Contamination Box Set [Books 0-7]

by Piperbrook, T. W.

  “I’m done with the bullshit. You took my shit, traitor,” he said, giving no room for argument. “You found what I had in the lumberyard, and you took it. I’m going to give you one chance to tell me where it is, and then I’m going to shoot you. And then I’ll shoot each one of you until someone answers.”

  Simon remained quiet. Sandy watched Simon’s expression as he stood next to her. The look of fear and uncertainty in his eyes showed that he was just as clueless as the rest of them. He opened his mouth, preparing what might be the last response of his life.

  Something moved behind Reginald.

  It was Donna.

  35

  Donna bashed into Reginald’s legs with a feral rage, sending him off balance enough to make him let go of his rifle. Anabel screamed and scurried away. Donna bit Reginald’s leg as he fought to stay upright.

  “Let go of me, you bitch!”

  Donna hung on. Reginald raised his pistol, trying to shoot her, but she clawed his arms, batting it away. At the same time, Sandy dove for Reginald’s dropped rifle while Simon jumped at Reginald. Suddenly Donna was crawling away, and Simon was fighting for the pistol.

  “Get Anabel in the RV!” Sandy yelled at Hector and Marcia.

  They raced for the RV, ushering their daughter to safety. The pistol swung wildly in all directions as Simon and Reginald fought for it. Sandy tried aiming the rifle at Reginald, but couldn’t get off a shot in the commotion.

  The pistol discharged. Birds took flight in the forest as a bullet screamed through the trees. Sandy repeatedly tried to get close, but each time, a swinging arm blocked her from intercepting. Blood ran from Reginald’s nose as he fought and kicked. Simon grunted as he tried to overpower him. The gun went off again. Suddenly Simon and Reginald were on the ground, fighting. Sandy spun to check on Donna. She was no longer crawling.

  One of the bullets had struck her in the side of the head. Blood puddled from a bullet wound, and she lay perfectly still on her stomach.

  “No!” Sandy screamed, racing over to the woman.

  Donna was motionless, her mouth open in a surprised grimace of death. Sandy spun and pointed the rifle at the battling men, her body coursing with adrenaline and fear. It looked like Simon had gotten the upper hand. He pinned one of Reginald’s arms—the one with the pistol—above his head, and he pummeled him in the face. Reginald cried out and spat blood. Simon ripped the gun free. Reginald made one last lunge, taking Simon by surprise and knocking it from his hands. The pistol skittered underneath the RV.

  And then Reginald was on his feet and running.

  Simon screamed his name, chasing him into the woods.

  “Simon! Where are you going?” Sandy yelled after him.

  “He has the keys!” Simon called as he pursued Reginald.

  Before she could make a decision as to whether to follow, they disappeared into the thick brush. Commotion drew Sandy’s attention to the forest in the opposite direction. A group of four creatures had emerged, sprinting toward the RV.

  Sandy’s heart pounded as she aimed the rifle, hoping to cut some of them off. She fired. Her aim was good enough to wound one of them, and it toppled sideways. She fired several more times, catching another in the chest, causing it to fall on its face. Two others charged, swiping the air as they anticipated consuming her. Sandy managed to hit another in the head before the remaining creature was too close to shoot. She swung the butt of the rifle, bashing it in the face as it approached, cracking out a few of its already-chipped teeth. The creature snarled and fell to one knee. She struck it again, knocking it to the ground, then hovered over it and finished it off with a blow to the skull.

  She ran over to the wounded creatures, yanking out her knife and finishing them off. Looking up, she saw more creatures emerging from the forest.

  “Simon!” she yelled at the empty forest.

  There was no sign of the fleeing men.

  More hisses forced her to spin and assess the situation. The creatures were flooding from all directions, drawn by the noise. She looked at the RV, envisioning Hector, Marcia, and Anabel inside, alone and unarmed. Making a decision, Sandy ran to the minivan to collect the weapons Reginald had stashed there. She hoped she had enough time.

  She ripped open the door, grabbing what she could before panic made her run. She’d managed to get another pistol and a rifle, adding to the one rifle she had. She left one rifle behind. The creatures were too close to delay any longer.

  Sandy sprinted past Donna’s lifeless body. There was no time to mourn.

  Soon she was pounding on the RV door, screaming Hector, Marcia, and Anabel’s names as they let her inside.

  36

  As the trees thickened, Simon questioned what he was doing. The adrenaline and the commotion—and the fact that Reginald had the keys—had prompted him to run after him, but now he questioned that judgment. Groans emanated from the forest. The creatures were everywhere. The keys to the minivan would be useless without the means to get the others inside and drive it.

  He turned, thinking of heading back, when he caught sight of a creature in a tattered jacket, coming swiftly in his direction. He spun and kept running. Reginald stumbled through the trees, glancing over his shoulder at Simon. His face was lined with sweat and blood. Simon recalled what he’d seen before taking off after Reginald. Donna had been shot in the struggle. It looked like she was dead. That knowledge gave Simon a surge of anger. He let that drive him as he kept moving.

  Even though his lungs were burning, Simon was in decent shape. In Tucson, he’d worked construction, and although the gigs had been sporadic, he’d kept himself active. He increased pace and narrowed the gap with Reginald. Looking behind him, he noticed he’d lost the creature. He gritted his teeth and pushed on.

  Rounding a tree, he saw Reginald slowing down in the distance. Reginald was hovering next to a thick tree trunk for balance, looking back at Simon, a frightened expression in his eyes. For a moment, Simon thought that Reginald was going to give up. Or maybe he’s planning something. Simon patted his pockets. Reginald had taken their guns, but he hadn’t noticed their knives. That fact might help Simon. He pulled out the blade, keeping it low so Reginald wouldn’t see it.

  “Reginald!” he called, holding the man’s gaze.

  Just when Simon thought he might catch up, Reginald ran at full speed again, dipping around a few trees and out of sight. Simon frowned as he tried to decipher where he’d gone. The creatures were gaining ground again. The crashes and wails behind him were signals that Simon needed to keep moving, whether he pursued Reginald or not.

  Simon kept going, keeping his eye on the forest for places that Reginald might hide and attack him. He saw no sign of the panting, bloodied man. If he could catch sight of him, at least he’d—

  Simon slid.

  One minute he was running, the next he was barreling down a ravine, fighting for balance, groping at rocks and dirt. Brush and weeds snagged his T-shirt and pants, sending spears of pain through him as he fell. He fought to control his descent, catching hold of several jutting branches, losing hold of them almost as soon as he grasped them. His knife slipped from his hand. Simon cried out as he struck a thin tree and tumbled forward onto his stomach. And then he was at the bottom, his body catching up to the toll of pain. His breath was gone. Simon squinted from the glare of the sun as he landed, trying to catch his bearings. The wind blew, carrying the groans of the creatures from somewhere above him.

  He wasn’t safe.

  He pushed off the ground, forcing himself through the aches and wounds, and found uneasy purchase. He looked for his knife, but it was lost in a sea of sliding sand and gravel, buried in the side of the ravine somewhere. He wouldn’t find it without effort. He took a staggering step forward and caught his breath.

  He didn’t notice Reginald until he was already lunging, Si
mon’s knife in his hand.

  37

  Sandy slammed the RV door shut while Hector, Marcia, and Anabel watched her.

  “Where’s Simon?” Hector asked worriedly.

  “He went after Reginald. He was trying to get the keys to the van.”

  “Dammit.” Hector shook his head. “He’ll never make it back. Those things are everywhere.”

  “We’re going to have to try and fight them off,” Sandy said. Even as she said the words, she felt a pit of dread in her stomach that she couldn’t shake. She’d seen what had happened when the creatures had surrounded others, and it never ended well.

  She passed Hector and Marcia the weapons she’d been able to grab. Hector carried a rifle while Marcia carried the pistol, and Sandy kept Reginald’s rifle. Footsteps shook the earth as the creatures flew through the campground, moaning and screeching, getting closer to the RV.

  “Is there anywhere we can put Anabel?”

  “There’s a bathroom in the middle of the RV,” Marcia said, terror on her face.

  Sandy spun as she assessed the vehicle. The RV was much smaller now that she was trying to determine its defensibility. Small windows surrounded the bed in the back. The right-hand wall was solid and lined with cabinets, so that was relatively secure. The left-hand side worried her. The windows above the couch and the small eating area were large enough for the creatures to break and gain access. The front windshield was covered with a sun blinder, which might protect them from the infected trying to peer inside, but did nothing to reinforce the glass. The windows next to the driver and passenger’s seats were also breakable.

  If only this damn thing drove.

  Sandy walked over to one of the curtained windows and slid her finger between the fabric and the glass, peering out. The view provided her with more terror than relief.

  “How many are out there?” Hector asked her.

  “Too many,” Sandy said in a panic. “They’re approaching from all sides.”

  They stepped back as they listened to the creatures shrieking, assuming positions in the middle of the RV. Sandy wondered if Hector was harboring the same hope that she was: that somehow, the creatures would change direction and leave them alone. A pair of pounding hands shattered that hope. Nails slid down the RV. Another set of hands smacked the side. Sandy and Hector huddled close, as if the creatures might burst through the walls and grab them.

  “We should block the side door,” Sandy said, pointing at the entrance they’d come through.

  “Is the couch bolted down?” Hector asked.

  “I’m not sure. Let’s try it.”

  They took either end of the couch, grunting as they pulled. Thankfully, the couch wasn’t secured, and they were able to slide it in front of the door. If the creatures got in, the couch wouldn’t buy them much more than time.

  “How about the table? Maybe we can prop that against the windows,” Hector suggested, pointing to the eating area.

  Sandy tried to move it. “It’s bolted down.”

  A particularly loud screech made her jump. The RV groaned as one of the creatures rammed against the side. A few more creatures followed suit. Sandy heard several creatures pounding at the windows near the bed in back. Thankfully, those windows were small enough that she didn’t think they could get through that way. But that didn’t make her feel any better. Sandy felt like she was submerged in some underground vessel that was crashing into a rocky reef, infected tearing at the hull.

  One of the creature’s hands slapped the glass of the passenger’s side window. She saw a twisted, infected face appear against the pane, looking in at them. They remained still as it searched from left to right. Once it found a way in, it’d lead others.

  Marcia rejoined them as they stood in the middle of the RV, spinning and watching each noise as they pointed their guns, waiting for the moment when the vehicle was breached.

  38

  Simon leapt to the side, barely avoiding a slice from Reginald’s knife. Reginald’s face twisted in violent rage as he swung at Simon. The aches and pains in Simon’s body were overridden by the primal knowledge that if he didn’t move, he’d die. He backed away, trying to keep his balance on the rocky, sandy slope and get clear of a swing. Behind Reginald were thick trees. Getting around Reginald wasn’t an option, at the moment. Going backwards was a recipe for death.

  Simon avoided another jab, throwing up his hands instinctively to stop the sharp blade. Without a gun or his knife, he was defenseless.

  “Fucking traitor.” Reginald’s face was hard and unwavering. Sweat poured down his brow. Simon knew there would be no reasoning with the irrational, crazed man, but self-preservation urged him to try.

  “We don’t need to do this, Reginald!” Simon tried. “We can talk!”

  Reginald’s answer was another swing. Simon dodged.

  “The lumberyard was overrun,” Simon said. “Those things ran through the gate. We were looking for you.”

  Another swing. Another dodge.

  “Bullshit! You think I believe that? You took everything! You took my shit!”

  “Reginald!”

  “Shut the fuck up!” Reginald spat.

  Reginald’s face was unforgiving as he lunged again. Simon avoided the blow, but lost his footing. He fell to the ground, losing his breath as he landed hard on his back. A shimmer of pain ran through his spine as he tried to stand. Reginald hovered over him. Simon raised his forearms instinctively, trying to protect his face, catching the tip of Reginald’s knife. He cried out as hot blood trickled down his forearm. He rolled, trying desperately to get away from his attacker. But Reginald was on his feet and quicker. Reginald jabbed the knife downwards at Simon’s face. Simon barely avoided it. The blade embedded in the dirt.

  Reginald pulled the knife out and dove at Simon.

  Suddenly Simon was underneath Reginald, barely catching hold of Reginald’s wrist as he tried to stab downward. He struggled to keep the blade at bay.

  “Reginald, stop!” he managed, between gritted teeth.

  Reginald’s face was determined as he pushed the blade. Whether it was Simon’s weakened condition, or Reginald’s intense rage, Simon wasn’t sure, but he was losing. He strained as sweat poured down his face. He’d faced death many times in the past week, but nothing like this.

  Noise from upslope drew their attention. Reginald flicked his gaze upward. Stones rolled down the ravine, loosened by the creatures that were making their way down. Moans filled the air. Taking the opportunity, Simon kneed Reginald in the groin. Reginald cried out and tried to protect his body, but he was too late. Simon pushed him off but lost hold of the knife. Suddenly Simon was on the move, staggering away from the hill as the creature’s groans filled the air.

  He looked back to find Reginald scrambling to his feet with the knife, facing a handful of creatures that were sliding down the ravine, surrounding him.

  39

  “They’re going to get in!” Marcia cried frantically as she swiveled around the RV.

  Sandy could no longer guess how many of the things were out there. She looked out of the nearest curtain, assessing the situation again. Innumerable pairs of hands pawed greedily at the side of the RV. Mottled faces and blood-caked, hungry mouths hung open when they saw her. A wave of helplessness washed over her as she let the curtain go. She’d fought the creatures plenty of times, but never this many, and never at once. Each bang on the windows was a reminder that they were in an oversized container that might as well be a human cage.

  “If they get in, conserve your bullets,” Sandy said, trying to think logically. She held up her knife. “Use your knives when you can.”

  Hector and Marcia nodded, pulling out their blades.

  A window above the eating area shattered.

  They cried out and stepped back as a hand wormed i
ts way over the sill, then an elbow. A creature mustered its strength to get up and over. Luckily, the window was tall enough to make the thing struggle.

  “I’ve got it!” yelled Hector as he raced toward the thing, stabbing its arm.

  Blood spurted from the creature’s new wound and it lost its grip and fell. Another took its place, scrambling and pulling harder, getting two arms over before Hector kicked its fingers, managing to send it tumbling. A writhing mass of others fought for its place, screeching and hissing. Another window shattered, and suddenly more creatures were clambering over the top of the eating area.

  “Come on!” Sandy yelled to Marcia. “We have to help!”

  They raced over and joined Hector, stabbing the things with their knives. Sandy did her best to stay away from open mouths and groping hands. She stepped back as a creature thrust its arm over the sill, trying to catch hold of her. Marcia darted in and stabbed the creature with her knife, knocking it back.

  Sandy plunged her knife into creatures’ heads and arms—whatever she saw first. She stabbed relentlessly, until her arm was sore and the creatures felt like they were one violent mass, bent on taking over the RV. A third window shattered. Sandy swiveled her attention to it. Marcia ran over to it, trying to stop a creature from getting in.

  Marcia screamed. One moment she was defending the window, the next she was fighting to keep from going over the sill. A creature had caught hold of her hair, pulling. Marcia lost hold of her pistol, dropping it into a mound of creatures. She tried wrenching herself free, but the creature had too tight a grip.

  “Marcia!” Hector screamed, grabbing Marcia’s waist and trying to pull her backwards. More creatures mimicked the first creature’s success, jumping up and snagging Marcia’s hair. The creatures were like rabid animals, sensing weakness.