Read Online Contamination: Dead Instinct (Contamination Post-Apocalyptic Zombie Series) by T.W. Piperbrook - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: T.W. Piperbrook
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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.
Chapter Twelve
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
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.
Chapter Twelve
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
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