Contamination Prequel (Post-Apocalyptic Zombie Series) by T.W. Piperbrook Read Free Book Online Page B

started to kick in, and he felt for the pistol beside him, gently easing his wife back to the floor. He looked at her one last time, his fingers pressed against her dress. A flood of memories washed over him, and he choked back a sob.
    They had been married for eleven years. He had known her since high school. He remembered how beautiful she had looked at their wedding—how brave she had been during the birth of their child. The footsteps grew louder, and he grit his teeth and fought back the tears. He needed to let go. He needed to move. He let his hands slip from her body, wiped his arm across his face, and forced himself to leave.
    Dan scurried to the far end of the dining room on his knees, positioning himself between the table and the living room doorway.
    The screen door at the front of the house banged against the frame. He considered calling out, but decided against it. He aimed the pistol in front of him, propping his arms on one of the chairs.
    The TV volume seemed to increase, and he strained to hear over it. Something scraped against the wall in the living room, and Dan’s body went rigid.
    Someone was in the next room.
    A mottled hand entered the doorway, pawing at the air in front of it, testing the waters. After the appendage came a torso, and then a full body; black eyes scanning back and forth as it wormed sideways into the dining room. Dan recoiled at the figure, whose face appeared to be disintegrating in a mound of flesh. It idled towards him, feeling its way forward, heading right for the table.
    Dan fired a round, shattering its knee and sending it reeling to the floor. Another was behind it, this one faster than the last, already veering around Julie’s body and gaining ground. He fired again, splintering the side off of the chair opposite him, missing his target. The chair toppled backwards, landing on Julie’s body.
    Dan was on his feet now, scooting around the table. The first attacker fumbled on its broken knee, contending with the chair, and its companion pushed past it without skipping a beat. The creatures— things —spewed bile from their mouths, salivating onto the floor below as they tried to reach him.
    He reached the living room doorway. Behind him, he heard the remaining furniture topple over. He crossed the room, panting, and stopped at the front screen door. Outside, three more were headed up the walkway. They began to groan when they saw him.
    “Fuck,” he whispered.
    Dan slammed the front door shut, dead-bolting it. He whipped around, gun in front of him, and felt something grab his arm. One of the first houseguests had caught up to him. Its fingers were cold on his skin, wrapping around his wrist like icicles.
    He kicked forward, connecting with its stomach, and sent it toppling backwards into the couch. He raised his pistol and fired into it, gritting his teeth. Three bullets passed through its chest, blood and bile rippling out from the wounds. The creature sunk down onto the couch cushions, and then stood up again, unfazed.
    He heard the sound of nails on the front screen, and then something pounding on the front door. If he didn’t get out this house, Dan was certain it would become his tomb.
    He skirted around the couch, avoiding the outstretched hands of the creature in the living room, and entered the dining room again. The first creature was still on the floor, crawling on its knees, coming towards him. He shot off a round into its head and watched it collapse to the floor.
    He swiveled again, facing the remaining creature from the living room—this time aiming for its forehead. Maybe that was the key. Just like the god-damn movies , he thought. His heart sunk when he pulled the trigger.
    He was out of bullets.

12
    “I don’t want to go back home,” Quinn whispered.
    Howard looked at her, but his eyes seemed distant. He was holding his gun in one hand and a cellphone in the other. He kept checking the phone, as if expecting someone to call. His arms were crooked