Spore Series | Book 4 | Exist

by Soward, Kenny

  “I know, Randy.”

  “If you know, then why are you snickering right along with them?”

  She reached across the table and grabbed his hand. “I’m not snickering or doubting you.”

  He stared at her hand, paused, and raised his eyes in question. “If I left here, would you come with me?”

  Tricia levelled her gaze. “Let me heal, and we’ll take it from there.”

  His face grew hot with embarrassment. “Sorry, I’m being weird and petty, but I can’t help it. It’s like when you know something but can’t prove it. I know Kirk was behind it.”

  Tricia tried to give him some positive action. “I think you should stay alert, and so will I. Keep a low profile. Quit screwing around on the forklift so much.” She pointed at him. “Do your job and keep your fat head down.”

  The door flew open, and two familiar figures barged in. “There they are.”

  It was Jenny and David.

  “Hey, kids.” David grinned from the doorway, towering over Jenny where she held two dinner bags of their own.

  “Hey, Sis. David.” Randy stood and pulled a pair of desks closer.

  Tricia waved them in. “Come on in. Have a seat. We were just enjoying some time away from the cafeteria.”

  “Crazy, right?” Jenny crossed the room and placed the bags down before taking the desk beside Tricia. The two briefly hugged, and his sister grabbed her dinner bag.

  Randy shook David’s hand as the tallish guy sat next to him with a friendly smile on his face. “How’s it hanging?”

  “Good.”

  “We were talking about him going stir crazy,” Tricia nodded at Randy with a wink.

  “Tell us about it,” his sister replied. She removed her sandwich and soup from their bag and slid the rest over to David. “I’d give my right pinky to go for a bike ride or smell something green.”

  “I hear they’re building grow farms,” Tricia said, hopefully. “They might need workers for that.”

  “They need to put up a calendar,” Jenny pointed out, “or no one will be planning anything. To be honest, I don’t know what day it is.”

  “How long ago did the spore clouds hit?” David asked.

  “Over five weeks now, I think,” Randy replied.

  “Just a month? Really?” The tall man shook his head as he unwrapped his sandwich. “Feels like it’s been forever.”

  “It might end up being the rest of our lives.” Randy sipped on his cola. “I mean, with that fungus out there and no cure in sight. This will be our existence.”

  “I wonder if anyone is working on one,” Jenny said. She shoved her red hair over her shoulders before unwrapping her sandwich.

  “I heard they’re going to start having regular camp updates,” Tricia replied. “You know, where John speaks to us about upcoming events and news on a cure? We need to get into a solid routine. It will help people cope.”

  “Like, today is sandwich day,” David grinned. He lifted his ham and beef to his mouth like he was about to scarf it down. But he winced and grasped his chest.

  “You okay, buddy?” Randy asked.

  “Yeah. I’m a little sore from some stuff we lifted on shift.”

  Tricia finished her meal and pushed her empty containers away. “What do they have you doing these days?” Tricia asked.

  “Perimeter duty.” David switched the sandwich to his other hand and tried again, this time successfully taking a bite. “It’s pretty intense.”

  “They let you walk the grounds?” Randy gawked at the young man. “How’d you get that job?”

  “Yeah, not sure. I’ve been around a while, I guess. I made a few connections.”

  Randy made a disgusted sound and went back to his cola. “I’ve been here less than a week and already off to a bad start.”

  “Because of that thing between you and Kirk?”

  “Yep. And I’ll be on forklift duty for the rest of my life. It’s worse than when Mom and Dad used to ground me.” Randy wanted to make a wise comment about leaving the camp, but he wouldn’t go down that path in front of David.

  “I’ll bet I can get you on patrol shift.”

  Randy flicked his eyes. “I doubt it.”

  “Let me give it a try.” David put his sandwich down, grabbed his bottled water, and gestured all around with it. “Look, man. I was here scrubbing the gym walls and floors before the camp became the glorious institution you see now. I’ve got some connections.” He tilted back his water and took a mouthful.

  Randy stared at him with an uncertain frown. Could David really pull it off, considering he was on everyone’s naughty list? He wasn’t about to turn down a gift. “Sure, man. If you can make it happen, I’d be in. And I promise not to screw up this time.”

  David laughed. “I’ll have you off the forklift and outside before you know it.”

  Jenny grabbed David’s arm and clung to it, smiling up at her boyfriend as her wavy red hair bounced on her shoulders. For once, Randy didn’t mind.

  Chapter 12

  Jessie, Yellow Springs, Ohio

  “Twenty-four hours? That’s the best you can do?” Jessie threw up her hands in exasperation. Then she stepped away from the lab door so the soldiers in the theater couldn’t hear her. “Dex and Price look bad. They’re bedridden, and I don’t know if they can make it another twenty-four hours.”

  “You’ll have to find a way to keep them alive.” Paul’s pudgy form shook with frustration. He karate-chopped his desk, rattling the computer monitor and instruments. Then he drew back his hand with a wince, holding it against his mouth before shaking it out. “Between you and Weissman, you’ll have to keep them alive.”

  Jessie stared at him. The light sounds of rock music played from an old record player in the corner of the room. Paul had found it in another closet of throwaways, and he’d coupled it with a small stack of records, including some she’d heard of like Queen and KISS.

  The mycologist glared back at her, then his expression softened. “I might be able to cut a few corners and knock off an hour or two. It only makes things that much more dangerous.”

  “They’re dying,” Jessie said. “I doubt they’ll complain.”

  “I’ll do the best I can.”

  She crossed to him and draped her hand over his hunched back. “I’m sorry. I know you’ll do it. You’re the smartest person I know.”

  “Thanks.” Paul nodded and patted her arm.

  “It’s probably tough working all alone in here without Kim.”

  He lifted his chin. “No tougher than anyone else has it. We all have our responsibilities.”

  Jessie perked up. “Hey, maybe I can stop in and listen to some music with you later. You know, when you catch a break.”

  “That sounds nice,” he nodded tiredly and offered a smile.

  She exited the lab, feeling slightly more hopeful than when she’d entered. Two of the theater beds were occupied by Price and Dex. The soldiers lay next to one another with a table between their bunks. Weissman sat on a chair, using his knife to cut up pills.

  “Hey, guys,” Jessie kept her tone low, because Price was asleep.

  Dex was sitting up, looking weathered and beaten. Dark circles colored the skin beneath his eyes, and black dots swam in the whites.

  “Hi,” the soldier responded, his voice rough and gritty.

  Jessie swallowed hard and kept her hand from clutching her chest. “You hanging in there?”

  “Trying. Could use some music or something. Listening to Price snore is driving me crazy.”

  She glanced over to see the man’s mouth hanging open, heavy snores rattling his throat with thick, wet sounds. Those weren’t regular snores. That was the fungus thickening around the man’s windpipe, slowly cutting off his air. But she didn’t tell Dex that.

  “Paul might have another record player somewhere. I’ll see if I can find it.”

  “Awesome,” Dex grinned. He started to say something more, but his chest hitched several times, dr
awing him up from the bed, coughing, hacking, and spitting.

  Weissman grabbed a rag off the table and leaned toward the soldier, holding the cloth to his mouth. Dex hacked into it for a good full minute. And when he finally rested back, he looked exhausted, eyes shut as he swallowed dry.

  The burly medic placed the stained rag on the table, stood, and pushed Jessie gently out to the center of the room. He had a grim look to him.

  “You don’t have to tell me how bad things are,” she frowned. “I can see.”

  Weissman nodded, his boyish face drawn into a pained expression. “I started us all on antibiotics earlier, but I don’t think they’re helping at all.”

  “They won’t. But Paul says he’ll have some serum cooked up within twenty-four hours, maybe a little less.”

  He glanced doubtfully back at Dex. A thin line of drool ran down the soldiers chin and fell to his camo T-shirt. Weissman flicked his eyes at the pills he was cutting up on the table. “Those are pain medications. Real heavy stuff. If it looks like they’re suffering, and there’s no relief in sight, I’m going to help them go easy.”

  Jessie nodded and then shook her head. “It won’t come to that. I swear.”

  “In any case, we need supplies. Food and medicine. Whatever you can find.”

  “I know.”

  “Garcia and I won’t be on our feet much longer, so we won’t be able to help keep guard. That means you and Bryant should make a scavenging run soon.”

  “I know.”

  “Okay, just making sure.” He spared a glimpse at Dex and Price. “They’re good guys. They deserve better.”

  Jessie nodded and gave the dying soldiers one last look before she moved toward the stairs. She stopped and glanced to her left at the door where they kept Burke.

  She thought briefly about checking on him, but she didn’t want him messing with her head. If they were going out scavenging, she wanted to do it with a clear mind.

  Jessie ascended the stairs, opened the basement door, and stepped into the hallway. She turned right around the corner and peered down the hall to the front of the house. Garcia leaned against the wooden door, watching the yard through the sidelight.

  The soldier glanced back in her direction and nodded. Jessie returned the greeting as she approached him but turned right up the stairs. She climbed to the top, peeping around for Bryant.

  “Bryant,” she called. “Hey, where are you?”

  “Up here!” he shouted back.

  Jessie stepped to a rounded alcove above a stairwell that led up to the Victorian-style tower. Well, it had been a tower before Lexi and her people blew it up. They’d cleaned up the wood and bits of concrete that had fallen on the landing and thrown a tarp over the top. Looking up there, she saw his boots half on the stairs and the rest of him fiddling with something on what remained of the floor.

  “Is it safe up there?”

  “Not really,” he returned with a grunt. “Not only is the platform unstable, but Lexi could snipe me easily. I’m only up here because we need this radio antennae at the highest point possible if we’re going to contact Kim.”

  “Were you able to get it working?”

  “Not at all. The receiver works, but the antennae still doesn’t have the range. We’ll have to find Dex’s broken down Jeep and dig the radio equipment out.”

  “Maybe we should make a trip of it,” Jessie said. “Go pick up some radio parts while we’re out scavenging?”

  “Sounds good.”

  “We’ll have to leave soon. Dex and Price are struggling.” She lowered her voice and came up three steps, so the soldier downstairs didn’t hear her. “Garcia and Weissman don’t have much time either. Paul will have some serum within twenty-four hours, but we’re going to have to resupply before then.” She glanced down the stairs. “Before all our help is too sick to function.”

  A clacking of tools sounded as Bryant shifted things beneath the tarp. He backed his way down the steps, and Jessie retreated to make room. His boots hit the floor with a thud. He turned to her and rubbed his throat.

  “I’m starting to feel a little froggy myself.” He swallowed hard. “I think I need another dose.”

  “Yeah, seems like we require a boost every three days or so. The fungus is tough once it enters the bloodstream.”

  “All the more reason to get moving.” He glanced up at the radio. “I hope Kim found her family, but if something happened to her...”

  “We’re the world’s last hope.”

  “We’re our own last hope. Let’s focus on taking care of ourselves and then everyone else. We won’t do anyone any good dead.”

  “You got that right,” she agreed.

  The soldier nodded, putting his combat face on. “Okay, let’s arm up.”

  *

  Jessie and Bryant stepped through the kitchen and out the side door to the garage addition. Paul told them he’d built it soon after purchasing the place, mostly to keep his two precious vehicles.

  A gray Honda Civic sat near the door. Paul claimed to use it on short runs into town to pick up groceries. But that wouldn’t do for their scavenging run. They’d need something bigger.

  That’s why Bryant stood next to Paul’s big ‘80s custom van, keys dangling from his fingers. It was black with the flowing image of a wolf painted on the side. The beast bristled on its powerful forelegs, mouth thrown open and howling at a massive yellow moon. The van’s back end was jacked up, looking ominous with its thick mag tires.

  “Seriously,” Bryant stared at the van.

  “It’s perfect,” Jessie said, going around to the passenger side and grabbing the door handle with her left hand. “Let’s go.”

  The door was a slab of metal, not the light fiberglass she was used to. She climbed into the leather bucket seat and jerked the door shut behind her with a heavy slam.

  The smells of carpet and evergreen struck her. She reached out and tapped the air freshener dangling from the rearview mirror, chuckling with a shake of her head. Then she taped the directions Paul had given them onto the dashboard. Weissman had written some medications he wanted, too.

  Jessie heard the back door open. She peered over her shoulder to see a fully decked-out interior with wall-to-wall carpeting, a card table with bench rows. It had a sink, a refrigerator, and several cubic feet of storage space.

  Bryant threw his weapons duffel and three empty duffels inside along with a satchel of tools. Then he slammed the doors shut and jogged around to the driver’s side. He handed her his rifle and climbed in.

  He stuck the key in the ignition and fixed her with a hard look. “I’m thinking he’s got a V-8 under the hood.”

  Jessie arched an eyebrow back at him. “Only one way to find out.”

  He turned the key, and the engine roared to life.

  “Yes!” Bryant exclaimed, then he glanced at the instrument panel. “And we’ve got three-quarters of a tank left. Should be plenty for what we have to do.”

  “Let’s roll,” Jessie agreed. She had her air filtration mask fixed to her belt. She took it off and put it on with one hand like she’d practiced, and Bryant followed suit. While they were both infected, wearing them seemed to help them breathe outside where the spore growth was thick.

  She allowed the barrel of the weapon to rest on the edge of the window, using her left hand to hold it by its grip. While she couldn’t accurately shoot it that way, Bryant might ask her to provide cover fire. He’d wisely taken time to show her the carbine’s features and given her tips for off-hand shooting.

  The soldier slapped the garage door opener, and it slid up. He grinned at Jessie. “I wasn’t sure there’d be enough juice in the batteries to lift it.”

  Bryant put the van into reverse and backed out, whipping them around until they faced the road.

  Jessie searched the edge of the woods surrounding Paul’s place. Her gaze lingered on deep clusters of green where someone might be hiding and peered up into the wide, fungus-covered spruce and oak branches.
She doubted she’d be able to spot a trained mercenary who didn’t want to be seen. Still, she wouldn’t let herself fail for lack of trying.

  The van rolled down the long driveway crowded by trees, their branches touching above them. Jessie’s eyes ticked back and forth, her palm sweaty on the rifle’s grip.

  They came to a nameless access road. Bryant swung them right and eased downward another half mile until they reached Clifton Road.

  The soldier took a left and hit the gas. The big V-8 engine roared, accelerating like a lethargic giant, but once they got going, they careened down the old country road, flying past farmsteads and dilapidated barns. They passed windmills and pastures and green-gray fields.

  Clifton turned into River Road, a wide-open stretch that allowed Bryant to push them faster. Once he reached sixty-five, his hands gripped the wheel tight as he adjusted for drift.

  “It feels like I’m driving a boat,” he grumbled. “There’s so much play in the steering wheel.”

  “Slow down then,” Jessie warned.

  “I’ll get used to it,” he replied.

  Three miles farther on River Road, they came to a diseased cornfield. The once productive stalks stood bent and broken, green shrugging off the invading grayish fungus.

  “We’ve still got a chance,” she murmured to herself. “We can make it.”

  “What was that?”

  “Asphyxia destroyed everything, but it wasn’t a total victory,” she said, turning her eyes back to the road and spotting something ahead. She rose in her seat and pointed. “Hey, that’s Dex’s Jeep, right?”

  “I think so.”

  The military vehicle sat at the end of a long driveway that led to a newer, ranch-style homestead standing in the middle of the fungus field. Bryant eased past it and stopped forty yards up the road. He turned the van around and approached the Jeep from the other direction, slowing to a halt.

  He put the van in park and sat still for a good thirty seconds, checking all his mirrors and glancing out every window.