Spore Series | Book 4 | Exist

by Soward, Kenny

  He picked up the coats and pillow and put them in a box. Then he rolled up the foam mat as tightly as he could and stuffed it into the box, too. He strode to the door where breakdown crews had stacked cases of aerosol cleaner, disinfectant wipes, and scrubbers on a large cart. He put them away, arranging them in their proper places on the shelves, finishing the job in ten minutes.

  With only five minutes left to meet Tricia, he glanced around and exited the storage room with a skip in his step. The next area was a large conference space filled with odds and ends they’d scavenged from local neighborhoods. They stored toolboxes and tools, rope, chainsaws, and whatever else they couldn’t find an immediate use for.

  The door on the far side led to a short hallway with several more conference rooms attached. From there, it was just three turns to reach the warehouse.

  Ten steps in, the air shifted. Something moved behind him. Maybe it was the soft tread of a boot on the worn carpet, or a breath of nervous air. But he felt it.

  His instinct to hunch his shoulders and duck probably saved his life. A blunt object glanced hard off the back of his head, spilling him forward where he crashed into a table full of old kitchen appliances. Arms splayed, he knocked a microwave to the floor in a clatter of breaking glass. A toaster and smoothie maker flew off to the side.

  Randy spun, putting his back against the table’s edge. His attacker wore all black, coming at him like a tall shadow in the semidarkness. The blunt weapon, a crowbar, descended on him again, and he threw his forearm up to partially block it to the side.

  The crowbar raised and fell again, and this time Randy dodged to his right as the heavy weapon missed him and struck the table surface with a resounding bang.

  Randy thought he’d gotten away, but he plowed into a table to stop himself cold. Bent in two, he shoved it across the floor, tilting it so tools spilled everywhere.

  The crowbar swept in from behind, cracking him in the small of his back. With a cry, he dove over the table and into the walkway beyond. He climbed to his knees and lurched to his feet. Turning and staggering in retreat, Randy fled his attacker, hip glancing off a piece of furniture to add to his pained grimace.

  The shadowy figure stepped around the overturned table and came at him again, weapon cocked and ready to cave his skull in. Something hot and furious stirred in his head beneath the foggy reverberations from the first strike.

  Randy grabbed the closest object to him, a small plastic cooler, and hurled it by its handle. The figure batted it awkwardly away with a long arm, giving him the split-second he needed.

  He curled his hands into fists, threw them up, and charged. It was a blind move, head down and eyes pinned to the ground. But his fists connected with his attacker’s rib cage in a punishing blow.

  The man pinioned and crashed into the cluttered darkness. Randy stumbled off to his right. He tripped and staggered under his own momentum, falling onto a pile of sofa cushions.

  Head clearing and anger rising, Randy flailed on the soft foam, desperate to stand first. He finally rolled off the pile, banging his knee on something before rising into a crouch. He peered around in the darkness, sucking air through his teeth.

  No one rose from the pile of rubble to strike him. No one swung the crowbar. Feet ran away across the soft carpet. The conference room door pulled open and hissed shut on its hydraulic closer. Randy leapt up and sprinted between the rows of goods, half-limping, lips curled into a sneer.

  He was at the door in a flash, throwing it open and stepping into the hallway. His head swiveled as he searched for his attacker. The half-dozen conference rooms were shut on both sides of the hall, and he saw no trace of the man.

  “Where’d you go?” Randy muttered. Thinking quick, he turned left and jogged to the far end of the hall, throwing open the door to peer into a small suite filled with cubicles, desks, and office chairs.

  Staying low, he stalked through the rows, ignoring the growing ache in the back of his head and the pinched feeling in his knee. He calmed his breathing and kept his chin up and his eyes searching for clues.

  The sweeping darkness was worse than in the storage room. Two measly halogen ceiling lights illuminated the cubicle block, and there were a hundred places to hide.

  He didn’t care. He’d roam the office until he found the guy. And when he did, the guy would beg him to stop beating the snot out of him.

  Something rattled, and soft hydraulics hissed. He straightened and jerked his head toward the sound, eyes catching a sliver of light across the room as a door clicked shut.

  He rounded a cluster of desks and sprinted to the other side of the office, grabbing the doorknob and yanking it open. A hallway stretched ahead of him, interspersed with doorways. All of them shut.

  Going on instinct, Randy dashed across the soft carpet and came to a four-way intersection. He turned in a circle, peering down each hall. They were all empty.

  He picked a random direction and ran as the chance of catching his attacker slipped away. At the end of the hall, Randy threw his shoulder against the door and blasted it open.

  He fell into the warehouse and staggered to a halt. Bustling workers stacked product on skids. A group of returning scavengers meandered along the yellow line, looking for food and rest.

  He saw no sign of the person who’d attacked him. No one dressed in black, holding a crowbar, or otherwise appearing guilty.

  “There you are,” Tricia called from where she lingered near the workers. She used her crutch to shift herself in his direction. “I thought you’d stood me up for a minute there.” Then her face turned confused as she looked between him and the door he’d just come out of. “Hey, did you get lost or something?”

  He walked over, panting, fist clenched at his side. “Someone attacked me.”

  She tensed but relaxed as a smile crossed her lips. “Good one, Randy. You got attacked. Boy, you’re really taking it to the next level.”

  He put his hand around to the back of his head, rubbed the spot he’d been clobbered, and held it in front of his eyes. He turned it toward Tricia, showing her the blood on his fingers.

  She hobbled closer, gaze narrowed as the studied the red. “Oh, wow. You’re weren’t kidding.”

  “Nope.”

  The door to the decontamination area popped open. Dodger strolled through, hair wet and dripping. He wore a pair of jogging shorts, T-shirt, and sandals. He looked tired after coming off shift, and he’d be heading to the cafeteria with the rest of the workers.

  He approached the scout, raising his fist. “Where’s Kirk?”

  Dodger started from his thoughts, confused as he retreated from Randy’s wrath. “He finished five or ten minutes ahead of me. Why?”

  “Where’d he go?”

  “No idea.” The scout’s bewilderment deepened. “What’s wrong with you, man?”

  “Kirk just attacked me, and I’m going to kick the crap out of him.”

  “Whoa, there. Wait a minute.” Dodger lifted both hands in a calming gesture, his eyes flashing to Tricia as she hobbled up behind Randy.

  The warehouse door flew open, and Kirk step in. The newcomer passed his hand through his wet hair but froze when he saw the three staring at him.

  “What?” he asked with a wrinkled brow.

  Randy glowered at his black jogging pants and T-shirt. With a set jaw, he raised his fist and pushed past Dodger.

  “Randy, stop!” Tricia called, but red filled his vision, and adrenaline pumped through his veins. Kirk saw the look on his face and tensed himself for a fight.

  *

  “John’s not going to be happy about this.” Dodger paced, shaking his head.

  Randy sat at the same table in the same interrogation room he’d been questioned in when they’d first arrived in camp. He twisted his fingers together, nervously glancing at the door.

  “Hey, I’m the one who got bashed in the head,” Randy countered. Then he held up his forearm, the back of it starting to turn a deep blue-black color. “And
what about this? Why would I be in trouble?”

  “That’s a bad bruise,” Dodger conceded. “But it gave you no right to punch another member of the group, unprovoked.”

  “Totally provoked.”

  The scout stopped his pacing and spread his hands on the table, delivering a hard glare. “You said yourself you couldn’t see who it was. That they had a mask on or something.”

  Randy shook his head. “Yeah, but who else could it have been?”

  “A thousand people come and go through here every day,” Dodger explained. “It could have been anyone.”

  “I’m surprised you believe I was attacked and didn’t make it up.” Randy rolled his eyes. “I’ll take that as a win.”

  The scout tilted his head, his expression derisive as he shrugged himself into a standing position. “You’re lucky we broke it up before you tangled with him. That would have cost you, big time.”

  The door shoved open, and John stepped in. He let the door fall shut behind him, eyes dropping like a hundred-pound weight on Randy. He looked mad, and he hadn’t even spoken a single word yet.

  “Give me one reason not to put you out on your ass,” John fired off.

  “Because me and Jenny have been working our butts off,” he sputtered a reply.

  “Jenny’s fine. She’s working hard and making friends. She can stay.” The camp leader squinted at him, guessing at something. “In the meantime, you’re running around talking crap about a new member of the group, someone I interviewed. It was my decision to allow Kirk to join us. Mine. Do you understand that?”

  Randy nodded. “I was just trying to look out for the group.”

  “Like you did the other day before I pulled you off scout duty?”

  Randy’s face burned with embarrassment, his mouth moving wordlessly for a moment before he found his words. “No, like you told me to do. You said we needed to watch each other’s backs. That’s all I was doing. And I think Kirk is spying for Odom. He knows I’m suspicious of him, and he tried to take me out.”

  John fixed him with a pointed look. “And what real evidence to you have? What information is Kirk sending Odom that might be used against us? How’s he doing it?”

  “I don’t know.” Randy shrugged and shook his head. “I mean, why else would anyone attack me?”

  The camp leader eased back with a more contemplative expression. “I don’t know. You tell me.”

  Randy stared at John for a moment before shooting Dodger a questioning look. The scout was the only other friend he had in camp besides Tricia and Jenny.

  “I don’t know.” Randy touched the back of his head with a slight wince and then raised his eyes again with an exasperated look. “Seriously, I don’t know. I’ve got no ties to the Colony and no enemies here as far as I know.”

  John’s face lightened, and he regarded him more agreeably. “We can’t deny what happened. The medic said you needed three stitches and had a bruised arm. That’s serious.”

  “Like I said--”

  “We need to keep an eye on you,” John cut him off. “Do you want a personal guard?”

  “I can take care of myself,” Randy rolled his eyes.

  “What if we take him to another location for two days?” Dodger suggested. “We could at least know he was safe.”

  Randy’s eyes widened. “I’m not leaving Jenny and Tricia.”

  “They can go, too,” John offered. “We can keep you guys there for a few days until things cool off.”

  “Don’t do that.” Randy shook his head. “They were just getting settled in. I don’t want to disrupt that. No, we’ll be fine. I don’t need a guard, and I’ll be careful.”

  John thought about it. His eyes slid to Dodger before returning to Randy. “Okay. I won’t send you guys away, but you have to leave Kirk alone. Don’t start anything with him. Don’t even look at him.”

  “Fine,” Randy said.

  “Doesn’t sound like you mean it.”

  “I do.” He squeezed out a fraction more sincerity. “I won’t mess with Kirk. Consider him forgotten.”

  The group leader peered down at Randy from his longish nose, cheeks drawn from hard work and worry. He leaned forward and gave him a pat on the shoulder.

  “All right, buddy. Take the day off. We’ll talk more later.”

  Chapter 8

  Jessie, Yellow Springs, Ohio

  Jessie left the clean hall in her Tyvek suit and entered the storage room. She shut the door quietly behind her and turned to face the man who’d played a major part in bringing about the end of the world.

  The soldiers had strapped him to a chair in the center of the room. His wrists were duct-taped to the arms, ankles to the legs. It was her first time meeting Burke Birkenhoff, and she had no clue what to expect.

  Kim had expressed her sheer disdain for the man on many occasions, and Paul had demonstrated his anger by tackling him in the yard three days ago.

  Even Bryant stood outside the storeroom with orders for Jessie to call him if their prisoner tried to escape or hurt her. The hatred in his eyes made it clear he was looking for an excuse to punish the man.

  Could he really be that bad?

  At first glance, he was the same man she’d seen on magazine covers for years, yet different, too. Beaten down, his power stripped. He sat slouched in the chair, head bowed as if he’d been napping. His hair was a tussled brown, grown out and unkempt. And when he lifted his chin, he revealed a rounded face, baleful blue eyes behind his visor. A dark shade of scruffy beard lined his jaw.

  All-in-all, he looked kind. Friendly even. But what had she expected? Some blue-eyed demon, spitting curses at her and calling her names? A feral creature screaming for release?

  Well, yes. That’s exactly what she thought he’d be like. And when he didn’t do any of those things, she moved further into the room, past the rows of shelves to a chair the soldiers reserved for questioning. She pulled it closer, leaving a good six feet between them, and sat.

  Bits of oatmeal and soup stained his shirt. Crumbs littered the scraggly beard behind his air filtration mask.

  “To what do I owe this pleasure,” Burke said. “Everyone else has paid me a visit except for you.” He tilted his head, curiously. “Though they deferred to you as the leader of the group. You’re the one who called off that beast of a mycologist off me.”

  “Paul doesn’t like you.”

  “No kidding,” Burke rolled his eyes. “He comes in here at night when everyone is sleeping and stares at me for hours on end. I think he wants to kill me.”

  “I wouldn’t call myself the leader.” Jessie coolly changed the subject. “Bryant is in charge, technically.”

  “Ah, yes. The Lieutenant Colonel. He doesn’t like me much either. If you’re not the leader, then who are you?” His voice had taken on a slightly condescending tone.

  “My name is Jessie Talby, and I’m a CDC field agent. I’m the one who found Fiona. You know, the little girl immune to Asphyxia.”

  “I remember now.” He gave a firm nod. “I might’ve heard Kim mention your name, or at least the girl’s. Where in the world did she run off to? Kim, that is.”

  Jessie smiled guardedly. “That’s not something I’m willing to discuss. Besides, I thought you knew where Kim was. She called in to report that your goon, Richtman, was following her. You haven’t heard from him?”

  Burke’s eyes roamed the room, drifting across the shelves where Paul stored canned goods, toilet paper, and odd computer parts. There were boxes of fungi samples, old pictures, and LP records. The generator thrummed in the next room over in a muted rumble that caused the floor to vibrate slightly.

  “Richtman used to check in regularly, but then your soldiers captured me. You know the rest of the story.”

  Jessie hadn’t heard from Kim. She didn’t know whether her friend or Burke’s mercenary were alive. She’d hoped Burke might offer a clue, though he was as out of the loop as she was.

  “What happened to your bus?” she
asked. “You were parked nearby, but the vehicle up and vanished.”

  Burke shrugged. “I’d say Lexi, Pauline, and my driver, Charlie, got out of Dodge, as they say. Or maybe they’re still around. I wouldn’t know.”

  “I doubt they’d leave you here,” Jessie said. “I’d put my money on them looking for an opportunity to break you out.”

  “All the same. I can’t divulge or speculate where they might be.” He scoffed and produced a creepy smile with a hard edge at the corners of his lips. “But honestly, who cares at this point? You have me, and I have you.”

  “You don’t have us.”

  “You said it yourself. You think my people are still here. Lexi is a trained mercenary, as mean and lethal as they come. If her loyalty holds true, then she’s circling you like a shark right now.”

  Jessie’s teeth ground together, eyes matching Burke’s hardness.

  “Why don’t you put your cards on the table, Miss Talby, and I’ll put mine?”

  “I don’t have cards to play, Mr. Birkenhoff. And we aren’t making a bargain. I have all the leverage.”

  “What leverage do you have?” Burke’s smile morphed into a leer, mischief playing behind his eyes like dabs of starlight.

  Jessie wasn’t sure about the next part. She’d never dealt with a man like Burke before. Someone worth millions of dollars. A man who still wielded considerable power. He had lackeys, mercenaries, helicopters, and who knew what else? It was her job to discover his secrets and determine if he was a threat to their cure efforts. And if he had something they needed, she had to figure out how to get it from him.

  “I have your life in my hands.” She gestured offhandedly. “The soldiers have complete faith in me, and they’ll take my suggestions seriously. Consequently, I may be the only person who can keep them from putting a bullet in your head.”

  Burke’s easy grin faltered. His mouth twitched in the left corner. “They don’t like me much, it’s true. I discovered that when they performed a body cavity search on me after I explicitly denied the request.”