Spore Series | Book 3 | Fight

by Soward, Kenny

  Paul shuffled into the room, looking haggard. “Fiona is asleep. Poor girl has had a rough few days.”

  “Thanks, Paul,” Jessie said. “You’ve done an amazing job with her.”

  Paul looked down at the floor with a nod, then he scratched his head. “I never had kids of my own. Always wondered what it would be like.”

  “I hadn’t planned on having kids until I was in my late twenties,” Jessie said. “Looks like I’m getting started a little early.”

  “So, we’re parents?” Paul grinned.

  “Looks that way.” Jessie chuckled and then winced as a sharp pain shot down her right shoulder. “Ouch, that hurts.”

  “I’ll go out for some real supplies,” he nodded. “My car runs fine. I’ll hit a pharmacy and see if they have any real pain meds along with gauze and tape.”

  She nodded. “Pick up some tweezers and alcohol, too. You’ve got to dig this bullet out of my shoulder. If you don’t, it will only get infected.”

  “I’m working up to it,” Paul nodded, glumly.

  “Don’t wait too long.”

  He glanced up at the ceiling with a frown. “They blew the turret up with a shoulder-fired rocket. That’s where I often took my tea.”

  “Sorry.” Jessie bowed her head.

  Paul waved it off. “Oh, it’s okay. I’m just glad everyone is alive.” He paused and then went on. “I guess I’ll get moving, so I can get back here by nightfall. Will you be okay?”

  “I think so,” Jessie said, nodding to where her gun lay on the nightstand next to the bottle of Blanton’s. “I’ve got my gun if Burke attacks us again, for all that’s worth.”

  “Okay, good,” he said. “Just...”

  “Be careful.” Jessie flashed him a smile. “You, too.”

  Paul shuffled into the hall and down the stairs where he banged around. She stared at Bryant’s pale face. He’d lost some blood, though he breathed steadily, and his pulse remained strong. She wasn’t a doctor, but he looked pretty good given the circumstances.

  Jessie had seen herself in the mirror, but she didn’t look so hot. Her face was pale, and black circles had formed under her eyes. When Paul had changed the dressing on her arm an hour ago, the tiny hole in the meat of her shoulder looked puckered and angry red with pus oozing out. Cramps from the Asphyxia serum only added to her misery.

  “Jessie!”

  Paul’s voice shook her from her thoughts. Jessie stood from the chair and walked from Paul’s master bedroom to the second-floor landing. She stood at the rail and looked down into the foyer where the previous evening’s fight had taken place. Blood stained the floor and bits of wood and plaster lay everywhere. Paul stood by the front door, looking up at her.

  “What is it, Paul?” she asked, her voice still weak.

  Paul’s eyebrows raised, and he glanced out the door and back up at Jessie. She looked through the enormous foyer window into Paul’s yard where the fungus-covered trees swayed in the afternoon light.

  “Paul, I can’t see what you’re talking about,” Jessie sighed. He didn’t appear alarmed, only surprised.

  Paul walked onto the porch and disappeared from view. He called out to someone in the yard, and they replied in a muffled voice. Jessie cocked her head as Paul stepped back inside, grinning up at her. Boots tromped up the front porch stairs, and two United States soldiers walked into the foyer, holding their rifles in a relaxed manner and wearing full air filtration masks covering their faces.

  Paul gestured up at her. “She’s in charge.”

  “I’m Corporal Dex,” the man said, looking up. “And you are?”

  “CDC Field Agent Jessie Talby,” she nodded. “Are you part of General Miller’s group?”

  “That’s us,” Dex grinned wide behind his visor. Then he clenched his chest as a cough took hold. The soldier bent over as the fit shook him before coming to a gut-wrenching end.

  Jessie shuddered, because she understood that racking cough and remembered the rough feel of Asphyxia in her throat for three straight days.

  Corporal Dex straightened carefully as if waiting for the coughing to begin again. When it didn’t, he resumed with his cocky grin. “This here is Garcia,” he nodded to the man standing next to him, “and outside guarding the prisoner are Weissman and Price. We call ourselves the Zombie Squad.”

  “Why’s that?” Jessie asked.

  “Because we’re all infected. Might as well be walking dead, if you know what I mean.”

  Jessie nodded sympathetically. “I know what you mean, soldier.” She turned to Paul. “Can we get them started on a serum protocol quick?”

  “As long as my antigens survived the trip over, yes,” Paul said. He thought about it before giving the soldiers a more confident nod. “I can get something started for you boys right away.”

  “Where’s Bryant?” Dex asked.

  “Up here resting.” Jessie jerked her head toward the master bedroom. “He picked up a knife wound last night.”

  “Weissman is a medic. We’ll have him check it out.”

  “That’s great.” She glanced down at her patched-up arm. “Can he take out a bullet?”

  “Maybe,” Dex’s grin widened. “Couldn’t hurt to take a look.”

  Jessie shook her head. “Wait, did I hear you say you have a prisoner?”

  “Our Jeep broke down outside of Clifton, so we ended up walking in,” Dex said. “Bryant told us to keep an eye out for a big black bus and imagine my surprise when we stumbled upon it. We found this guy hanging around, looking sketchy, so we brought him in.”

  Dex stepped aside as two soldiers entered with a man grasped between them. The man wore a bulky Class A protective suit, and he angrily jerked out of the soldiers’ grip. He turned his eyes up at Jessie, jaw dropping when he recognized her.

  While Jessie had never met the man in person, there was no mistaking Burke Birkenhoff’s cold eyes. He raised his finger and pointed at her.

  “Listen here. I’m a civilian, and I demand to be treated—”

  Paul let out a guttural cry and launched himself at Burke in a tackle that sent them tumbling onto the porch.

  “Paul!” Jessie started to descend the stairs, but she stopped at the top of the landing and implored Corporal Dex. “Corporal, can you break that up? That’s Burke Birkenhoff. He’s the CEO who started all this. We need him alive, for now.”

  Dex nodded and turned to his men. “You heard the lady, boys. Break them up.”

  Chapter 38

  Kim Shields, Topeka, Kansas

  Kim rested on a cot in the quarantine section of the bus, forced to lie on her back because every other part of her hurt. She wore a gown she’d found in a drawer beneath her, and the light cotton material rested gently on her skin.

  The air circulated through the chamber, cool and clean, caressing her cheeks with a gentle touch. Bumping and knocking sounds came from all over the bus, a pinch to remind Kim that she was really awake and reunited with her husband and kids. The kids were like a whirlwind inside the bus, wiping down every surface with disinfectant and scrubbing every nook and cranny clean.

  Kim looked up at the ceiling with her one good eye. The adjustable air nozzles lining the roof reminded her of an airplane seat. “AMI, what’s the spore count now?” Her voice sounded croaky, so she leaned over and sipped water through a straw and sealed container resting on the foldout chair next to her cot.

  “347 spores per cubic meter,” AMI responded.

  “That’s great.” Kim smacked her lips. “They’ve cut it way down in just a few hours. We might get it to zero.”

  Mobile Unit XI idled gently beneath her, its engine in perfect working order after the fight with Richtman. It was the other delicate parts of the bus she worried about—the holes in the outer skin, the medical equipment, and liquid decontaminate barrels.

  The bus’s back door opened, and boots tromped up the stairs into the decontamination chamber. The room cycled through the process, spraying three different chemical r
inses on the person inside.

  Fifteen minutes after the nozzles stopped, the door to the prep room opened, and Bishop stood there wearing a pair of shorts with a towel thrown over his shoulder. His air filtration mask rested snug on his face. The man stood huge in the downsized door frame, and he had to turn sideways just to fit. He ran his hand through his dripping hair as he picked up Kim’s water and sat on the foldout chair.

  The thin metal groaned under his weight but held.

  “How’s it look out there?” Kim held out her hand, and Bishop took it.

  “Richtman punctured two of the decontaminate barrels, though one is still half full.” Bishop opened his other hand to show several pieces of bullet fragments. “I found these scattered inside, but I’ve sealed up all the external holes.”

  “How?”

  “There’s a hardware store off the exit,” Bishop grinned. “I used some exterior caulking. I found a grocery store, too. There’s even a tire place down the road. I’m sure I can change the bus tires as long as I can find the right size. If not here, I’ll try a few exits up. There’s bound to be an RV dealership around.”

  “That’s amazing,” Kim nodded, her swollen eyes tearing up. “What about water?”

  “The water supply is fine,” Bishop said. “We’ve got three hundred gallons, and we can refill them with rainwater or bottled water from stores. Provided it’s decontaminated.”

  “The kids have got the spore count down,” Kim said, running her fingers over the bandage wrapped around Bishop’s hand. “You might be able to take your masks off soon.”

  “What’s the requirements?”

  “I’d say forty-eight hours with no cleaning and a zero spore count.”

  “You’ve got the serum, right?”

  “Yes, but not an endless supply. We need to get back to Yellow Springs as soon as possible.” Kim gave him a worried look. “I’ve been calling them all morning, but they’re not responding. I’m worried Burke did something.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Bishop assured her. “We’ve got plenty to do here. If they haven’t responded by the time we’re road ready, we’ll figure something else out. Plus, you need to recover. You took a beating yesterday.”

  “But you saved me,” she smiled, her swollen cheeks sore. “I couldn’t believe it when I saw Riley. I hardly recognized her, and she was so brave to stand there in front of Richtman like that. Bishop, that guy was a killer.”

  “I didn’t know what else to do.” He shook his head. “We saw you a quarter mile off. I mean, it’s hard to miss the bus. We got out and crossed over. Richtman had his gun, and if it had been me who approached and not Riley—”

  “He would have freaked out,” Kim agreed. “You did the right thing. It was a brilliant plan.”

  She shut her eyes and allowed herself to feel safe with her family. After a pause, she picked up an ice pack lying on the bed next to her. Before she put it on her face, she turned to Bishop and asked him the question that had plagued her all night.

  “Is my nose broken?”

  “It’s not broken from what I can tell.” He peered down at her face. “But your face is swollen bad. You sure you don’t want a mirror?”

  “Not right now.” Kim shook her head. “No way.”

  “Are you dizzy, or nauseous?”

  “No.”

  “Headaches or fatigue?”

  “My headache is fading, but I’m still tired and sore.”

  “That makes sense after what you’ve been through,” Bishop nodded, staring at her harder. “How’s your vision?”

  “Seems okay.”

  “No blurriness?”

  “Nope.”

  “Back when I played football, the team physician would put you right back on the field.” Bishop chuckled and squeezed her hand. “I think you’ll be fine, but let me know if you experience any of those symptoms. It isn’t like we can take you in for a CT scan.”

  “True.”

  Footfalls stomped through the prep room, and Trevor stuck his head inside quarantine. When he saw his mother and father, his face lit up with a smile. He entered and threw his arms around his father’s neck, leaning on him. Riley followed her brother inside and put her shoulder against the door frame with a box of generic disinfectant wipes tucked under her arm.

  They both wore light shorts and T-shirts, barefoot as they cleaned.

  “Hi, kids,” Kim allowed a wide smile despite the pain it brought her. She wanted to hug them both, but she could only reach back and clutch her son’s arm.

  “Hi, Mom,” Riley said. “Feeling better?”

  “Meh,” Kim replied with a faint shrug.

  “You’ve got to get better soon. Trevor is driving me insane.”

  “Shut up, Riley,” Trevor shot over his shoulder before he turned to his mother. “That’s the third time through. What are we down to now?”

  Kim’s eyes flashed to the ceiling. “AMI, what’s the current spore count?”

  “171 spores per cubic meter,” AMI responded with cheer.

  “Kicking butt,” Trevor said, his eyes smiling behind his visor.

  “I’m so tired,” Riley complained.

  “You guys are almost there,” she said, her throat dry again. “Make sure you get inside every drawer and cabinet, but be gentle with the lab equipment.”

  “We are,” Trevor assured her.

  “Okay, kids,” Bishop said, “let’s give it another scrub before we take a break.

  Kim raised her voice. “If you need to take your masks off to eat, just do it in the decontamination chamber.”

  “Okay, Mom,” Riley said.

  “Get better.” Trevor gave her arm a squeeze before he followed his sister.

  “It might be a good idea to clean out the air vents,” Bishop said, “but I don’t know where to start.”

  “AMI?”

  AMI’s polite voice chimed in the room. “I will display the procedure for vent decontamination on the dashboard monitor. It is a three-hour process.”

  Bishop chuckled and shook his head. “We’ve got a lot of work to do, Mobile Unit XI will be our home for a while.”

  Kim squeezed her husband’s arm, her eyes searching his face. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too, babe.” Her husband reached across to hug her but paused, instead bending down to give her the gentlest of kisses on the top of her head.

  Chapter 39

  Zane Carver, Chinle, Arizona

  Zane Carver stepped out of Colonel Humphreys’s old office onto the steel-grated porch, squinting into the bright Arizona morning. He gazed out across the FEMA camp, still roiling in the throes of change.

  Workers and soldiers threw glances in his direction, some of them smiling widely or waving. Others wore expressions of doubt. The bonfires of the infected smoldered on the west side of camp, and the smell of burnt flesh wafted in the air. To Carver, it was the sweet scent of victory.

  His group of loyal followers had seized the opportunity when panicked soldiers upended their prayer tent two evenings ago. They’d taken the soldiers’ weapons and killed them before moving through the camp, gathering more and more people as they went.

  A spiritual light had entered Carver, and he’d preached words from his book of Light and Venom as his enforcers took control. He’d spoken the words of the Snake, and people listened. His same words had mesmerized the people of his small desert commune for years, and the people in camp grabbed hold like drowning sailors to a lifeline.

  His followers had mushroomed to a hundred, then a thousand or more.

  Once he had a few of the military guys on board, he’d given big Cash the order to form divisions of twenty or thirty fighters, each with a captain. They’d swept through the camp with one edict. Obey the laws of Light and Venom and swear allegiance to Carver or die.

  At first, he hadn’t thought it would work. Yet, it did. Little by little, the camp fell under his control, and his captains and followers treated him like their general.

&
nbsp; Some cosmic force had given him the gift he’d aspired to receive his entire life. A supply of soft minds ready to be molded into a new way of living.

  Carver smiled and placed his hands on the rail. He looked down at the corral of prisoners within the circle of barrels at his feet. Colonel Humphreys sat in the middle, glaring up at him from a swollen face, hatred twisting his gagged mouth.

  “This place could be nice,” Carver whispered.

  “We need to be careful.” Susan stood on his right. Her piercing blue eyes shined beneath her striking brown eyebrows, and her chestnut hair fell in waves past her shoulders.

  When he’d first met Susan, she’d struck him as an athletic and beautiful girl. She stood five-feet, ten-inches tall with a thick body and legs for miles. She’d admitted to Carver that they’d called her an Amazon in high school, and she’d excelled at whatever sport she played in. That had been a long time ago, before college had opened her up to new ideas and led her to him.

  “Things are sketchy here.” Her eyes searched around, always moving. “We should ditch this place and go back to the Fields.”

  “The Fields were nice,” Carver agreed, thinking about their ramshackle commune with its mobile homes and barns. “But this place has much more potential.” He gestured all around. “We’ve got food, water, and electricity. These people need to be saved, and we’re the ones to do it.”

  She leaned closer to him against the rail, and he glanced at her with a cautious expression. Susan knew the rules about touching him in public, though she often pushed the limits to remind everyone where she stood in the communal pecking order.

  “I just worry about you, Zane,” Susan said, her eyes always scanning the bustling camp.

  “Don’t worry. Something greater protects me now. I’m sure of it.”

  He smiled and followed her eyes across the camp as a hulking man worked his way toward the prisoner’s corral. Cash wore his standard farm shirt and a pair of threadbare work pants, though his dress did not belay the power of his figure. He stood six-feet, two-inches tall with powerful shoulders and a mean streak that ran to his core.