Spore Series | Book 4 | Exist

by Soward, Kenny

  “What’s wrong, buddy?” John quipped. “Don’t you want to get inside and see those two ladies of yours?”

  “I might be infected.” Randy stated it flatly.

  “Because of your bullet wound?” John shook his head. “Our experience is that the fungus doesn’t attack open wounds. At least not when they’re cleaned within an hour or two. It prefers the lungs and nasal passages. Trust me, we can--”

  “I took my mask off.”

  “What?” John’s carefree expression sobered.

  Randy explained how he’d stripped it off and hurled it at David to disrupt his aim before overwhelming the man. As he told the story, a sinking feeling settled in his gut. He remembered how his mother had succumbed to the fungus, choking on spores until she suffocated to death. He saw himself in her place. Only, he wouldn’t die quickly in a corn field but alone in a plastic chamber away from the people he loved.

  “Are you sure?”

  Randy touched his throat. “It’s a little scratchy.”

  John’s sober expression grew sad. “You could have run, man. Why didn’t you run?”

  “That wasn’t an option.” Randy shook his head. “I needed his radio.”

  Chapter 26

  Jessie, Yellow Springs, Ohio

  Jessie awoke and smacked her lips in the darkness. Her mouth was dry and coated from sleep. She shivered, cold in the basement chill.

  She’d fallen asleep next to Fiona after eating half a bowl of soup. The theater chair no longer held the girl’s familiar warmth, and she reached out to confirm that she was, indeed, alone.

  Something scratched at the back of her throat, and she coughed to clear it. The stuff clung for a moment before it finally came up, and Jessie sat up and snatched a cup off the foldout table next to the chair. She spit into it, twice, clearing her mouth of the disgusting fluid.

  The fungus was making a comeback, and she’d need a shot of serum soon.

  “Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey,” someone said behind her, and she turned to see Dex grinning weakly at her from the other side of the room. His face was aglow from the light of the DVD player, still playing where it sat on Weissman’s lap.

  Fiona was nestled in the crook of the big medic’s arm, sharing a set of earbuds with the man.

  “Hi, Jessie.” The girl smiled and waved.

  “Hi, baby doll,” she replied, sitting up and throwing her legs over the chair arm. She gave Dex a sideways glance, his kind words from the previous day danced in her mind.

  The last thing I want to see before I die is your beautiful face.

  “You made it,” she whispered with a smile.

  “I did,” he nodded. “Thanks to you.”

  “Thanks to Paul.” Jessie stood and shuffled to his bedside. She sat heavily on the stool. She placed her hand on his forehead, noting his skin was still warm, although much cooler than the previous day. And the bags under his eyes had retreated.

  “Looking better, too,” she added.

  “If only looks were everything,” the soldier quipped. “I feel as weak as a kitten.”

  “You’ll be weak for a few days. What time is it? What have you guys been up to?” She searched the table for a thermometer.

  “It’s around 11:30AM. We watched all three seasons of Scooby Doo at least twice.” Dex rolled his eyes.

  “Scooby Dooby Doo!” Fiona sang with quiet enthusiasm.

  Jessie chuckled and found the thermometer beneath a dry cloth. She opened a sterile wipe using the fingers of her right hand to tear the packet. Then she cleaned the instrument and offered it to the soldier.

  Dex yawned, and she placed the instrument under his tongue.

  “Now Shut.”

  He closed his lips. A moment later, Jessie took it out and read it.

  “Ninety-nine point eight,” she said with an impressed nod. “You, sir, may be on your way to recovery. The cough will get worse as your body tosses out the bad stuff.”

  “Got it,” Dex said with a weary smile.

  Jessie put a plastic cup near him in case he needed it. “Cough into this. It’s gross, but you have to force the gunk out of your lungs.” She stood. “I’m going upstairs. Any requests for food or drink?”

  “Surprise us,” Weissman mumbled. He looked tired, though he was still the healthiest of the bunch.

  She strolled over to the last bed where Garcia rested. His eyes followed her where she came to sit on his left. The man’s normally olive-toned skin had grown increasingly pale the past two days, though his color had improved like the others.

  “You’re looking better, too. How do you feel?”

  “Like a truck hit me,” his voice grated, “which is way better than the train that hit me yesterday. I’ve been coughing up sludge all morning, but I heard you tell Dex that was a good thing.”

  “It is,” Jessie nodded in agreement. She dipped a clean cloth into a water basin, squeezed the excess out with one hand, and gently wiped the man’s brow.

  “Whatever was in that injection...” the soldier swallowed at her cool touch. “Thank you.”

  “You can thank Paul.” Jessie placed the rag down. “By the way, have you seen him?”

  “He went in to feed Burke about an hour ago, but I don’t remember him coming out. I probably fell asleep.”

  Jessie nodded and rose. “Keep hanging in there. I’ll be back with something from the kitchen if you’re feeling hungry.”

  “A little,” Garcia said.

  She moved to the stairs and put a foot on the first step. Her eyes drifted to the clean hall door. With a slight head shake, Jessie removed her foot and walked over. She took the knob in hand, opened the door, and stepped inside.

  The rack of bleached Tyvek coveralls hung up to dry while others soaked in bleach buckets. The air purifiers hummed softly on either end of the hall, positioned to capture any spores they might drag in with them.

  It appeared a suit was missing from the rack, which made sense. Garcia said Paul entered to feed Burke an hour ago.

  Jessie walked over and put her hand into the bleach bucket. She swirled the mixture around, identifying two soaking suits. Shouldn’t there be three?

  She narrowed her eyes, trying to think if she’d counted correctly. No, there should be seven total but there were only six. Four on the rack, and two left to soak. Maybe Paul had worn his back to his lab after he fed Burke. It sometimes happened with the man working hard and having little rest.

  Jessie lifted a small-sized Tyvek suit from the rack and slipped into it. She tucked her injured arm inside and zipped it up. Then she pulled the hood over her head awkwardly and secured that, too. She gripped the door handle, pulled it open, and stepped in.

  Her eyes scanned the room. Burke crouched against the wall, staring at her through his visor. A thin grin rested on his lips, impish and impudent.

  Paul lay face down in the middle of the floor, his hood torn off and a dark halo of blood circling his head. A glass bowl lay smashed on the floor, its oatmeal contents splashed everywhere.

  “Paul!” Jessie dashed to his side, falling to her knees as she felt for a pulse. It was there but faint.

  She rose to her feet, glaring at Burke with narrowed eyes. How could this have happened? With his slightly loosened bonds, he might have grabbed Paul and hurt him. But Bryant had trussed him up tightly, so that seemed impossible. And what would be the reason? Burke had to know they’d beat him senseless when they discovered it.

  “What did you do?” Jessie hissed, fist clenching and relaxing at her side.

  The man slowly rose from his crouch, grin widening. “It was a sliver from the broom handle you hit me with.” Burke held up the three-inch piece of wood in his leather-bound hands. “I put it in my mouth and sawed and sawed. When the sliver dulled, I did the rest with my teeth. Leather is much harder to tear than I would have thought. It took me all night to gnaw through it.”

  That’s when Jessie noticed his red, raw lips and speckles of blood on his cheeks, sending shivers
up the backs of her legs to her neck. They’d given him a slim opportunity to get free, and he’d seized it. No, she’d allowed it to happen by leaving him that sliver to work with.

  “It was a risk, taking off my mask,” Burke continued to rise, “but you kept the place so clean, I wasn’t worried about breathing any spores. Then I waited for one of you to come. I thought it would be you. But, lo-and-behold, my favorite person walked in.”

  Burke glanced at the bloody mycologist with a fond expression.

  His gaze moved back to Jessie, his grin melting away, madness and rage spinning behind his eyes. He raised his hands and spread them apart, and his bonds fell away with a soft clop on the floor. “And look, another gift.”

  She broke for the door, reaching for the handle, mouth open and ready to scream. But Burke was on her in a second. He grabbed the back of her suit, jerked her backwards, and slammed her to the floor.

  Her head smacked the concrete, rattling her teeth and sending her senses into a violent spin. She tried to rise, but Burke punched her in the chest, forcing her air out in a rough gasp.

  He straddled her and pinned her arms beneath his knees, resting back like a victorious tiger on its prey. He ripped her hood off, breaking the zipper and casting it aside. Then he loomed over her, face sweating behind his visor.

  “Sorry, but I have to savor this moment,” he said. “The day I end this pitiful attempt to revive humanity.” He looked up at the ceiling. “If only Kim were here to see me now.”

  “Kim’s still alive,” Jessie spat. “She killed Richtman. She has the cure, too. She’s spreading it around. Miller knows. He’ll come for--”

  Burke slapped her across the face, leaving a burning sting. A second slap rocked her head in the other direction.

  “I’ll track her down,” he sneered. “Or maybe I’ll just wait here for her. She has to be coming home.” He raised his finger as if he had an idea. “Or, I can hold the little one hostage. What’s her name? Little Fiona?”

  A shot of adrenaline energized her, and she bucked upward, nearly throwing him off “Don’t touch her. I’ll kill you.”

  Burke centered himself and brought his fist down hard. Jessie felt the blow to her jaw just before her brain exploded in a full fireworks display. The room swam around her, his looming figure a shadow, his voice garbled and unintelligible.

  Her head lolled, wits slowly returning as Burke conversed with someone she couldn’t see.

  “...go ahead and start the distraction. I’ve got things under control down here. No need to engage, just keep them occupied.”

  Distant rifle reports reached her ears, sounding like a movie playing on a television across the room. She struggled to rise, but Burke felt like he weighed two tons.

  He peered down at her. “You had your fun, Jessie. You gave it a great shot. Now it’s my time to shine.”

  The man cocked his fist back and drove it toward her face. It was a hard strike, but the pain didn’t register. Her head rolled to the side, eyes blinking at the cement ceiling as if fascinated by the boards and tresses.

  Her vision stretched thin and faded. Then all light winked and vanished completely.

  *

  Jessie blinked at the ceiling in confusion. She knew she’d passed out, had been knocked out, though it didn’t seem like it had been very long.

  She tried rolling to her left but fell back flat. Then she attempted the other direction, but that only sparked a wicked pain shooting through her injured shoulder.

  Remembering her struggles back at the pharmacy, she rolled left again and threw her legs into it, turning her body enough to flip onto her belly. From there it was easy to push to her knees, though she was forced to stop and wait for a wave of dizziness to pass. Her head felt like a brick, her neck loose and misaligned. Nausea seized her stomach and twisted it, threatening to send her back to the blackness again.

  Burke was free.

  Her sick stomach flipped, and she threw her hand across her middle to keep down the rising bile.

  Fiona.

  Jessie put one foot flat on the floor and surged upward with a colossal effort. She stood and turned to leave.

  “Paul.”

  She turned back. The mycologist hadn’t moved. Facing away from her, the halo of blood around his head had stopped spreading. It still glistened, wet on the concrete.

  Jessie wanted to help him, but Burke was out there likely getting away with murder. She had to stop him first, and then she’d come back for Paul.

  Fiona.

  She forced herself to the door, threw it open, and ambled along the clean hall to the other side. She barely noticed the Tyvek rack busted to pieces, their protective equipment scattered on the floor. The door to the theater room hung open, and she shambled through to hear Dex and Garcia’s welcoming voices.

  The soldiers stood by the lab door, arguing between each other while yelling and smashing sounds came from the adjacent room.

  Dex turned to see Jessie approaching around the stairwell. She held her left hand to keep from falling, a look of grim purpose written across her face.

  “What’s going on?” she growled through the pain.

  Dex shifted on shaky legs, gripping Garcia’s shoulder to hold himself upright. In his right hand, he held a pistol. “Someone started attacking us outside, so Weissman went upstairs to help Bryant. Then Burke came out of the storage room. Before we knew it, he snatched up Fiona and locked the two of them in the lab.”

  “He’s smashing everything up,” Garcia said. The man held a rifle with the barrel pointed down but was helpless to use it. “He said he’d kill the girl if we came in.”

  Jessie nodded and glared at the door. Something crashed to the floor inside the room, and she grabbed the pistol from Dex’s hand and tried the handle. It was locked like he’d said.

  She gestured toward the door and retreated. “Break it down.”

  Dex nodded and stepped back, wobbling on his feet, still gripping Garcia’s shoulder. He focused his eyes on the spot beside the knob, raised his foot, and smashed his heel into it.

  The door was cheap, the latch cheaper, and it flew open and smacked against the back wall.

  Jessie entered a smoky room heavy with the stench of ozone and blood. Burke held a leg of the Tyvek rack in one hand and wielded it like a club. He tore it from the front of a flat screen monitor he’d just smashed.

  He turned and regarded her while the damaged monitor fell forward and crashed to the floor. Paul’s autoclave and blood sampling equipment were destroyed. Wires hung out the backs. Control panels were pierced and shattered. Pieces of plastic and glass lay scattered around his feet. The bastard had demolished thousands of dollars’ worth of gear in the space of five minutes.

  The refrigerator holding their antigen filled blood was broken open. The bags had been removed, cut, and their precious contents emptied onto the floor.

  Fiona stood behind Burke with her hands thrown over her ears, an expression of fear twisting her face. Her eyes fell upon Jessie, wide and hopeful.

  Jessie raised the pistol at Burke, but he snatched up the little girl, jerking her in front of him like a shield. He tossed the metal bar and picked up a sliver of glass from the shattered equipment.

  “Drop the gun, bitch,” Burke said. He thrust the sharp, gleaming shard under Fiona’s throat and pressed in against her skin.

  Tears streamed down the girl’s plump cheeks, and she stared straight ahead with wide eyes. “Jessie. Help.”

  “It’s okay, baby,” she said. “It’s going to be fine.”

  “Drop it,” Burke warned.

  Jessie watched as a bead of blood trickled down Fiona’s frail neck. She immediately crouched and placed the gun on the floor.

  Burke’s smile returned. “Good girl. Now, kick the pistol to me.”

  “I’m not going to do that,” Jessie shook her head. “You’ll shoot us both.”

  He jerked Fiona so hard a small cry escaped her. “This little one is my ticket out of
here,” he assured her. “But you. You’ll need to run. Maybe hide behind those soldiers out there. Easy, boys!” He raised his voice, eyes glancing past her. “Back up.”

  Jessie turned to see the two soldiers hovering outside the door. Garcia held his rifle pointed low, his expression strangely determined. She shook her head vigorously, and the pair reluctantly retreated to the stairs.

  She brought her attention back to Fiona and her captor. “I won’t run away, and I won’t kick the gun over.”

  “That leaves us at an impasse, eh?”

  “Call off your people,” Jessie urged, her voice rushed and breathy. She held her palm out, hoping Burke still had the sense to bargain. “Then you can bring Fiona upstairs. Leave her, and we’ll let you go. A fair trade.”

  “Easy as you please?” He tilted his head in question.

  “Easy as you please,” Jessie assured him. “I swear. You win.”

  “I did win, didn’t I?” Burke said with a pleased expression. “One nuisance down. One to go.” The smile ticked across his lips before it withered once more. “But I still need the gun.” He nodded to the weapon and adjusted his grip on the glass sliver. “Do that, and I won’t shoot you. I’ll take my victory and go. And you’ll have your precious Fiona back.”

  Jessie closed her eyes and fought a war inside her head. If she gave Burke the gun, he’d have a massive advantage. If she didn’t, one slip would spill Fiona’s life to the floor. The girl who’d survived a fungal plague and several firefights wouldn’t survive a madman holding a sliver of glass.

  “Tick tock,” Burke said. “It’s not a difficult decision.”

  “Okay.” Jessie turned to the side and kicked the gun with her boot’s insole. It shot across the thin carpet with its splinters of glass and plastic. It hit a rut and ricocheted off to her left, a foot and a half out of Burke’s reach.

  He fixed her with a hateful glare, as if she’d done it on purpose.

  “That’s not my fault,” Jessie accused. “You made the mess.”