Spore Series | Book 4 | Exist

by Soward, Kenny

  “That’s...amazing,” Jessie shook her head. “I just...I have to meet Bishop. I have to meet your whole family.”

  “You will,” Kim said. “Soon.”

  “Major props,” Bryant added in a gritty voice, his fist tight where it rested on the table. “I want to meet your husband, too. That guy deserves some awards.”

  Kim laughed and sputtered on tears, causing Jessie’s heart to puff with relief, pride, and adoration all at once. She glanced at Bryant, and her heart swelled to see his glossy-eyed expression. “You guys are going to make me cry now.”

  “Don’t do that.” Kim was trying to sound hard and professional, though her voice still shook. “Fill me in on Burke’s shenanigans. What did he do?”

  Jessie shared a look with Bryant, and he gestured for her to go ahead. She nodded and hearkened back to the moments after Kim took the bus in search of her family and ended with the final battle in the mycologist’s house.

  “And, are you ready for this?” Jessie asked.

  “Hit me.”

  “The soldiers from Miller’s camp brought in Burke. They captured him.”

  “You have Burke?”

  “He’s down in the storeroom.”

  “How in the...” Kim’s voice trailed off, her surprise evident. “Never mind how you got him. Can you slap him for me?”

  A frown crossed Jessie’s face as Kim’s words hit close to the mark. She was about to say “no,” when Bryant jumped in.

  “Jessie already slapped him around,” the soldier said. “Speared him, actually.”

  “Speared?” Kim guffawed in disbelief.

  Jessie laughed nervously but told Kim how she’d lost her composure.

  “I’m not proud of myself.” Her voice sunk and she traced circles on the table with her fingers. “It felt good, but he won’t be of any use to us hurt. It wasn’t a smart move.”

  “Bastard deserved it.” Kim sounded proud of her.

  Jessie took a deep breath and let out a sigh. “That’s about it. We’ve got supplies and a few sick soldiers. There’s a crazed mercenary out there messing with us. We were going to wait for the men to get better and then take our new prisoner to DC if you didn’t come home.”

  She glanced across the table at Bryant, who nodded.

  “I’ll bet Burke can’t wait to meet General Miller,” Kim snorted softly.

  “Here’s the thing,” Jessie made an uncomfortable face. “Burke says there’s still a working chemical processing facility in Arkansas. He says the place can help us develop the cure on a larger scale. It supposedly has all the bio-reactors we need. They’ve even made a few vaccines there over the years.”

  “He told us he didn’t have any more assets.”

  “And he says he lied about that.”

  “He could be lying again.”

  “Could be,” Jessie’s tone was a shrug. “But we watched him bring reinforcements in from the south. In a helicopter, no less. He must still be in command of something.”

  Kim paused. “I wonder how he commands so much loyalty from people. It’s the end of the world. Why would anyone do his dirty work for him?”

  “I’ve been trying to figure that out myself,” Jessie admitted. “He must make great promises.”

  “Or, he’s holding things over people’s heads. I’d be curious to know the location of all his facilities. He must have a lot of secrets squirreled away.”

  “He might have some information on that big RV his people are driving. If we had another drone, we could hunt for them. I looked for one on our scavenging trip today, but it wasn’t exactly a high priority.”

  “Bryant, any input?”

  “What does Burke value?” the soldier asked, stroking his chin in his hand.

  “His life,” Kim replied.

  “Us dead,” Jessie added, “the cure wiped out, and then his life. But he knows it’s game over for him as soon as Miller gets his hands on him.”

  “We could appeal to the goodness of his heart,” Kim said with disgust, “if he had a heart.”

  “I’ll think of something,” Jessie’s face fell slack as her thoughts grew muddled. “After I get some sleep.”

  “That’s a good idea. And take care of Dex and his crew. I have a feeling you’ll need them.”

  “When are you coming home?”

  Kim paused, seeming distracted. “Yeah, we’re working on that. I think we’ll be on the road in a few hours.”

  “Well, that’s great.”

  “It’s awesome, and I can’t wait for you to meet Bishop and the kids. But we’re bringing some guests with us?”

  “Guests?” Jessie straightened and gripped the table edge. “Who?”

  “We found some kids here in Salina. They’d been living at the basement of a schoolhouse.”

  “Oh, that’s terrible,” she replied. “Are they okay?”

  “Remarkably fine. I wouldn’t say they were thriving, but they were definitely getting by. Better than some adults around here.”

  “There are adults? Why aren’t they helping the kids?”

  “It’s a group of infected people,” Kim said. “I ran into them briefly. They’re not wearing masks and showing the late stages of fungal meningitis. They’re disoriented and hostile. Luckily, it rained and stirred up more spores that drove them away.”

  “That’s what Miller’s people said.” Jessie shifted, her shoulders aching for sleep but too invested in her conversation to back off. “It rained there and agitated the fungus, stirring up spore clouds.”

  “Be careful,” Bryant said with a finality in his tone. “Get those kids and get home.”

  “We’re doing that as we speak, splitting them between the Stryker and the bus.”

  Bryant dropped his hand on the table. “Wait, you have a Stryker? Like, a military transport?”

  Kim laughed. “Bishop picked it up in Ft. Collins. I’ll tell you all about it when we get there.”

  “Sounds good,” Jessie said. “Be careful. Take your time but hurry up. We’re waiting for you. Fiona asks about you a lot.”

  “Oh, Fiona,” Kim fawned. “I can’t wait to see that angel again.”

  “She’d love to have some kids to play with. You really can’t get here soon enough.”

  “We’ll keep you posted on our progress.”

  The conversation stalled as a weariness struck them. Jessie swayed in her seat, head pleasantly thrumming all the news and shared laughs.

  “Talk to you soon,” Bryant said, hanging up. He made a somber face. “Why don’t you get some rest? You look wiped.”

  Chapter 22

  Moe, Chinle, Arizona

  The team of four approached from the South Rim with rifles and small packs strapped to their backs. Moe crept toward the light scatter of east Chinle homesteads with tiny fingers of nervousness tapping on his spine.

  “I’m still not happy about you being here,” Moe whispered to Waki.

  “Not your choice, brother,” Waki replied in a soft tone. “Besides, you can’t make me stay in the basin. I’ve got a right to fight just like everyone else.”

  Moe made a disgruntled rumble in his chest, though she was right.

  Waki rounded out the party of himself, Aponi, and Melissa. The small group would be difficult to spot in the darkness, yet they’d be formidable if it came to a firefight.

  It was just past 4AM, dawn’s light still two hours away.

  The gully leading out of the canyon wound north to south and lay east of Moe’s house. They crouched near the gully’s shallow point among a cluster of boulders.

  “Where’s your house?” Melissa asked from where she crouched to his right.

  “If we come up right here, it’ll be about three hundred yards straight ahead,” he replied. “My truck should be parked out front.”

  She put a pair of night-vision binoculars to her eyes and raised up, to scan the immediate area. Seeming satisfied, she dropped the device and looked at him in the darkness. “What’s the plan?”
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  “Let’s follow the gully formation south. There’s a flat spot where we’ll be in the open, but it continues on the other side. The gully tip curls around almost to my front yard.”

  Melissa nodded her understanding. “All right. We’ll follow the gully. Let’s do it.”

  Moe crouch-walked through the rough dirt and scree, keeping his head low enough that no one could spot him from the house. They were well behind enemy lines, with cult scouts and sharp shooters hidden around the outskirts of town. He guessed none would be willing to linger too close to the rim, especially at night.

  That’s why Moe had chosen such a dangerous course along the rim. It took some degree of climbing skill and a fearlessness of heights to make the journey. Having played on the rim as children, the Navajo had little trouble with it. Only Melissa had required help, her face growing pale from fear as they navigated the dark and crumbling edge.

  But they’d made it, and no one had plunged to their deaths.

  Moe’s ankle burned with a deep ache as he moved across the shallow depression. Sage had wrapped it in athletic tape and given him a pain pill to keep the inflammation down. Still, he would pay for it once the medication wore off.

  They stepped into the spot where the gully wall flattened out, exposing them for a moment. But someone would have to stand near the edge to see them. Still, Moe breathed a sigh of relief when they dipped into the other side and followed the curled end toward his house.

  At one point, he stopped to rest. The women gathered around him with their backs against a ten-foot-high wall of rocks and striated stone layers.

  “I thought I heard voices before,” Waki whispered.

  “Can you tell from which direction?” Moe asked. He’d only heard the gentle sweeping of wind and rattling of siding against the house. “Was it coming from my house?”

  “I think so.” She swallowed. “But I’m not a hundred percent certain of that. The wind...”

  Moe nodded. He knew what she meant. The wind could carry a man’s voice a quarter mile if he spoke loud enough. They wouldn’t be certain until they poked their heads up.

  “If we continue up the shallow curl ahead,” Moe made a swooping gesture with his hand. “We’ll be right across from the house. My truck will be less than forty yards away.”

  Melissa nodded for him to go ahead. Moe put his head down and led them along the curl as it rose. It wasn’t a steep incline but just enough to make his ankle feel like someone was jabbing it with needles.

  The gully squeezed tighter as the walls grew shallower. He stepped around prickly shrubs the entire way, keeping his eyes pinned to the curl’s tip where it ended in a single thick bush, like the star on a Christmas tree. He snuck to it and hunkered down, panting heavily and waited for the others.

  The women reached him ten seconds later, crouched in what remained of the curled depression. They’d be hidden from anyone who watched from his house or the road, but someone approaching from the desert would spot them.

  He held his hand up for the women to stay down while he rose and peeked over the bush at his house. An electric lantern glowed from a table, and two people sat in lawn chairs on either side.

  A figure stood at the bottom of the steps, talking with the two on the porch. They held their rifles in a casual position with the barrel pointed at the ground. More light shone through the shattered front window from somewhere deeper inside the house. Likely the kitchen, where more of Carver’s people were probably stationed.

  They’d removed Rust’s corpse from where the beast had died. Moe shoved the pain and anger down deep, trying not to remember his friend’s bullet-ridden body and fading nickering sounds.

  He addressed the women, keeping his voice a low whisper. “They’re using my house as a scout camp. I can sneak up and slip into the truck’s passenger side door and leave it open for you. Once we’re all inside, I’ll start her up and turn her around while you lay down cover fire.”

  They all nodded, and Moe turned to go. A weight fell on his arm, and he looked back to see Waki staring at him from the darkness. He saw the whites of her eyes, the shape of concern on her features.

  He gave a brief nod and then edged around the bush to step onto the road. Keeping the truck between himself and the cult members, Moe crept across the thirty yards, holding his rifle strap tight to prevent the gun from rattling.

  When he reached the dusty white Peterbilt, he placed his hand lovingly on the door. The truck rested on the road like a sleeping monstrosity, dwarfing his shot-to-pieces home.

  “I missed you, girl,” he whispered. His hands flexed, eager to grip the wheel again. He yearned to start the sleek-looking Model 579, rev the Paccar MX engine hard, and rumble down the road like thunder on wheels.

  Moe took a deep breath as he removed the keys from his pocket, holding them tight to keep them from jangling in his grip. He didn’t hit the automatic opener since it would cause the running lights to blink. Instead, he pulled the physical key from the keyfob and gently placed it into the lock.

  With a twist of the key, he popped the lock and reached for the handle. Eyes squeezed shut, sweat trickling down his temples, he pressed the button with his thumb and pulled open the door, causing the interior light to snap on. Then he was climbing inside, moving fast to get the door shut before the light caught someone’s eye.

  But voices froze him to the spot. He ducked down, head tilted, ears straining to discover the voices’ direction. They weren’t coming from the porch area but from behind him. He turned and stared across the road to the bush where the women remained hidden.

  Their dark forms shifted in response to two figures strolling around the southern side of a rock formation. Their heads and shoulders were visible, but in three steps they’d be in the open, standing fifteen yards from the women.

  Moe watched in horror at the imminent clash. There would be gunfire and blood. Screams and death. His mind caught fire, panicking for the women. He started to back up, planning on providing assistance, but he’d be too late to help. Instead, he launched himself forward over the passenger seat and reached to drag the door shut behind him.

  Carver’s people rounded the corner and headed in Moe’s direction. They didn’t immediately notice the women crouched down a few short yards from them or the interior light.

  At first, Moe thought they’d walk right by the women and step onto the road only to spot him sitting inside his rig. The male figure jerked to a halt, staring at the bush for a split-second before realizing who lay in wait for them. He grunted and retreated, trying to raise his weapon.

  The other guard jolted as well, more by her partner’s sudden fright than something she’d seen. She cried out, not bothering to swing her rifle, instead grabbing for the pistol holstered at her hip.

  By that time, it was too late.

  The bush spat fire at the two. Three bursts of rounds hit the guards in the chest and they jerked as they flew back. The first guard hit the ground, his rifle spitting bullets into the air.

  Moe flipped the key in the ignition, and the truck roared to life. The engine growled and swelled before settling to a thick idle.

  Shouts erupted from the porch area as Waki and Aponi flew into the rig. Melissa slammed the door shut, stepped up on the side rail, and stuck her head in.

  “Get the truck turned around and pick me up.”

  Moe nodded and put the rig into first gear. Then he eased forward. The controls felt odd from not having worked them in over two weeks, but the movements were burned into his muscle’s memory.

  The first bullets pounded the rig’s cabin.

  Moe winced, and his shoulders clenched. He expected a high-powered round to pierce through the door and hit him in the leg, but none came. The road was narrow, but he pulled left into his own yard and spun the wheel to the right, guiding the truck in a wide arc.

  More rounds pinged the cabin, ricochets and sparks from the metal-on-metal strikes.

  Melissa opened fire. The guards on the porch
had been shooting the truck while she’d split away and circled to their right flank. She fired three or four at them, drawing wails and screams from the cult members she hit.

  Then Moe got the Peterbilt turned around and spotted the captain walking backward down the middle of the road. She fired as she retreated, waiting for him to catch up to her.

  Waki had climbed into the truck sleeper while Aponi remained in the passenger seat. She threw open the door as Moe pulled alongside the captain, and she jumped inside, shoving the native woman aside. Melissa slammed the door behind her and stuck her weapon out the window.

  Moe didn’t need prompting to kick the truck into second and then third gear, illuminating the dirt road in the golden glow of his running lights.

  He navigated the big rig to the end of the lane and took a sharp right at the Thunderbird Lodge. He angled immediately right again and headed for South Rim Road. One more left turn brought him to the Highway 64 bridge which spanned a deep gully at the foot of the canyon.

  While the quickest way to Many Farms was directly through Chinle, they didn’t want to risk entering town. If they crossed the bridge, it would take them due north, out of town and out of danger.

  Moe pulled the truck to a stop at the foot of the bridge and let it idle as he considered how to cross. Sirens blared from somewhere deep inside town, and distant engines revved, echoing in the starlit sky. A glance to his left showed several pairs of headlamps flipping on and heading in their direction.

  He turned his attention back to the bridge, and his heart sunk at what he saw.

  “We’re not getting past that thing,” Waki said, staring at the armored vehicle sitting dead center on it. Three sedans and pickup trucks sat parked on both sides. It was a bridge blockade.

  A dozen of Carver’s people stood behind the barrier with their weapons pointed at the idling Peterbilt.

  “Can you barrel through them?” Melissa asked. “I mean, plow through on the right or left.”

  Moe nodded slowly. “Yes, but I don’t think we can take two hundred rounds to the grill.”

  “I’m open to suggestions,” the captain said. Her teeth were clenched tight, but she held a futile look in her eyes.