Contamination: Dead Instinct (Contamination Post-Apocalyptic Zombie Series) (12 page)

"What's wrong?" Kate hissed.

He pointed to the front door. "I think it's unlocked."

Kate's eyes widened. "What should we do?" she asked, her eyes darting from Isaac to the windows.

"Let's wait until the parking lot clears, then I'll scoot over and try to lock it."

The creatures in the parking lot had grown sparse. By the looks of it, all those in close proximity had joined the others, and were pounding at the back door. Isaac rose to a crouch and scanned the room. The closest table was about ten feet away.

Here goes nothing.

Isaac sucked in a breath, then scampered across the tile floor, sliding to a stop next to the closest table. When he reached it, he glanced out the front window, then back at Kate. She mouthed "all clear".

Isaac planned his next move. The next table was five feet away. He exhaled and darted toward it, reaching it in less than a second. The windows still revealed an empty parking lot.
 

There were only a few tables and chairs between him and the lobby. Isaac continued, gliding between tables and chairs, keeping his cover.

He'd almost made it to the front when he slipped on something wet, and he skidded to a halt, bumping one of the bolted-down chairs. The seat swiveled back and forth, creaking. Isaac reached up to stop it, but not before he saw movement from outside.

Heart racing, he slowly looked out the front windows.

One of the creatures was staring at him. It slapped its hands against the glass, locking eyes with him. Isaac went stock-still, as if his lack of movement might make him invisible, but it was too late.
 

He'd already been seen.

Without warning, the creature reared back and flung itself at the window. The impact shook the pane, and it hissed at him through the glass. The front door opened and closed slightly with the impact. Another creature joined it, scratching its nails against the pane.
 

Isaac stared at the things, then at the front door. Two more creatures had found their way there, and were already tugging at the handle. He watched in horror as the door inched open and pallid hands slid their way through the crack.

"Quick!" Isaac said. "Out the other side!"

He changed direction, bolting toward the left side of the restaurant. Outside, several of the creatures matched his movement, as if he were a magnet sliding them along the glass. In his peripheral vision, he caught sight of Kate running behind him.

The side door was locked. Desperate, he fiddled with the knob. At the same time, a cluster of the things spilled inside, spitting hot breath and tearing across the tile.
 

In just a few seconds, the restaurant had been overrun.

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 choked 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.
   

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.