In none of those places did she see Sheila or Ben.
The house was silent, vacant, as if the occupants had left in a hurry.
Had Sheila gotten into Ben’s car to go somewhere? Had they gone for help? But if that were the case, wouldn’t they have called her back? And why had Sheila disconnected so fast?
Nothing about the situation made sense.
Meredith crept up the stairs, the wood creaking under weight, and peered through the front door. She could now see into the living room, the dining room, and the kitchen. Empty.
It wasn’t until she caught sight of the doorframe that she gave pause.
The wood had been splintered and cracked, and it looked like the hinges had been damaged. As if someone—Ben—had kicked it in.
Her heart rate increasing, Meredith tried to envision a scenario where breaking down the door would make sense, but came up with nothing. If Ben were inside, he hadn’t been invited.
I should call out to Sheila. Let her know that I’m here.
Meredith opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, a bang erupted from upstairs. She jumped back in surprise, raising her hands to defend herself, but there was nothing in front of her.
Get ahold of yourself, Meredith.
The bang came again.
It was coming from one of the rooms upstairs.
She forced herself to move forward. If someone was inside, they might need her help. She walked through the front door and inside, grabbing the rail on the stairs leading to the second floor.
“Sheila? Ben? Everything all right?”
There was no response, but she heard the scurrying sound of footsteps on the floor. Someone was approaching the top landing. Meredith gripped the railing and steeled herself to fight or to talk; whichever the situation called for.
Her hands shook; her fingers were clammy on the rail.
All at once, the footsteps stopped and a head poked around the wall.
Meredith let out a muffled shriek.
It was Sheila.
The old woman lifted her hand to her lips, signaling for Meredith to be quiet, and then waved her up the stairs. Meredith let out a silent sigh of relief, her body still trembling, and then climbed up to meet her.
Thank God she’s OK.
When Meredith reached the landing, Sheila clutched her arm with a rigid hand. Although the old woman looked frightened, she looked uninjured: she contained no marks or injuries that Meredith could see, and her clothing was intact. In her hands was a rifle.
The old woman pointed to a closed door at the end of the hall.
Meredith nodded and listened. Despite straining her ears, she heard no movement or sound from within. It was almost as if the occupant was listening, too. After a minute of silence, she whispered to the woman next to her.
“Who’s in there? Is it Ben?”
The old woman nodded, her lips pursed.
“He’s sick,” she said simply.
Meredith could make out a light scratch on the other side of the door now, almost as if Ben had heard them. She crept forward a step, then paused.
“Ben? You in there?” she called.
The hallway fell silent. She took another step forward, glancing at the woman next to her. Sheila shook her head, her eyes wide, imploring Meredith to stay put.
“Ben?” she called again. No answer.
Meredith felt her chest tighten, the breakfast she’d eaten that morning starting to travel up her windpipe. She swallowed, forcing it down, and kept her eyes glued to the door.
“Call the police, Sheila,” she said.
The old woman handed Meredith the rifle, then padded away, heading down the staircase. Meredith clenched the gun with shaky hands.
If Ben was really inside, she couldn’t shoot him, could she? If he was sick, she owed it to him to help.
No sooner had the woman left than the banging erupted again.
Thud-thud-thud.
Meredith watched as the door buckled against its hinges. She stepped back, tripping over a piece of loose carpet, and groped for the wall.
She was still fighting for balance when the door swung open. The wood crashed against the wall, cracking the plaster, and she screamed.
Standing in front of her, eyes blazing, was Ben Sanders.
4
Things were even worse than Dan remembered.
As they drove back into St. Matthews—the town that had once been their home—he found that it was barely recognizable. Several days prior, it’d been bad, but nothing like what he saw before him now.
Every window was shattered, every door cracked, and the streets were littered with abandoned vehicles. It was almost as if the town had been hit by a bomb, one that detonated daily and built on the destruction of the day before it. Everywhere Dan looked was a body; everywhere he turned was an obstacle.
He’d given up on asking Quinn to look away. Each time he’d given the warning, her head would swivel as if she had radar, taking in the exact sight he didn’t want her to see. It was human nature to be curious, sure, but he couldn’t help but think of the mental damage it might be causing her.
No eleven-year-old should have to deal with this.
As he passed through the center of town, he was hit by a wave of memories.
He recognized the turn he’d taken when fleeing the Agents just days earlier. A sandwich shop he’d frequented. The pizza place he took Julie to on their nights out.
He bit his lip.
Although the scenery was worse than before, he was grateful of the knowledge they’d gained since last traveling it. They now knew the root cause of the infection, the perpetrators, and the ways to avoid it.
They’d learned that the virus was ingested, and that it could be avoided by eating the food they’d taken from the agents.
They had a trunk full of safe food, and a destination in mind.
Dan just had to figure a way to get them there.
Without the assistance of GPS or a phone, he’d have to rely on memory alone to take them to Settler’s Creek.
As he approached the center of town, the rubble and wreckage began to overtake the road; a few minutes later, he was forced to stop the vehicle. In front of them were two sideways cars, a television set, and a downed street sign.
They were at an impasse.
Dan put the car in reverse, looking for another way around. But when he backed up, he saw that the roads on either side were equally blocked; in some cases, worse than the one he was on.
“Dammit,” he said.
Quinn looked over at him.
“Sorry, honey. We’ll figure out a way around.”
He braced his hands on the wheel and surveyed the damaged street in front of him. Any time the car wasn’t moving, they were in danger of being swarmed by the things.
He’d learned that from experience.
At the same time, there were only a few ways out of town, and if he wanted to get to Oklahoma—and to Meredith’s—he’d need to clear the road.
Quinn eyed him nervously from the passenger’s seat.
“I don’t want you to go out there, Daddy.”
“I’m sorry, honey, but I don’t have a choice. The street is blocked and I need to clear it.”
“Can’t we take another road?”
“I don’t see any other way around. Don’t worry. I’ll be quick.” He pointed ahead of them to the television and the sign. “If I can move those few things, we can squeeze by on the sidewalk.”
Quinn nodded.
“Same drill as before. Keep the windows and doors locked. And take this.”
He retrieved the pistol from the floor and placed it on her lap. She held it in her hands nervously. The sight of her holding the loaded weapon still didn’t sit well with him, but the prospect of her being defenseless was even worse.
“What about you, Daddy?”
“I’ll grab another gun from back,” he said. He noticed her face was still filled with doubt. “Don’t worry, I’ll be careful
.”
“You promise?”
“I promise.”
He managed a smile, hoping to assure her. But the truth was, he was worried. The streets were quiet. Too quiet. He left the keys in the ignition and exited the vehicle, then made his way around to the trunk.
He lifted the hatch, perused the station wagon’s contents, and selected a pistol, a Glock 9mm.
After he’d retrieved it, he shut the trunk and signaled for Quinn to lock the doors. The ensuing click gave him goose bumps.
If he needed to get back inside, it would take a precious second for his daughter to unlock the doors, and that second could mean the difference between life and death.
He just hoped he didn’t have to test the scenario.
Dan tucked the pistol into his waistband and walked to the front of the car. The flat-screen television was easy enough to remove. He wrapped his hands around the base, hefted it upwards and out of the vehicle’s path, and set it down on the sidewalk.
The sign proved more difficult. The metal was rusted and worn, the pole long and unwieldy. After picking it up, Dan fought for balance; several times he almost dropped it.
He finally managed to carry it onto the sidewalk. He set it on the ground and stepped back to the station wagon.
Before he could get inside, a voice pierced the air.
“Help!”
Dan instinctively reached for his pistol and swiveled to find the source. Was someone still alive out here?
He’d been expecting to encounter one of the creatures while out in the open, maybe even one of the agents. The last thing he’d expected was a survivor.
The cry came again. It sounded like a young female.
It took him a few seconds to pinpoint the person’s location. The call of distress was coming from a rooftop across the street. A girl with blonde hair was leaning over the edge, waving both arms in tandem. Her face was fraught with fear, and when she caught Dan’s attention, she burst into tears.
“Please don’t leave!”
“I won’t!” he called up to her.
He found himself slipping into police mode; in seconds, he was running surveillance on the surrounding area, determining the path of least resistance to get to her. There were a few obstacles in his way, but there was no barricade to get to the building she was in; at least none that he could see.
At the same time, there was a good chance that something might be waiting inside.
His eyes darted back to the interior of the station wagon where Quinn was waiting. She’d spotted the girl, too, and she waved her father onward.
The prospect of leaving his daughter alone made Dan sick to his stomach. At the same time, he knew he couldn’t abandon the other survivor. To do that would be to abandon his own humanity, and he wasn’t ready to do that.
Not yet.
“Don’t move an inch, Quinn! Keep the doors locked!”
She nodded that she understood. Dan drew a breath and then headed across the street to the building.
The building had once been a bank. The exterior was made of brown brick and cement; the roof was square and flat. A covered entrance led to a single door in front. To his surprise, the windows remained intact and the door was shut. It appeared the blonde girl had made the right move in coming inside.
At the same time, he had no idea what might be lurking within.
He made his way across the street, gun drawn, ready to fire at the slightest hint of trouble. The neighboring buildings—a funeral home and a sandwich shop—were dark and demolished, harboring a wealth of shadows. He peered through the broken windows, but could only make out the front half of their interiors.
Where had everyone gone?
Dan found it odd that in just one week, the town could transform from a place of life and color to a place of isolation and emptiness. It was as if the townsfolk had picked up and migrated, tearing the city down behind them.
But somewhere, they had to be here. Even if they’d all been infected, the people of St. Matthews couldn’t have just disappeared.
As he approached the door of the bank, he envisioned the things watching his every move, waiting for the chance to pounce. Since leaving the car, he’d felt like there was an invisible spotlight on him, and the feeling gave him chills.
When he reached the bank’s entrance, he gave one final glance at the street behind him, then lowered his gun and yanked the handle. The door swung open soundlessly.
He stepped inside.
The world immediately grew a shade darker, and he raised his arms in front of him, training his pistol on the interior.
As he’d expected, the place was in shambles. The countertops were strewn with paperwork, pens, and cups; the office doors left hanging on the hinges. Several bodies were strewn across the floor and countertops.
The smell of death clung to the air, and Dan covered his mouth to repel it.
He stepped through the wreckage, scanning the room for a door that might lead to the roof. Behind the main counter was the vault. Surprisingly, the steel gate was still intact, preventing entry, though it looked like several attempts had been made to open it. He grimaced at a body on the floor next to it. The person’s hands were still clinging to the bars, even though their lower half was missing.
To Dan’s left was long hallway, which contained a row of glass offices on the left, a set of doors on the right. He crossed the room, heading toward the doors.
Through the glass offices he could see the windows that led to the street. He glanced through them, verifying that his daughter was still safe and sound in the vehicle. When he reached the first door, he tried the handle. The door opened without effort, revealing a host of cleaning supplies: mops, brooms, and buckets. He clicked it closed and tried the other.
The second door contained a flight of stairs, presumably leading to the roof.
He crossed the doorway and started up them.
His footsteps echoed on the stairwell, and he did his best to dampen them, taking one stair at a time. Although the rom was dim, he could make out his surroundings from a small window about halfway up the wall.
All clear so far.
At the top was a lone door. He reached for the handle, listening for noise on the other side. If it was indeed the roof, which he assumed it was, then the girl should be waiting for him.
The door wouldn’t budge. It was jammed from the other side.
He raised his knuckles and gave it a rap. He heard a feeble voice from the other side, then the sound of objects being moved. The girl must have barricaded herself on the roof. How long had she been up there?
The door handle turned and he stepped back a few feet.
A face poked through the crack. The girl was pale, fair-skinned, about sixteen years old. Her lips quivered when she took sight of Dan. It looked like she was in a state of shock.
“I thought you were going to leave,” she whispered.
The girl kept the door closed to a crack, as if opening it would let in the creatures she’d been trying so hard to keep out. Dan put his hand on the edge of the door.
“Everything’s going to be all right,” he said. “But we need to get out of here as soon as possible.”
She released the door and he parted it the rest of the way, allowing daylight to creep into the stairwell. The girl remained in place. He saw that she was wearing a gray tank top and a pair of tattered white shorts.
“What’s your name?”
“Sandy.”
He extended his hand.
“I’m Dan Lowery. Listen, Sandy, I know this is difficult, but we really need to get out of here before those things come back.”
She glared at his gun, perhaps noticing his stance on the stairwell.
“Are you a police officer?” she asked.
“I was.” Dan paused. “But not anymore.”
“Who’s in the car?”
“My daughter Quinn. You’re going to be all right, Sandy. We’re going to get you out of here.”
No
sooner had he spoken the words than she leapt into his arms and started to sob. He embraced her with his free hand, held her close. He felt awful for the girl. It was as if her entire ordeal had culminated in this moment, and the prospect of escape made it even more real.
He let her cry for a minute, then led her down the stairs one step at a time. He could feel her shaking, and he did his best to console her, keep her quiet.
They were halfway down the stairs when he heard a clatter from somewhere at the bottom. The girl jumped.
“What was that?” she asked.
“I’m not sure.”
The two of them halted mid-step. He strained to see the bottom of the stairwell, but the door above them had already shut, pitching them into semi-darkness.
The noise below them continued. It sounded like it was coming from the main floor of the bank. Dan glanced back at the door to the roof.
“Get ready to run, Sandy.”
She clung tighter.
“I’m not going back up there,” she whispered.
“Hopefully it won’t come to that.”
The clatter had increased in volume. It sounded like it was getting closer. Dan’s eyes had once again adjusted to the dark; he could now make out the outline of the door below them.
Without warning, it moved, and a hand shimmied through the crack.
Sandy screamed.
Dan cupped his hand over her mouth, but he was too late. The hand retracted and a head came into view, snapping and snarling.
“Back to the roof!” he shouted.
He heard the clap of Sandy’s footsteps as she retreated, and then the thud of the door being cast aside. A flood of light penetrated the stairwell, and Dan saw that the creature had wormed its way inside.
He raised his pistol and squeezed off a shot, knocking it backward, but there were already others behind it. Dan tried to determine the exact number, but there were too many to count. The creatures were already climbing the stairs, and with only a limited amount of ammunition, he had no option but to retreat.
He bounded up the stairs and crashed onto the roof, the creatures right on his tail. Sandy was waiting for him. When she saw what was behind him, she clapped her hands against her face.
To his left were a stack of chairs, a couch, and a shelf.
Contamination (Book 4): Escape Page 3
