When Bishop shopped at the Home Depot before the spore cloud hit, he’d been reluctant to buy two pairs of radios, thinking it a selfish move. Sitting in his recliner, ready to unleash hell on his enemy, he was glad he’d spent the money.
Two days ago, after chasing Francis’s ghost around for an hour, Bishop returned to find two of his gas cans turned upside down and all the fuel emptied into the yard. On the surface, it wasn’t such a loss. He had two more full gas cans in the basement, and he could always siphon more.
But he wouldn’t leave the house and his children undefended for too long. Francis probably knew this, and that was why he felt free to terrorize Bishop and the kids at will. What followed the gas can incident was more banging at all hours of the night, along with rattling sounds and pebbles thrown up at their bedroom windows.
A part of Bishop wished they’d bugged out two days ago, though he couldn’t be sure Francis wouldn’t try to follow them. The father in him understood this was the safest place for his kids. If he wanted to beat Francis, he’d have to do it at his own game.
In his entire career as one of the Southeastern Conference’s leading tacklers and sack leaders, he’d put some hits on people. But that was nothing compared to what he was going to do to Francis. Of course, he wouldn’t tell his kids that, nor would he let them see Francis’s body when he finished with the man.
“Dad, we’ve got something,” Riley whispered. “Side of the house.”
“Ten four.” Bishop’s voice was calm, though his heart hammered against his ribcage. “Give me fifteen seconds, Trevor.”
He stood, lifted the softball bat in his right hand, and prepared to open his front door. Francis had been working up to taking out their generator, and the moment had arrived. Sure enough, banging sounded from the left side of the house, and the lights flickered.
Bishop pulled open the front door and stepped onto the porch.
Francis had only known him to use one exit and entry from the house, and he also knew they’d boarded up all the windows on the first floor and basement. Would he assume they’d boarded up the front door as well? Bishop hoped so.
He stalked to the corner of the house as someone hammered on his generator’s casing and the engine inside. It sputtered, puttered, and belched until it died.
Bishop would have raged about losing the only source of electricity they had left, yet a grin spread across his lips as he cocked the softball bat back with both hands.
Trevor shoved open the back door and then slammed it shut like Bishop had instructed him to do. A hammer fell on the generator one more time, followed by boots running toward him along the side of the house.
With gritting teeth, Bishop swung the bat just as Francis rounded the corner. The bat struck the little jerk in the ribs with a heavy, meaty sound, and Francis’s feet flew out from under him as he landed hard on his back.
Bishop stood over him, glaring down in a moment of satisfaction, watching the man writhe in pain. Francis’s face twisted in terror when he saw it was him. He raised a six-pound hammer and swung it at Bishop, but Bishop knocked it away with a swing of his bat.
Francis crawled on his elbows, kicking with his feet to get away.
Anger seething in his blood, he struck Francis in the knee, causing the man to howl. Horrified, Francis flipped over, sprung to his feet, and scrambled to get away. He’d chased faster men than Francis, so it only took him two steps to catch up and drop his hand on the man’s shoulder like a rock, driving him to his knees. Then Bishop brought the bat around to smack Francis’s upper arm with a crack of bone.
Francis howled louder and curled up on the ground. Bishop threw the aluminum bat down and fell to his knees. He ripped off Francis’s mask and shoved his face into the fungus-covered grass, rubbing it back and forth until he was sure the man was inhaling it.
A gunshot rang out, and something zipped past Bishop’s head.
He threw himself to the ground, half turning to see a woman standing in the side yard holding a pistol. She wore an air filtration mask similar to Francis’s. Was it Francis’s wife? If so, then who was the woman in bed with the kids?
Francis groaned as he tried to stand, and the woman approached Bishop with a sneer, holding the gun straight out with both hands as if trying to get a bead on him. He snatched Francis off the ground and held him against his chest as the woman fired.
The bullet struck Francis, and he bucked in Bishop’s grip, releasing an animal yowl that sent a chill up his spine. Seeing what she’d done, the woman took another few steps closer, her knees buckling as her face contorted in disbelief.
“Drop the weapon, lady!” Bishop shouted, holding up Francis higher. Despite using the man as a shield, Bishop dwarfed him. If the woman fired now, she’d hit Bishop no matter how well he shielded himself.
“No!” The woman howled and shook her gun. “Put Francis down!”
Trevor came around the side of the house and retrieved the discarded bat. The woman noticed Bishop looking behind her, and she started to turn.
“Drop the gun or I’ll break his neck,” he boomed loud, stopping the woman from discovering Trevor.
“You put him down,” the woman turned her attention back to Bishop and pointed her gun in the general direction of his head. “Put him down now, or I’ll—”
Trevor swung the aluminum bat like her head was a big fat hanging curve ball. The aluminum made a high smacking sound, and the woman pitched forward onto her face. Francis mewled and tensed up in Bishop’s arms before falling limp.
Bishop rested Francis on the ground and rolled him over to see if he was still alive. The woman’s gunshot had struck him on the right side of the chest, and a patch of blood blossomed on his shirt. Francis wasn’t breathing.
Trevor stared wide-eyed at the dead man.
“Thank you, Son.” He crawled over to the woman and retrieved her weapon. “You did great, really, really great.”
Trevor nodded, though Bishop could tell by his expression the violence had rattled him. He felt for the woman’s pulse and found it strong.
“She’s fine.” He tried to give his son a comforting smile. “She’ll have a headache, but she’ll live. Come on, let’s get her inside.”
Bishop left Francis where he lay, put the gun in his pocket, and lifted the woman by the arms. Trevor got her feet, and together they walked her down beneath the deck.
Chapter 32
Moe Tsosie, Chinle, Arizona
They’d been at the triage location for three days, and Moe’s limitless patience screamed for mercy. They took turns sleeping in confiscated cars or in the back of Rex’s pickup with several tarps thrown up for protection from the sun, and someone brought them meals at long intervals.
He and Rex stood leaning against their tall light post beacon and stared southeast across the desert. They’d not received any newcomers in the past eight hours, but that meant nothing. Moe realized that the refugees came in waves, and they were due for another one soon.
Rex slapped a hand against his leg in frustration. “How long should we stay here? I’m tired and hungry, and I want to go home and sleep in my bed.”
They’d gotten word yesterday that the townsfolk staying at the basketball gym had been told to go home. With no obvious threat from the spore clouds, there was no reason to keep everyone penned up like cattle.
“We stay out here as long as we have to,” Moe replied, feeling his sense of duty and pride rise. Then he shook his head and patted his friend on the shoulder. “I’m sure we could go if we wanted, but we’re here representing our people and our tribe. We stay until someone comes to relieve us. That’s just our way.”
The Chinle athletic director nodded though his expression remained glum.
Moe gestured toward Josiah Cooper where he hung out with some military people around their Humvee. “And the military people have shared the responsibility.”
“I’m not complaining,” Rex started to defend himself before he gave Moe a sideways smile. “
Or maybe I am. It feels good to complain a little.”
“Tell me about it,” Moe said.
A troop truck pulled up to the triage camp, and Moe and Rex turned around, half expecting it to be someone bringing them breakfast.
Dr. Sage Denentdeel dropped from the back of the truck and walked over to them, dusting her hands off with a smile. The woman had changed into a fresh pair of jeans and a yellow and black flannel shirt, and her hair looked clean and pinned up. Her trademark white streak gave her a dignified look. A dozen people followed behind her, jumping down out of the truck and looking fresh.
“What’s all this?” Moe asked with a gesture.
“We’ve all just come off an eight-hour break,” Sage said. “We’re here to relieve you.”
“Oh, music to my ears,” Rex said with a single hand clap. “Come on, guys, get up,” Rex shouted, slapping the legs of the Chinle basketball players sleeping in the back of his truck. “We’re off duty. I’ll drive you guys home.”
“That’s great news,” Moe said, unable to hide his excitement. He was already thinking about a hot shower and a hot meal, even if it was a can of Spaghetti-O’s from his mother’s pantry.
“Enjoy,” Sage said, her eyes lingering on Moe for a moment. “Oh, and I forgot to tell you, Colonel Humphreys wants to see you.”
“What about?”
Sage shrugged. “No idea. Why don’t you go find out?”
“I think I will,” Moe said with a smile, though the last person he wanted to see was the colonel. “Catch you later.”
“Later.”
Moe climbed into the back of the truck along with Josiah and the rest of the Chinle kids. Rex pulled the truck onto the road between the elementary school and the FEMA camp, and he slapped the roof of the truck when they approached Colonel Humphreys’s mobile command center.
Hopping out of the back of the truck, Moe said, “I’ll catch you back here in a few hours, Rex.” Then he made his way over to the building and went around front to speak with one soldier on guard. “I’m here to see Colonel Humphreys.”
“Name, sir?”
“Moe Tsosie.”
“One second, sir.”
The soldier climbed the steps to a short deck and then entered the command center. A moment later, he poked his head out of the door and waved Moe up. He climbed the stairs and followed the soldier inside, standing in a short entryway with three other doors.
“Right this way, sir.” The soldier gestured for Moe to enter the door on his left, so he stepped through into a small office with a plain metal desk and chairs. A single set of shelves full of procedure manuals covered in thick, plastic binders rested against the far wall.
Colonel Humphreys sat at the desk, absorbed in some work on a big laptop computer. The laptop had a full-sized screen and keyboard, likely because the colonel’s hands were too big to peck around on anything smaller.
“Talking to anyone important, sir?” Moe asked, half joking.
The colonel looked up. “Hello, Mr. Tsosie, please have a seat.” He gestured to a chair facing his desk.
Moe did as he was told, settling in and folding his hand across his stomach.
“Actually,” the colonel said as he typed. “I am talking to someone very important.”
“Do tell, colonel.”
“I’m having a chat with the President of the United States.”
Moe stiffened in his chair even though he wasn’t the one on the computer. He kept his voice calm and professional. “What’s the situation?”
“You want the sugar-coated version, or the truth?”
“Sugar free, please,” Moe stated.
“That’s what I figured.” The colonel folded down his laptop lid and eased back in his chair, folding his hands over his stomach in a mirror image to Moe. “The east is devastated. Ninety percent of the population is gone or going.”
Moe swallowed down a dry lump in his throat. “Sick from the spores?”
“That’s right,” the colonel nodded. “We’ve got a dozen military bastions set up, supporting the remaining CDC and FEMA folks. They’re trying to put some order to the citizenry that remains.”
“Any sign of a cure?”
“I only know of one attempt being made at a lab in Florida, and still another at a military base in California.”
“I see,” Moe drawled, unable to get his head around the casualty rates in the east. “Where does that leave us?”
“It’s a highly precarious wait-and-see situation,” the colonel said with a faint smile. “And I intend to keep us from teetering in the wrong direction. We couldn’t have done it without you and the folks from Chinle. Dr. Reemer was complimentary of Dr. Denentdeel and her staff, and those boys from the high school who gave us a little extra muscle.”
“The basketball team, yes.” Moe sat up straighter, surprised by the accolade. “And, thank you, sir. We’ll continue to do whatever we can to help.”
“You can go get yourself some rest. It’s well deserved.”
“Yes sir. Thank you, sir.”
The colonel leaned forward. “And, if you don’t mind, I’d like to keep tabs on the pulse of the town. I’d like to know what they’re thinking and if they have any long-term plans. We might be out here a long time.”
“I’ll check in with the Elders,” Moe responded with an affirmative nod. “I think we’re having a town meeting tonight.”
“That’s great news. We need to look ahead and try to stay on the same page.”
“I couldn’t agree more, Colonel Humphreys.”
“Great, keep me posted.” The colonel gave him a conversation-ending smile and nod, then turned his attention back to his laptop.
Moe stood and exited the office. The soldier held the front door open for him, and he stepped outside with a mixture of relief and worry. The world had changed forever, and the desert had become a place of refuge for the gasping population.
Chapter 33
Kim Shields, Yellow Springs, Ohio
“Her blood is miraculous,” Paul said as he looked at the magnified image of Fiona’s blood on the computer screen. “A genetic anomaly has enabled her immune system to exploit a weakness in the cell wall of Asphyxia.”
It had taken them three days to run their tests and collate gigabytes of information to pinpoint Fiona’s specific strength, pouring over the little girl’s blood like monks studying Biblical text. Neither Kim nor Paul were geneticists, but they could tell what was happening at a cellular level. Fiona’s white blood cells destroyed Asphyxia almost as quickly as the fungus could enter her bloodstream.
“It’s like brushing off a fly to her,” Kim said, marveling at Paul’s discovery.
“If we’d realized this immunity existed a year ago, it would have put everyone out of business.”
“Now, it’s as priceless as gold,” she nodded.
“Try platinum, or diamonds,” Paul said, and he kicked back from his desk and let out a whooping noise. He held his hand up high for her to slap, and she high-fived him with a grin.
“How long will it take to synthesize a solution?” Kim asked. “It’ll take me a few days to do the lab work.”
“That, my dear, is where I excel.” Paul held out his hands in a good-natured but boastful way. “It’s what I do. And it’s why I get paid the big bucks.”
“Funny.” She patted the table and tipped her head to the side. “I thought it was because you were a wizard.”
“That, too!” Paul pointed at Kim and gave her a gaping, drop-jawed smile. “In all seriousness, it will take me one or two days to work up the formula and synthesize it. The good news is that Fiona is a universal donor, blood type O. We can all benefit from the therapy.”
Kim sobered. “I’ll be the first one to try it.”
“Right behind me.”
“I’m not sure you should do that, Paul. You’re too valuable.”
“Nonsense,” Paul scoffed. “You’re every bit as valuable as me. And you have a family.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Paul said, clutching his stomach. “We can’t keep using my serum forever with its funky side effects. The gas and bloating is killing me.”
“Just what I wanted to hear.” Kim rolled her eyes. She hadn’t experienced any side effects of taking Paul’s serum, but that meant nothing. The serum hadn’t built up in her system enough to present issues. She stood and walked to the door. “I’ll go check on Jessie and tell her the wonderful news.”
Paul stood as well and stretched his arms over his head. “I’ll get things kicked off in the lab and throw in some frozen pizzas when I’m done.”
“Okay.” Kim took the long hallway to the staff quarters, feeling upbeat about their chances. She paused at the door and gave a light knock.
“Come in,” Jessie called out.
She entered with a hopeful expression on her face. “Wow, your voice sounds even better today.”
“Yeah,” Jessie said as she raised herself up on the pile of pillows behind her. “I feel pretty good. I might even get up and walk around.
Kim sat down on the edge of the bed and studied her. The young woman’s cheeks had gone from an ashy-color back to their natural, deep brown tone, and her eyes only held a spot or two of the fungal growth.
“How’s your throat?”
“It’s been a little gross.” Jessie’s eyes fell to the tissues piled up in the garbage can next to her.
She reached inside and lifted one out. Big spots of dark moldy mucous covered the tissue. “I don’t see any healthy, pink tissue in there,” she said. “I’d say your body is clearing out the gunk.”
“That’s what it feels like,” Jessie nodded. “But it’s still gross.”
Kim laughed. “Hey, I wanted to thank you for hanging in there with Fiona. After we lost contact with you, I sent Lieutenant Richards out to check. He figured you crashed in the helicopter.”
Spore Series | Book 2 | Choke Page 19