Contamination: Dead Instinct (Contamination Post-Apocalyptic Zombie Series) (8 page)

When he reached the light, he realized it was from a bulb in the oven. The door had been left open to a crack. He noticed a loaf of bread sitting on the middle rack. The edges were blackened, and there was green mold on the top.
 

Isaac staggered backward.

The darkness felt like it was encircling him, and he slid his hands along the walls, finding his way out of the kitchen. Having already checked the living room, he didn't stop there, but kept going until he'd reached the bathroom. He peered in but sensed nothing.
 

He continued.

The dining room was next, but he could see only tables and chairs. Other than for special occasions, his parents rarely used the room. There was no indication they'd been in there recently.
 

The last room on the main floor was his parents' bedroom. He slowed as he approached. As a child, he'd always respected his parents' privacy, and the room was one of the few into which he rarely ventured. He felt the sudden need to dampen his footsteps, and he tiptoed as he proceeded, though he wasn't sure why.

When he reached the doorway, he was hit with an odor worse than any he'd ever encountered. It was as if his mother's meal had been dumped somewhere on the floor and left to mold and fester. He gagged at the stench, but continued. As awful and disgusting and putrid as the room smelled, he needed to find his parents.

The room was darker than the others, and he strained his eyes but couldn't even see his own hands in front of him. He inched forward, terrified of what he might bump into, but resolved to find out what was going on.

His feet stumbled on something. A shirt, perhaps? He stopped, catching his balance, and bent down to determine what he'd tripped on. It was a piece of clothing. Normally his mother kept a clean house, but the bedroom was littered with belongings.

He groped for the light switch and flicked it, but nothing happened. Having found the wall, he used it as an anchor to keep from falling. He proceeded slowly until he reached the closet door. It rattled under his touch, and he jumped back, startled.
 

He called for his parents, but received no answer.
 

Out of nowhere, a light snapped on.
 

In the center of the room, a faint, circular glow had appeared on the bedsheets, as if someone were pressing a flashlight against the mattress. He could just make out the dim outline of the hand holding it, and the backlit visage of a man. It looked like his father.

"Dad?"

Isaac let go of the wall, leaving his anchor behind, and wobbled toward the bed. Unseen objects threatened to trip him, but he pressed on until he'd found purchase at the edge of the bed. The flashlight was still being held against the bedsheets. He could see the outline of his father, but he couldn't tell what the man was doing. His father's features were shrouded in darkness.
   

Was he all right? Was he injured?
 
In need of help?

 
Frantic, Isaac pulled himself onto the bed on hands and knees and crawled toward his father. Before he could reach him, the man lifted the flashlight and pointed it toward the other end of the king-sized bed, revealing his mother.
 

Roberta lay there, covered in moss and weeds, her decaying form sunken into the mattress. Isaac opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came out. He scrambled toward the edge of the bed. Before he could dismount, his father reached out and grabbed his arm. Then he turned the light on himself.
 

Ken Smith was alive, but his eyes were missing. In place of his eye sockets were twin gaping holes.

Isaac awoke with a jolt, nearly falling off the recliner. His heart thudded uncontrollably in his chest, and his breath was so fast it felt like he'd run a marathon. He clasped his hands against his chest, trying to quell the furious beating.
 

Scotty stood a few feet away, looking at him.

"You're not dying on us, are you?"

Isaac glanced around the room, catching a glimpse of Ferris, who was stationed by the window. The young man met his eyes, then glanced back through the cracks of the barricade. The remainder of the group was sleeping.

"How long was I out?" Isaac asked.

"I don't know. A half an hour?"

Isaac's hands were sweating. Although he knew he'd been dreaming, the images of what he'd seen clung to him like a second skin. As much as he tried to shake them off, he found himself questioning their meaning. Were his mother and father OK?

Had something happened to them?

Ever since the infection had started, he'd been sick with worry, and he'd wanted nothing more than to reach them. The fact that he was here with this group of near strangers rather than his parents was enough to rattle any sense of safety he had.

He couldn't stay forever. Soon he'd need to resume his mission to find them.

 
His thoughts were interrupted by a scream outside. Ferris sprang to attention at the barricade, plucking his weapon from the ground and peeking through a crack. The wailing continued for several seconds, then stopped. Isaac was fully awake now.

In the span of a few seconds, the fear from his nightmare had been erased, overtaken by the harsh realities of the world outside.

Right now, he didn't know which one was worse.

Ken had just gotten on I-17 South when his tire popped.

For the past few miles, he'd been dodging wreckage and debris with the vehicle, scarcely able to navigate, and now his luck had run out. He grimaced at the sound of the tire rotating end-over-end, thumping the pavement like the hull of a boat on rough water. Ahead of him were two vehicles, both turned sideways. It looked like they'd collided, and neither one appeared drivable. The windows were busted out, the doors were crunched in, and several of the tires were deflated. He pulled to a stop amongst them, wishing he could keep driving, but knowing he'd ruin the station wagon's rim if he did.
 

He just hoped the vehicle had a spare.

The car gave one last
thud
and then ground to a halt. He shut off the ignition and removed the key, plunging the highway into quiet.
 

For a full minute, Ken sat in the driver's seat, taking in his surroundings. Over the past hour, he'd grown accustomed to the steady hum of the engine, and the silence was so deep it was unnerving. He left the keys in the ignition—just in case he had to make a quick escape—and then opened the door.
 

The ensuing creak felt like the groan of some ancient animal, and he stopped himself before slamming the door shut. Although the area appeared deserted, it was best not to alert anything that might be lurking nearby.
 

Ken walked to the rear of the vehicle and popped open the trunk. The gears ground as it lifted into the air, exposing the stash of weapons and uncontaminated food he'd stored. He lifted the bags out of the trunk one by one and set them on the highway. Underneath the floor mat was the compartment for the spare tire, assuming one existed. He tucked his fingers underneath the wood and lifted, breathing a sigh of relief at what he found.

A tire was tucked neatly into the compartment.

He wrenched it free, locating a tire iron and a jack underneath, and then carried the objects to the front passenger's side of the car.

Sweat dimpled his forehead as he got to work. He loosened the lug nuts and started to crank the jack, feeling the warm rays of the sun beat down on him. It'd been years since he'd changed a tire, and although it wasn't glamorous, it took his mind off the events that had transpired.

Anything was better than dwelling on Roberta.
 

After he'd slid off the old tire, he positioned the new one. He was so preoccupied that he didn't notice the scrape behind him, or the pale body that had wormed its way from underneath a nearby vehicle.

It wasn't until he felt the bite of teeth that Ken snapped to attention.

Ken screamed in pain, yanking his arm from the rabid creature's mouth. The new tire bounced off the pavement, and he lunged for the tire iron, but it was just out of reach. The creature hurled itself at him again. It looked like the thing's legs had been crushed, probably from a previous accident. He was barely able to avoid its snapping jaws before it bowled him over onto the pavement.

Ken let loose a scream.

He used his forearm to protect his face and concentrated on reaching the tire iron, which was five feet from where he'd fallen. He slid sideways on the asphalt, bringing the creature with him. The thing's eyes were a deep black, its face stained with grease.

The tire iron got closer. Then closer still.

He reached out with his free hand, his fingers scraping the ground. He could feel the veins pulsing in his neck and forehead, and he prayed he could fend the thing off for another few seconds. If he could just get to the—

Ken snagged the tire iron, hefting it in the air. He brought it down on the creature's forehead, delivering a heavy blow onto its skull. The thing shook with the force of the impact. He raised the tire iron and struck it again, then again, each time hitting it harder, trying to wriggle free.

He felt the thing's hands loosen, then recede, and before he knew it, the thing had stopped moving. He threw it off of him.
 

Ken got to his feet, his arm throbbing from where he'd been bitten. He studied the gash—a puncture wound on his forearm. The creature had broken the skin. Blood flowed from jagged bite marks. The thing's teeth were cracked, probably from gnawing on its previous victims.
 

Things could've been worse. The injury, though painful, didn't appear to be severe.
 

Ken stared at the dead creature, taking in its frightening appearance. In the midst of the attack, he'd only gotten a cursory glance. The thing was an emaciated-looking man with a shaved head, a bloodstained goatee, and a torn outfit. Ken glanced around the highway. The fact that he hadn't seen or heard it was cause for concern. His guess was that it'd been lurking underneath one of the vehicles.

He bent down, ensuring there were no more surprises, and then ducked back into the vehicle. To his relief, there was a first aid kit in the glove box. It looked like it'd been torn open and used, but luckily there was still enough gauze, bandages, and alcohol to clean the wound. Once he'd wrapped himself up, he returned to the road to finish the tire. Before he got to work, he dragged the lifeless body of the creature about ten feet away, where it was out of reach, but in plain view.

He no longer trusted anything.

When he was satisfied, he resumed working on the tire.

The screaming outside had stopped, but that didn't make Isaac feel any better.

"We should go out there," he said, almost without thinking. "See if we can help her."

Scotty looked at him as if he were a lunatic. "Are you kidding me? You couldn't pay me to go out there. Not with all that screeching and groaning."

Isaac resumed listening. He'd been so focused on the screaming that he'd almost tuned out the sounds around it. In just a few minutes, the city had come alive, and it was now brimming with wails and clatters, like a holiday parade gone sour.

Although he'd felt safe a few moments before, Isaac was starting to feel less secure in the tattoo shop. Ferris straightened at the window, his face creased with worry. The others had startled awake. They glanced around the room, confused, as if the world were a meal and they were still digesting it.

The scream came again, and Isaac made for the window. He gripped the gun he'd been given and glanced out, certain he'd see the girl in question.
 

But the parking lot was as desolate as they'd left it. The only things he saw were curbs and empty cars and a few meandering creatures. No survivors.

A block away, several creatures were heading for the commotion.

"It's coming from that way," Isaac said, pointing east.
 

The scream was changing pitch and location, as if the girl were running. The urge to help her was overpowering Isaac's urge to be careful. His nerves screamed, begging him to move. Scotty joined him at the window, but offered no solutions.

Isaac tried to convince Ferris.

"We might be able to do something," he said. "We can't just let that girl die."

Ferris grunted. "Do you know how many people I've seen die out there? If I'd tried to help every one of them, I'd be dead several times over."

"But you saved
me
," Isaac said.

Ferris shrugged.

"You just lucked out. We happened to be in the right place at the right time," Scotty answered. "Don't make us regret it."

Ferris looked away, and Scotty walked back over to the couch he'd been stationed at. Isaac thought of a bunch of arguments to use on the men, but realized it'd be pointless. No matter how hard he argued, it didn't sound like they'd budge.

He heard another shriek in the distance, and Isaac felt a surge of emotions—anger and helplessness chief among them. Before he knew it, he was heading toward the rear exit.