She entered from the hallway and went to the stove, old floorboards creaking beneath her feet. She filled a kettle with water, placed it on a burner, and turned on the heat. Then she retrieved two oatmeal packets from a box in the pantry. She ripped those open, feeling like a T-Rex with her right arm in its sling, and dumped them into a bowl. She raised it to her nose and relished the scent of maple and cinnamon.
While she waited for the water to boil, Jessie opened the fridge and looked around. “So sad,” she remarked as she stared at the bare insides. All that remained was a half jug of two percent milk on the verge of going bad, moldy cheese, the odd jar or two of jam, and half-full condiment bottles. She suspected Paul might have to cut power to the appliance unless they found more food to put inside.
Jessie took out the jug of milk and a tub of butter. Soon dairy products would be impossible to find, so she might as well live it up.
Water done boiling, she removed it from the stove and used a spoon to drop a heap of butter on top, then added a little milk. After returning the items to the refrigerator, she mixed up the contents and ate at the counter, holding the bowl in her right hand while she dug out the creamy oats with her left.
It was awkward doing tasks with her off-hand. Some moments, she thought she had it. Other times it grew unbearably frustrating, controlling the spoon, keeping oats from falling back into the bowl, and scraping spillage off her chin when she didn’t angle the utensil correctly.
Once done eating, Jessie put the bowl in the sink and washed it. She wiped her face with a paper towel and tossed that in the garbage. Back in the hallway, she opened the basement door beneath the main stairwell and descended into Paul’s theater room.
Cool air brushed her cheeks, bringing the aroma of dusty wood and newer carpet. Paul mentioned he’d updated the historical home years ago, and Jessie loved its mixture of old and new.
Her feet pressed on the soft gray stairs, muffled creaks greeting her as she came to the first landing and took a left to descend to the bottom. The old movie room was a bustle of activity.
The soldiers had turned up the mood lighting and placed a small electric lantern in one corner. Then they’d brought down four guest frames from upstairs and lined them up along the right wall. Bryant was positioning a mattress on one frame to finish creating a makeshift bunk area. That way, Paul and Jessie could monitor the soldiers together during their treatments. And it made sense to consolidate to the lower floors which afforded them protection from further attacks.
The lieutenant colonel saw her at the bottom of the stairs and nodded in greeting. He looked tired, limping, his T-shirt soaked with sweat.
The big screen sat forgotten at the far end of the room, and the soldiers had pushed the six theater chairs off to the left-hand wall, lining them up in a neat row. To the left and behind her was a small refreshment area with a microwave, a wet bar, and an old-fashioned popcorn maker filled with stale popped kernels.
Fiona stood on a stool in front of the machine, the door flung wide as she tried to scoop the old kernels into a trash bag. Unfortunately, she knocked most of the yellow bits onto the floor, though Jessie was happy to see her staying out of the way.
“Hey, baby.” She beamed a smile at the girl.
Fiona looked over her left shoulder, her face lighting up. “I’m helping.”
“You sure are,” Jessie laughed. She bent and picked up some dropped kernels and placed them in the garbage bag. “Who told you to clean out the popcorn machine.”
“Paul... he... he said I could make some fresh if I cleaned it out.”
“And it looks like you got right on the job.”
Fiona beamed. “Yeah.”
“Are the new soldiers treating you nice?”
The girl frowned. “Dex is funny, but Garcia is a little mean.”
“I’m not mean,” Garcia said as he moved past them carrying a small table from Paul’s hobby room. “I’m just trying to keep her from getting hurt is all.”
Fiona stuck her tongue out at his back, and Jessie threw her hand over her mouth to stifle a sudden, uncontrollable laugh. Once the fit passed, she gave the girl a hug. “Okay, I’m going to go talk to Bryant. You got this?”
“I got it.”
Jessie left her to the task and crossed to where Bryant tossed an armful of bedding down. He turned and limped back a step, placing his hands on his hips to admire his work.
“You should be in bed,” she frowned at the soldier. “You’ve been shot, punched, and stabbed. And not necessarily in that order. By the way, how’s your hip?”
“None of my wounds are life threatening,” Bryant assured her, then he winced. “But they hurt like hell. The hip... It has its good days.”
“I can’t imagine.” She shook her head. “Well, take it easy. You won’t do us any good if your superficial wounds become infected.”
“Weissman has me on a regimen of antibiotics, and the serum is still working. I’ll be okay.”
“Fine.” Jessie shrugged.
“We need to talk about a scavenging run soon.”
“I was just thinking that,” she agreed. “Have you been able to reach Kim?”
“I’ll be working on that later today. Dex brought some communication gear with them, so we should be ready to go by tonight. And he’s got a shortwave transmitter in case my satellite phone connection dies.”
“Do you think that could happen?”
“Earth’s satellites require periodic orbital adjustments, but I’m not sure who does them, or how often. They probably employ a combination of ground operators and automatic programs. Your guess is as good as mine.”
“And if the ground operators are dead...” Jessie let the implications hang.
“Right. We might be SOL for satellite communication. That’s why we’ll make sure to have some other options. As soon as we get set up, I’ll update General Miller and get a status on the DC camp. Then I’ll try calling Kim.”
“Let me know when you reach her. Paul might need her help to analyze some data on the new batch of serum.” Jessie shot a look toward Paul’s hobby room door where the mycologist was shaping his remaining equipment into a working lab.
Bryant gave a quick nod. “Will do. Hey, you take it easy yourself, okay?”
“I will. I mean, I am.”
“And thanks for helping the other night.” Bryant’s ice-blue eyes stared into her, hard and real. “I didn’t expect you to be a soldier, though it shouldn’t have surprised me. You’re a fighter all the way.”
“You’re welcome,” Jessie scoffed with embarrassment. “We both got pretty lucky. I’m equally bad shooting with my left hand as I am with my right.”
A hard chuckle shook Bryant’s chest, and he grinned and threw one hand up. “Good enough for me. I’ll take your poor shooting anytime.”
“See you soon,” Jessie said, and she turned and made her way to Paul’s hobby room door. She gave the wood a soft rap with her knuckles, leaning in to catch a hint of his mood.
“Come in,” the man called from the other side.
He didn’t sound as frustrated as he was when he’d started building his new lab three days ago, but it didn’t help that they kept Burke locked in a nearby storage room. Only recently did she understand why. Kim had related to Bryant that Paul held Burke personally responsible for the deaths of his close friends at the Atlanta CDC branch.
Jessie couldn’t imagine the pain and anguish the mycologist must feel having someone he hated so near. The two had a history that stretched back to their college days and their first jobs working for the government. The hatred ran deep.
She opened the door quietly and entered the old hobby room. Her jaw dropped at what she saw. On her right, Paul sat slouched on a tall stool in front of a workbench. Resting on the bench was a server and a personal computer connected to an old CRT monitor. Cables and wires hung down behind the desk to touch the floor in a tight bundle.
Her eyes followed the split of cables from the PC se
tup. The set to the left ran to a pair of freezers and specimen control chambers, and the ones on the right branched to the blood analysis equipment. Tightly-stapled plastic covered the walls, making it easy to disinfect and keep clean.
Paul half turned in his stool, glaring back at her with a sulking expression. “Hello, Jessie.”
She nodded in greeting and raised an eyebrow. “Should I be wearing sterile clothing?”
“It hardly matters,” he sighed. “This is the furthest thing from a proper work environment you can get. It’s completely inappropriate for what I need to do.” The old man shook his head and flashed a dark look toward the theater room. “I wish Bryant would have told me he intended on blowing up my beautiful garden.”
“I don’t think he had any other choice.”
Paul made a disgusted noise and turned back to the data on the monitor, reading down the lines as fast as they scrolled.
Jessie slowly approached him. “Where did all your bookshelves and mushroom samples go?”
He waved toward the opposite-side door that led to the service tunnel. “We moved them out to make room for all this.”
She gazed around. The only things that remained of Paul’s old stuff were a small box of pictures and an old telescope. The room had lost the rustic feel she remembered when Bryant had carried her through.
“I’m sorry about all this,” she said in apology.
“It’s fine,” he waved. “It’s not your fault. None of this is.”
She placed her good hand on his shoulder and squeezed. For a pudgy, out-of-shape man, he was tense to the point of bursting. “No, I’m serious. Your world’s been turned upside down, and with Burke here--”
“You know something?” Paul shook his finger at the desk. “I’m not a violent fellow, but I’ve thought of more ways to put Burke out of his misery than I can count.” He slammed his palm down and craned his face up to her, eyes bloodshot and buggy from lack of sleep. “Am I going insane?”
“Not at all. You’re angry, and I don’t blame you for feeling that way. I’m not exactly fond of the man myself.” She spotted another stool off to the side and pulled it closer, taking a seat next to him. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.” The mycologist spat the word with so much venom that it frightened her.
“Okay,” Jessie said with a quick nod. She shoved the stool back and started to get up. If Paul wanted to stew in his misery, so be it.
“He killed Nancy and the others,” the old man choked out a sob.
She slowly lowered herself to the seat, watching him with a careful eye. “Not to sound insensitive, but he killed the whole world. I’m not even sure my family is alive.”
“I know I’m being selfish. But Nancy was the only woman I ever really-” Paul choked again, unable to spit the words out. Yet he fought, gasping and sputtering, finally forcing them between his lips to complete the painful sentence through tight vocal cords. “Nancy was the only woman I ever really loved.” He released a heavy sigh and leaned forward, resting his forehead on his hand.
Jessie tentatively reached out and patted his back, her eyes full of tears.
“I was fine until I actually saw him.” Paul shook his head. “Maybe I was in denial when Kim told me but seeing him made it real. Such a waste. Such a terrible waste.”
“Maybe Nancy and the CDC people are okay,” Jessie said, hopefully. “Maybe it was just a communication problem and the Atlanta branch is still there.”
“Not unless they were able to synthesize a serum based on Kim’s data,” he responded with baleful eyes. “It could be true, but I won’t get my hopes up. Oh, no. I won’t fall prey to that. Best to keep my head down, keep working, and find the cure. Those who are alive need us.”
Jessie paused for a moment to let his hot anger dissipate before she pressed him on that topic. “Speaking of which. How’s it going down here?”
Paul sighed and cast a look around. “I’ve managed to piece together a basic lab. I’ve got a Linux server to compile data, and a PC to create reports and run simulations. It’s not a lot of power.” He scoffed. “Just analyzing a few blood samples takes hours.” The mycologist frowned. “I drew an ounce of Fiona’s blood to build up our antigen cultures, but I’ll need to resort to a new Novel In-Vitro technique to do more. It will enable me to produce antigens without a donation from Fiona.”
Jessie took a moment to process it. “So, you can use our blood to produce more antigens?”
“Exactly. I’ve already collected blood from Bryant, Dex, and Price. I’ll repay them with a life-saving injection.” The mycologist eyes looked distant, as if reassuring himself of something. “Yes, I can keep us all alive for a while. But that’s provided Burke’s mercenary friend doesn’t come back and screw us up.” He fixed her with a serious look. “I need a proper lab and production facility if we’re going to make this work on a larger scale.”
“Is there another way into your lab? I mean, can we salvage more equipment?”
Paul shrugged. “I suppose it’s possible, but we shouldn’t risk it. To say the tunnel is unstable would be an understatement.”
Jessie nodded knowingly. “What about our power situation? Do we need to get more fuel for your generator?”
He jerked his head toward the storage room where they held Burke. “It’s back there by Burke with the water heater and HVAC unit. I never took a power outage seriously, so I’ve only got about two day’s worth of fuel.”
“We’ll pick up more along with the other supplies.”
Paul nodded. “There’s a battery bank in there, too. It’s fed by the four solar panels on the roof, provided they weren’t damaged in the fight. That would give us about twelve amp-hours that could run the computers and freezers. After that, we’re dead in the water.”
“I’ll ask if any of the guys can wire solar panels and batteries.” Jessie gently bit her lip in thought. “Maybe we can add to our power reserves. We’ll make a note to stop by the local hardware stores when we head out.”
Paul nodded and turned to his computer, seeming anxious to get back to work.
“Okay, then. I’ll talk to Burke and try to squeeze more information out of him.”
“Good luck with that.”
“Thanks.” Jessie stared at the old man, wondering if she should say more but decided not to. He was in a dark place and pressing the issue would only make it worse.
She turned and exited the lab, shutting the door quietly behind her.
Chapter 5
Moe, Chinle, Arizona
Moe rode Copper east through Far Spiral Canyon lush with green life. Stone walls rose on either side of them, red rock stretching a thousand feet high. Crevices and outcroppings marked the sheer faces. Stratified layers of stone formed terraced ridges, tapering downward, wider and lower, before ending in fat rock clustered like hot candle wax left to drip.
Copper’s hooves splashed through the narrow channel that divided the canyon and crossed to the north side. Water still flowed despite the June heat, which was a boon for the Native people living there. It meant they had a chance to grow crops and survive in the long-term.
They rounded a final bend called Antelope House Overlook and entered Black Rock Canyon. It marked an intersection of three runs that formed a fork. The top two prongs led in from Chinle and were split by a thick and imposing rock formation. Its tapered end fell toward them like a turtle’s head poking from beneath a massive shell.
In the fading light of day, the lush green grasses and shrubs of Black Rock Canyon stretched ahead of them. Boulders and scree scattered away from the cliffs, forming the base of Fortress Rock.
Moe’s breath caught in his chest as his eyes roamed their surroundings. “This view never gets old.”
Sage, riding behind him, squeezed her arms around his stomach tighter as she gazed up at the impressive sight. “No, it doesn’t. I came here many times as a girl.”
An array of assorted tents spread out across the basin where his pe
ople had settled after fleeing Chinle. There they waited for the town elders to decide what to do next.
Someone had erected a pair of makeshift lookout towers at the base of the rocks. The flimsy wooden structures rested against the cliffs, and the guards stared westward, watching for enemies.
Moe waved as they galloped by, then he angled Copper toward a section of twenty-by-twenty-foot tents that appeared to be a command center. A young man greeted him, taking Copper’s reins as he and Sage dismounted. Once down, the doctor helped him hobble up a slight rise to the first tent where the town elders had gathered. Moe recognized Cynthia Tso, Sheriff Ahiga, and several other Navajo leaders.
The Chinle High School athletic director, Rex Yazzie, greeted them with Casey Harvey in tow.
“Hey, you two,” Moe said, embracing each in turn. Sage did the same, and they stood back and looked toward the center tent.
“The meeting is about to start,” Rex confirmed. “Everyone’s on pins and needles. They want to hear about this Carver person and if he’s really as evil as people think.”
“He’s quite a piece of work,” Moe said, recalling the dangerous vibe the man gave off.
Sage glanced at him with a creased brow. He’d told her about the meeting with the cultists over a dinner of granola and bottled water, and the doctor was gravely concerned. They kept the encounter between them, but other natives had trickled into camp. They’d witnessed Carver’s wickedness, and the rumor mill was in full swing.
Casey Harvey piped up. “You need anything, guys? Coffee, tea, or water?”
Moe arched an eyebrow. “This isn’t Denny’s, Casey. You don’t have to serve people.”
“I offered to help,” she said defiantly. Then a wicked grin crossed her face. “Plus, I get to snoop around and hear the latest news.”
“Gotcha,” Moe chuckled. “Coffee for me then.”
Sage and Rex agreed on coffee, too, and Casey hustled off to bring it.
Moe turned to the athletic director. “What’s the situation?”
Spore Series | Book 4 | Exist Page 5