Contamination: Dead Instinct (Contamination Post-Apocalyptic Zombie Series) (16 page)

"Dad?"

Isaac couldn't believe what he was seeing. The man on top of the RV was gaunt and dirt-stained, his face lined with stubble. His clothing hung in tatters; his cheeks were spattered with blood. Beneath all of that, however, Isaac could still recognize the loving eyes of his father.
 

 
"Isaac? Is that really you?"

"Yes, Dad! Hold on! I'll get you out of there!"

In spite of his words, Isaac had no idea how he'd execute the maneuver. His father was surrounded, and a horde of creatures was already clambering for his own vehicle.

But his father was alive.
 

He pulled forward, still trying to digest the reality of what was occurring. Not only was his father alive, but also he was
here
. How? Why? There was no time for answers. If Isaac didn't get them out of the situation, there'd be no happy reunion, no warm embrace. He might never have a conversation with him again.
 

He veered back around until he was facing the direction of the city. He watched the rearview mirror. He'd lured away several of the creatures, but not enough to free up his father. He honked the horn, watching a few more peel their bodies from the RV. There were too many of them; too many still intent on getting onto the RV.

Groans and ululations filled the air, drowning out the sound of his engine.
 

A gunshot burst into the air, and Isaac startled. He looked behind him. His father had fired on several that were making their way up the ladder. They were overtaking the RV.

"Hold on!" he screamed.
 

If he couldn't lure the creatures from the RV, he'd have to get his father another way. Isaac drove forward, breaking away from the creatures that were pawing at the car, and then slammed the vehicle into reverse.

The engine soared, and suddenly he was flying backward, on a collision course with the rear of the RV. A group of creatures were in the process of climbing up the ladder, but he rammed into them, listening to the crunch of limbs and the muted
thud
of bodies. He'd backed up so that he was butted against the ladder.
 

He rolled down the window and stuck his head out.

"Come on, Dad!"

The sound of gunfire exploded from behind him. Several bodies toppled to the ground, writhing. When he looked in the rearview, he saw his father on the top rung of the ladder. Isaac glanced left and right. Where would he go? The infected were already surrounding the vehicle.

His father could jump from the ladder to the car and try to hang on, but what if he were to fall? The infected would be on him in seconds. There was no way to—

An idea struck him, and suddenly Isaac was leaning down in his seat, searching for the trunk latch.
Where the hell is it?
Hands pounded on the windows, threatening to shatter them. Faces pressed against the glass. Finally Isaac found what he was looking for, and he pulled the lever, crying out with relief.
 

In the rearview, he saw the trunk pop open. He turned to the window, ready to scream out instructions, but his father was already climbing down the ladder, getting inside it. He caught a glimpse of tattered clothing and skin, and before he knew it, he felt something heavy hit the inside of the trunk.
 

Isaac didn't wait another second. He hit the accelerator, careening away from the RV and the shrieking infected, heading back to a city he'd sworn he'd left for good.

Isaac couldn't stop looking at his father. It felt as if the man were an illusion, a mirage, and any moment, he'd disappear. Ken was doing the same to his son.

"Is it really you, Dad?"

His father nodded. Isaac welled up.
 

"I can't believe you made it, Dad," Isaac whispered.
 

Ken Smith nodded, his eyes brimming with tears. "I can't believe it myself."

"I was coming to find you. I've been stuck for days. I was going to try to get to Oklahoma...What about Mom? Where is she? Is she all right?"

Silence settled over the vehicle, and Isaac could feel his father's sorrow, as if it were a tangible thing between them. He tried repeating his question, but his words were stuck in his throat.
 

His father gripped his arm, steadying him for the news.

"Your mother didn't make it."

Isaac's body grew numb.

"I lost her back in New Mexico, just before the Arizona state line. Three men attacked us. One of them attacked your mother," Ken explained. "I did my best to help...but I just...I just couldn't."

Isaac nodded. He tried to process the information, but at the moment, it was just a string of unconnected words. Nothing more. After everything he'd seen, everything he'd been through, he would've thought he'd be prepared.

But nothing could've prepared him for this.

"She wanted to find you so badly," Ken said. "You were all she talked about, from the moment this whole thing started."

Isaac nodded.
 

He stared at the road, realizing he had no idea where he was going. His mind felt like it'd been irreversibly scrambled. He couldn't concentrate. He couldn't drive. He couldn't fathom what to do next. With the interstate blocked off, they'd need to figure out an alternate plan, but all he could think about was his mother. Her face kept appearing in his head, as if the woman were still alive and clamoring to see him, and he was desperate not to lose the image.

"She was really brave, Isaac, through this whole thing," Ken said. "She knew we'd find you. She'd be so proud of you."

Isaac nodded. "Did you bury her?"

"Yes. Yes, son, I did."

"Where?"

"Off the interstate. I can take you there, if and when things settle down."
 

Ken was staring out the window, his rifle on his lap. Isaac noticed he'd managed to take his bag.

"What's in there?" Isaac asked.

"Guns and ammunition. And food, too. Are you hungry?"

"I haven't eaten in days," Isaac admitted. "But what if it's—"

"Don't worry, the food is safe."

"How do you know?"

"I took it from the men who did this."

Ken launched into his story about what had happened on the highway, recounting the SUV that had chased him, as well as the supplies he'd managed to obtain. Isaac listened intently. After he'd finished, Ken offered his son a drink of water and some crackers from his pack.
 

Isaac took them both gratefully.

He guzzled the water, letting it linger before he swallowed. The liquid was warm but refreshing. Then he ate the crackers. When he was through eating and drinking, he narrated the events of the past week, including the battle with his roommate, the young men he'd run into, and the loss of Kate.

"It's unbelievable that you survived all that," Ken said. "I can't imagine what you've been through."

Isaac turned the wheel, cutting down a nearby side street, wary of his surroundings. The din of the engine cut through the silence of the city. Even though there were only a few infected in sight, the noise they were making had him worried. He'd seen how easy it was to be surrounded.

"Where do you think we should go, Dad?"

Ken went silent.

"I don't think we should go back home," he said finally.

"What about the house? All our things?"

Ken shook his head. "There's nothing worth salvaging in that direction."

"I heard people talking about going west," Isaac suggested. "Before all the communications went down."

"That might be our best bet. Are there any other highways out of here?"

"I-10. But I bet it's as clogged as the one we were on."

Ken opened the glove box, rifling through some papers. After some digging, he found a road map.

He unfolded the map and examined it. "Maybe we can take Route 93 through Peoria. Do you know where that is?"

Isaac shook his head. "Vaguely. How do I get there?"

Ken read off directions, and Isaac began planning a route through the city. The deeper they got, the more the wreckage increased, and Isaac started to worry that they'd get stuck. He couldn't let that happen. Not now.
 

Not after they'd found each other.

He twisted the wheel, avoiding a downed street sign and a pile of dead infected. When he looked back at his father, he noticed he was transferring something from his pocket to his bag.

"What's that?" he asked.

Ken paused. He pulled out his hand, revealing a wrinkled photograph of Isaac. "I've been carrying this with me since I left Oklahoma," he said. "It's what got your mother and me through."
 

Isaac let go of the wheel and squeezed his Dad's arm.

"Hopefully you won't need it anymore, Dad."

They'd almost made it to Route 93 when they heard a rumble overhead.
 

The noise was faint at first, hard to detect and even harder to pinpoint. Within minutes it had increased in volume, overshadowing the noise of the car's engine.

"What's that, Dad?"

Isaac slowed the vehicle and they both bent down, peering up into the sky above them. At first, all they could make out was buildings. The sun had started its descent, and it cast an orange glow over the top of the city, obscuring their view. A few seconds later, they saw a familiar shape in the sky.
 

"Is that a helicopter?"

"It looks like it!"

"Who is it? The army? A news helicopter? What if it's the agents?"

"I can't tell," Ken yelled. "It's black. It doesn't look like the agents. Whoever it is, we need to flag them down!"

Isaac decreased his speed to a crawl, rolling down the windows. The two of them waved their arms in the air, doing their best to draw the pilot's attention. It was the first sign of civilization—
real
civilization—that Isaac had seen in days, and the prospect of rescue hit him like a punch to the stomach.

Without realizing it, his eyes had welled up again.
 

Would they get out of this alive? Was there really hope of rescue?

The chopper was hovering right above them. Isaac screamed into the air, beckoning the pilot.

Through the glare, he caught a glimpse of the person inside. It appeared to be a man in army fatigues, and he was signaling to them. Isaac ducked back in the car and yelled to his father.

"What's he trying to tell us?"

"He says he's going to bring it down!"

Isaac glanced at the road in front of them, which was covered in debris. "Where's he going to land?" he asked, but his question was drowned out by the roar of the helicopter.
 

The pilot was already starting to descend. Isaac surveyed the area, as if to direct the man at the helm. A few creatures had appeared from the neighboring streets and were already stalking toward the noise. Isaac noted that the pilot was moving away from them. It took him a minute to see what the man was doing. Down the street, about a block away, was a clear patch of road. It looked like he was going to land.
 

"Drive toward it!" Ken shouted, digging into his backpack.

Isaac set the car in motion, aiming for the empty spot, but a few cars were in the way, blocking his path. He put the vehicle into park. The helicopter had stopped moving and was hovering twenty feet from the ground. A rope ladder hung from the underside, and the pilot was waving at them frantically. The nearby infected were getting closer.

Ken pulled a pistol from his bag and looked over at his son.
 

"We're going to have to make a break for it!" he yelled. "Are you ready?"

Isaac stared at his father's grime-covered face, then back at the creatures outside. There were about eight in the vicinity. Each was clawing at the air, each waiting for the car's occupants to emerge.
 

He reached out, grabbing hold of his father's shoulder.

In the wake of a world collapse, they'd managed to bridge the gap of a thousand miles, fighting their way through legions of the infected and men who'd intended to do them harm. There were only eight creatures outside.
 

They'd seen worse.
 

"I'm ready!" Isaac yelled.

Without another word, both father and son whipped open their doors and ran out into the street, ready to fight their way to the helicopter.

About The Author

T.W. Piperbrook was born and raised in Connecticut, where he can still be found today. He is the author of
OUTAGE
and the
CONTAMINATION
series. 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 the spirit of his Boston Terrier.

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CONTAMINATION: DEAD INSTINCT,
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CONTAMINATION
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