Spore Series | Book 3 | Fight

by Soward, Kenny

  Jessie hit the hardwood floor with a pained grunt, and hot pain shot through her right side. She popped off the floor and rolled to her left. Bumps and grunts reached her from below, the sounds of an intense struggle.

  Leaning on her left arm, Jessie twisted her torso and pushed herself to her knees. Her right arm hung limp at her side, and her gun dangled from her left hand. She turned to lean against the rail but pulled back at the last second when she realized only a sliver of wood remained attached to the spindles, so she sidled right where the rail was firmer, tracing her way around with her gun pointed down.

  Bryant reared up and jerked his knife from his side. His female opponent leapt into the soldier’s lap, wrapped her legs around his waist, and grabbed the back of his head. In a blazing move, she pulled Bryant forward, crashing them to the ground. They grappled in the shadows too fast for Jessie to follow, arms and legs twisting into pretzel shapes. The soldier tried to pin the woman to the floor, but she slipped from his grasp, twisted like an eel, and wrapped her legs around his neck.

  With a tremendous grunt and heave, Bryant lifted the woman off the ground and charged toward the stairs. He slammed her into the wall, cracking the plaster. Then he spun and tossed her back in the other direction. The woman hit the floor in a sprawl before she sprung to her feet and settled into a balanced crouch.

  Bryant’s figure loomed large over her, crouching awkwardly with his hands up in a grappler’s pose, waiting for the woman to attack.

  Jessie took aim at the woman and jerked the trigger. Her bullet smacked the edge of the woman’s boot and buried itself in the floor. She fired again, but the woman was already sprinting toward the front door, fleeing into the night.

  Chest heaving, Bryant took three steps and looked past the end of the stairs after her. He lifted his head and nodded weakly to Jessie. Then he put his hand out and leaned against the wall, sinking into a sitting position.

  “Bryant?” Jessie hobbled to the top of the stairs and descended to the next landing. She looked around. “Fiona! Paul! Where are you guys?”

  She called out again as she hurried to the ground floor, glancing outside to make sure the woman didn’t return.

  Footsteps flew up the stairs, and a door squeaked open from deep inside the house. Paul’s squat form rushed in from the kitchen area and hurried to kneel next to Bryant. Fiona trailed behind him, hands clasped in front of her as she looked around at the destruction.

  “Come here, baby,” Jessie said, waiving the little girl over with her good arm.

  “Jessie!” Fiona ran over and clutched her legs.

  “Another scar for my collection.” Bryant gripped his side, voice dripping with agony. He leaned back and allowed Paul to look at his wound.

  “It’s deep,” Paul sat back on his heels. “And I don’t have the medical supplies to patch it up.” He shook his head, throwing out his hands in frustration. "What can I do? Nothing. I’m useless”

  Fiona left Jessie and threw her arms around Paul’s neck.

  “We’ll figure it out,” Jessie said, heart breaking to see Bryant hurt again and Paul so upset. “We’ll use duct tape, Scotch Tape, and anything we can find. There’s an entire bottle of Blanton’s upstairs. Come on, Paul. Let’s get him someplace comfortable.” When the mycologist didn’t move, she nudged him with her foot. “Come on, old man. We can do this.”

  With a nod, Paul got to his feet and reached to help Bryant up. Jessie tucked her gun into her waistband and leaned down to help, but Paul waved her away.

  “You need to get back upstairs if you can.” Paul’s jaw worked back and forth, and his watery eyes turned up to her with a look of determination. “If you can’t do it by yourself, sit down and I’ll come back for you.”

  “I can make it, I think.” Jessie turned and hobbled to the stairs, striving against the weakness in her body.

  “Lean on me,” Fiona said. The little girl stood in front of her and waited. Jessie rested her left hand on the little girl’s shoulder, but didn’t apply much pressure. “I got you, girl,” Fiona said with a strained voice. “I got you.”

  Chapter 34

  Kim Shields, Topeka, Kansas

  The left side of Kim’s face burned like someone held a brand to it.

  She opened her eyes and stared at her scuffed-up tennis shoes. Her left eye was just a slit, so she reached up to touch it only to find the skin swollen and sore. She held her hands in front of her face. They were scratched and bleeding, and Richtman had duct-taped them together at the wrists.

  Kim lowered her eyes and gaped. Blood soaked her jeans and T-shirt. She felt around for injuries but detected none. She remembered Richtman slamming the back of his head into her nose and the impossible gush of blood that had come out.

  “Sorry about your face. You might have a little sunburn.”

  She raised her eyes to Richtman where he sat in a torn-out bucket seat with a makeshift tarp strung up to protect him from the sun. He held his right leg out stiffly and a pistol rested in his lap. He stared down at her and lifted a sweating bottled water to his lips to take a big swig.

  Kim looked around. Richtman had propped her against the bus by the door. She stared at him and ran her tongue over her swollen lips. Slime caked the back of her throat, so she coughed it up and spat it out. The mucus shined red on the concrete.

  “I was a little worried,” Richtman said with a smack of his lips. “I thought I might die from the fungus.”

  “You will die,” she croaked. “You’re breathing tainted air.”

  “No, because you’ve got the cure.” Richtman swirled the water around in the bottle. “And don’t tell me you don’t. You’ve been running around with no filtration mask on.”

  Kim stared at the man as she worked up another wad of spit. She let it fly and wiped her mouth with the back of her arm.

  “It’s not a cure,” she admitted. “It’s just a serum that holds off the worst of the affects. The cure is back in Yellow Springs.”

  “What were you doing way out here?” Richtman gestured around.

  “Visiting friends,” she said.

  “You know what? I don’t care what you were doing out here. I do care about the serum.”

  “I hurt you.” Kim grinned.

  Richtman had bandaged the last two fingers of his left hand, and padding bulged beneath his bloody shirt on the same side.

  “You got a couple lucky shots in,” Richtman scoffed and shook his head. “Better than you did the other day. Man, that was some bad shooting.”

  “I was nervous,” Kim shrugged. She nodded at the bottle Richtman held. “How about a drink of that water?”

  Richtman swirled the water around in the bottle, grinning before he tossed it over his shoulder onto the concrete.

  Richtman sneered. “There’s probably some water in your bus, and I’ll let you have some if you open it.” His eyes turned hard, and he climbed out of the bucket seat with some difficulty, holding the gun on her. “So, open it.”

  “I can’t do that, Richtman.”

  Richtman sighed. “I’ll make this real simple. Burke gave me orders to put a bullet in your head the second I saw you. I mean, I could have killed you a hundred times.”

  “But you didn’t because I tore your mask off, so you breathed contaminated air. Now you need the cure.”

  “Spot on.” Richtman stepped forward and kicked Kim in the chest.

  Her back hit the RV, and her head snapped against the side. A lancing pain blossomed behind her eyes, and she pressed her hand to her temple and bent forward.

  “Now open it, or I’ll tie you to the back of my car and drag you up and down the expressway.”

  “If I open it, you’ll still kill me.”

  “Probably, but if you cooperate, I promise to do it quick.”

  While Kim winced in pain, her eyes looked around for something she could use. Any escape attempts would be risky with his pistol aimed at her chest. Resisting would get her killed fast, but if she gave Richtman w
hat he wanted in small doses, she could buy herself some time.

  “Okay, okay.”

  Kim rolled to her side and rose to her feet with a grunt. Her body ached from her head to her toe, like someone had taken a rolling pin to her. She started to call for AMI, but the familiar pressure of her earpiece was missing.

  She turned in a circle, searching the ground.

  “What?” Burke said, narrowing his eyes.

  “My earpiece,” she said. “It’s how I communicate with the bus’s AI.” When Richtman only stared at her with a confused expression, Kim explained further. "I have to communicate with the bus’s control center. For security and convenience.”

  Richtman sighed. “What does the earpiece look like?”

  She gestured to her ear and tried to show the shape with her hands. “It’s just a little black piece of plastic that goes inside my ear, and it has a little wrap around the back.”

  Richtman scowled and backed away from Kim, looking at the ground while trying to monitor her at the same time. When he didn’t find the earpiece, he waved his gun at her. “Come on. Let’s search for it. No funny business, or I’ll make it hurt.”

  Kim nodded and walked stiffly around the back of the bus to the exit ramp side. “Let’s see. We were fighting back here.” She looked up and down the road as the fight replayed itself in her head. She pointed to a splatter of blood on the ground. “I think that’s where you head butted me, so it probably flew out then.”

  Richtman stepped closer and lowered his head, eyes searching the ground. She stepped away to put him at ease, though she turned toward him with a glance at his gun.

  She kicked aside pieces of debris and looked over at the half-burned piece of plywood Richtman had used to burn her out. Sizable pieces of smoldering kindling rested on top, and fire extinguisher powder coated the wood and the side of the bus. Kim noticed a rope bolted to the plywood. Richtman must have used the rope to drag the plywood to the bus before setting it on fire.

  Her eyes passed over the earpiece where it lay by the back tire, hidden amongst the pieces of rubber shaved off by the road spikes. While she knew she was playing with fire, something in her gut told her letting Richtman on the bus would be the end of her.

  “You know, Burke doesn’t want us to finish developing the cure,” she stated.

  “If he wants to keep me around, then he’ll work with you to complete it.”

  Kim scoffed. “You’ve got an awful high opinion of yourself. You think you’ll convince him to change his mind when he finds out you’re infected? Having a cure, even the formula for a cure, is a threat to his existence. He’ll want us all dead, including you.”

  “Then I’ll tell Burke to go to hell,” Richtman growled, lowering his weapon. “I’ll protect you from him while you finish the cure, then I’ll go my way.”

  “We don’t need your protection, Richtman.” Kim ran her tongue over her lips, purposefully looking away from her earpiece where it lay on the pavement.

  The man stood near the smoldering plywood and sidestepped, eyes searching the ground. “All the same,” he said. “You’ll take me back to Yellow Springs and I’ll talk to the mycologist and Bryant. We’ll work something out.”

  She turned and pretended to scan the side of the road by the guardrail. “Paul won’t make any deals with you.”

  “Then they’ll listen to you die slowly,” Richtman shrugged. “Your life depends on mine.”

  Richtman’s fist came out of nowhere and tagged her in the head. Stars exploded and a lancing pain spiked from her temple to her shoulders. Kim hit the ground and rolled onto her back, putting her hands up to protect her face.

  Richtman stood over her, waving the earpiece between his thumb and index finger. “Looks like you missed it,” he grinned and tossed it on her chest. “Now, quit playing with me, girl. Put the earpiece in and open the bus.”

  Kim picked up the earpiece, rolled onto her stomach, and rose to her hands and knees. She paused. Her head spun with dizziness, and her stomach roiled with waves of nausea. Her face sizzled with pain, her chin and lip on fire, her skin swollen and stretched over her bruises. With deep breaths, she gathered the strength to rise.

  Richtman’s boot thudded into her side and sent her sprawling with the wind knocked out of her. She moaned through clenched teeth and gasped for air.

  “I said put the earpiece in,” Richtman said, “and open the bus. I’ll beat you within an inch of your life if that’s what it takes to get you to move.”

  Kim nodded and rose to her knees, picking up the earpiece where she’d dropped it. She tried to stand, but her right leg faltered. On the second try, she rose to her feet and staggered forward.

  “Good,” Richtman said, waving at her with the gun. “That’s the spirit. You can handle a lot more than you think. Look at me, I’ve been hunting you for days with a bullet buried in my leg. You just have to have—”

  “Hey, mister. Is everything okay here?”

  Richtman spun but kept his gun trained on Kim.

  “Oh, hey there.” The mercenary’s voice took on a fake nice tone. “I didn’t even notice you come up.”

  Her eyes drifted past Richtman to fall upon a girl standing on the side of the road. She was tall and skinny, with earth-toned skin and short-cropped hair. The girl wore dirty jeans with the bottoms rolled up to her shins and an air filtration mask on her face. Scuffs marked her tennis shoes, and her shoulders slumped beneath the weight of a heavy backpack.

  Kim shook her head at the girl, warning her to get away. Couldn’t she see her swollen face? Couldn’t she see the blood on her clothes and the gun in Richtman’s hand?

  “She looks hurt.” The girl’s eyes fell on Kim with a flash of pain and recognition. “Why did you hit her? Is she okay?”

  “Sorry you had to see that, young lady,” Richtman said, gesturing at Kim. “We were having a bit of a disagreement, but it’s sorted out now.”

  “But you hit her. Why did you do that?”

  “This woman is despicable,” Richtman squared up to the girl with his gun pointed away from Kim. “She’s done horrible things. You’d understand if you knew her. Where you headed?”

  “Not sure,” the girl shrugged and took a hesitant, fearful step away from the man. “Just walking.”

  “Go ahead then,” Richtman said, waving eastward with his gun. “Walk on by. Mind your business.”

  The girl glanced at Kim, and it dawned on her. Riley’s hair had once been long and thick with gold highlights, though Bishop told her they’d had to cut it off after it got tangled in her air filtration mask.

  It was Riley. It was Kim’s daughter. How could that be? They hadn’t left Ft. Collins yet. How many hours had it been since Richtman had knocked her out? If Riley was here, where was the rest of her family?

  Bishop.

  A shadow fell over her, and Kim looked up to see her husband’s hulking form slip by. His eyes were pinned on Richtman, his hands flexing on the handle of Riley’s aluminum softball bat. Bishop’s shoulders bulged in his black T-shirt, and the tendons of his forearms popped out menacingly.

  The sun glinted off the bat and cast a spot of light on the road in front of Riley. Richtman turned and raised his pistol, but Bishop was already swinging the bat, smacking Richtman in the side of the head with a sick thud.

  Richtman fired as he collapsed, the bullet flying off eastward toward the clouds. The mercenary groaned and squirmed on the ground, and Bishop kicked him with a snarl. Then he bent down and lifted the moaning man by one arm and started to drag him away. He stopped when he noticed Riley standing there. The girl’s wide eyes moved between Bishop and Richtman and Kim, schocked at the violence.

  “Your mother needs your help, Riley.” Bishop’s tone was deep but quiet, almost reverent. He jerked his head toward Kim. “Go.”

  The girl nodded and ran to her, falling on her knees in front of her mother as she shrugged off her backpack.

  “Am I dreaming?” Tears streamed down Kim’s f
ace, stinging her cuts like wildfire, but she didn’t care. “Is it really you, Riley?”

  “It’s me, Mom,” Riley replied with a shaking voice. She took out a knife and lifted her mother’s hands, a sob escaping as she sawed at the thick-sticky material. Richtman had wrapped it tight, and it took the girl some time to cut through.

  She closed her eyes at her daughter’s touch. The simple contact sent shivers up her arms, and as soon as her hands separated, she threw her arms around her daughter and squeezed her with her remaining strength.

  Her eyes lifted as Bishop dragged Richtman behind one of the broken-down cars on the side of the road. Kim watched, mesmerized, as the bat rose and fell, dripping red as it crushed bones.

  Running feet approached, and Trevor flew around the front of the bus. A frown of worry broke wide on his face when he spotted Riley and Kim, but he sprinted over and fell to his knees, grabbing them in a rough, boyish way.

  “Careful,” Riley chastised him.

  “Sorry.” Trevor relaxed his embrace. “We missed you, Mom.”

  “I missed you too.” She buried her face in her son’s shoulder and took a deep breath. His shirt still smelled like fabric softener. “And you have permission to hug me as rough as you want.”

  Bishop stepped from behind the car with dark splatters across the front of his shirt. Blood and hair covered the end of the aluminum bat, and lines of red dripped down to the handle.

  “Help me stand, kids.” Her motherly tone returned.

  Trevor and Riley each took an arm and helped Kim to her feet. She stood with her children’s support, forming a smile that likely appeared horrific.

  Bishop’s eyes traced up and down her beaten body, her bloody clothes, and her scuffed up face. A dozen emotions flashed across his features as he dropped the bat with a clatter and staggered forward. He started to touch Kim’s face but drew his hand away as if he might break her.