It was Bishop’s turn to feel tired, and he put his hands on his hips and looked eastward toward Kansas City. He sighed heavily, letting the waves of exhaustion wash over him. “I’ve had enough. I’m coming inside.”
“Okay.” That was Trevor. The boy seemed re-energized after sitting in the air-conditioned bus for the past couple hours. “I’ll see you in a minute. Wait.”
Bishop’s brows furrowed. “What is it?”
“Um, Dad. I spotted something in the forward camera. Actually, he’s standing in front of the bus.”
“He?”
“Yeah. Turn around.”
Bishop reeled, right hand reaching for the pistol at his hip, ready to shoot if things got violent.
But it was a boy no older than eight, sitting on a bicycle in the center of the road, thirty yards in front of the bus. He wore a maroon, long sleeved hoodie and blue jeans tucked into his boots. Silver duct tape sealed his wrists and ankles. His air filtration mask dwarfed his head, and more tape sealed the hood to his visor.
Bishop glanced around but saw no one else in the vicinity, unless they were hiding. But he didn’t think so. He relaxed his grip on his pistol and held up both hands in an appeasing manner, trying to show the boy he meant him no harm.
“Hi there!” he called out, taking a step forward.
The boy remained still, with one foot planted to act as a kickstand. He’d turned his wheel to the left and kept both hands on the grips. The bike was newer, glistening black with gold trim and pads.
Bishop took a few more steps, coming even with the bus’s front end. The boy flinched, leaning his bike to the side like he wanted to dash. Bishop stopped and lifted his hands higher. At six-feet, four-inches tall, he must look like a monster to the boy.
He threw a glance to his right. Trevor sat in the bus’s driver seat, staring at the boy on the bike. “Wave to him, son. You know, show him a friendly face.”
“Okay,” Trevor said. He worked up a big smile and waved out the front windshield. “Hey, there. Hi. How are you. My name is Trevor. This is my dad. He’s a nice guy. Well, except when he hits people with bats...”
“Quit screwing around,” Bishop said. “He can’t hear you, anyway.”
“You told me to put on a friendly--”
“Never mind. Just keep waving and smiling, please. And knock off the chatter. Thank you.”
Bishop slowly approached the boy, step-by-step, holding out his hands and hoping not to spook him. But what would he do when he got there? Would he grab the kid and try to bring him inside? He was wrapped up pretty tight, which meant someone was taking care of him. Survivors. Possibly dangerous ones.
The boy still gripped his handlebars and leaned forward over them. Bishop had ridden his bike extensively as a child, all through summer break with his friends. The kid’s posture was optimal for whipping around and taking off.
“Hey, don’t be afraid,” he called out. Then he pointed to Trevor. “That’s my son, see? His name is Trevor. He’s a cool kid.”
The boy’s eyes shifted before coming back to Bishop. He was ten yards away, almost within snatching distance.
“That’s right. That’s my boy. Hey, do you want to meet him?”
He didn’t get a chance to test his theory. The boy leaned left, whipped the bike around in a one-eighty, and pedaled ten yards in the other direction before Bishop even registered what he’d done.
His reflexes weren’t what they used to be, but he’d run a respectable 5.6 second forty-yard dash as a defensive lineman. He could motor when he wanted to.
He launched his massive frame forward, pumping his arms and legs like he remembered doing at practice. His feet pounded the concrete, head still so he wouldn’t waste energy.
He caught up to the boy in twenty short yards and reached out to snatch him by his jacket. But the kid was pedaling like mad, bike jerking left and right as he kept just ahead of Bishop’s grasping hand.
A sharp pain lanced his right knee, and Bishop’s breath came in gasps. Fog covered the inside of his mask, making it hard to see. The boy pulled away, and Bishop drew up short, staggering to a halt. He walked slow, limping, wincing at the fresh pain in his knee.
“Almost got him, Dad,” Trevor said from back in the bus. “It was a good try.”
“Thanks.” Bishop shook his head as the boy pedaled on toward Selina without looking back. Then he limped around to the bus’s side door and climbed into the decontamination room.
*
Bishop held the warm cup of coffee in his lap. Thirty minutes ago, standing in the summer heat, he wouldn’t have desired a hot beverage to save his life. But the air-conditioned bus was cool to the point of chilly, and his skin was still warm from the hot soap and water shower he’d taken.
He looked around with a slack expression, shoulders relaxed, the bucket seat comfortably holding his weight. They had everything they needed for a short stint. Canned food, snacks, and rations stuffed their cabinets. The mini refrigerator held bottled water, a half-dozen energy drinks, and a few cans of soda.
Bishop and Trevor had picked up the goods on a scavenging run the day after the incident with Richtman. They’d explored the shops and gas stations just off the exit ramp. The resulting haul was so large he’d stored the excess supplies outside in plastic bins with covers thrown over the top.
He looked around with an easy expression. Trevor lounged in the opposite bucket seat, and Riley occupied the passenger one with her feet propped up on the dashboard console. The kids played on their computer tablets, connected in to AMI’s network where she stored a plethora of games.
They could afford to relax. With AMI’s defense system on guard, her cameras would pick up intruders approaching from two hundred yards in any direction. Even at night. It was the safest they’d been in weeks.
The bus was cramped, but it was starting to feel like home. In fact, with Kim working in the next room over, it felt better than home.
“What are you playing?” he asked Trevor.
The boy barely glanced up from his tablet. “Zombie March.”
“Ah, zombies,” Bishop nodded. “I guess that’s better than a game where you have to evade a lung-destroying fungus.”
“If Riley will quit leaving behind energy bars!” the boy exclaimed, rolling his eyes with an exasperated sigh.
“We’ll be fine,” the girl shot back.
The door to the lab slid open, and Kim stepped through wearing a pair of jeans shorts and her favorite blue university T-shirt. He’d brought her clothes from home, a move that had scored him major points. It had been Riley’s idea, and he owed her big time for the suggestion.
“Hi, babe.” Kim stretched her arms over her head, bending them slightly at the elbows because of the low ceiling.
Bishop winced at the bruises on her legs from the fight with Richtman. “Hey, honey. How’s work going?”
She stepped over and stood in front of him, reaching out to give his head a playful rub. “It’s a slow process, but I’ve been able to synthesize a little more of the serum with the last bit of Fiona’s blood.”
Bishop’s eyes fell to the floor. “That means we’re all out, right? You’ll get sick again.”
Kim smiled and held up her finger. “There’s good news. Before I left, Paul uploaded a technique called Novel In-Vitro into AMI’s database. It will enable me to produce antigens from anyone’s blood. I’m all set up and ready to try it.”
“That means you need us to give blood?”
“Yep. But I’ll be returning it to you boosted to keep the fungus under control. For you guys, it will act like a vaccine. For me, it will save my life.”
“That’s great news,” Bishop nodded. “It buys us some time.”
Kim leaned against him. He wrapped his arms around her waist, placing his ear to her stomach. “I feel like we’re close to something permanent,” she said, “but I need to get back to Yellow Springs and work with Paul.”
“They’re not responding still?”
“No. And that has me worried.”
“I’ll have the last tire fixed tomorrow morning,” he assured her. “We’ll be on our way back to Yellow Springs by the afternoon.”
“What about the kid?”
Bishop closed his eyes. He knew the subject of the kid would come up. “The kid doesn’t want to be caught. He pedaled off when I tried to approach him. Little booger is fast, too.”
“Or maybe you’re just getting slow,” Trevor smirked.
“I’d say both are accurate.” Bishop shifted his knee with a wince.
“I heard the whole thing,” Kim teased. “And you can’t say he doesn’t want to be caught. Why show his face at all if he didn’t want anyone to see him.?”
“I have no clue.”
“What if he’s alone out there?” She put her finger to her chin and stared out the front window. “What if his family is dead? Bishop, what if he needs our help?”
“He looked healthy enough. And someone’s helping him. The kid’s wrists and boots were taped tight. No way any spores could have gotten in. He couldn’t have done that by himself.”
“He looked like that kid from the Mad Max movie,” Trevor added.
Kim shot the boy a dark frown before turning her attention back to her husband. “There must be thousands of people out there in the world trying to survive.”
“He could be part of a larger group. People who might cause us harm. What if they saw the bus or the Stryker? What if they wanted them for themselves?”
“Or it could be a group out there barely surviving.”
Bishop looked up at her, trying to determine where she was going with her train of thought. “What are you saying?”
“I’m not saying anything,” Kim bit her lip. “I just know that if Trevor or Riley were out there on their own, I’d want someone to check up on them.”
He gently pushed her to arm’s length to get a better look at her face. “You want me to go look for him?”
“It wouldn’t hurt to peek downtown. I mean, the Stryker would protect us. We’d be safe.”
“After all we’ve been through? We finally have the family back together. We’re ready to head back to Yellow Springs in the morning and meet up with our friends there. Do we want to take any unnecessary chances?”
Kim pursed her lips, her eyes falling as she considered Bishop’s words. She glanced at Trevor to make sure he wasn’t listening and then knelt in front of him.
She whispered. “When the spores first hit back in Washington, I lost Shelly almost right away. She got hit by a car.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he replied. “She was always friendly to me. And she worked so hard for you.”
“She didn’t suffer.” Kim shifted forward, crossing her arms on his knees. “But later, when I was trying to get back to the CDC facility, I ran across a mother and her little boy. The mother had succumbed to the spores right away, but the boy...” Her words faltered, and her eyes glossed over. She turned her face to the wall and made a gesture like she was covering her mouth. “The boy was still alive. She must have wrapped her scarf around his head to protect him, at least for a little while.”
“Oh no, honey.” Bishop saw it coming from a mile away, but he was helpless to stop the pain from resurfacing.
“He was confused when she wouldn’t wake up,” Kim continued. “He kept trying, but she wouldn’t respond. Then he looked at me...” She covered her mouth with her hand as tears streamed down her cheeks. “The kid died in my arms, Bish. He just died.”
“I’m sorry, honey.” He leaned forward and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her in tight. “That’s terrible. It’s... I’m just so sorry.”
“You okay, Mom?”
He snapped his head to the side, the sounds of his son’s voice shocking him out of the moment. Trevor had let his tablet fall into his lap, and he watched Kim with a concerned look.
“I’m fine,” she wiped her swollen face and shot the boy a smile. “I’m happy you guys are here with me, that’s all.”
“We love you, too.” Trevor didn’t seem convinced she was okay, but he was old enough to recognize it was more of a private discussion between his parents. He picked his tablet up and returned to his video game.
Bishop met Kim’s eyes, and they shared a wordless exchange. He knew she wanted him to check up on the kid, but it wasn’t her sending him on a wild goose chase into the unknown. She was riddled with guilt over all the death she’d seen.
He’d seen his own share of horror in the Ft. Collins streets. Enough choking, dying people to last him a lifetime. But he hadn’t lost any close friends in front of his eyes. He hadn’t been beaten to within an inch of his life. No, Kim needed another win. She needed to know humanity still existed, and they had a path back from all this.
Bishop nodded. “I’ll get the tire changed first thing in the morning. Then I’ll look for the kid.”
“I want to come,” Kim said, but he was already shaking his head.
“No way. Trevor and I will go have a look around while you and Riley stay here.”
She started to protest, but he shut her down. “Don’t argue with me on this one. We need someone to guard the bus. And you’ve got life-saving work to do. After what happened with Richtman...”
“You’re right. I’ll keep working.” Kim nodded and let out a relieved sigh. “Thanks, guys. I really appreciate it.”
Chapter 7
Randy, Indianapolis, Indiana
A candle lit the quiet storeroom in rustic light. Barrels of industrial strength disinfectant lined one wall, and hoses snaked along the ceiling and curled down to connect to the nozzles. The entire setup fed the decontamination chambers in the next room over where folks cleaned up after going outside.
Randy had just finished replacing the empty barrels with new ones, and he was catching a well-deserved moment of privacy. He’d placed several cardboard pieces on the floor between shelf rows to make a bed. A two-inch foam mat lay on that, topped off with a pair of coats and a pillow from the dressing room.
He kicked out his feet and rested his head back on the pillow with a sigh. Sometimes it paid to be in charge of a nice quiet storeroom.
Workers packed the gymnasium dormitory all day and night. People socialized late into the evening, well past lights out. Randy didn’t mind making new friends, but the constant bustle made him wish for his old room back in Indiana where he could hang out and play music by himself.
As he lay there, a pattern of knocks rapped on the door, causing a wide grin to split his cheeks. “Come in.”
The door opened, and Tricia hobbled in with a crutch tucked under her right arm. She eagerly shut the door behind her and crossed to Randy’s aisle. He scooted over, and she lowered herself carefully onto the mat, allowing him to put his arm around her as she stretched out beside him.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey, yourself.”
They kissed briefly and settled into a cozy position with her arm thrown across his chest.
“How’d your day go?” he asked.
“Oh, not too bad. Dealing with my stupid leg. Trying to get a handle on this inventory. Some of these people can’t count. They screwed up the candy bars, by a lot. And the car batteries, too. How do you miss car batteries?”
“Or they under-counted on purpose.”
Tricia shifted her position and frowned. “You mean they’re skimming off the top?”
He shrugged.
Her hazel eyes pinned him, searching his face as if reading his mind. “You know what? You’re really paranoid.”
“And you’re not? After everything Jergensen and Odom put us through? You think it’s beneath that asshole to send a spy in here?”
“It wouldn’t surprise me,” Tricia chuckled darkly. “But don’t you think John would figure that out? All you talk about is Kirk. It’s like you have some weird obsession with him.”
Unfazed, Randy shook his head. “Now they’re letting him go on scouting r
uns with Dodger. Can you believe that? Burns me up, man.”
She gave a contemptuous sigh. “Look, I know you had a bad experience with him, but he’s generally harmless. I worked with him for ten days at the Colony before you and Jenny showed up.” When he didn’t acknowledge it, Tricia pushed the issue. “Your sister’s worried about you, too. She and David think you’ll do something stupid. Maybe get into a fight with him or something.”
Randy pulled a face. “Oh, she and David think that.”
Tricia raised on her elbow, hitting him with a sharp look. “What, you don’t like David now, too?”
He chuckled. “I’m kidding. I like David. He’s a good guy. Perfect for Jenny.”
Tricia shook her head and laughed, planting a kiss on him before easing back. “You had me worried for a minute there.”
They lay in the muted quiet, listening to each other’s breathing. Over the next half hour, they talked, kissed, and enjoyed the stillness. For that brief period, Randy was almost happy the apocalypse had come. Otherwise, he’d never have met Corporal Tricia Ames, and they wouldn’t be lying in a storage room in the middle of nowhere with their bodies pressed close.
Thirty minutes later, the decontamination pumps kicked on. That meant a group had returned from a salvage mission or scouting run. It might even be Dodger and Kirk.
“I think that’s my cue,” Tricia announced, stirring.
“Oh, come on,” Randy protested. “You just got here.”
“It’s getting late, anyway.” She gave him another kiss and stood with her crutch in hand. “I’ll see if they need help in the warehouse. You finish up here. Meet me by the cafeteria in fifteen? Maybe I’ll let you walk me home.”
“It would be an honor,” he replied in an exaggerated, haughty tone. It stunk to see her go, but if he finished up his chores in the storeroom, he could see her one more time before lights out.
She threw open the door and backed out with a warm expression mixed with longing and regret. Randy was sure there’d be more nights in the supply closet, and tomorrow couldn’t come fast enough.
Spore Series | Book 4 | Exist Page 7