“I know a way.” Moe gazed off to his left where the road fell to dirt and scrub. Beyond that stood a tree line and a twenty-yard-wide stream where water trickled from the canyon. He nodded where he wanted to go. “There’s a path across. Rex and I always take it when we ride together. He says it’s big enough to drive a truck through, and we’re going to test that theory right now.”
Melissa gave him a hard look. “What are you waiting for?”
“I don’t know, big brother,” Waki shook her head. “There’s nothing but scrub and stones and mud down there. You can’t--”
Moe pumped the gas and released the clutch, lurching them forward. They eased off the road and rolled into the dirt and sand. He flipped his headlights on and crept along at five miles per hour.
Gunfire slapped the surrounding ground, kicking up dust. One round smacked the engine cover with a spark and a sharp snap. Aponi leaned forward into Melissa’s lap, and both women returned fire at the people on the bridge.
The truck kicked up a cloud of dust, and Moe spat dirt and rolled his window up. He spotted the break in the trees and angled the truck in that direction.
The rig rocked back and forth across the uneven ground. Pits and stones caught the tires, and Moe had to alternate the gas and brake to keep him from busting something in the undercarriage.
“Two motorcycles are coming,” Aponi shouted, looking back toward Chinle. “They’ll be on us in a minute or two if we don’t go faster.”
Moe shook his head and gave up on being careful. He put his foot on the gas and rocketed them toward the gap. The truck jerked violently back and forth, shaking them like seeds inside a maraca. Aponi and Melissa stopped firing and grabbed the edges of the door.
A glance in his rearview mirror showed Waki sitting on his bunk, spread eagle, arms thrown back and legs bracing herself against the floor.
They hit something hard and launched Moe into the roof. His head struck with a dizzying crack. He groaned and gripped the wheel tighter, guiding them between the trees. Branches and leaves knocked against the truck sides. Aponi cried out and jerked away as a switch whipped in and caught her in the face.
In a sudden and miraculous shift, the rig stopped rattling them around. The path leveled into smooth silkiness. The steering wheel grew sluggish in Moe’s hands, and the tires spun and hissed.
He knew why.
They were cruising through a bed of wet, silty mud. The truck was settling into it. Sinking. Twenty-two thousand pounds bogged down in a cement-like mixture.
Motorcycle engines revved somewhere close behind them on the road.
Dread gripped his stomach as his brain recalled every driving tip he’d ever learned. He’d traversed muddy and icy roads before and had even chugged across a frozen lake. But nothing could have prepared him for navigating a muddy stream with people firing at him with high-powered rifles.
He switched to second gear, turned the wheel, and gave it some gentle gas. The truck responded, gaining traction as the tires spit sand and stone fifteen feet into the air behind them.
They started sinking again. Moe adjusted, throwing them back in the other direction, searching for grip as he wiggled them toward the opposite bank.
Much of the mud had eroded off the stones in the stream bed, providing some temporary traction. The tires struck solid rock and shot them forward ten yards in a spray of water before they bogged down on the opposite bank.
It was just as wet and silty on that side, and the truck slid sideways as it displaced waves of mud and sand. Moe fought to keep them straight, working the wheel back and forth, never letting up on the gas. If he allowed them to stop, they’d be stuck.
They approached a grassy rise. Beyond that beckoned Highway 64. Just another thirty yards to freedom.
Bullets rained down on them from the bridge, and Aponi and Melissa returned fire, brass bouncing around inside the cabin like golden rain. The cracks of gunfire hammered in his ears, rattled his teeth, and burned his nose with gun smoke.
Melissa fell back, grabbed another magazine out of her ammunition pack, and jammed it home. She glanced at Moe with a look of hard determination before she poked the barrel outside and spat more fire.
The truck tires caught on the rough grasses and it resumed its bouncing again. The women pulled themselves inside the cab, grabbing the door edges, victims of the violent shaking.
Bullets made Swiss cheese of the cabin. A piece of shrapnel flew past his face. Waki cried out and curled to the floor, but Moe couldn’t stop. They’d almost reached the road. Just a few more yards.
Two motorcycles zoomed past them, jumping up the embankment and landing in the road. One wobbled and pitched over the other side. The second bike skidded to a near perfect sideways stop and the rider raised their rifle to fire.
The Peterbilt flew up the embankment and trundled onto the road in a cloud of dust and scree. The biker’s black barrel spat rounds at Moe’s face, but he ducked and hit the gas, bringing the powerful engine to a roar.
Blindly, Moe whipped the wheel to the right in a screech of tires and felt the front corner clip something hard. With a wicked grin, he raised up and angled the truck’s grill back toward the road.
He spared a glance in his side mirror to see the rider and bike tumble down into the trees in a bloody mess of motorcycle parts and flesh.
Moe swung the rig in a wide arc as the tires on his side continued slipping off the edge. He hit the gas, shifted up, and jumped the truck back onto the pavement. The insane jostling stopped as they raced toward the bridge, needing to reach it and turn north before Carver’s people tried to block them.
Too late. He spotted two of the medium-sized sedans from the barrier racing towards them.
“I don’t think they’re stopping.” Moe tensed his shoulders. “Brace yourselves.”
“They can brace this,” Aponi said. The warrior woman leaned out the window and fired right into the face of the vehicles.
Bullets peppered the front of one car and pierced the glass, hitting the driver. The interior splattered red like someone had squeezed a tomato inside it, and the hulk of metal slewed and careened off behind them.
Moe whipped the wheel left just as the sedan met them in a jarring collision, corner to corner. The car flew away like it had been swatted by a giant’s hand, spinning until it rolled off the road and down into a gully.
He shifted once, then again, pushing the rig faster. He glanced in his rear view and side mirrors, searching for signs of pursuit. None came, and he breathed a heavy, but satisfied, sigh as the adrenaline coursing through his veins melted away.
Waki.
“Sister! Are you okay?”
Aponi climbed out of Melissa’s lap, put her hands on the head rests and pulled herself through to the sleeper. She turned and sat hard on the bunk and then leaned over and reached for Waki who still lay curled on the cab floor.
Moe’s heart froze in his chest. Every beat felt like a hammer fall, his blood flowing molasses-slow. He couldn’t lose his sister. Not like this. Not after they’d made amends and had such a warm reunion.
Aponi helped Waki onto the bunk where she sat up with a gasp. Moe stared into his rearview mirror, glancing at the road to keep them honest.
His sister lifted her face, eyes wide with surprise, but not fear. Her short, dark bangs fell across her forehead, wet with blood. It trickled down her right temple to her chin and then dripped into her lap
“Is she...?”
“She’s fine,” Aponi said as she parted Waki’s hair and inspected her injury. “Just a graze. She lost a little hair, and it might need a stitch or two.”
The warrior woman pulled off her pack and set it on the cot. She retrieved scissors, gauze, and a roll of medical tape.
She fussed with the wound for thirty seconds before clicking her tongue. “I can patch you up, but I’ll have to cut more hair. I mean, a lot.”
“Do it,” Waki said, her eyes fierce as she glared out the bullet-riddled windshield.
“Cut it.”
Aponi nodded and went to work on the wound.
The sound of snipping scissors accompanied them as Moe shifted twice more and pushed them faster and farther north in a journey he hoped would head off his people’s imminent starvation.
Chapter 23
Kim, Salina, Kansas
“Put those on this new line I just strung up.” Kim directed little Karen Reese to hang the damp, freshly washed clothes on a piece of string she’d tied to a coat hook behind the driver’s seat.
They lived in chaos. Kids sat on cushions or in bucket seats. Clothes hung out to dry everywhere in a spiderweb of lines. And Karen was a nine-year-old with the energy of three adults, outworking Riley to help situate the remaining children.
They stacked cases of supplies in the isolation chamber at the back of the bus where Kim had recovered from Richtman’s beating. They had canned ravioli and hearty soups, granola and energy bars, fifty cases of bottled water, bags of potato chips, and dried fruits and banana chips.
They’d put the seven youngest kids in the bus living quarters up front, and the next seven oldest in the lab. Five more would ride in the isolation chamber along with the supplies. That was nineteen kids on the bus.
Riley had spent the last six hours marking, sterilizing, and stacking the kids’ masks inside the prep room. Then she’d run their clothes through the washer and pulled them out the other side. With the drying unit filled, and no space to hang them, her daughter passed the rest inside for Karen and Kim to handle.
As Kim helped little Karen adjust clothes on the line, someone ran into her. She put her hand on a child’s head and guided her toward one of the bucket seats behind her. Another child giggled. Another cried. They’d packed themselves in tight, and she wondered if she’d made the right call as the surrounding space shrunk.
Kim had only learned a few of the names, so she relied on Karen to help reign them in and deal with the troublesome ones. It had gone surprisingly well, all things considered.
The very oldest kids would ride with Trevor and Bishop in the Stryker. They were the fourteen and thirteen-year-olds who’d handle the journey in the rugged armored vehicle better. Overnight, her husband and son had gone out in the Stryker and picked up extra fuel for the bus. Unfortunately, they didn’t have time to look for a trailer. It was possible they might find one on the way.
They were just moments away from heading back to Yellow Springs.
“Attention,” AMI stated in Kim’s earpiece.
“What is it?”
“The decontamination fluids are now below thirty-percent.”
AMI had been notifying Kim about their depleting resources. Scrubbing nineteen kids had burned through it quick, and she had no idea where to replenish the supply.
Too many worries with no time to spend on them, Kim tuned out the child noise and focused on her work.
She called out. “Karen, Riley. Are we good?”
“I’m running the last batch of clothes now,” Riley replied through the bus speakers. “Then I’m coming up front.”
Kim turned to find Karen shushing a crying girl with a stern finger. It was another ten-year-old girl who had taken up residence in one of the pull-down seats. She’d been a cowering mess since coming aboard, crouching in a corner the entire time. Little Karen wasn’t helping. She had the girl by the arms and spoke to her sternly.
Kim knelt between them and put one hand on Karen’s shoulder while smiling at the other. “Hey, what’s your name?”
“I’m Mary,” she replied.
“Okay, yes. Mary. Look, I know things are crazy right now,” Kim assured her. “But we’re going to make this work. And it’s only for a couple of days.”
Mary nodded reluctantly, but she glanced fearfully at Karen.
“Trust me,” she went on. “Before you know it, it’s going to seem like a slumber party in here.”
Karen stiffened and shrugged off her hand. Kim watched after the girl with a troubled frown. Bishop had warned her about the girl with the Kansas Jayhawk jersey and sassy attitude, but it wasn’t just sass. Every move the girl made seemed angry and resentful. Intense pain lingered behind her eyes.
She shook her head and turned back to Mary with a somber expression. “Are you okay, little one?”
Mary leaned forward and whispered. “Karen is one bossy bitch.”
Kim’s eyes grew wide, and she pressed her lips together to stifle a laugh. “Are you going to be okay now, Mary?”
“Do you have any music?” she asked.
“I can try to put some on later, after we get moving,” she said. Then she imagined twenty kids fighting over what songs to play. “Can you sit tight until then?”
Mary nodded, and Kim gratefully stood and surveyed the scene. The kids were settling, some even slept. Clothes dried. It was as good as it was going to get.
The lab door slid open, and Riley stepped through. The twelve-year-old looked like she’d aged a couple of years. She stepped over children to meet her mother and tossed her hands out.
“I don’t know what else to do.”
“There isn’t anything else we can do.”
Riley put her hands on her hips, tilting her head in question. “Time to leave?”
“Yep,” Kim nodded. “The faster we get to Yellow Springs, the better. Then we’ll probably bust on through to Washington.”
“Maybe you should have asked General Miller first,” her daughter wisely stated. “What if he doesn’t have room for the rugrats?”
A brief flash of heat rose in Kim’s face, but she quickly tamped it down. “I’m not leaving twenty kids out here to fend for themselves. The general will take them, or he’ll feel my wrath.”
Riley raised her hands, giving up the argument, and Kim turned and plopped into the driver’s seat. She stared out the front window at the coming dawn. The light from the east pressed away the gloomy clouds and shined in the expressway puddles.
The external spore count had decreased a great deal from their readings during the previous day’s rains. Asphyxia was weakening, or at least balancing itself with nature. Would it continue to do so over the passing weeks?
Paul might have some ideas, though the man remained locked in his makeshift lab trying to keep the surrounding people alive. Kim’s stomach tickled with the thought of returning to Yellow Springs, to join forces with her friend and end the Asphyxia blight forever. They’d find a permanent home for the kids, and for themselves, too. And before they turned Burke over to Miller, she’d spare a moment to tell him what happened to Richtman. She couldn’t wait to see the look on his face. She’d tell him everything. The fight. The trap. The bloody aluminum bat.
“Kim to Bishop,” she said. “Are you boys ready to go?”
“We’re ready,” he replied. “Why don’t you get turned around and lead the way. We’ll be right behind you.”
She started to put the bus in drive when someone placed a soft drink can in the cup holder next to her. She looked up to see Riley standing there with a tired smile on her face.
“These are the last two,” the girl said as she plopped into the passenger seat and placed a second soda can in the cup holder on her side. “The rest are juice boxes and water.”
“I’ll savor every damn drop,” Kim said. Her eyes were bleary, and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept. Yet, her senses were strangely alive, her vision sharp and clear.
She popped the can and tilted it back, enjoying the sugary caramel taste and looking forward to the caffeinated sugar rush. She cut the bus to the left with her bumper facing the median. Then she backed up slowly until the tires reached the road’s edge. The morning sun shone through the window at them, the rising sun like a beacon of hope.
Kim turned the wheel left and let her foot off the brake. The bus eased forward with a low squeal. Her eyes slid toward the east, looking off into the distance, and the tension began to lift.
Riley stiffened in the seat next to her. “Mom, what’s that?
”
“Oh, what now?” Kim asked, and she looked to where her daughter pointed, noting a slight figure crossing the road and waving her arms. Kim instantly recognized the smallish frame and choppy red hair.
“It’s the woman I met before, outside.” Kim was forced to slow the bus or risk running her over.
Riley gave her mother a wild glance. “Don’t stop, Mom.”
“Yeah, don’t stop.” Karen stood between the seats, eyes pinned on the woman with a hateful stare. “It’s one of the Ugly Eight.”
“She’s unarmed,” Kim said. She noticed the woman held her hands against her chest as she let out a gut-wrenching cough but still walked toward them in the bus’s path. Something in her expression screamed urgency. “I’m going to see what she wants.”
Both Riley and Karen let out a disparaging noise that grated up her spine.
“Shut it,” Kim snapped. “Both of you. Did you ever think she might need our help?”
“She doesn’t,” Karen snarled. “It’s a trap.”
When the woman saw the vehicle slow, she lowered her arms and stopped ten yards in front of the window. Kim could see the black spots in the whites of her eyes from that distance. The dark flecks around her nostrils had flared out to the tops of her cheeks, and her lips held a blackish tint. Something like madness and bewilderment lingered in her eyes, though Kim saw humanity, too.
“She’s so sick,” Riley said with a shudder.
“Can you hear me?” the woman shouted, and her voice came out in a rough croak.
Kim nodded. “What do you want?”
“They’re coming.” The woman hiked her thumb behind her.
“Who’s coming?”
“The rest of my people. There’s only five left, but they’re mad. Cr-crazy. I don’t know what they’re going to do. I tried to stop them, but...” The woman made a futile gesture with her hands and coughed some more. When she raised her face, black spittle dripped down her chin. “I’m sorry, but I told them you had a cure for the affliction. I thought they would ask for your help, but they just want to take it for themselves. They’re not thinking right. None of us are.”
Spore Series | Book 4 | Exist Page 23