Spore Series | Book 5 | Torch

by Soward, Kenny

  Parma stepped around to the Lincoln’s side and stared at a man squatting by his Humvee’s front left tire. A black hood and full face visor covered his head. He appeared to be reaching beneath the fender and placing something in the wheel well.

  Parma jerked his weapon to his shoulder and fired off a burst of three rounds at him. Two missed their mark, but one caught the man’s shoulder and threw him backwards. He staggered and rolled along the side of the armored truck. Then he regained his balance and sprinted across the street, hand clasped to his wound.

  Parma ran to his Humvee, approaching the vehicle with caution. His eyes spotted a plastic device on the pavement along with a taped cluster of batteries.

  “Did I just hear you discharge your weapon?” That was Pratt.

  “Yes, sir,” Parma gasped, already winded from his clogged lungs. “I saw someone by our Humvee. Caught them planting something. Permission to pursue.”

  “Negative, Parma. Stay put. We’ll hold our position and call up reinforcements. If we’ve got infiltrators again, three of us won’t stand a chance. You know how they are. Damn cockroaches...”

  The corporal frowned, his eyes staring where the wounded man had run into an alley. Pratt was right. He might chase the guy only to run into a nest of them just around the corner. “I’ll hang tight.”

  “Coming down,” Pratt murmured. “I said get your ass out here, Donner.”

  “Coming,” the private groaned.

  The sounds of quickened breath and rushing feet came through his earpiece. Parma carefully pushed the scattering of parts away from their vehicle and pulled open the door, sliding behind it for cover in case someone took a pot shot at him.

  “Stairwell is clear,” Pratt said. “I’ve got Donner, and we’re coming down.”

  The sounds of stomping feet grew loud. Parma was about to remind them to take their time when a muffled thump and whoosh shook the ground. A soldier cried out, the sound cut off quickly.

  “Lieutenant?” Parma growled, hand to his earpiece. “Donner? What’s going on in there?”

  When they didn’t reply, he reached into the Humvee and pulled free their first aid kit, slinging the strap over his neck. Then he slammed the door shut and sprinted toward the building, ignoring his growing chest discomfort. He pinned his eyes on the courtyard entrance.

  As Parma ran up, two people flew from beneath the awning, dressed similarly to the man who’d tried to sabotage his Humvee. They took one look at him and took a hard right west across the lot toward the Lincoln.

  Parma turned, tracking the trailing individual in his gun sights. With a sharp intake of breath, he fired a short burst. His rounds punched the guy in the shoulder and neck. Blood sprayed the air, and the force knocked the man, face-first, to the pavement. The other infiltrator kept running, and Parma expertly stepped in behind him to get a straight line of sight.

  His first shot hit just left of the man’s spine like a sledgehammer, sending him tumbling into the shadows.

  Parma didn’t wait to see if they were alive or dead. He turned and sprinted into the courtyard and flew up a set of short concrete stairs to a small lobby with a receptionist desk and several doors. Brick and debris littered the foot of a stairwell on his right, so he figured that’s where Pratt and Donner had gone.

  He dashed over and climbed the tile-covered steps with the barrel of his weapon pointed upward. He guided his light into every nook and cranny, searching for any lingering infiltrators. Crumbled stone and busted tile crunched beneath his boots, and a thick cloud of dust filled the air.

  Parma reached the first landing and pinned his light on the slightly open door. He thought his people had gone up two flights, but he couldn’t be sure. Judging from the debris scattered across the steps around him, the explosion had occurred at least one level up.

  Still, he had to clear the immediate hallway beyond the door and ensure no one snuck up behind him.

  Parma grabbed the handle, throwing the door open with a grinding noise. He poked his weapon in, finger poised on the trigger. His light pierced an empty corridor filled with closed doors. He retreated to the landing and slammed it shut, confident if anyone passed through it, he would hear them.

  He edged around and looked upstairs. Busted pipes dripped and dust swirled. His stomach turned with unease and his sweaty hands gripped his rifle, yet he had to press on.

  “Donner? Pratt? ” he called up. “Can you guys hear me?”

  “Parma?”

  The voice didn’t come through his earpiece but from close on the stairs, somewhere up on the next level.

  “Donner?”

  “Yeah. I’m hit, man. I’m wounded.” He coughed. “Pratt’s down. You gotta get us out of here.”

  “Coming,” Parma called up, taking two steps at a time.

  He twisted around the first bend and stopped, his mounted light falling on concrete dust, debris, and a spattering of blood. He rushed up through the haze and found Donner on the next landing, leaning against the door frame with his legs splayed out.

  Blood soaked his belly and crotch. The soldier’s uniform was shredded just below his armpit and down to his belt line. His right arm hung limp, skin laid bare and burned around the elbow and forearm.

  Parma knelt on something that crunched, and he reached down to see he’d cracked Donner’s air filtration mask. Shaking his head, he shined his light on the man’s face, causing him to draw back. “Sorry.” Parma directed the beam lower.

  Further inspection showed the skin beneath the shredded uniform torn and burned with pieces of shrapnel buried in his flesh. Parma recognized nails, staples, and other bits of metal.

  His heart sank as he lay down his rifle. Then he placed the first aid kit down and retrieved a smaller flashlight to better inspect the man’s wounds. He shined the beam along the man’s side. Blood trickled from the wounds, but he didn’t see anything immediately life threatening.

  Donner fixed Parma with a dazed but steady look, eyes watering with pain. “Don’t worry about me. See to the lieutenant.”

  Cursing himself, Parma picked up the first aid kit and scrambled across the landing to where Pratt lay face down on the stairs. The blown off door rested half on him, so Parma lifted it to the side and slammed it against the wall.

  He guided his flashlight beam along the lieutenant’s back, noting similar shrapnel wounds covering his lower back and buttocks. The pieces of steel had ripped through his fatigues like rice paper.

  Parma knelt on the first step and leaned in to feel the man’s pulse. He sighed with relief when he felt the strength of it. “Lieutenant Pratt. Can you hear me, sir? Sir?”

  He shined his light on the wounds and then back on the man’s face, noting the spatters of blood and dust on his skewed visor, likely Donner’s blood. He quickly readjusted the air filtration mask until it felt snug, receiving a groan in response. Parma then lifted his radio from his belt. He flipped a switch on top to open base communications.

  “This is Corporal Max Parma from patrol team alpha zero three calling base. Do you read? Repeat, this is patrol team alpha zero three calling base. Come in.”

  “We read you A03. What’s your status?”

  “We’re on the corner of Fourth and C Streets. We encountered an IED on the second floor landing. Lieutenant Pratt is down as well as Private Donner. It appears both have serious shrapnel injuries. Requesting emergency evac.”

  “Roger that, A03. We’ll have a chopper evac to you in fifteen minutes. Hang tight.”

  “Copy that,” Parma hooked his radio on his belt and shifted back to Donner.

  He offered the man his canteen, but the private only lifted his prized bottle of wine in his good hand, a grin stretched across his face.

  “You idiot.” Parma shook his head. “You need to drink this water.”

  “I will, if you open the bottle for me.”

  The corporal fixed the injured man with a scathing look then exchanged the wine bottle for the water. He twisted the top off and
waited for the private to finish gulping water before they made another exchange.

  “Cheers, Donner.” He tilted up the wine and took several long swallows. After he was done, he wiped his lips and found his grin again. “I figure I’m done anyway. Probably breathing spores right now.”

  “Just hang in there,” Parma assured him. “Evac will be here in less than fifteen minutes.”

  The private smirked. “Think I can finish the bottle before then?”

  “No.” Parma reached for it but held back. He might as well let the man enjoy the fruits of his labor. In the meantime, he unzipped the first aid kit and began removing rolls of gauze and tape. “The least I can do is stop some of this bleeding.”

  Something shifted on the stairwell above them. Boots shuffling softly to avoid detection?

  “I think we've got bigger problems.” The private set down the wine bottle and removed the pistol from his holster.

  Parma quietly placed down his first aid supplies and reached for his weapon. He crept onto the stairwell and shined his flashlight up to the next landing. Seeing nothing there, he turned back to Donner. “Wait here.”

  “Get ‘em, Parma.”

  Parma gripped his rifle tight, steeling his courage for what might be the fight of his life. Like he didn’t have enough to worry about with the Asphyxia ravaging his lungs.

  The soldier coughed up a string of sticky mucus, took a deep, rattling breath, and set his boot firmly on the next step.

  Chapter 22

  Jessie, Redpine Facility, Little Rock Arkansas

  “It seems too good to be true,” Jessie picked at her lunch. She’d chosen a pasta and meat sauce meal that hit the spot. She ticked her fork against the reusable tin. “All this great food. Perfect life support systems. Burke must have spent billions on this place.”

  “And he probably made billions more from it,” Dex said. He sipped at his chicken noddle soup, claiming it did wonders to soothe his sore throat.

  “That’s true. Who knows what crazy stuff they made here? I can’t wait to talk to Kim when she gets back.”

  “So, you sent her up there all alone, with no escort.”

  “We have Burke, and we’re holding him for good cause,” Jessie’s eyes drifted out to the recreation room at the corridor to Wing 2.

  “You think they’ll try to do anything to Kim? I mean, they could take her prisoner in exchange for Burke if they wanted.”

  “They can’t let on that Burke is that important to them, and they won’t start a war. Not after they find out how bad it is on the outside. We’ll make sure to keep reminding them.”

  “One of them could try to be a hero. Steal Burke back and hide him away.”

  “That’s why we have you guys,” Jessie grinned.

  “Glad to be of service,” Dex bowed his head with a flourish.

  He’d shaved and taken time to comb his hair back. Dex was a small guy, but handsome, with piercing blue eyes and striking eyebrows. His lips twisted to the right whenever he was about to tell a joke or make a silly remark.

  Jessie’s heart beat a little faster, but she took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh.

  “Speaking of which,” Dex said, finishing his soup. “I have to go watch Burke. What a fun job.”

  She started to say something but stopped. Then she blinked hard, shaking off the nervousness. “Meet me after? My place. Popcorn and a movie?”

  “Absolutely,” Dex said, puffing up at the invitation.

  “Great.” Her heart ticked like mad in her chest, then her eyes slid to the little girl playing Connect Four with Bryant. “Hey, do me a favor and send Fiona over.”

  “Will do,” Dex said. He got up with his dirty dishes and strode away.

  Jessie let her eyes linger on him.

  *

  “Hi.” Fiona carried her cup against her chest as she walked around the table. Her afro puffs stood out in perfect bunches, and her big brown eyes watched Jessie with childlike mischief.

  She took the girl’s cup and placed it on the table. Then she picked her up and set her on her lap. “Hello, beautiful. What have you been up to?”

  “I beat Bryant at Connect Four again.”

  “How did you get so good?” Jessie asked.

  “My brother taught me,” she smiled. “Play center column first, try to get a seven formation.”

  “I don’t know what that is,” she said, “but it sounds impressive.”

  “Plus Bryant messes up a lot.”

  “He’s probably distracted.”

  Fiona shrugged.

  Jessie figured it must be his wife flying in from Arizona. Everything was in place to receive them, but a hundred things could go wrong.

  “Dex said you wanted to talk to me.”

  “Yeah, I guess...” Her words trailed off as she tried to find a way to start a conversation about Paul. The girl had seemed a little quiet after the man’s death, and having the other kids around probably distracted her. Children were resilient, but she didn’t want to leave any lingering pain. “I guess I wanted to talk to you about Paul.”

  “He died.”

  “I know, baby. Are you sad about that?”

  Fiona nodded. “He was nice.”

  “He was the best.”

  “Why did he die?”

  “Well, that’s a great question.” Jessie grimaced. “He was trying to do the right thing, and something bad happened to him.”

  “What bad thing? Did the spores get him?”

  “It wasn’t spores,” she replied. “Another person caused it.”

  The girl’s mouth turned down. “It was Burke, wasn’t it?”

  “That’s right. It was Burke, but I don’t want you--”

  “I hate him.” Fiona’s body tensed, and her bottom lip quivered. “I hate him so much for killing my friend.”

  “We’re all pretty upset,” Jessie agreed, turning the girl to face her better. “Trust me on that. But Paul wouldn’t want us to be sad, you know? He’d want us to be happy and remember all the good things about him. Like the funny way he walked.”

  “And his crazy music.”

  “And the cartoons he played for you.”

  “He made funny faces, too,” Fiona’s frown lifted slightly.

  Jessie had promised herself she wouldn’t cry, but the tears rose to the surface anyway, forced out by her pained heart.

  “Gramma said when people die they go to a special place.” Fiona shifted. “Did Paul go there?”

  Jessie swallowed. Her parents were Catholics and had brought her up in church, but she hadn’t practiced in years. She couldn’t remember how her mother and father had explained death to her, or if they’d left her to figure it out for herself.

  She wanted to help, but she also didn’t want to lie.

  “The truth is, baby, I just don’t know for certain. But I do have a feeling, and it tells me that Paul went somewhere safe, far away from mean people and spores and anything that could hurt him.”

  “Is he watching us?”

  “I’d like to think he is.” She patted the girl’s leg. “Just remember if you ever get mad or sad about it, come talk to me. I’ll always be here for you. Okay?”

  Fiona nodded and tried to smile. Then her happy expression fell to pieces and she turned and threw her arms around Jessie’s neck, crying into her soft cotton shirt.

  *

  “That was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.” Jessie let out an exasperated sigh. She sat on her bed, head resting on Dex’s chest. They had a bag of microwave popcorn between them, munching absently while they enjoyed some downtime.

  Jessie had taken off her sling and was practicing grabbing popped kernels out of the bag and feeding herself. Sometimes a twinge of pain would lance through her shoulder, and she dropped it. But Dex was there to pick up the fallen pieces and pop them into her mouth.

  An old sitcom played on the television with the sound down low. It was a documentary-style comedy where quirky characters worked
in an office setting. She’d known it existed years ago but had never been interested in it before. It suddenly seemed somehow appealing. She guessed it was her new guilty pleasure.

  “I can’t imagine talking to a little girl about death,” Dex nodded.

  “I mean, the look on her face broke my heart.” Jessie shook her head. “I should be glad she can feel anything at all after what she’s been through.”

  “Could you imagine having children and explaining everything to them every second of the day?” Dex shook his head.

  “I hadn’t thought about it before,” she replied, “but now I’m starting to see the importance of it.”

  “Yeah, it’s the most important job in the world. I mean, you’re shaping a child’s mind. Training them to be adults.”

  “Setting their values.”

  “Everything.”

  They paused, watching as two of the characters on the show pranked each other in a hilarious scene. The live audience laughed and clapped.

  Jessie smiled. “Have you ever wanted to have kids?”

  He shrugged. “I hadn’t thought about it before. I’m still in my twenties.”

  “Late twenties,” she quipped.

  “True. I guess I am fast becoming an old man.” Dex chuckled low.

  She carefully wrapped her arm across his chest and lifted her knee so it rested on his legs.

  “Besides,” he said, “I hear everyone is having kids later these days.”

  “Well, I think you can toss that idea right out the window.” She nuzzled against him. “I mean, with the population wiped out, having kids is going to be a huge priority now.”

  “You think the government will give bigger tax breaks for that?” Dex quipped.

  Jessie laughed, giving him a light slap. “That’s not a reason to have kids.”

  “No, but it helps if you’re tightening the budget, right?” Dex playfully defended himself. “I mean, we’ve got to start thinking about things like that.”

  While she knew he was joking, his words ignited something in her she’d never considered. Meeting someone. Settling down. Her career and fast-paced lifestyle had prevented it before. But she imagined a life with Dex, getting married, and having kids. They would adopt Fiona officially, or unofficially. No one would argue it. They could return to her old house or find another one up the street from Ellis.