Contamination: Dead Instinct (Contamination Post-Apocalyptic Zombie Series) Read Free Page B

exterior of the trunk. Who was out there? Was it the military? Was it help ?
    Did they know he was in here?
    Despite his predicament, Isaac had somehow kept quiet, fearing that he'd draw more attention to himself. He'd prayed the things would go away, even though he knew it was unlikely.  
    Now his hope was renewed.
    He kept his hand on the trunk latch, waiting for the gunfire to cease. He noticed the commotion around him was dying out. Even the creatures in the interior of the car—the ones that had been pushing on the other side of the backseat—seemed to have grown still.  
    With the area now immersed in quiet, Isaac could hear only the pounding in his ears. His face dripped with sweat; his clothes felt like they'd been dipped in water. Still he waited.
    Although he was pretty sure the creatures around him had been eliminated, he found himself faced with a new fear. Who was on the outside? If someone had come to rescue him, why hadn't they tried to open the trunk?
    He had the sudden fear that someone was waiting to mow him down, too. He'd seen some violent survivors since the infection began—mostly from a distance, because he'd been careful not to get close. What if one of them was outside waiting for him?  
    He held his breath, hoping for a clue as to his rescuer.  
    As the seconds ticked by, his anxiety deepened. How long should he wait? Between the heat exhaustion and the lack of oxygen, he wanted nothing more than to spring from the vehicle, to suck in fresh air and relieve the aches and pains that belabored his body. Ten seconds, he decided. He'd wait ten seconds, and if he heard nothing in that time, he'd exit.
    He began counting slowly.
    One-one-thousand, two-one-thousand, three-one-thousand...
    Nothing.
    Four-one-thousand, five-one-thousand...
    Still not a sound.
    When he reached ten, he ran his fingers over the trunk latch. Although he was terrified to open it, he was even more terrified to stay.  
    What if the creatures came back and trapped him for good?  
    He was about to hit the latch when he heard the scuff of a shoe on the pavement. The noise was tentative, almost inaudible, and he strained his ears to hear it again. Someone coughed, and Isaac's skin prickled. Whoever it was knew he was in here; they were just waiting for him to come out.  
    He could either stay, hoping to outlast the person or persons, or he could take a chance and make his presence known.
    His breath came in shallow gasps; the trunk felt like it was searing him alive. He reached for the latch.
    "Don't shoot! I'm coming out!"
    He listened for a response, but all he heard was the subtle gust of the wind, blowing through the cracks and corners of the city. Somewhere overhead, a bird cawed, as if to make up for the lack of noise on the street below it.
    Isaac hit the latch and popped the trunk open. He tried to catch it on the way up, hoping to keep his cover, but he lost his grip. Before he knew it he was in the open, the sun shining in his face.
    Slowly but surely the world came into view. All around him were remnants of the creatures that had attacked him. Their bodies littered the street: face down, sideways, and on top of one another.  
    Standing about fifty feet away, guns locked on him, were five young men.
    Isaac studied the group. All of them appeared to be several years older than him—in their mid-twenties, if he had to guess. They were wearing tattered clothes, and each of them sported some combination of beard or moustache.
    He held up his hands, his body half-in and half-out of the trunk, and called out to them.
    "Don't shoot," he said. "Please."
    The men stared at him, but none of them moved. His eyes roamed the group, searching for some indication that they meant him harm. Were they going to cut him down? If so, what were they waiting for?
    The men's eyes were hollow and empty, and none of them spoke. After a few seconds, one of them—a young man with a backwards baseball cap—lowered his weapon and walked toward