Spore Series (Book 1): Spore

by Soward, Kenny

  He looked down at Pauline, and they shared a brief but knowing smile. She placed her hand on his arm and gave it a slight squeeze. The doors slid open to reveal the concrete parking structure lit by stark white halogen lights.

  A long, shiny black bus with tinted windows stretched out in front of them. It looked like something a rock star might travel in. To Burke, it was much more than that. The bus was his first line of defense against the world’s growing volatility.

  His original prediction was that unstable markets would one day bring the world to its knees, making rich people like Burke prime targets for angry mobs.

  Imagine his surprise when he woke up to find his own company had at least been partially responsible for the world’s mess.

  Burke prided himself in being prepared. As a corporate leader, he’d built up a healthy paranoia to fuel his prepping efforts.

  So, he’d invested a million dollars’ worth of materials and technology into the vehicle over the years, turning it into the ultimate survival cruiser. It could brush off small arms fire like gnats, travel coast-to-coast on minimal fuel, all while the guests rested inside and breathed cool, fresh air.

  Still, the bus would be worthless without a destination. The second line of defense was Burke’s bunker in the California Mountains along with a select group of critical staff members.

  Burke’s department heads gasped at the beautiful vehicle, at least until they spotted the three men standing guard outside. They wore military-style combat gear. Sunglasses covered their eyes, and they cradled rifles in their arms, barrels pointed at the ground.

  Burke gestured to Pauline. She left the elevator, stepped between the soldiers, and boarded the bus with Burke right on their heels. The soldiers closed ranks behind Burke, blocking the rest of the department heads as they tried to enter.

  “Hey!” Travis shouted after Burke. “Are you just going to leave us here?”

  “That’s right,” Burke said, unable to keep the pleased smirk off his face as he put his foot on the second step and turned around. “I’m leaving you high and dry, as they say.”

  “What are we supposed to do?” Trish cried out, her voice raising in panic and anger.

  “To be honest,” Burke shrugged. “I don’t care what you do. You’re all impossibly incompetent and annoying.”

  Trish fixed him with an accusing stare, pointing her finger at him above the shoulder of one of his soldiers. “You said you would take care of us. You said we’d be safe.”

  “I was referring to myself, Pauline, and my three rifle-bearing friends.” Burke gestured at the lot of them. “Don’t follow me, or you’ll force my men to take action.”

  Burke ascended the last two steps and entered the plush, spacious interior. His bodyguards backed up the stairs, and the bus door hissed shut to the angry chorus of his doomed former employees.

  Chapter 11

  Moe Tsosie, Flagstaff, Arizona

  Moe’s clock read nearly 4 a.m. when he approached Flagstaff, Arizona. The traffic increased with every mile, people speeding by doing ninety miles per hour or more. Glancing down as vehicles passed, Moe saw people’s desperate expressions as they fled the black clouds of spores.

  They clung to their steering wheels with piles of possessions tossed into the back seat. Clothes hampers, cans of food, cases of water, and sometimes pets and people. Two children stared up at Moe from the back of one vehicle as their mother drove distracted. She tapped frantically on her cell phone, weaving back and forth across the white line at ninety-five miles per hour.

  In the back seat of another vehicle, Moe saw a person stretched out, unmoving and covered in mold. The sight of it shocked him straight, and he looked again to confirm his suspicions. The white-haired driver wore splotches on his skin, and the mold tangled in his hair like decorative Halloween webbing.

  Cars and trucks carried the scourge with them, their grills and hoods covered in streaks of the luminous crimson fungus like nature had given them a fiery paint job. Moe imagined them spreading it to any with whom they came in contact with, and the wind carrying millions of spores up into the cool night sky.

  With a shake of his head, Moe remained focused on the road and the surrounding vehicles. He couldn’t afford to let someone else’s bad driving cause him to crash. Once past Flagstaff, it would be a clear shot home to Chinle, Arizona and the safety of the Navajo reservation.

  Moe reached a big pileup just ten miles outside of Flagstaff, coming upon it in the darkness at the edge of his headlights’ reach. Three cars lay crunched side-by-side against the guardrail, and people stood near the wreckage. The lady who’d passed Moe driving while tapping on her cell phone was one of them, gesturing at the others and pointing down the expressway toward Flagstaff.

  He slowed down to twenty-five miles per hour, wanting to help until he spotted one vehicle covered in a layer of fungus. Tiny clusters of luminous crimson spores drifted into the air, rattled loose in the wreck and carried off by the wind. Moe fought the urge to stop. He remembered the choking drivers back in Bakersfield, and he knew what the fungus could do if it reached a person’s lungs.

  The woman glanced up at Moe, her expression beyond desperate. He didn’t blame her, because panic had been simmering in his own gut ever since he’d escaped Bakersfield. Moe wished they would take a minute to look around and notice the mad traffic and drifting spores. If it were him, he’d leave the contaminated vehicle behind, grab everything they could carry, and start walking.

  Moe spotted the two kids’ peering out from the back of the woman’s vehicle as he passed. He sighed, knowing he couldn’t leave the kids there in that situation.

  A horn went off as a vehicle flew dangerously around him, and Moe glared at the driver and tugged on his own horn to warn them to be more careful. Moe cruised another thirty yards and pulled onto the shoulder. Leaving his truck running, he grabbed his air filtration mask and climbed down.

  He shut the door behind him, slipped his air filtration mask on, and walked back toward the arguing people. Two men and two women stood around, watching the main combatants as they gestured at the crash and screamed at one another.

  “You shouldn’t have cut me off, lady,” the man shouted. “You didn’t even use your turn signal.”

  “I had my turn signal on, and I changed lanes legally,” she fired back with venom. “You rear-ended me!” She pointed at the man. “So, you better have good insurance, buddy, because you’ll need it.”

  When Moe got within ten yards, he stopped and waved. The man spotted Moe and stopped arguing, which caused the woman to turn around.

  “Hi, there!” Moe shouted above the traffic noise and gestured at his truck. “Do you folks need a lift?”

  The woman turned around and placed her hands on her hips. “Who are you?”

  “My name is Moe!”

  “Well, what do you want, Moe?”

  Moe took a step closer. “It’s dangerous out here, ma’am. I think we need to get you folks off the road. I can put you all in the sleeper cabin of my truck.”

  “Will all my stuff fit in there?” The woman glanced at her car where it lay against the guardrail, the left tire bent outward.

  “I don’t know, but the most important thing is to get you and your children to safety. Flagstaff is less than ten miles away.”

  “Well, I was on my way to Phoenix,” she argued.

  “Maybe you can get a ride to Phoenix from Flagstaff,” Moe suggested.

  Two of the people standing behind the arguing couple nodded and approached Moe. A married couple in their thirties. Normal, non-arguing folk.

  “We’d appreciate that lift,” the man said with a nod.

  “No problem,” Moe smiled at them, his eyes narrowing as he glanced over them for signs of infection. “Stand to the side so you don’t get hit. People are driving crazy.”

  “You’re telling me,” the man replied before he and his wife stepped to the side.

  Moe turned back to the woman. “So, lady. Do
you want...” His voice trailed off as he spotted headlights in the slow lane edge into the fast lane to give the wrecked cars room. Another vehicle sped along the fast lane, doing a hundred miles per hour by Moe’s estimation. It slammed into the car changing lanes and shot it toward them.

  “Watch out!” Moe shouted, leaping back as he grabbed the others.

  Tires screeched and metal crunched as Moe hit the ground. Pieces of metal and flying glass showered him. A soft puff of sound followed by a wave of heat told Moe something had caught fire.

  Moe looked up as a tire rolled by. He crawled to his knees, gazing at the wreckage strewn all around. Body parts lay scattered all across the shoulder. Someone’s arm twitched on the concrete ten feet away, and a twisted corpse rested near the yellow line.

  Fire lit the scene, dousing everything in a strange orange glow. The invading car had split the other three, shoving the arguing woman’s car off the road and knocking the near car into the bystanders. Then it had caught fire, its driver lying dead over the steering wheel, covered in flames.

  The two people looking for a ride lay on their backs off the shoulder, gaping at the scene.

  Moe stood and staggered over to the twisted body. It was the arguing woman lying with one leg pinned behind her, stretched at an impossible angle. Her dead eyes stared up at the sky. Moe turned his attention back to her vehicle and spotted a child’s arms pushing at the door. He sprinted over and saw the little boy trying to shove the door open while his sister sat terrified on the other side of the seat.

  Moe tugged on the door handle, though it wouldn’t open because of the smashed side panel. The window frame still held pieces of glass, so Moe found a fist-sized rock and hefted it.

  “Get back,” Moe told the boy.

  The boy kicked away from the door and fell into his sister’s lap as Moe knocked the sharp edges out with the rock. Then he tossed the rock aside and held out his hands to them.

  “Come on. Both of you.”

  The boy leapt out first, and Moe caught him and set him to the side. Then he waited on the little girl. She put her hands on the door frame and stared at Moe with a mix of uncertainty and fear. Her black hair lay sweaty across her face.

  “Where’s Mom?” she pleaded.

  “She’s...” Moe hesitated, making grabbing motions with his hands. “She’s around here. Just come on out.” When she still didn’t come, Moe squashed a spike of impatience and offered her a friendly smile. “Hey, I won’t hurt you, I swear. But it’s not safe in there, and your mom asked me to get you out.”

  “Where is she?”

  Moe nodded to the side. “She’s over there. She’s—”

  The girl leapt through the window and into Moe’s arms. He placed her beside her brother, took their hands, and led them back to the shoulder.

  “Mom!” The girl’s head swiveled back and forth. Her eyes passed right over her mother’s corpse, not recognizing her in the fiery light.

  Turning them away from the expressway, Moe guided them toward his truck.

  “But, Mom.” The little girl’s face twisted in agony as she looked back at the fiery crash.

  Moe forced them to keep walking, not wanting to tell another lie but eager to do the right thing. “Look, kids. I need to get you inside my truck. It’s too dangerous standing out here. Your mother would want—.”

  He glanced up at his rig and stopped as a spike of anger shot up his spine. The couple he’d offered a ride to were up by his truck. The woman was climbing into the passenger seat, and the driver’s door slammed shut with the man already inside.

  “Oh, you assholes,” Moe growled. He let go of the kids’ hands and sprinted ahead.

  He leapt onto the driver’s side step just as the rig lurched forward and squealed to a stop. Moe grabbed the door handle, jerked the door open, and cocked his fist back.

  “You forgot to release the parking brake,” he said, punching the man in the face.

  The man’s head rocked to the side, and Moe struck him two more times before jerking him out of the seat and pitching him onto the expressway. The man stood on shaky legs as his senses returned.

  “Better watch out,” Moe said, gesturing to the onrushing cars. “You’ll get hit.”

  The man glanced at the headlights bearing down on him and leapt around to the front of Moe’s truck. His wife met him there, and Moe slammed his truck door shut and stalked after them with his hands balled into fists. They fled, holding each other while shooting dirty looks at Moe.

  “It’s only ten miles to Flagstaff,” Moe growled. He went back for the kids with an occasional glance thrown over his shoulder to make sure the couple kept going.

  He found the kids standing over the corpse of their mother as traffic whizzed by. Moe took them by their shoulders and drew them away. The little girl resisted for a moment but then turned and swung her fists in windmill fashion, grunting and crying as she walloped on him.

  “Bring her back!” the girl cried. “Bring Mom back!”

  Moe’s belly absorbed the abuse, and tears streaked down his face as he waited for her to wear herself out.

  “I wish I could, but I can’t.” Moe explained, his heart tearing in two. “I know I’m not your mom, but I’ll get you someplace safe. I swear.”

  The girl finally succumbed to exhaustion and fell against Moe with her arm’s wrapped around him. The little boy put his hands on her shoulders and patted her.

  “I think Mom’s dead, Cindy,” the boy said, glancing up at Moe. “Let’s just go with the man. He’s right, it’s dangerous here. Mom would want us to be safe.”

  The girl backed up, nodding with a numb expression as she held out her hand for Moe to take. Moe took the girl’s small hand in his. With one last look at their mother, Moe noticed the woman still held her phone. He knelt forward and wrestled the device from her death grip. It should contain phone numbers of relatives he could reach.

  Back at his truck, Moe helped the kids into the sleeper cab. “Just sit on the mattress base.” Moe climbed behind the wheel and strapped his seat belt on. “It should be soft enough. You can lie down if you want to.”

  The kids huddled on the thin mat with their arms around each other and their doubtful eyes glued to Moe.

  “So, your name is Cindy,” Moe glanced back at the girl. “What about you, little guy?”

  “I’m Tommy,” the boy said.

  “Good to meet you both,” he nodded. “I’m Moe.”

  Moe put his rig into gear and edged forward along the shoulder, building speed to merge into traffic.

  Chapter 12

  Moe Tsosie, Flagstaff, Arizona

  The line of traffic on I-40 built as Moe came within a quarter mile of the Flagstaff exit. Vehicles slowed to a full stop, and car horns blared into the desert sky. Moe raised in his seat, half expecting to see a fiery crash way up ahead. He caught sight of blue police lights churning in the distance. The authorities had blocked off the entire expressway, though he couldn’t see a wreck.

  “I wonder why they would do that?” Moe asked.

  “Is the road blocked?” Tommy asked from the back.

  “It looks like it,” Moe replied. “The police are there, and we’re not too far from them.”

  “Can I sit up front with you?”

  “For the moment, sure.” Moe replied with a grin. “But this might be where I drop you off.”

  The boy flashed Moe a worried look.

  “With the police, I mean,” Moe corrected himself. “They’ll take you to a safe place.”

  “Oh,” the boy smiled and climbed into the passenger seat. “I’ve never ridden in a big rig before.”

  Moe chuckled. “Cool, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Is your dad’s number in here?” Moe asked, picking up their mom’s phone from the center console.

  “Yeah,” Tommy said, looking at the phone like it was a ghost.

  “Is your dad home in Phoenix?”

  “That’s where we live.” Cindy
seemed emboldened by her brother. “Can you take us to our dad?”

  “I can’t, because I’ve got to get home, too.” Moe spoke with a disappointed tone. “But I’ll find someone who can.”

  Moe put his truck in park, engaged his emergency brake, and held the phone up. He swiped his thumb across the screen, not surprised to see it was locked.

  “Hey, kids, what’s your mom’s phone passcode?”

  “0276,” Tommy said.

  Moe unlocked the phone, navigated to the contacts list, and glanced at Tommy.

  “What’s your dad’s name?”

  “Steve,” the boy replied.

  Moe found “Stevie Bear” in the contacts list and hit “call.”

  The call rang straight to Stevie Bear’s voice mail, and Moe left him a detailed message about the situation. He implied that his wife had been in an accident. Then he reassured the man his kids were safely in Flagstaff, holding out the phone so the kids could say hello. Moe explained he would leave Tommy and Cindy with local authorities before continuing on to Chinle.

  Another semi-trailer truck sat in the standstill traffic ahead of him. It was a refrigerated unit, likely hauling produce to the other side of the desert. Curious, Moe picked up his CB mic from its holder on the dashboard and switched to channel nineteen for east-west traffic.

  He put the microphone to his lips and pressed the talk button. “Hey, this is Wildcat sitting outside of Flagtown staring at a reefer about a quarter mile from some major roadblock. You got your ears on, reefer?” Moe released the talk button and listened.

  The radio speaker crackled a reply. “Hey, Wildcat, I’m in that reefer you’re talking about. This is Gator. Looks like we got wall to wall bears up there.”

  “Is it the local yokels causing the holdup?”

  “Negative. They’ve got two hummers and some military standing by, too.”