contamination 7 resistance con

by Unknown

  He wanted to share those lessons with Dan.

  He'd kill Dan Lowery when he found him, and he'd make his daughter watch.

  White commercial buildings lined either side of the road, illuminated for brief seconds by the Buick's headlights. Reginald, Billy, and Tom checked the cross streets, parking lots, and main thoroughfare for signs of Dan. Reginald wasn't sure how Dan and Quinn had escaped, but it didn't much matter anymore. Dan's escape was further proof of his guilt. That would give Reginald the excuse to kill him, no matter what the others said.

  The meth running through his body was like a jolt of energy, revving him up and making him see more clearly than anyone else around him. Reginald wiped his nose.

  "Reginald, watch out!" Billy shouted.

  Reginald swerved around a creature that had stumbled into the road, black eyes flashing. He cried out and straightened the car, increasing speed.

  Chapter Seven

  Sandy gasped for breath as she looked behind them at the lumberyard, watching it disappear into the blackness. Wind whipped through the broken driver's side window, reminding her of the hands that had been reaching for Simon just moments earlier.

  At least we got away.

  Hector groaned in the backseat.

  "Hector, are you all right?" Sandy asked, turning her attention to the injured man.

  "I-I think so," Hector called over the wind. He ran his fingers over the gash in his forehead, smearing blood down his face. His eyes were wide and confused.

  "My God, Hector," Marcia said, shaking her head with concern.

  Sandy reached up and turned on the overhead light. Hector looked between Sandy and the others. His face was a twisted mask of pain.

  "I hit my head right there," Hector explained, pointing at the back of Simon's seat. Blood stained the metal bars below the headrest. "I didn't have time to brace myself."

  "We need to stop the bleeding," Marcia said, looking around.

  Sandy dug through the glove compartment, searching for something with which to assist him. She found a few napkins tucked between some registration papers and handed them back to Marcia. Marcia held them against the wound. Sandy looked at Simon. He drove in grim silence, watching the road.

  Sandy checked herself over. She was unharmed, except for some aches and a splitting headache from being jolted around during the collision.

  Maybe it was the horror of what her life had become.

  Ever since the start of the contamination, her life had been a flurry of running, fighting, and surviving, doing things she'd never thought she'd have to do.

  A week ago, she'd been living in an apartment with her brother, Ben. On the day the world ended, she'd come home after her shift, finding him in the hallway of their apartment complex feasting on another tenant. He'd been infected. He'd chased her down the hallway. Frantic, she'd raced into their apartment, barely dodging his groping hands as he'd crashed through the door behind her. In a last, desperate attempt to get away, she'd locked herself in the bathroom, but he'd slammed against the door until he'd burst in.

  If it weren't for the hair dryer she'd left on the sink, Ben would've killed her. Sandy shuddered as she pictured what she'd done to her brother. His dented, bloodied face still haunted her nightmares. Ben had been her older brother, the one she'd turned to when life's problems were too much.

  And now Ben was dead.

  When Sandy was twelve, Sandy and Ben's parents had died in a car accident. The loss had devastated both of them. She'd considered dropping out of school, but Ben had pulled her out of her depression, convincing her to keep going. He'd supported her dreams, helped her pull her life together, and persuaded her to finish high school and college. After she'd graduated, he'd encouraged her to pursue her passion of becoming a hairdresser. She'd finished her training and obtained a job at a local salon in St. Matthews. Her goal was to one day own her own shop.

  And now that goal was gone, and Ben was no longer there to encourage her.

  Sandy pushed back the painful memory that Finn's death had conjured. She didn't have time for it right now. She needed to help the people in the truck. In the preceding days, she'd found ways to survive, scrounging for supplies in St. Matthews, hiding, avoiding the creatures. She hoped she could do the same thing now.

  She tried to convince herself Ben would be proud of her.

  "I don't know where I'm going," Simon said, interrupting her thoughts.

  "You're from Tucson," Sandy recalled.

  "Yeah, I'm not too familiar with St. Matthews."

  "Stay on 4th North."

  She surveyed the dark road ahead as Simon shook the broken glass from his lap with his pistol.

  Sandy asked, "Do you have any spare ammunition?"

  "A few magazines," Simon said, patting his pants. "Reginald, Billy, and Tom took the rest."

  Looking up the road, she pointed to a passing sign. "When we get to the intersection, take a left. We can decide what to do from there."

  Simon nodded.

  Sandy turned off the overhead light and looked behind them again. She half-expected to see a pair of headlights following them, weaving back and forth over the road. But the road was empty. Where were Reginald, Billy, and Tom? She hoped that Dan and Quinn had gotten away.

  Dan's a police officer. He should be safe.

  Sandy told herself that, even though she wasn't sure. She had enough to worry about. At least she'd gotten the others out of the lumberyard.

  She turned her attention to the people in the backseat. Hector's eyes fluttered open and closed. It looked like he was fighting for consciousness.

  "I think I've stopped the bleeding," Marcia explained. "But he's in pain."

  "I hope he doesn't have a concussion," Sandy said.

  "How would we be able to tell?" Marcia asked.

  "I had a bicycling accident when I was a kid. My parents kept me awake for twenty-four hours so they could watch me," Sandy explained. "I don't know much else, but I remember that. It's probably a good idea to keep him alert."

  Worry creased Marcia's brow as she nodded. "Stay with us, Hector. Don't close your eyes. Okay?"

  Sandy wished they had a place to lie him down, or keep better watch over him. One thing was certain: stopping wouldn't be smart.

  "There's the turn," Sandy said, pointing it out to Simon as he took it. "If we stay straight, we'll hit the downtown area. I doubt we want to go that way. Our best bet is to head away from St. Matthews."

  "Over the mountains?" Simon asked, pointing in the distance.

  "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.

  Chapter Eight

  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.

  Chapter Nine

  "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 been 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."

  Chapter Ten

  "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.