Contamination Prequel (Post-Apocalyptic Zombie Series) (10 page)

So far, they hadn’t run into any trouble, but Dan knew that their luck could change at any minute. Which was why they needed to leave St. Matthews. It wasn’t safe here. He held out hope that somewhere beyond the White Mountains, things were better. That he could provide safety for his daughter.

That he could come to terms with his wife’s death.

In the chaos and insanity, Dan hadn’t had time to accept the reality of Julie’s passing. Hell—he hadn’t even been given a chance to grieve. There had been little discussion of returning home. It wasn’t safe, and he didn’t want Quinn to see her mother’s body. The girl had been through enough.

Quinn gulped down the last bite of her Cheerios, and tilted the bowl to drink the milk from the bottom. At home, Julie would have told her to mind her manners. Now, Dan let out a guarded smile.

“Good to the last drop, huh?”

She nodded. Quinn stood, bowl in hand, and headed towards the sink. She rinsed the bowl quietly and then placed it on the counter. The spoon fell from her grip, and pinged off the basin below.

“Shhhh…” he warned.

“I know, Daddy,” she returned.

She reached over to the window above the sink and parted the blinds.

“I wish we could go outside,” she said. “It seems like such a beautiful day.”

A ray of sunshine cleared the countertop and hit the floor. Dan followed it back up to the window, still smiling.

He bolted upright in his chair.

One of the creatures was pressing its face against the pane, eyes glazed and overcast. It rapped at the glass with its knuckles, feeling for a way in. Quinn stifled a scream.

They had been discovered.

“Let’s go, Quinn, now!” he shouted.

Dan made a run for the living room to the pile of weapons. He grabbed a pistol, and then dashed for the front blinds. He peered outside, looking for signs of movement. The road was empty, the houses across the street undisturbed. The Outback sat in the driveway. There was no sign of the thing from the backyard.

But he was sure it would make its way around eventually.

Quinn stood behind him, holding the back of his shirt.

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” she whispered.

“It’s not your fault, Quinn,” he said.

And he meant it. None of it was. Not one single thing.

“Get the cooler ready. Pack it as full as you can,” he instructed. “And bring it back to the living room. Stay clear of the blinds.”

She nodded and started upstairs. Dan followed the windows one by one to the back of the house, scanning for the intruder. He finally found it, hovering by the side of the house. It looked up at him through the glass, seeming to sense his presence. Its teeth were caked with yellow and red, its skin a dull gray. It reached up towards him and groped at the window. He dropped the blinds.

A banging noise rang out from upstairs.

“Are you all right up there?” he called.

“Yes, Dad. I’m almost done.”

He made his way back to the living room. A black tote bag lay on the floor next to the weapons. He began to fill it with as much as he could carry: ammunition, guns, and batons, as well as a bulletproof vest. When he finished, he lifted the bag and deposited it near the front door. He returned to the windows.

Dan did a double take as he looked up the street. A horde of creatures was making its way down the road, headed in their direction. Arms and legs swayed back and forth, heads bobbed, and limbs tangled as they moved in one mass. Although he was unable to count them all, he guessed there were at least twenty.

More than enough to rip him and his daughter to shreds.

“Quinn, it’s time!” he yelled, trying his best to sound calm.

“Coming!”

She bounded down the stairs, the cooler swinging in front of her.

“What are you looking at? What do you see, Dad?” she asked, inching closer.

“Listen, Quinn. I’m going to need your help here. We need to move fast,” he began. She started to shake. He locked eyes with her. “When I open this door, I need you to get to the car and get inside. Don’t look around—just lock the doors. I’ll be right behind you.”

“Dad, I’m scared!”

“We’re going to get out of here, and we’re going to get help,” he assured her.

She clung on to his shirt, crying now. His heart felt like a stone in his chest. She looked into his eyes and nodded. Dan moved towards the front door, carrying the tote bag. He lifted the metal rod from the holders and unlocked it. Through the screen, he could see the swarm of creatures getting closer.

“Oh my God…” Quinn whispered.

“Don’t look. When I open the door, run straight to the car.”

He handed her the key, and gave her one last look before pushing open the screen door. His daughter took off in front of him, and he prayed that he had made the right decision in leaving. He threw the tote bag into the front yard, and retrieved the pistol from the floor. He then slammed the door shut behind him and stepped outside.

Quinn was almost at the car already, her legs pumping against the walkway. She carried the cooler in front of her. She was at the passenger’s side door now, unlocking the vehicle. The creatures broke into a run, fanning out across the street. Dan grabbed the weapons bag and began to sprint. Adrenaline coursed through his arms, and he held the pistol sideways at the approaching mob.

The tote bag tangled in something, and he stopped short, losing his grip on it. He glanced behind him. The creature from the backyard had snagged it, and the thing dove into him, clawing at his leg and pulling him onto the grass. Dan yelled in surprise, and the gun flew from his hands.

“Daddy!”

Quinn had opened the car door and she stood next to it now, yelling his name.

“Get in and lock the doors!” he cried out.

The creature locked its grip on his pants, making its way up his back. He felt nails dig into his skin, and he kicked backwards at it. He was pinned. Quinn got back in the car and shut the door behind her. He could hear her muffled cries from inside the vehicle.

Footsteps hit the grass around him. The others had entered the property, and he heard them groaning in unison. He pushed up from the ground, trying to shake the thing loose. The creature clung on to his back, unrelenting.

Dan heard the car horn. He looked to his left. A few of the creatures started to move towards the cruiser.

“Quinn—no!”

He wrenched his back to the side, and the creature began to loosen its grasp. He swung an elbow backwards, felt the crunch of bone behind him as it connected with the thing’s face. Dan regained his footing and stumbled toward the car. Several other creatures lunged in his direction.

He dodged his attackers and headed for the driver’s side of the car. Quinn had stopped hitting the horn, and reached out to unlock his door. He crashed into the side of the vehicle with his pelvis, and then tore at the handle, opening the vehicle and jumping inside.

Quinn had already started the engine. Dan threw the vehicle into reverse and careened out of the driveway, the car door still swinging open behind him.

19

D
an maneuvered the cruiser through
St. Matthews, the streets lifeless and empty. Even in the daylight, porch lights still burned in front of some of the houses. Doors were left open; windows were smashed. Quinn sat upright in the passenger seat next to him, biting her nails.

They passed by a carcass on the side of the road. A few birds picked at the remains, and then scattered at the sight of the approaching car. Farther ahead, a creature emerged from a driveway, holding a fistful of hair. Quinn stared, unable to look away.

“Close your eyes,” he said, knowing she wouldn’t.

Dan continued driving toward the outskirts of town. The houses grew more infrequent. He looked down at the gas gauge, which showed that the tank was half empty. They would need more than that to have a fighting chance. There was a gas station about a mile up the road—the last one in town before heading into the White Mountains.

He saw it now, up ahead, and he pulled into the parking lot next to the pumps, hoping they were still operational. He grabbed a pistol from between his legs and left the car running. Although he had lost the tote bag at the house, he had hidden one gun in the car.
Thank God
, he thought.

The gas station was deserted. The front windows had been smashed, and items of food and clothing were strewn across the front entrance. Dan scanned in all directions, finding nothing. He opened the car door, gripping the weapon, and popped the gas tank.

The pumps appeared functional—their lights indicated the price of gas, and options for payment. Dan pulled his wallet out and removed his debit card. He chuckled slightly. Even at the end of existence, the oil companies were still making out like bandits. He contemplated going inside to search for supplies, but decided against it. He had risked enough. They needed to get as far away from St. Matthews as possible.

Dan topped off the tank, and then opened the trunk, where he kept a gas can. He filled it to the top, replaced the spout cap and put it back in the vehicle. He got back into the cruiser and locked the door.

“Dad?”

“Yes, honey?”

“Where are we going to go?”

“Away from here. Things will be better once we get out of town,” he said.

“Do you promise?” Quinn looked at him, her eyes wide.

“I promise.”

Dan pulled out from the gas station and into the road. Up ahead, Route 191 wound up into the mountains, providing a bridge to the outside world. He hit the gas and felt the car accelerate, and then rolled his window down, letting in the fresh morning air.

They have to get better
, he told himself. They sure as hell couldn’t get any worse.

To be continued….

Contamination 1: The Onset Available Now!

The contamination has spread into New Mexico and the surrounding areas. The Onset follows a new group of survivors as they struggle to escape the chaos…and to discover the truth about what is happening.

Dan and Quinn return in Contamination 2: Intersection coming Winter 2012!

About the Author:

T
.W. Piperbrook was born and
raised in Connecticut. He has been writing since childhood, but
Contamination
is his first published work. In addition to writing, the author has spent time as a full-time touring musician, touring across the US, Canada, and Europe.

He now lives with his wife, a son, and a Boston Terrier that hates squirrels.

Feel free to contact him per below. If you enjoyed this story, please feel free to leave a positive review! Thanks for supporting indie authors!

Email:
[email protected]

Web:
http://twpiperbrook.blogspot.com/

Facebook

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CONTAMINATION

Book One: The Onset Preview

By T.W. Piperbrook

Available Now!

Part One—Exodus

1

White Mist, New Mexico

Population: 1

S
urrounded by whipping sand and
dust, the brown sign stood resilient at the town’s perimeter. Sam Cook could still make out the faded sticker that had been placed over the single numeric digit on its face, even though it had been a few years. That was how the DOT amended things these days. If a change were small enough, a patch would suffice to update the information.

He could’ve requested a new sign—hell, he was now the only resident of the town. But the thin border around the number reminded him of the sign’s previous digit. It was one he did not want to forget.

He imagined a byline that should have been placed underneath:

White Mist, New Mexico

Former Population: 3.

Sam had only lived in town with his wife and daughter for two years before the tragedy had occurred. Together, they had rebuilt the historic log cabin store, turning it into a small-scale tourist attraction. Purchasing the town had been a lifelong dream, and they had poured all their efforts into it.

Because the White Mist store contained a post office, it qualified for its own zip code. Several families had once resided there, but they had long since relocated. The previous owners were an elderly couple from Iowa. They had decided to sell the property when the upkeep became too much to handle.

Sam’s family had spent long hours renovating the property, and he was proud of what they had accomplished. He liked to think that after a few short years, the White Mist Trading Post had become not only a pit stop for gas and beverages, but a piece of history and a symbol of the American West.

A bit of a stretch, perhaps. But now, the store was all he had.

The shelves were adorned with a variety of commemorative merchandise: White Mist shirts, mugs, key chains, and hats. It didn’t cost much to produce them, and they helped tremendously in keeping the place afloat, and in keeping his family clothed and fed.

Of course, now there was only one mouth to feed.

At the moment, the store was empty. Sam wiped a trickle of sweat from his brow and paused. In front of him was a half-empty shelf of dried noodles. On the floor was the box of replenishments. He needed a break.

He moved towards the screen door at the entrance, listening to the floor squeak underneath him. The door seemed ready to expire; it creaked on its hinges, begging for relief. The place needed work. He tried his best to keep it up, but there was only so much he could do alone.

He surveyed the empty parking lot in front of him. Beyond it was an equally deserted portion of I-40. The southwestern desert stretched endlessly for miles, composed of scorching, earthy landscape, with occasional patches of green that helped offset the brown scenery. In the distance, a few mountains rose skyward, as if to indicate that all was not flat. Oftentimes, Sam felt the urge to cross the road and traverse the magnificent ranges, watching his store become a speck on the landscape below.