The interior lights blazed, revealing an empty vehicle. Reginald reached over and shut the door, silencing the annoying noise. He looked at the building. The people had run inside an old-fashioned restaurant with two stories, a front porch containing tipped, broken tables and chairs, and smashed windows.

  Reginald stalked from the road to the porch, his men behind him. The front door hung on one hinge. From somewhere inside, footsteps clapped up a flight of stairs. Reginald moved at a crouch, pistol pointed, knowing better than to run into an ambush.

  “Stay low and watch out,” he warned Billy and Tom.

  He looked around the debris-ridden street, verifying that none of the creatures were close by, then walked from the sidewalk to the porch, stepping around smashed plates and silverware. He signaled Billy and Tom to flank the front door.

  The building’s interior was pitch black. He heard people panting and running, then a crash as someone knocked into something. A panicked cry echoed through the building.

  I’ve got them now.

  If Dan and Quinn had weapons, they’d have warned him to stay back, not run in fear. Reginald smiled. He pulled a flashlight from his pants and flicked it on. He shone it inside the restaurant, revealing a large dining room that had probably once been eloquent, but was now trashed and littered with furniture. The air reeked of rotten food that had been prepared and left out to fester. Several bodies were sprawled on the floor, half-eaten and obviously dead. A balcony overlooked the enormous dining room, extending around the perimeter of the upper floor. He shone his light up at the railing, catching sight of a face.

  “Upstairs!” he hissed.

  The face disappeared and the footsteps continued.

  Reginald’s mirth turned to anger. Dan and Quinn had outwitted him; they’d gotten away. Not only had they escaped, but they were taunting him, leading him on a chase to avoid retribution. He let that anger drive him as he rushed into the building with Billy and Tom, angling his flashlight up the stairs. He snuck up them quietly, keeping low as he and his men hustled up to the second floor. Reginald had the advantage. Dan and Quinn were running in the dark, but he had a light, and he had them outgunned.

  Reaching the second floor, Reginald hesitated. More tables and chairs were scattered everywhere. The railing was broken away in several places where people had fought with the creatures and failed. Reginald saw several open doorways along the outskirts of the floor. The footsteps had ceased. Wherever Dan and Quinn were hiding, he’d uncover them.

  He’d check every goddamned room.

  He moved to the first door, shone his light in, and motioned for Billy and Tom to aim their rifles. The room was filled with supplies—folded tablecloths and napkins on shelves. They moved on to a second doorway, looking into a small, secluded dining room with several chewed, decaying bodies. Nothing.

  Reginald swung his pistol into the third room, a similar layout as the second, with knocked over furniture. A breeze kicked up from outside, blowing through the smashed out windows, kicking up curtains. There were no closets or doors. He saw nothing behi
nd the tipped, battered furniture. He was about to leave when he spotted an overturned table in the corner. Unlike the rest of the room, this appeared to be purposefully positioned. Signaling Billy and Tom, Reginald shone his light on the table. Then he slowly backed away.

  He took cover behind the doorway.

  He hissed, “Got you now, you fuckers.”

  The room went artificially still.

  Someone was here. He could feel it.

  “Come out now, and I’ll spare Quinn.”

  Reginald was lying, of course. He had no intention of keeping his word. He watched intently for movement, ready to fire at the first sign of a weapon. He’d prefer to take Dan alive, but he’d do what he had to. He was about to speak again when a man with dark hair stepped slowly from behind the table, holding up a broken table leg, surrendering. The man’s eyes flitted nervously around the room as he watched the doorway. Reginald made the surprise determination that it wasn’t Dan.

  “Please,” the man pleaded. “It’s just my girlfriend and I. We were looking for help. We saw someone chasing us.”

  A female voice echoed from behind the table. “Don’t shoot! We don’t mean any harm!”

  A pulse of anger ran through Reginald. These people weren’t Dan. They’d wasted his time. They’d distracted him enough that he’d lost whatever lead he had. He looked back at Billy and Tom, who watched him with confused expressions.

  Reginald fired at the dark-haired man, catching him in the stomach. The man dropped to his knees, blood leaking from his gut as the broken table leg clattered to the floor. His lips quivered in surprise. He looked at Reginald with a combination of shock and terror, clasping his hands over the fresh wound. Reginald felt a strange feeling of elation.

  He shone the light on the bleeding, begging man.