Spore Series | Book 2 | Choke

by Soward, Kenny

  “Around four hours,” he continued. “We used a homemade solution to clean you up so we could see to your head wound. That’s why you’re clothes are wet. Your skin might burn a bit, but you’ll be fine. Honestly, I wasn’t sure you would ever wake up. That wouldn’t have set well with my daughter, but I don’t care. You tried to shoot me.”

  The woman was in her forties, the corners of her mouth pulled downward into a frown. Inky hair streaked with gray framed her face, and her angry eyes gave Bishop a second look. “You’re the guy who killed Francis,” she accused.

  “I didn’t kill Francis. You did.”

  “But you brought it about.”

  “Wrong again,” he replied in his deep baritone. “You two have been terrorizing us for the past three days. You’re lucky to be sitting here right now.”

  The woman grunted and gave him a piteous expression, and her eyes watered with grief. She shook her head, and her face morphed into a wince. “Ow, my head.”

  “My son gave you a good whack.” Bishop gave her a sideways glance. “You’re not Francis’s wife.”

  “No.”

  “Then who are you?”

  “I’m Francis’s sister, Berthy.” She peered around the basement, sniffling. “Not like it matters now, anyway.”

  “What happened to Francis’s wife and kids, Berthy?”

  “They got sick and died,” she spat.

  “Wrong again,” he said. “I went over to their house. I saw them shot dead up in the master bedroom. They had no signs of being attacked by the spores.”

  “Liar.”

  Bishop’s eyes widened. “You didn’t know? Weren’t you staying there?”

  “He said their house was ruined with that mold stuff, so we cleaned up one of the other houses down the street. We stayed there when we weren’t aggravating you folks. He said you were the ones who caused his family to get sick.”

  “Why would he say that?” he asked. “I told him they couldn’t stay here with us, but they had every opportunity to build a safe place somewhere else.”

  “Maybe you should’ve let them stay with you.”

  Squatting down, Bishop leaned closer. “I wouldn’t put my kids at risk. And, in case you haven’t noticed, your brother has got a bit of a temper. He wouldn’t have been a good fit here.”

  “Fair enough,” the woman mumbled.

  He backed up and stared at Berthy. “Where are you from?

  “Why do you care?”

  “I’m just making conversation,” Bishop responded. He was trying to figure out what to do with her. If she showed any signs of being as nuts as Francis, he’d consider taking some drastic action to keep her from following them after they left town.

  “I’m from Wilmington, Ohio,” she said.

  “Why are you here?”

  The woman shrugged like it was the dumbest question in the world. “Why does anyone ever jump in their car and tear west out of town?”

  “You were fleeing the spore cloud.”

  “You’re a genius,” Berthy made an awe-inspired face before she got serious. “I’m originally from North Carolina, but I moved up to Wilmington for a man. That didn’t work out, so I was living in an apartment by myself when the spore cloud hit.”

  “Gotcha,” Bishop nodded. Then he crouched down in front of her and clasped his hands together. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry your brother is dead.”

  The woman stared hard into his eyes, then she seemed to accept his apology. “And I’m sorry for shooting at you. I guess Francis lied to me.”

  “He did. I can show you.”

  “No, I believe you,” Berthy said, rolling her head around as if she had a neck ache. “Jeesh, mister. What did your boy hit me with?”

  “An aluminum softball bat.”

  “That sounds about right.” Berthy raised her eyebrows and sighed. “So, how long do I have to stay tied up?”

  “That’s a good question,” he said. In all honesty, he liked the woman, at least as much as someone can in the first ten minutes they’ve met. She was straightforward, and she didn’t seem surprised that Francis might lie to manipulate a situation. Still, her brother was dead, and Bishop had played a part in it.

  “Look, mister—”

  “Bishop.”

  “Mister Bishop,” Berthy said, sincerely, “I didn’t mean you no harm. It was my brother who had me all worked up over nothing. To be honest, it looked like he’d lost a few marbles over the past week. I thought I was helping him get some payback for his family, but I should have known better than to trust him.”

  He blinked at the woman, allowing his instincts to make the decision for him. “If I let you go, I want you to move away from here. I mean, find some place on the other side of town or go back to Wilmington. But this street is ours, okay?”

  “Fair enough,” Berthy agreed. “I know where I’m not wanted, and I’d rather be alone, anyway.”

  Bishop gave her one final, long stare, then he pulled out a utility knife and flipped the blade out. “I’m keeping the gun, too.” He crouched behind her and started cutting the duct tape from around her wrists.

  “That’s fine,” Berthy said. “I’ve got a half-dozen more where that came from.”

  He paused and gave her a sullen look.

  Berthy made a scoffing sound. “I wasn’t going to use them on you, Mr. Bishop.”

  He resumed cutting the duct tape, peeled it off of her, and stood back. Berthy pulled her hands around and stretched her arms out in front. She rotated her wrists and slapped her hands on her knees.

  “All right,” she stood up in a quick, jackrabbit sort of way, causing him to take another step back. Berthy shook her head and laughed good-naturedly. “You sure are skittish for such a big boy.”

  “It’s been a long week,” he said, not taking offense. “Go through those plastic tarps to the back door. I cleaned your mask up and put it on a table there.”

  Berthy paused at the entrance to the first decontamination chamber, looking back at Bishop with gray eyes. “Hey, man. Thanks for letting me go. You didn’t have to.”

  “Sorry about the lump on your head.”

  “My first husband gave me more lumps than that,” Berthy waved it off with a wince. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Okay, then. Good luck.”

  Berthy stepped through the plastic decontamination areas to the back door, put on her mask, and exited the house. He didn’t know if he’d made the right decision in letting the woman go, but he also couldn’t kill her.

  “Dear Lord, let me keep that last shred of humanity.” Bishop put on his mask and locked the back door.

  Chapter 37

  Moe Tsosie, Chinle, Arizona

  Moe took a long nap and then cleaned himself up at his mother’s house. He felt infinitely better after the hot shower and fresh change of clothes, though he didn’t know how long such luxuries would last. Chinle was lucky to even have power, and there were still residents on the outskirts of town and on many parts of the Navajo reservation who still used generators to cook or watch movies.

  Many Navajos remained traditional and didn’t accept electricity.

  It hadn’t dawned on Moe until he finished washing up that Chinle would soon face what the rest of the world had been through last week. They would probably lose power and would need to ration food, maybe water, too.

  Chinle drew their water from springs over twenty miles away and stored some in a water tower in town. Many in the Nation still drove one to two hours twice a week to draw water from the springs in massive containers. Nothing would change for those folks, but Moe wondered when he would need to make some trips himself.

  Those problems nagged at his mind as he stood in front of the mirror and ran a comb through his longish hair. He looked tired, and the scars from his past lined his face; a small furrow ran across his forehead and a deeper cut marked his left cheek. Old battle wounds from a fight halfway around the world.

  As his hair dried, Moe wandered through his
mother’s home. He’d grown up in the small, two-bedroom homestead near the edge of town, and he remembered every nook and cranny of the place. His mother’s laughter and brother and sister’s razzing followed him through every room.

  Janice Tsosie’s bedroom was orderly, and the kids’ bedroom held mostly Tobe’s things, also put away into cardboard boxes since his death several years ago. There was barely a trace of Waki to be found.

  Moe wandered into the living room and looked at the pictures on the coffee table. There were all of his and his siblings when they were younger with a spattering of his mother thrown in. He picked up one image where he and Tobe and Waki were horsing around on the couch, and he ran his thumb over their faces as he remembered the sounds of their voices.

  His eyes lifted from that picture and cut across the rest of the frames again. With a bow of his head, Moe realized the old pictures expressed his mother’s wish that the family had stayed together. Waki had moved to Many Farms just after he’d started driving his truck, leaving Tobe to stay home with their mother.

  And when Tobe had passed away after years of fighting a drug addiction, his mother carried on alone.

  Moe and Waki had argued for another year about which one of them would return to the reservation and take up their responsibilities. In the wake of their arguing, they’d forgotten about their mother. Finally, with no one at her side, an aggressive emphysema had taken her life. Moe wondered how much her broken heart figured into that sentence.

  “Sorry, Ma.” He shook his head as a tear streaked down his cheek. “I should’ve come back sooner.”

  His cell phone rang on the kitchen table, giving Moe a start. He got up and retrieved the device, putting it to his ear as he answered it.

  “Hello, this is Moe.”

  “It’s Rex. Where are you?”

  “I’m at home. I just woke up. What’s going on?”

  “The town elders are about to start their town meeting,” Rex said. “They want you there since you’re buddies with the military guy.”

  “I’m not his buddy,” Moe countered.

  “But you speak his language. Come on, it starts in fifteen minutes.”

  “Okay, okay,” he said with a sigh. “I’ll be right there.”

  Moe hung up and stared at the pictures one last time before he retrieved his truck keys and headed into town.

  They held the meeting at the Chinle Chapter House on Route 7, a long, single-story building in the older part of town opposite the Navajo Housing Authority and other town agencies. Normally, the dirt lot had a dozen cars at any given time. As Moe pulled in, he found the place packed, and people walked in twos and threes to the front entrance.

  He pulled to the end of the lot and parked his truck in a rock field. Moe got out and walked to the small deck entrance, waiting in line behind some others as they filtered in. Inside, it was standing room only, and the windows gaped open with fans placed nearby to circulate the air.

  Moe and Rex spotted each other, and the athletic director waved Moe over where he stood near a narrow stage. Moe joined him, noting several of the town’s elders were there, including Cynthia Tso. Standing behind them were several others he didn’t recognize, but he thought they might be leaders from some surrounding Navajo towns.

  Facing them were a sea of concerned faces.

  “Are you sure we want to be on this side of things?” Moe asked with a grin. “You can always stand on the other side.”

  Rex crossed his arms and took a firm stance. “I’ll stay at your side. I won’t let you face them alone.”

  “What do you mean?” he scoffed. “I’m not facing anyone. I’m just here to answer any questions they might have.”

  “You worked it out with the military,” Rex corrected him. “You helped smooth things over between everyone. That means you’re responsible.”

  “I know what you’re saying,” Moe said, understanding the fierce pride his people had. “But we’re all the same people. If they fail, we fail.”

  “You get it,” Rex agreed, “and that’s why you’re a perfect liaison.”

  Moe started to protest when someone jabbed him in his left ribs. He looked to see Casey Harvey grinning up at him with her bright smile.

  “Hey.” The young woman waved before nestling in next to him due to the packed crowd. “I heard you were busy the past few days.”

  “On triage duty,” Moe said with a light-hearted snicker. “Taking in desert wanderers.”

  “You should take me on the next shift.”

  Moe blinked at the young woman.

  Casey saw his blank look, and her expression turned sour. “I’m bored with the diner shut down, and I need something to do.”

  “If you like sitting out in the desert all day, dealing with dust and heat and blood.”

  “It’s better than sitting at home.”

  “What about your daughter?” Moe raised an eyebrow.

  “She’s in good hands with Mom and Dad.” Casey flashed him a smile before her expression hardened again. “I’m serious. I want to be out there helping.”

  Moe nodded. “To be honest, we could use your help. Stay close.”

  “Consider me glued to your hip.” Casey grinned and turned back to the stage.

  Several of the town’s elders gathered around, and some took their seats at a long table on the stage. Moe didn’t recognize any except for Councilwoman Cynthia Tso and Sheriff Robert Ahiga, both who’d had an initial clash with Colonel Humphreys upon the military arrival. The other half dozen council people were a mix of folks dressed in traditional Navajo clothing or business casual attire.

  A group entered the building and worked their way to the side of the stage where Moe, Rex, and Casey stood. His expression lifted when he caught sight of Sage with Dr. Reemer from the FEMA camp. He got her attention with a wave, and she smiled when she saw him.

  “Moe, so good to see you,” Sage said, “and you know Dr. Reemer.”

  “Hi, Sage. Dr. Reemer.” He shook Sage’s hand and then reached across to the doctor.

  “You can call me Brandi,” Dr. Reemer said, reaching to return the shake.

  “Glad you could make it, Brandi,” he said.

  “This should be interesting.” Sage peered up at the gathering of elders as the last ones took their seats, and Cynthia Tso tapped on her microphone with her index finger.

  “Attention, everyone, I think we’re ready to get started.” Cynthia gestured to her right and left. “As you can see, we’ve got all the members of the Chinle council, representatives from Rough Rock, Rock Point, Round Rock, and Many Farms and as many townsfolk as we could fit in.” Cynthia’s eyes roamed the room until they settled on Moe, Sage, and Brandi. “And some of our people who have been working on the front lines.” The councilwoman gestured to the three, causing Moe’s face to grow hot.

  He had no problems taking action during a conflict, but he was bashful when called out in a civilian setting. He nodded to the councilwoman in response.

  Cynthia coughed to the side, and everyone quieted down as she spoke in a quiet but sure tone. “As you all know, we have some new friends in town. Twenty-two hundred military personnel, and I’ve heard the refugee numbers topped five thousand and are climbing.” Cynthia deferred to Brandi, and the doctor nodded that was true. “Can you give us some projections?”

  “We estimate another two hundred to a thousand over the next week,” Brandi shook her head with uncertainty. “But it’s a number we just can’t predict.”

  Cynthia turned back to the crowd. “The population of Chinle is four thousand, three hundred and fifty-two, correct, Sheriff?”

  “That’s right,” Sheriff Ahiga nodded. The older man had placed his sheriff’s hat on the table to display a head of bright gray hair.

  “So, in just three days, the population of Chinle more than doubled," Cynthia said, looking from Brandi to Moe. “The refugees are strangers to us and our ways, and there are no signs of it slowing down.”

  He nodded, b
ecause she told the truth. The influx had slowed, but he couldn’t imagine it stopping soon.

  “I have two questions for our guests before we move on to food, water, and utilities during this trying time.” Cynthia continued. “First, does the military have any plans on commandeering the town’s resources?”

  Moe glanced at Brandi, then he stepped forward to answer the question.

  “I don’t think…” Moe’s voice sounded small in the densely packed room, so he stepped up on stage and gestured for the microphone. Cynthia handed it to him, and he started over. “Folks, I wouldn’t be too worried about the soldiers commandeering the town’s resources. They’ve got all the weight of the United States Military behind them. During my service, I was a staff sergeant who oversaw several logistics projects. They’ve got the equipment to run a city twice as large as ours. And I want to remind everyone they didn’t want us involved in the beginning. So, if you want to blame me for bringing our folks into the mix, you can blame me. I’m the one who got Dr. Denentdeel involved.

  “But you didn’t bring them,” Cynthia followed up.

  “No, I didn’t,” Moe nodded. “I just wanted to create a dialog between us and them, because this thing will get a lot worse before it gets better.

  Cynthia took a second microphone and spoke into it. “Thank you, Moe. Without your intervention, things might have gone differently. That you’re here and able to answer questions is a tremendous help. And that leads me to my next question.”

  “Go ahead.” He nodded.

  “Do you think they’ll be sending any refugees over to Flagstaff or Phoenix?”

  A few people clapped, and someone murmured something about moving them all out of Chinle.

  “That’s an excellent question, Cynthia,” Moe responded. “Unfortunately, I don’t have the answer. I haven’t gotten word—”

  “I can answer that.” Brandi Reemer stepped in.

  Moe turned and handed the microphone to the doctor, and Brandi took front and center. She turned to the crowd with an uncertain expression on her face. Then she took a deep breath and answered.

  “Flagstaff and Phoenix are taking refugees from coastal cities where fungal clouds originating in upper Washington blew down the coast.” Brandy spoke slowly and with concern. “As far as I know, those locations are also at maximum capacity with Phoenix taking in over twenty thousand people.”