Spore Series | Book 4 | Exist

by Soward, Kenny

  That was fine. Moe wasn’t there to make friends.

  He glanced into his side mirror to see Rex’s group drive through safely.

  They came to an intersection with fast-food places dotting the landscape, many of them with shattered glass fronts and torn off signs. One squatted there, a charred mess, nothing but a burned-out husk and smoking ruin.

  Moe took an immediate left turn, shifting up until he reached almost fifty miles per hour. They passed stalled vehicles, streets littered with debris, and now and again a handful of bodies that looked like the victims of large-scale robberies.

  “This is worse than I imagined,” Zoe said, breaking the silence. “I’m so glad I didn’t come down here by myself.

  “We’ll be okay.” Waki threw her arm over the sandwich girl’s shoulders and hugged her.

  Occasional reports of gunfire echoed through the bright sunlit day, sometimes lasting fifteen seconds or more. None of them sounded close, and no one fired at the rig.

  They passed town homes, encircled by pale brick walls. Then they drove through a sprawl of middle-income houses with open yards dotted with palm trees. Gangs of six or ten people lingered on street corners, some stepping into the road, waving to see if Moe would stop long enough for them to rip open his door or smash the glass.

  He’d never seen such blatant attempts at lawlessness. And if he hadn’t already been through hell and back, he might have made a mistake. But Moe made eye contact with every one of them, revving the Peterbilt Paccar engine with a throaty growl, warning anyone who approached that he wielded the bigger weapon in any street fight.

  They reached Post Road, and Moe took a hard right, angling into the warehouse area. They sped past a pickup full of four men wearing scowls. Moe’s stomach twisted, certain they’d draw guns from the truck bed and open fire. Yet, they didn’t, and he wove his way between a dozen massive warehouses on his way to their destination.

  His eyes scanned the rooftops, though he spotted no one looking down. The Amber Hill Distribution Center was identical to the one in North Las Vegas, with the office parking lot in the front and the docks in the rear. He whipped the truck into the lot and gassed it around to the back.

  Several empty spaces lay open to him. He picked one closest to the center and backed up to the dock door. Before he blocked it, Rex pulled his pickup in front of the rig, and the defensive team jumped down with their rifles, lanterns, and flashlights. They sprinted past Moe’s truck and climbed the stairs to the warehouse, barrels pointed into the dark depths.

  Moe’s radio sprung to life with Melissa’s voice. “Entrance is clear, moving farther in.”

  “Get ready, you guys,” Moe said. “We’re going to be hopping in a minute.”

  While Melissa’s team cleared the warehouse, Moe watched the road. Josiah, Tyler, and Waki all had rifles while Zoe wore a pistol clipped to her belt below her Big Bob’s Subs shirt.

  Josiah held his hand to his heart, lips moving in a silent prayer while Tyler’s eyes shifted nervously.

  Moe’s rifle rested in the seat next to him. His hand lay on the stock as he scanned their surroundings. The lot was empty. No one approached or threatened them from any direction. His stomach settled yet grew more unsettled. He’d expected to have to fight their way in, and the quiet could be deceiving.

  The seconds ticked off until Moe finally looked at his watch to see four minutes had passed.

  “Warehouse is clear, as far as I can tell,” Melissa said. “We’re coming out.”

  “It’s clear out here, too,” Moe replied into the radio.

  The eight fighters leapt down from the dock and sprinted past the rig, taking positions near the pickup. Rex tossed him a thumbs up as he passed, and Casey shot a hesitant grin over her shoulder. The former waitress wore her hair in a ponytail, the same as Aponi. It was the only way the two women could keep their long locks from tangling around their rifles.

  “All right, team,” Moe said, voice tight and sharp. “Let’s do this.”

  He backed the rig up close to the dock, parked it, and left it running. He hopped down, slinging his rifle over his shoulder. As planned, they sprinted to the stairs, climbed to the trucker entrance, and stepped through the propped open door.

  The defense team had placed electric lanterns throughout the warehouse, illuminating high racks full of precious goods. The rows ran from left to right, A to Z. He spotted a forklift crashed between M and N, surrounded by product spilled from the top of the rack. The forks remained raised with a skid still resting on them.

  “Don’t worry about that mess,” Moe said, leading Tyler and Josiah off to the right where five forklifts stood against the wall. “Go see if any of those work and bring them over.”

  The pair ran off while Moe returned to the truck. Waki and Zoe marched past him, spreading out to offer some cover for the boys. He unlatched the trailer’s back doors and threw them wide. He found a ramp lying nearby, and he threw it down with a heavy slam to bridge the dock to the trailer.

  Squatting, he adjusted the slab of metal so it was securely in place and then turned to see how the boys were doing. Josiah leapt from one forklift and ran to another. Tyler found one that worked and backed it up with some skill. Josiah’s second try proved better, and his lit up with a high whine as it reversed from its charging bay.

  The team captain appeared more hesitant, and it took him a moment to work the throttle while turning the wheel. Finally, he trundled over to greet Moe and Tyler.

  “You’ve got the list, right?” Moe asked the boys.

  They nodded and waved their pieces of paper, though Josiah wore an uncertain expression on his face.

  “Like we told you, Josiah. Take your time. Make sure your forks are level. We gave you stuff that should be closer to the bottom of the racks. It’s just like shopping at the grocery store. Pick it, pull it, and drive it over here.”

  The boys nodded and trundled off, moving to their designated rows. Moe glanced at the ladies before grabbing the radio off his belt. “We’re underway,” he said, then he returned it to its clip.

  With nothing to do and the operation moving smoothly, Moe limped between rows M and N where the forklift had crashed into the rack. The floor around the machine was littered with mobile phones still in their boxes, and the forks held a skid full of them up on the third row.

  The most disturbing thing was the dark splashes across the control and steering wheel. The same substance stretched down the row in a wide smear before it disappeared into the blackness.

  Moe gave a mental shrug and climbed aboard. He flicked the power to the “On” position and carefully backed up, craning his neck to ensure he didn’t accidentally hit the rack behind him.

  It had been months since he’d run a forklift, but it came back to him quickly. Instead of bringing the mobile phones down, he returned them to their place and pulled his forks free. Then he swung the machine around and wheeled to the end of the row.

  “Careful, big brother,” Waki said with a wink, and Moe returned a fleeting smile.

  Tyler came flying out of row Q with a skid of canned food on his forks. The boy slowed as he reached the bridge, hit it squarely, and then accelerated over it and into the trailer. The whole thing shook as he delivered the product deep inside. A moment later he returned to the dock, crossed the bridge with a bang, and sped toward row Q.

  Moe drove down to row Y where Josiah was struggling with a skid packed with canned tuna. He was trying to back it out from the second story smoothly, but one corner kept hitting the rack beams.

  “Straighten it out and then pull it clear,” Moe called from where he stood on his machine. “Don’t turn so fast.”

  The boy nodded. He moved forward, aligning his forklift straight. Then he backed clean out, nearly hitting the rack behind him before he turned with the pallet, a smile on his face. He started to drive away, but Moe stopped him.

  “Lower the forks,” he called, holding up his hand. “Never drive with them high like tha
t. Now drop it off near the entrance and either me or Tyler will put it on the truck. Go slow.”

  Josiah nodded and drove away with the product while Moe went for the bins of MREs Amber Hill sold through their online service. Used to sell. They kept those at the far end of the row where the electric lanterns barely reached.

  The high whine of running forklifts echoed through the massive chamber like music to his ears. Moe drove down to the MRE’s and stared up at racks and bins of them. They’d doubled up their inventory by stacking skids on top of bins, and that’s exactly how Moe would load them onto the truck. In fact, he would stack them three or four skids high.

  He raised his forks but stopped as something fell with a clatter, echoing like a gunshot in the chamber. He paused with his hand on his rifle strap, eyes searching the darkness beyond where the light reached.

  Shadows seemed to twirl and twitch, though he suspected his imagination was partially to blame. When nothing came at him, Moe continued bringing down the MREs. He raised his forks to the top level, grabbed a skid, and lowered it to the floor. Then he forked another and placed it atop the first.

  Moe backed up and then scooped the entire stack of four. He turned on a dime and charged to the truck. He trundled over the bridge and delivered his haul to the front as the trailer pitched back and forth with the shifting weight.

  Once dropped off, he exited the truck, grabbed two skids Josiah had left nearby, and placed those inside the trailer as well.

  “How’s it going in there, Moe?” Melissa asked.

  Moe snatched his radio off his belt. “It’s great. I’d say we can have this thing loaded in about forty minutes. How’s it look out there?”

  “Aponi thought she saw some people moving inside the next building over. Try to hurry.”

  Moe nodded and re-clipped his radio. He put things into hyper gear, running for more MREs and clearing nearly the entire rack. Then he grabbed a skid of over-the-counter pain medication and bins of rice, beans, and lentils. He found four pallets of canned vegetables of various kinds, which he stacked inside the trailer as well.

  Thirty minutes later, they were about eighty-five percent full, and Moe grabbed an empty pallet on his forks and pulled up between Waki and Zoe.

  “Hop on,” he called.

  They stepped onto the skid and held on as he drove them down to rows C and D where they kept seeds, fertilizer, and farm tools. The women hopped down and gathered those items, stacking them together, getting sloppy in their haste as boxes fell and were left behind.

  Moe’s hands began to shake as he grew more excited. It looked like they were pulling it off against all odds and his expectations.

  His radio crackled. “Moe, we’ve got some activity. Hurry it up.”

  “Got you,” he replied. “Come on, ladies. We need to go.”

  Waki and Zoe climbed on the edge of the skid, partially leaning inward to keep boxes from spilling off as Moe turned the forklift and trundled back to the bay doors.

  The women jumped off, and he placed the skid inside the trailer. Then he backed out and parked the machine off the side. There was space for one more row of pallets. Tyler brought one up, sweat dripping from the boy’s face.

  Moe stepped off his forklift and called up to him. “Finish up that last row, collect the lanterns, lock the doors, and get outside.”

  Tyler nodded and took off, angling for the bridge.

  Moe limped over to the entrance and hobbled quickly down the stairs. Melissa and her soldiers knelt behind the pickup while the Chinle folks, Rex, and Casey crouched beneath his trailer with their rifles pointed off to the sides.

  Another trailer sat parked on the left, offering some protection on that flank. But their right lay wide open to attack.

  He nodded to the Chinle folks and jogged ten yards to the pickup. “Where are they?”

  Melissa peered around the front end, looking off to their left. “There’s a handful of people in the warehouse straight across from us, and two creeping toward us beneath the trailers on our left.”

  Moe glanced in that direction and watched a pair of legs attempting to stay tucked behind the tires as they approached. They were still five trailer-lengths distant, but close enough to shoot at them.

  “I’ve got three on this side,” one of Melissa’s soldiers said, “and a truck sitting at the end of the lot. Looks like the same guys we saw on our way in.”

  “I’d bet the main force is hiding around the far corner.” The captain nodded to the opposite warehouse.

  “So, anywhere from fifteen to twenty people,” Moe said with a head shake. “I knew this was too easy.”

  Melissa cracked a grin. “What do you have left in there?”

  “We’ve got a couple more skids and we’re done,” he replied. “Smoke screen?”

  She gave him an affirmative nod. “It’s time,” she said. “Let’s do it.”

  Chapter 32

  Moe, Las Vegas, Nevada

  Melissa turned and crouch-walked to the pickup’s driver side door with Moe right behind her.

  They met her soldiers there, and the four peered into a box of goods Colonel Lopez-Reyes had provided. She wouldn’t authorize the use of explosive grenades or rockets, but she had no problem offering alternative solutions.

  They each grabbed a pair of smoke grenades and retreated to their positions. Moe stuffed his ammunition pouch with several and made his way back to Rex and the other Chinle folk where they hunkered beneath the trailer. He passed the grenades around and gestured for them where to throw them.

  He glanced toward Melissa, and she nodded.

  “Okay, go!”

  The sounds of pins being pulled followed by the clatter of rolling, popping canisters filled the air. A sizzling filled the air, and a semi-circle of smoke grew up around them like a barrier.

  “They’re going to be mad,” Moe grinned as the trailers on their left captured the vapor between them, congesting the area. The right flank became a wall of gray.

  Out front, a heavy cloud spread upward from a half-dozen canisters, blocking their view of the warehouse across the lot. With little to no wind, the smoke hung there, shielding the scavenger party from sight.

  Gunfire shot toward them. Bullets pinged off his truck and the trailers. It ricocheted off the concrete and hit the docks. Melissa’s group stayed low by the pickup while Moe’s people squeezed in behind the rig’s rear tires.

  The shooting grew to a crescendo, dozens of rounds pouring into them. The slap of lead against metal fell like rain on a tin roof, and Moe heard one of Rex’s truck tires pop loudly. A bullet skimmed the ground near Moe’s feet, and he squeezed in harder between his rear wheels.

  Casey squirmed and yipped whenever a round hit too close, though Rex threw an arm around her and pulled her in tight. They winced and jerked at every snap and ricochet, cowering in the firestorm. One of the captain’s soldiers cried out, and one of the Chinle folks cursed, gripping their leg.

  “Hang in there,” Moe said. “They’re shooting blind.”

  “Give them something to think about!” Melissa called back, and she reached around the front bumper and fired two rounds through the smoke.

  Moe side-stepped from his cover and popped off several shots beneath the trailers. Rex and Casey joined him, sending bullets flying in that direction. Someone screamed from the other side of the gray wall, and the incoming fire stalled.

  “I’m going to check on the loading team,” Moe said. He hobbled toward the dock stairs with bullets hitting the surrounding brick.

  Ankle forgotten, he took two steps at a time and flew through the open dock door.

  Waki and Zoe flew up, arms full of boxes, fear written across their faces.

  “They’re coming through the warehouse,” Waki said, her voice rising high with panic.

  “Get in the rig,” Moe said. He grabbed his sister’s arm. “Be careful. There’s bullets flying everywhere. Once you’re secure, help provide cover fire for the rest of them.”
r />   The women nodded and rushed out of the warehouse.

  Tyler and Josiah were just throwing the trailer doors shut, ducking and dancing as an occasional round winged in the gap between the truck and bay opening.

  “All done!” Tyler shouted.

  Moe nodded. “Okay, boys. Let’s get out of here. This way.”

  He turned to lead them outside when three rounds whizzed through the air, smacking one of the forklifts parked nearby. They threw themselves behind the machine and crouched there.

  Heart racing, Moe peeked over the motor guard and spotted shadows moving through the dim electric light. The boys peered around the front and began firing back. Moe rested his rifle on top and loosed a handful of rounds in every direction before setting down his weapon.

  He retrieved two smoke grenades from his ammunition pouch. He popped the tabs and tossed them towards rows J and K. Then he took another pair and hurled those at aisles L and M. He lobbed his last two off to the right. Canisters sizzled as smoke filled the space, some rolling over them and causing them to cough and gag.

  “Okay, boys,” he said, wiping tears from his eyes. “Get outside. Grab the others and get in the rig. I’ll be right behind you.”

  Tyler and Josiah nodded and leapt toward the door and disappeared. Moe was about to leave when a bullet struck the forklift’s motor guard. He raised his eyes to see someone firing down on him from a skid of office chairs wrapped in cellophane.

  Moe lifted his rifle and sent a burst of rounds through the plastic. The shadowy form jerked back, smacking against the rack beams. Then it fell forward and tumbled thirty feet to the hard concrete with a meaty-sick thud.

  Moe ejected his spent magazine, retrieved another from his ammunition pouch and jammed it home. Before he could charge the weapon, someone staggered through the smoke. He kept his head down, coughing and spitting as they blindly sprayed rounds in every direction.

  Moe charged the man and slammed his rifle stock into his face. A squirt of automatic gunfire ripped diagonally over Moe’s head as the man fell backwards and hit the floor.