Chapter Seventeen
Ken watched the speedometer climb. He was traveling the wrong direction and in the wrong lane, but those were the least of his worries.
His primary concern was the SUV barreling up alongside him. The people inside had him in their sights, and they weren't going to rest until he was dead.
He'd seen the agents before, but always from a distance, and he'd always been careful to stay hidden. He'd never faced them head-on.
As one of those survivors, there was no way they'd let him go.
Ken fled down the highway in the station wagon, simultaneously trying to process his surroundings and avoid the SUV. He glanced left, glimpsing the man in the passenger's seat. The agent had the window down, and he was signaling at Ken.
"Pull over!" he shouted. He waved his rifle, but Ken ignored him.
The SUV swerved closer, and Ken instinctively ducked in his seat. The man fired off a round but missed. The steering wheel shook in Ken's hands. He was going over a hundred miles an hour. He had no idea how fast the station wagon would carry him, though he suspected he'd find out before this was all over.
The SUV swerved away, then back again, as if the driver were taunting him. Ken could hear the men laughing into the wind. He was reminded again of Willy and Tony—of their sadistic nature, their lack of compassion—and the comparison sickened him. Ken had done what he'd done because he had no choice. He'd do anything to be back at home, waking up next to the love of his life.
But he'd never be able to do that again.
He grabbed the pistol from his lap. The man in the passenger's seat was still sneering at him, taking aim. The SUV was about fifteen feet away. Rather than hunker down and hide, Ken tapped the lever to lower the window. The pane slid down the track, and suddenly the air was rushing in, whipping at his face. He stuck his arm out the window and aimed at the SUV.
Then he pulled the trigger.
Ken kept one eye on the road, one on the SUV, barely aware of what he was aiming at, but suddenly there was a cry from his left. When he looked over, the agent in the passenger's seat was slumped over the windowsill. The man's arms bobbed against the side of the car, and his head beat the door like a drum.
Ken's shot had connected.
The driver screamed in rage. Ken felt a prickle of something in his gut, but it wasn't vindication—it was emptiness. It was the same feeling he'd felt back in the liquor store. Nothing could bring his wife back.
Nothing could make up for the lives that had been lost.
The SUV driver accelerated, cutting in front of him. Ken swallowed. He tried to move left, but the vehicle matched his move. Desperate, he veered in the opposite direction, but the driver of the vehicle predicted that, too, and moved to compensate.
With the SUV directly in front of him, his view of the road was limited, and so were his options. He could speed up, trying to get around the vehicle.
Or he could simply hit the brakes.
Ken did the latter, cutting the station wagon's speed. He fell back from the SUV, watching it speed off in the distance. The driver threw on the brakes. As soon as he saw the glow of brake lights, Ken sped up, increasing the speed of the station wagon until he was roaring past the SUV.
He heard the driver scream in anger, but this time he didn't look over.
Ken had taken the lead.
He looked for landmarks. Just minutes earlier, he'd traveled these same roads, and his hope was to use that familiarity to his advantage. At the moment, the interstate was clear, but he remembered there were several downed cars ahead.
If he could navigate through them at a high rate of speed, perhaps he could put distance between him and his pursuer. It was a long shot, but it was all he had.
A sign flew past, and though he couldn't see its face, he recalled its message. It was one that indicated the distance to Phoenix. One of the ones he'd passed earlier. He was close. All at once he saw two familiar obstacles in the distance—glimmers of metal reflecting in the desert sun. He kept his eye fixated on them as he approached, filling the gaps in with his memory. There'd been two cars, both of them sideways. Although they'd been covering the majority of the road, he'd been able to slip between them.
Of course, that had been at a slow rate of speed. Nowhere near as fast as he was going now.
The SUV was already behind him, having recovered the ground it'd lost. Although Ken had pushed the station wagon to its limits, the other vehicle was faster, and it'd had little trouble catching up.
The abandoned cars were several hundred yards away. He was closing fast.
Ken kept his speed even, making no effort to slow down. He studied the SUV in the rearview. Although he had no way to measure it, it certainly seemed like the vehicle was wider than his.
The driver was holding a rifle in his hands. Ken could see the tip of it emerging over the steering wheel. The agent was screaming, mouthing words like an actor on a television screen with muted sound. Somehow, in this man's mind, Ken was responsible for the other agent's death. The man could simply stop pursuing him, and yet he chose to press on, risking his own life in order to get to Ken.
It was a determination reminiscent of Ken's own, but one that served no purpose. He couldn't let this man succeed.
Ken gritted his teeth as the cars came into view—a blur of doors and windows. He adjusted his trajectory, doing his best to aim the station wagon between them.
Suddenly he was crashing through the middle.
He heard the groan of metal as the station wagon's bumper was ripped off, saw one of the cars turn slightly in the road. The station wagon kept going, its engine humming. The steering wheel jerked in his hand as he ran over unseen debris. He heard the screech of brakes and tires behind him.
He flicked his attention back to the rearview. The SUV had collided with one of the vehicles, and despite the driver's attempts to slow down, the vehicle had had too much momentum.
The SUV launched into the air. Ken watched as the vehicle turned sideways, a black mass of metal and tires, flying over the highway and slamming back down onto it. The vehicle landed on the driver's side, skidding past the collision scene, coming to a rest a few seconds later.
Ken's knuckles were white on the steering wheel, and his heart raced. He applied the brakes, listening to the groan of his own vehicle as it slowed down, and saw the red line of the speedometer fly from one extreme to the other.
And then he was stopped. He could hear a thin rattle from the undercarriage, the last protest of a vehicle that had been pushed to the limit. He put the car into park.
He removed his seatbelt and opened the door.
The road, which had been filled moments before with the sound of engines, was now preternaturally quiet. Ken examined the exterior of the station wagon. The front bumper was missing and the exterior was dinged and dented, but surprisingly, he saw no leaks.
The car still appeared drivable.
He stared back at the interstate. There was no movement from the SUV or the driver.
Ken realized he was shaking. His forehead was glossed in sweat, his arms and legs were stiff, and his heart felt like it might explode. Despite all of that, he was alive.
He reminded himself that there was still a method to the madness, a reason to press on. And that reason was his son.
Ken grappled with the idea of approaching the SUV. He knew it was risky—hell, almost everything was now, but the potential rewards outweighed the risks. There was a chance the driver had food. And if he did, those provisions would be critical—not only to his immediate survival, but for the days to come.
After calming down, Ken got back into the vehicle and turned around on the interstate. Then he drove toward the fallen SUV. Smoke poured from the hood; pieces of debris lined the road around it. The front windshield was scattered across the pavement, and shards of glass clung to the window frame.
As he got closer, he could make out the demolished form of the driver. There was no question the man was dead. Ken c
hoked back his bile and looked away.
The agent in the passenger's seat was gone. Ken guessed his body had been flung somewhere else on the interstate.
The doors were so smashed that Ken couldn't get them open, but he didn't have to. Lining the road were several weapons, as well as several wrapped packages. He recognized the packages as the safe food he'd confiscated from other agents earlier in the week, and he tucked them under his arms and carried them back to the station wagon, making trips until he'd gotten them all.
When he was finished, he'd managed to acquire enough provisions for several days, as well as add a few weapons to his cache.
He got back into the car and slammed the door.
After a moment's pause, he put the car in drive and took to the desert, avoiding the wreckage of the accident scene, heading back in his original direction. A half-mile down the road, he noticed the body of the second agent lying on the road.
This time he didn't stop, and he didn't stare.
Chapter Eighteen
Isaac's heart thundered as the creatures paraded through the restaurant. He fiddled with the door lock, his hands barely able to coordinate.
"Hurry!" Kate shrieked.
All at once he was flinging the door open and bursting into the parking lot, Kate on his tail. The parking lot was empty and open, the nearest plaza several hundred yards away. There was little chance they'd make it without being overtaken. Isaac pointed to a row of cars in the middle.
"Look for keys!" he shouted.
He heard crashes behind them, and he threw a look over his shoulder. The creatures were careening through the restaurant, contending with the tables and chairs to get to them. The door swung closed, but not before one of the things crashed into the glass.
Several creatures raced around from the front of the store, and Isaac raised his gun and shot. Kate covered her ears, watching as the gunshots pelted the creatures.
"Keep moving!" Isaac screamed.
They continued, dodging several sets of hands. Many of the creatures were still at the front of the building, giving Isaac and Kate a head start. Most had yet to make their way around.
Isaac focused on the distant cars, hoping one of them had keys.
Beside him, Kate stumbled, and he reached out and grabbed her wrist, keeping her on her feet. She was still clutching the knife she'd found. He could sense the creatures in their peripheral vision—a mound of flesh that was increasing in size and density, as if the horde were a single entity that had fused itself together.
That was the way the entire week had felt. It was as if the whole world had ganged up on him, threatening to pull him under. Everything around him seemed strange and uncertain, as if he were trapped between the realm of nightmares and the land of the living.
Isaac just wanted it all to be over. To be safe again.
They dashed to the row of cars, and he groped at the door handles. The first several were locked. He made his way down the row, passing a Civic, then a Taurus, then a Chevy. Finally he found an open door, and he tore at the handle, ducking inside. It was a Chrysler, and the keys were in it.
"In here!" he yelled.
He jabbed the unlock button, and Kate hopped into the passenger's seat. The creatures were almost on top of them. Isaac turned the key, listening to the engine rev up. Then he slammed the door and put the vehicle into drive. The path in front of them was clear. Thank God.
The car bounded forward, and he watched a mound of creatures in the rearview slam into the trunk, rocking the vehicle. He increased his speed, shaking off several clinging arms that still clung to the bumper.
The remainder of the parking lot was deserted, but the asphalt behind them was littered with infected. There had to be several hundred near the restaurant, if Isaac had to guess. He shuddered at what had almost happened.
Trapped inside, they'd almost become meals for the things.
Kate was breathing heavily, and he could hear himself gasping for air, too. Twice they'd had to flee on foot, and twice they'd escaped. He didn't think they'd get that lucky again.
At the end of the parking lot, he turned out onto the main road.
He kept an even speed as he drove down the street. Wreckage and rubble lined the pavement; bodies were strewn in gutters and on sidewalks. But there was no sign of the creatures. It was as if the infected had all congregated behind them, allowing them free reign of the city.
Even so, he knew the quiet wouldn't last.
He turned his attention back to Kate. Although he knew her name, he didn't know much else about her. Kate tucked her long dark hair behind her ears, perusing the streets with terror-stricken eyes. Even in her panicked condition, she was an attractive girl. Isaac pegged her at about twenty-five years old.
"Are you from Phoenix?" he asked.
"Yep. I just moved here a month ago," she said.
"I'm new as well. I've only been here six months."
"What a welcome, huh?"
"Tell me about it."
The girl sighed, and he could sense sadness in her voice, the sound of someone who was still coming to grips with all she'd lost. Isaac knew the feeling well.
"Were you alone when this happened?"
"I was with my sister, but she was infected."
"I'm sorry to hear that. What happened?"
Isaac fell silent. He could tell the girl needed a minute. Kate drew a deep sigh before recounting her tale.
"My sister's name was Clara. We moved here a month ago, hoping to start over. A few months ago, my sister was laid off from her insurance job in Connecticut, and she desperately needed some new scenery. I'd just graduated college, so I told her I'd move to Phoenix with her. We'd always been close," Kate said.
She paused and wiped her eyes.
"A few weeks ago, we got an apartment. We hadn't even found jobs. And then this whole thing started, and Clara...well, she turned. I tried locking her in her room, thinking there might be a cure for this thing, but she broke out and came after me. I had to hide in my closet. She banged on the door for almost an hour. I thought she was going to break it down. Finally she left, and I haven't seen her since. I was hoping to find her out here..." Kate lowered her head.
Isaac nodded sympathetically. "My roommate turned as well. He attacked me, and I barely made it out of my apartment alive."
He relayed the story to Kate, and she listened intently. While he spoke, he took several more turns, putting more distance between them and the scene at the restaurant.
"Do you have any relatives or friends in the area, Kate?"
"No one close by. Everyone I know is on the East Coast."
"I don't either." Isaac paused. "Listen, I'm thinking we should get out of the city. There has to be help somewhere. I don't think we'll last much longer if we stay."
Kate was silent for a moment, and he could see hesitation in her eyes.
"Where would we go?"
"My parents live in Oklahoma. I was thinking of maybe getting on the highway, heading east, maybe finding someone who can help us. Then maybe we can get ahold of your family."
"Do you think the highways will be safe?"
Isaac glanced out the windows. A few creatures had wandered out of a nearby building, and they stopped and stared.
"I'm sure it can't be much worse than here."
Although they'd made the decision to leave, Isaac and Kate were still a considerable distance from the interstate.
Isaac navigated the streets with unease. The infected had appeared again, creeping in corners and lurking in alleyways. Driving the Chrysler felt like operating a bullhorn—wherever they went, heads turned and the infected scrambled in their direction.
Over the first few days, he'd seen several people try to escape in vehicles, and the outcome had never been good. Usually they ended up stuck or overtaken. At one time, he'd considered taking his own car, but before he could make the decision, someone had hot-wired it and driven off.
Of course, that'd been days ago.
He hoped things had changed since then.
Perhaps with less traffic and fewer moving bodies, they'd be able to make their way through with better success. Although the streets were cluttered, they weren't impassable, and he had faith they could complete the journey.
Isaac weaved between the abandoned vehicles, swerving to avoid scattered bodies. For the past few months, he'd marveled at how clean the city was, how well maintained the buildings were. It hadn't taken long for everything to go to shit.
He wondered how and when the city would ever be restored.
Would things ever go back to normal? Could they, after this?
His thoughts drifted to his parents. For the first time in days, Isaac was finally making progress to reach them. Ever since the infection had hit, he'd prayed they were still alive, that somehow their area had been unaffected. They were in Oklahoma, after all—a thousand miles away. There was a good chance things hadn't progressed there yet, and even if they had, maybe his parents had gotten out in time.
The fact that they were so far away gave him a sense of relief, but it also gave him a sense of guilt for leaving. It was hard to believe he'd been gone for six months.
His parents had been sad to see him leave, but they'd supported his decision. Isaac had seen how difficult other parents could be—controlling their kids with money or guilt or expectation. But his parents had never been like that. Ken and Roberta had always encouraged him to follow his own passions, and for that he'd always been grateful.
Whenever he'd hit a stumbling block, they'd been there to provide meaningful support and advice, and they'd never condemned his decisions.
By all accounts, he was lucky to have them.
As Isaac approached the next intersection, he wiped his eyes. He'd get back to them, no matter what it took. He approached the next turn, fighting the urge to put on his turn signal. These days, flashing lights were a way to get oneself killed rather than an example of good driving.
"Which way are you going?" Kate piped up from the backseat.
Contamination: Dead Instinct (Contamination Post-Apocalyptic Zombie Series) Page 9
