contamination 7 resistance con

by Unknown

  The forest around them had succumbed to silence. Sandy felt a wave of uneasy déjà vu. She surveyed the scattered bodies of the dead that covered the ground and the bloodied hood of the RV. Somewhere in the woods lay Donna's body. They wouldn't have time to bury her, just like they hadn't had the chance to bury Finn.

  As if sensing thoughts, Hector said, "Let's get as far away from this area as we can."

  Sandy couldn't stop checking the rearview mirror as they left the campground. They saw no more creatures. Marcia tended Simon, managing to get him to swallow some water and pain medication. He mumbled his appreciation. Sandy knew the medication would take some time to kick in, and it wouldn't alleviate the discomfort of a stab wound, but she was grateful they had something.

  Sandy watched the road around them, as if the creatures might spring a coordinated attack, even though she hadn't seen any in a while. Simon must've taken care of most of the things in the area.

  Simon said he'd killed Reginald.

  Though she wasn't one to harbor vindictive thoughts, Sandy hoped Reginald was lying somewhere in a ditch, unable to harm them. He'd killed Charlie. He'd indirectly killed Donna. She hoped his reign of terror was done.

  The ponderosa pines were thick with branches, making the area peaceful and serene. Sandy was more on edge than before, if that was possible. She was worried about Simon.

  Looking at Simon's hunched figure in the backseat, she prayed he'd be all right.

  "Where are we going?" Hector asked, pulling her from her thoughts.

  "I'm not sure," she responded. "I didn't realize it at first, but I've been driving deeper into the mountains."

  "Do you think the bunker is still the best plan?" Hector asked.

  "I don't know," Sandy said with a sigh.

  "I wish we could find help," Marcia said. "Real help."

  They were surprised when Simon uttered something from the backseat. "Keep going."

  He readjusted, pulling the map from his pocket. He passed it up to them. Hector turned in surprise, accepting it. "You need stitches. We need a doctor."

  "I don't think we'll find one," Simon managed. "I'll survive. We'll figure it out when we get to the bunker."

  Hector was quiet a moment. "But what if the bunker's not there? For all we know, we won't be able to follow these directions. Or maybe the place doesn't exist."

  Hector was voicing everyone's worst fear.

  "It's worth a try," Simon managed to say, before closing his eyes and slipping into whatever pain-induced haze he'd been in.

  "How close are we to the bunker?" Marcia asked.

  "About ten miles." Sandy blew a breath. She exchanged a look with Hector as they considered their options. "I think Simon's right. After what we've seen in the mountains, the bunker might be our only option."

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Hector studied the map, trying to decipher it. "After the turnoff, the rest of the distance is on foot. It looks like this place is in the mountains."

  "That's what Simon said."

  Sandy's heart plummeted as she thought about the journey. Simon was weak and in pain. How could they expect him to make that journey? They'd have to figure it out when they got there.

  She clamped her hands on the wheel as the road kept ascending, curving and twisting over mountain ranges, revealing a view that was both breathtaking and terrifying. Sandy had never been afraid of heights, but then again, she'd never faced heights such as these. She pictured the minivan tumbling off a turn and pitching them to a bloody death, where no one would find them. Who was left to look for them?

  They drove the ten miles in relative silence, alternating between checking their surroundings and checking on Simon, making sure he was all right. Finally, they approached a brown, rectangular sign.

  "That's it," Hector said, pointing to the side of the road.

  Sandy studied the area. Unlike the campsite they'd stopped in before, this one had tents and cars. She knew it was normal for tourists to be in the mountains, but vehicles and shelters meant the infected.

  She slowed to a crawl. Heat poured through the broken driver's side window. They'd cleaned some of the blood and fluid from the minivan's interior, but the smell still lingered, and there was still glass on the floor. Hector reached for the rifle on his lap, and Sandy gripped her pistol. They'd expended most of their ammunition in the RV battling the creatures.

  The campground around them was quiet and still, as if it had been waiting for someone to appear. The cars were lifeless. Many of the doors were left open, as if the owners had stepped out and intended to return. The tents hung open, flapping in the soft breeze. A few of the sleeping bags contained moving bodies, but she knew better than to think the people weren't infected. The air smelled of death and decay, things rotting in the sweltering heat.

  Sandy held her breath and kept driving.

  Passing another tent, she saw one of the creatures moving erratically from wall to wall, pressing on the fabric, hissing. It looked like a small child; someone must've trapped it, rather than killing it. Sandy felt a wave of sadness.

  They kept going, winding through the campground streets while Hector studied the directions, and the tents and cars grew farther and farther apart. Every so often, a body lay on the asphalt, half-eaten by rodents.

  Soon they'd reached a narrow dirt road with only a few vacant tents. A station wagon sat idly, the back window smashed. Sandy had a brief thought of Dan and Quinn, but this vehicle was red instead of blue. She wondered if she'd ever see them again.

  "I think this is where we're supposed to park," Hector noted.

  "Okay. We walk now?" Sandy asked.

  Hector nodded. They looked at the thick woods, trying to determine the danger lurking between the trees. But they'd never be rid of it. They'd have to forge ahead, just like they'd done since the start of the infection, just like they'd done since leaving the lumberyard. Sandy pulled into a spot away from the tents and station wagon.

  To her surprise, Simon's eyes were open when she looked in the rearview.

  "I'm not staying here, so don't even ask," he mumbled.

  They walked through the forest in a tight group, helping Simon and carrying several bags of supplies. Sandy was reminded of the walk from the truck to the school, only this time, they moved much more slowly due to Simon's injury. Sandy understood why he'd insisted on coming.

  After all they'd been through, was one place any safer than another?

  She recalled the people in St. Matthews she'd seen running, driving, and hunkering down. Whether or not they got caught always depended on luck, or the will of God. She wasn't sure which.

  Looking at Simon, noticing he seemed more lucid than he had an hour ago, she asked, "What happened to Reginald?"

  A look crossed Simon's face as he gathered the strength to speak. "He got ahold of my knife, and he tried to kill me. I was barely able to fend him off."

  He relayed the rest of his story, skipping some of the specifics. Sandy got the picture of how gruesome the battle had been. It didn't make her feel any sense of justice. She watched Simon as he spoke, still in disbelief that he'd survived.

  "He would've killed me in those woods, the way he did Charlie, or Donna."

  Sandy nodded. "Of course he would've. You did what you had to."

  "What about the creatures that were chasing the van?" Marcia asked.

  "I picked off as many as I could while I lured them away. I was so preoccupied that I hit a tree. They surrounded me. That's when they smashed the window. I shot as many as I could, but I ran out of ammunition. And then I used my knife. I can still feel them on me, their teeth clacking together while they tried to devour me alive. I'm still not sure how I got away."

  Sandy watched his pained expression. It certainly explained his disheveled, ripped clothing. Hearing his story was enough to make her relive those moments of claustrophobia, when all she'd heard were the groans of the creatures in St. Matthews.

  Once we get to the bunker, it'll all b
e worth it.

  They snuck through the forest, supporting Simon while Hector traced the map. Using the sun as a guide, they tried to keep a consistent direction.

  "We're looking for a hill that leads into a mountain. It should be close."

  They passed several clusters of trees that Sandy swore she'd seen before, though she couldn't be sure. The landmarks all looked the same after a while. After a few miles, they found the hill that Hector had spoken about.

  "That's it," he hissed. "That's the next thing on the map."

  Chapter Forty-Six

  They hiked with renewed vigor, helping Simon up the steep hill. The thick trees segued into a sparse overlook. Through a thick patch of foliage, Sandy saw a landscape of mountains and blue sky. Birds were circling and swooping, spotting things of interest and diving out of sight. Soon they were out of the foliage and walking up the thin ridge of a mountain.

  Looking over the edge, Sandy felt the same vertigo she'd experienced while driving on the windy mountain roads, but this was worse. She steadied herself and tightened her stomach. Sandy forced herself to look away from the massive drop. They were deep in the White Mountains, far away from anyone who might be able to assist, even if times were normal. She clutched Simon's arm, helping him over a patch of rocks so he wouldn't slip, as he grunted in pain. She balanced her bag of food.

  "Maybe I should've stayed in the van," he said with a grim smile.

  "And miss this beautiful trip?" Sandy asked. "How could you?"

  Simon grinned weakly. They measured their steps on the narrow path, forcing themselves to look straight ahead. The only navigable path snaked near the edge of a fall a hundred feet down. Roots and weeds jutted from every crevice where they were walking. The area was overgrown and treacherous. Had they not been following a map, they would never have followed it.

  When she dared take a glance, Sandy saw mountains rising in every direction. The landscape was breathtaking, but dangerous enough that she couldn't allow herself to be distracted for too long.

  Soon, they reached a flatter portion of the mountain, where the ridge became a flat, wide expanse of smooth rock. Looking behind her, Sandy saw that they were halfway around the mountain. The view was incredible. Thick mountain crags jutted out above and below them. Hector stopped, cupping his hand over his eyes as he read the map. He pointed to a distant valley.

  "See that patch of land down there?" he asked, gesturing at the flowing green grass. "That's the end of the directions."

  Sandy felt a surge of excitement. That excitement quickly turned into doubt. The land was wild and untouched, as if neither humans nor animals had ever set foot on it. She couldn't imagine anyone building anything out here.

  She paused to catch her breath while Simon halted beside her. She looked out across the smooth rock landscape, wiping a stream of sweat from her brow.

  "You're sure that's where the map ends?" she asked Hector.

  He bit his lip. "Yep."

  "I guess we have no choice but to go down and check it out."

  They searched between the thick blades of grass in the valley for a door. Hector handed Sandy the map, but she was as puzzled by the scrawled notes as he was. The last few notes were unreadable. She saw nothing that looked man-made, buried or otherwise.

  "I don't see how this can be it," she said.

  Beyond the grassy plain was another rising mountain. Pointed crags warned of an equally dangerous journey. The day was getting late. If they'd been misled, or had taken a wrong turn, they'd have to consider the possibility of camping on the flat, grassy valley.

  Sandy stared into the distance. On the other side of the valley, following the base of the next mountain, she noticed a long, narrow body of water.

  "What's that?" he asked.

  They hadn't noticed it at first, due to several large boulders along the edge. The brook was flowing behind them. The sight renewed her hope.

  "It looks like a brook," Hector commented.

  A body of water meant something to drink. Sandy wasn't sure how clean the water would be, but it must be better than the contaminated liquid in town. She considered the bottles of clean water they had in the bags—bottles that could be refilled.

  Maybe the hideaway had never been a hideaway at all.

  Maybe the place was a shelter without walls.

  The long grass tickled Sandy's ankles as they walked to the brook. The air smelled clean and pure. Sandy had a feeling of exhilarating freedom unlike any she'd had in a while. She knelt down next to the water. The others did the same. Sandy slipped her hands into the cold, surging brook, testing the current, letting the water flow past her hands. She set down her gun and bag of food. Next to her, Hector, Marcia, and Anabel did the same. For a moment, they were able to forget some of the horrors they'd lived through. Maybe this was the end of their journey.

  Maybe this is what they were meant to find.

  Sandy closed her eyes, absorbing that feeling of the cold water on her hands. When she opened them, she noticed a man tucked into the large outcropping of rock next to them. He held a gun as he peeked out from the crevices.

  "Don't move," he said.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  "Don't move," the man repeated.

  Sandy, Simon, Hector, Marcia, and Anabel froze. Their hands were still dipped in the brook, their guns on the bank next to them. The man was twenty feet away. His face was flecked with stubble. A tan hunter's cap on his head covered sprouts of gray hair.

  Sandy removed her hands to raise them.

  "I said don't move!" the man yelled, forcing her to freeze.

  His voice carried over the gentle rush of the water. The others held a tense silence as they waited for him to speak again. They'd been through enough to know that responding might lead to shooting.

  "I knew someone would come," he said, regaining his calm as he held his position. "You must have my sons' map."

  No one answered.

  "You do," he guessed.

  Receiving no response to his question, the man crept out from behind the rock, watching them intently. Sandy had the instinct to run, but she knew she'd never get far enough away to avoid a bullet.

  "Did you kill them?" the man asked. "Did you kill my boys?"

  Sandy's heart sank as she remembered the dead bodies of the men at the elementary school. She could still see their pale lips, their vacant eyes.

  "They're dead, aren't they?" The man shook his gun and waited for an answer. This time, anger flashed in his face.

  Hector spoke up quietly. "They tried to kill my family. We defended ourselves."

  "My sons wouldn't harm anyone." The man shook his head.

  Sandy recalled the looks of violence in the men's eyes as they'd stalked Hector and his family. Sandy didn't need to second-guess herself to know they were ill intentioned.

  "Wait a minute," Hector said, recalling something. "The men who tried to kill us took the map from others. They forced someone to write the directions on it."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "They forced your boys to give it to them. I overheard them talking," Hector explained. He described the men they'd encountered.

  "I know their names," Sandy interrupted. "Dwight Pickman and Samuel Black. Do those names sound familiar?"

  "No." Anger and doubt crossed over the man's face. He sucked in deep, tense breaths as he surveyed them. He kept his aim on them. "Why should I believe you?"

  "Check the handwriting on the map," Sandy said, nodding at Hector to give it to him. "Maybe it belongs to your boys."

  Moving slowly, Hector recovered the map from his pocket and handed it to the man, who took it carefully and studied it.

  After a moment, he shook his head. "This handwriting doesn't belong to either of my sons. For all I know, you wrote this."

  "We defended ourselves from these other men. I'm not sure what else I can say to convince you," Hector said.

  The man sighed and took a step back, surveying the mountains in the distanc
e. For a moment, Sandy was certain he'd turn the gun back on them. Instead, he looked at them with sadness in his eyes. "I knew something went wrong when they didn't arrive. My sons should've been here days ago."

  "They were going to meet you here?" Sandy guessed.

  "That was my hope." The man spat on the ground. "My boys thought I was crazy, always preparing and talking about the end of the world. But I knew something would happen one day. I just wasn't sure what. I took them up here once. I gave them the map."

  "I'm sorry," Sandy said, softly. "Are you up here alone?"

  The man watched her for a moment, as if he still couldn't trust her. "I used to come up here with my wife, Martha. But she died a few years ago. Colon cancer."

  "I'm sorry," Sandy said.

  "She's probably better off, not having to live through this hell." The man looked away.

  "There's a possibility your sons are still out there," Sandy said hopefully.

  The man shook his head. "When this started, I went looking for them in town. I found their car a few streets from my house. It was full of blood. I never found the bodies."

  "You've been keeping watch, waiting for them," Sandy guessed.

  The man nodded. "I kept telling myself they were coming. Maybe I was foolish. When I saw you coming down the mountain, I assumed you killed them."

  Sandy felt a wave of sadness for the man. It seemed like he'd lost as much as the rest of them. She was surprised when he chuckled.

  "What is it?" she asked.

  "Even though they were in danger, my boys must've remembered what I taught them."

  "What do you mean?"

  "My boys gave those men the wrong directions."

  Hector looked around the field, confused. "So there's no shelter here?"

  "Not in the valley," the man replied with a sad smile as he cranked a thumb over his shoulder at the incline. "My shelter's on the mountain."