Spore Series | Book 4 | Exist

by Soward, Kenny

  Moe reversed his rifle, pulled and released the charging handle with a snap, and fired three rounds into the man’s chest. Then he turned and sprinted toward the door, leaping from the stairs and hitting the ground hard on both feet.

  His right ankle flared with pain, and he staggered and nearly fell. He changed direction, diving beneath the trailer and rolling to the other side with gunfire flying all around him. Moe stepped up to his door, tossed his rifle over to Waki, and climbed inside.

  A glance behind him showed Zoe, Tyler, and Josiah safely in back. The rest of the group had moved to the pickup and were firing sporadically through the smoke. Rex squatted by the driver’s door, waiting for Moe’s signal.

  Moe released the parking brake and put the rig in gear. Then he gave Rex the thumbs up. The man opened the door and climbed into the driver’s seat. He turned the ignition, and the engine sputtered and clacked. It didn’t seem to want to start, and Moe thought he’d need to shove it aside with his rig.

  Then it kicked to life with a throaty cough.

  Rex put the pickup in gear and edged forward, the truck trundling slowly on two popped tires. Melissa and the rest of the team followed it, ducked down and fired around it.

  A group of shadows slipped through the smoke toward them on their right flank. Waki turned her rifle on them, screaming as she let loose a sharp crack of rounds. The woman had learned to fire a gun from an early age, and the old familiarity was paying off. Two forms fell, crying out in agony. She hit another and sent them limping away. That was enough for the others, who spun and tore off.

  Moe pulled out slowly behind the pickup, hitting the thickest part of the smoke. He coughed and squinted with watery eyes. His guts turned to liquid as his visibility was cut to nothing.

  Waki ejected her empty magazine and slammed another home. Josiah poked his rifle barrel out the window from the back of the cab, firing over her head through the fog.

  Moe winced as they emerged from the smoke. He expected an all-out attack, but what he saw left him gaping in amazement. Josiah and Waki stopped firing and stared out across a motionless lot. A half-dozen people lay sprawled on the pavement. Some lay dead. At least three were crawling away. One barely moved their leg, kicking feebly as death took them.

  The rest of the attackers had retreated, leaving them a clear path of escape. But Rex’s pickup was in bad shape. Green fumes hissed from the front end, and the sweet stench of hot radiator fluid and smoke filled the air. It leaked a trail of oil and water beneath it like some dying creature. The right side sagged, shedding pieces of plastic and glass, everything on it shattered.

  Melissa and the others crept beside the truck, her soldiers openly walking as they searched for more enemies. But there weren’t any, and Moe took this as their time to escape.

  “Let’s go, you guys!” Moe shouted out his window. “Leave the truck! Come on!”

  They reached a stretch of warehouse docks devoid of trailers. Chains rattled, and the dock doors rolled up. A hail of zipping bullets emerged like a swarm of hornets.

  Rounds peppered the pickup, and some hit the rig. One flew past Moe and Waki to shatter his right side mirror.

  “Holy crap!” Moe hissed, pinning himself against the seat.

  He held his arm out, and his sister placed his rifle there. He swung it around and rested it on the door frame, shooting back at the sparks coming from the darkness.

  Melissa’s people returned fire, too, sending a hundred rounds into the openings. Finally, the gunfire ceased, leaving the air stinking of smoke and radiator fluid. Moe reeked with sweat and fear, and his breath came in ragged gasps.

  The survivors staggered to the truck. Waki reached out and helped them inside one at a time. First came Ron Stone, then a soldier, then Casey. Rex and Melissa carried someone between them, and the others reached down to help her into the sleeper cabin.

  It was Aponi, covered in blood, moaning, clutching her arm to her chest. She released a high-pitched wail that cut though Moe’s soul. Raising in his seat, he looked down to see Johnny Windwalker and a soldier lying dead next to the pickup.

  “Damn,” he cursed, watching as Rex and Melissa climbed in and piled into the back with the others.

  Waki hopped up and slammed the door behind her. She turned her wide eyes toward Moe and jerked her head.

  “Hang on, people,” he said. “We’re not out of this yet.”

  *

  They returned the way they’d come, Moe taking the turns carefully with the added weight in his trailer. He kept his rifle barrel resting on the door frame. Waki knelt in the passenger seat, squatting low with her weapon aimed outward. Small Josiah squeezed in front of her, kneeling on the floorboard as he pointed his rifle out and toward their rear.

  Gritting his teeth, Moe held nothing but contempt for the people watching in the streets. Anyone stepping into the road to wave them down was given one warning shot.

  One group encroached on both sides, and Moe and Waki fired bursts at them, sending them scattering. They sped by, absorbing a few rounds for their trouble.

  They finally reached I-515 and pulled onto the expressway, heading north as fast as Moe dared push them. Aponi wailed and cried in the back. A glance in his rearview showed they’d placed the warrior woman on Moe’s bunk. Melissa’s shoulders moved, hands working quickly to repair the damage.

  Rex and Casey flanked her. Ron Stone and the remaining soldier squatted against the back of the cab, holding rolls of gauze for the captain.

  “Gauze,” Melissa murmured. “Put pressure there. No, right there.”

  Tyler had squeezed his big form between the seats, and Zoe had made herself small somewhere in the cramped space. The sounds of her soft crying played a counterpoint to Aponi’s groans.

  “What’s happening?” Moe asked his sister.

  Waki had turned around and watched the proceedings over the top of her seat. She shook her head as her wide eyes followed the captain’s movements.

  Moe drove, because that’s all he knew. Driving, shooting, and killing. His heart beat timelessly inside his chest. Seconds ticking by like years. Wind roared through the cabin, seeming to suck his breath from his lungs. He rolled up his window three-quarters of the way. I-15 was coming up. From there, it was north out of Las Vegas until they found their way home.

  He lifted his eyes, praying to any god who would listen. He mouthed the words “Niltsi,” the god of wind. Then he spoke, “Ahsonnutli,” in homage to the changing woman. He asked them to breathe life into Aponi. He asked them to help bring the brave warrior back to Chinle alive.

  Aponi’s whines and moans grew weaker, fading in a breathy spiral that became nothing. The cabin fell silent but for the whipping winds and Zoe’s quiet crying.

  Waki sank to her heels, chin falling to her chest.

  “Can we stop at Neville?” Moe asked desperately. “Will the Colonel help us? They’ve probably got a medical team there who can assist us. Captain?”

  Melissa tossed a roll of bloody gauze down and turned slowly on her knees. She put her forearms over the seats and talked over Moe’s shoulder. He noticed her shiny-slick red hands. Blood covered her arms and stained the front of her fatigues.

  “She’s gone,” the captain said quietly. “I’m sorry. She was hit at least six times...”

  Moe gripped the wheel, squeezing and releasing it. Tears burned his eyes, yet he kept them focused on the road. That’s what Moe did. He drove.

  He turned his laboring rig and its dejected crew onto I-15 and headed for home.

  Chapter 33

  Jessie, Yellow Springs, Ohio

  The morning was cool for late summer, and a soft breeze drifted across the fungus heavy grass. Treetops waved and shifted, seemingly in reverence of the man they were about to lay to rest.

  Jessie stood to the side of Paul’s backyard garden. It had latticework framing covered with honeysuckle and ivy. The loamy floor boasted several species of fungus and mushrooms. Rich wildflowers defied Asphyxia and sp
routed purple and orange buds.

  They were all sick, wounded, and tired from the fights. But in between preparing for the journey south, Jessie and the soldiers had found the strength to pitch in and dig his and Price’s burial plots.

  She looked back toward the house where Weissman and Garcia stood on the porch, covering Burke’s bus with their rifles. It would be a simple exchange, and soon they’d be on the road, riding in comfort to meet Kim farther south. It had been the most sensible thing to do. With time of the essence, they couldn’t wait for her in Yellow Springs.

  Jessie gripped Fiona’s hand and led her into the garden. Bryant followed behind them with a digital camera in one hand. He barely limped on the soft, loamy floor. They walked reverently past dark mushroom beds with clustered caps strung in rows, grown together, or stacked on tree stumps like a towering city on a faraway fantasy world.

  A pair of trees crowded over them, providing a chilly shade that caused goose pimples to rise along her arms. Jessie led Fiona to the edge of Paul’s grave and looked down.

  They’d covered his body in a mound of earth topped with loam and mulch. Jessie didn’t know if the mushrooms would take root, though something told her they would.

  While going through Paul’s room, she’d discovered another stack of LPs and boxes of books. Kim had mentioned his love of J.R.R. Tolkien and a series called the Lord of the Rings. Jessie’d heard of it but had never seen the movies or read the books. She’d always been more of a Harry Potter fan.

  But those were the things Paul loved, so they’d buried him with a massively thick copy of the complete trilogy as well as several collections she thought he might like. Along with the books, she’d folded his arms around an old Van Halen record and two classic rock albums—the Beatles, 1967-1970 and Fleetwood Mac, Rumors.

  Another disk of vinyl made his headstone, half buried in the ground at the mound’s head with dirt pushed up against the sides. It was KISS, Alive II.

  For her own memories, Jessie collected most of his albums and several books from his library. She wasn’t familiar with any of them, though she hoped one day she might have time to listen and read and learn a little more about the man through the things he loved.

  “Did you want to say something?” Bryant asked.

  Jessie nodded and started to speak, but her chin dropped to her chest, tears coming unbidden and hot down her cheeks. The soldier’s free hand rested on her uninjured shoulder, squeezing, giving her the strength to lift her head once more.

  “Thanks for everything, Paul,” she began. Her composure held, so she continued on. “You really were a stand-up guy. Not just because of your amazing skills, or because you saved our lives. You were a good guy to have around. Always with some weird piece of trivia or a joke. You brought light into our lives.” Jessie laughed and stared at the mound, wiping tears off her face and giving a big sniff. “You were one of the crew.”

  “Scooby Dooby Doo,” Fiona whispered softly.

  Jessie turned her eyes to the girl. She seemed ten years older, looking wistful, contemplative, and a little numb. They hadn’t spoken about her family’s death, or Paul, but Jessie thought she should bring it up on the way to Arkansas.

  “We’re going to miss you, man,” Bryant added. “You were like the cool uncle I never had.”

  Jessie’s thoughts swam in silence for a moment as she tried to commit everything about him to memory. Then she gave him one final nod, turned, and led Fiona away.

  Chapter 34

  Kim, Topeka City, Kansas

  Kim studied the woman and frowned. A frailness clung to her, and she was shot up and sick. Very, very sick.

  She’d dragged a cot into the decontamination chamber and carefully lifted her onto it with Riley’s help. Then she’d stripped off her clothes and replaced them with a pair of her own shorts and a T-shirt. And aside from the advanced case of Asphyxia, the woman had a bullet wound to the upper left thigh and a graze on her right.

  Kim had just patched her up after driving a good hour to get away from Salina.

  “The round went right through,” Kim said, talking to Bishop where he remained in the Stryker.

  “That’s great, baby.” His tone indicated his patience with the kids was wearing thin, though he’d never admit it. “How long until we’re moving again.”

  “As soon as I give her a dose of the serum, we’ll be on our way.”

  Kim removed two syringes from a case and placed them on a crate next to the woman’s cot. She pulled her left arm straight and used an alcohol prep pad to clean the area, staring at her face as she worked.

  If you took away the dark spots above her lips and added some color to her pallid complexion, she’d be a rugged beauty. Thin nose that flared out at the end. Straight lips. Thick, reddish-brown eyebrows. Kim estimated her to be somewhere in her late twenties or early thirties.

  With a sigh, Kim lifted the syringe and primed it. Then she tapped for a vein.

  The woman’s eyes fluttered open and then flew wide when she saw the syringes. Her hand whipped out like a snake to snatch Kim’s wrist, a look of anger curling her lip.

  Kim jerked out of her grasp and stood from her stool, holding the vital serum away from her before she could knock it to the floor.

  “Easy, lady,” Kim said, making her voice sound soothing. “Remember me? We picked you up yesterday.”

  The woman didn’t respond right away but pushed herself back on the cot with her feet.

  “You climbed into my bus. Remember?” Kim gestured around to make her understand. She held up the vial. “This is a serum for your infection. My name is Kim.”

  “Kim,” the woman repeated, testing the shape of it on her lips.

  “That’s right,” she said. “You might be confused or angry right now. That’s just the fungal meningitis. You’re infected bad. Probably the worst case I’ve ever seen. But what’s in this syringe can help you.”

  The woman relaxed slightly. Her eyes slid suspiciously from the hypodermic needle to Kim, back to the needle again. “I’m Savannah,” she croaked.

  “Savannah,” Kim smiled. “That’s a pretty name.”

  Kim eased forward and sat, moving carefully to avoid startling her. She slowly reached out and touched the woman’s arm, pulling it straight again, giving her arm light taps. But when she drew the needle up and pointed the sharp tip at Savannah’s skin, she cringed back and clutched her arm to her chest.

  Her face suddenly strained as she broke into a chest-rattling coughing fit that went on and on. Kim tossed her a clean cloth, which she jammed against her mouth.

  When the fit was over, Savannah gasped and rubbed at her throat before settling back to the cot. She handed Kim the rag, speckled with blood and fungus, pink and black spots of infection.

  Kim capped the syringe and returned it to her lap. Then she tied herself off, prepped a vein, and lifted the second syringe, the one with her dose. She quickly and efficiently injected herself with a small batch of the serum.

  “See,” she smiled, holding up the empty syringe. “Easy as you please.”

  One-handed, Kim placed a cotton ball on the spot and taped it down. Then she grabbed Savannah’s dose and held it up with a questioning look.

  The infected woman nodded carefully, slowly. She straightened her arm for Kim and closed her eyes.

  “There’s nothing to be afraid of,” she said, prepping the spot. “I’ve been doing this a long time. I was a nurse for a minute there. It was an internship...” She injected Savannah with the dose and withdrew the needle in one smooth motion. “I wanted to get some hospital experience.” She placed a cotton ball on the stick point and slapped a piece of tape over it. “And, you’re all set.”

  Savannah half-opened one eye, peering down at her arm. She held it up in front of her face, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s it,” Kim confirmed. “Now, don’t be afraid when the serum starts working. You might experience
some nausea and more coughing. You should see less of the red and more of that nasty black stuff. That’s your body getting rid of the infection. Understand?”

  Savannah nodded slowly, still doubtful but far less so than before.

  “I’ve got to drive now,” Kim continued. “Get some rest. I’ll be back to check on you soon.”

  She cleaned up on the other side of the disinfection chamber, using wipes and a gentle gel to scrub her hands, face, and arms. She tossed the used syringes into the hazardous bin and stepped into the prep room. She changed clothes while AMI took spore readings of the air.

  Once clear, her lab door slid open, and she was greeted by chatter and laughing. Seven tiny faces lifted to her, ten and twelve-year-olds, rambunctious, curious, and troublesome.

  Still, she smiled. They’d made a blanket and pillow fort out of the room with what little clean cloth they had. She lifted a cover to see Riley sitting under there, reading four boys and girls a story from her tablet.

  “Hello,” Kim said. “Having fun?”

  “I am,” her daughter responded.

  “Keep an eye on things, okay? The stuff in here is valuable.”

  “They know not to touch anything,” Riley assured her. “They’re being pretty good, Mom. Honest.”

  Kim had locked up all her specimens and computer and left Riley in charge. She also had a camera feed up to the front console to keep a remote eye on things. She was confident they could make it a few hours without a major disaster.

  With a smile, Kim slipped into a passage between the sheets and pillows. The doors slid open to another flock of noise. It seemed some kids in the quarantine compartment had come up front, and a dozen children lounged or played made-up games led by little Karen Reese. The girl was in her element, always moving and keeping busy.

  “Hey, guys.” Kim waded through the packed space. “How’s it going?”