The other trucker sat at the end of the bar, staring up at a fifteen-inch television surrounded by decades-old knick knacks. He looked like the friendly but quiet type, more interested in minding his own business than being bothered.
“Hey, Rocko,” Moe waved to the giant bartender. “It’s good to see you, brother.”
“Moe Tsosie,” Rocko called out, grinning from ear to ear. “Good to see you, my friend!”
One of the biggest men Moe had ever seen, Rocko stood six-feet five-inches tall and wore a thick mop of black hair flecked with gray. He boasted a rich Hopi heritage, though he did not practice the ways of his people. Still, Moe appreciated the man’s peaceful spirit.
Rocko came out from behind the bar and embraced Moe with a hard pat on the back. “How are you, Moe? I didn’t think I would ever see you again.”
Moe chuckled with grim humor and shook his head. “It’s nuts out there. I’ve had to outrun toxic clouds and crazy drivers, and someone tried to shoot a .50 caliber gun at me.”
“That’s quite a day you’ve had,” Rocko said. “Sit down. I’ll get you a beer, and you can tell me all about it.”
“Sounds good.”
“This is my friend,” Rocko gestured at the other trucker as he resumed his position behind the bar. “I don’t know his name, but he pays his tab.”
Moe nodded to the rough-looking fellow, and the man nodded back. Moe chose a bar stool in the middle, threw a leg over it, and sat down. A bottle of beer landed in front of him, and Moe picked it up and drank deep, enjoying the cold numbness that blossomed in his throat.
“Oh, that’s good,” Moe smacked his lips and set the bottle down. “Much appreciated.”
“So, tell me about your day,” Rocko grinned as he swiped a dry rag across the bar.
Moe recounted his escape from Bakersfield, detailing the toxic cloud and every car crash he witnessed. Then he launched into how he’d picked up the two kids before landing in the expressway parking lot outside of Flagstaff. Moe related how he’d met Gator, turned the kids over to the police, and described the escalating violence as the mob rushed the police line. The last part ended with Gator dying as he tried to ram the Humvee to disable the wild gunman.
Rocko’s jaw dropped as Moe told his hellish tale. “You are one lucky man, Moe. It sounds like you could have died at least a half-dozen times.”
“At least,” Moe agreed with a sip of beer. “How have things been here?”
Rocko gestured. “As you see them, my friend. Dead quiet.
“We always said if the world ended, Coyote’s would be the last place to go.”
“You’ve got that right!” Rocko chuckled, already passing Moe another beer.
The three men watched TV in silence as news reports came in from all over the States. The east remained black and reports out of California were grim. Rocko flipped through the channels until he came across a Flagstaff station, where a camera panned around at the expressway carnage.
Remnants of vehicles lay crashed and dismantled. Bodies spread across the expressway in gruesome display, and the news channel did not try to hide them. It looked like a war zone from some other country, not the United States of America.
“Whoa!” Rocko said. “Is that what you drove through, brother?”
“That’s it,” Moe said. He glimpsed the armored Humvee in the eastbound lane and Gator’s truck lying in a ditch farther up the road.
Tears filled Moe’s eyes and flowed unbidden down his cheeks.
“It’s truly overwhelming, man,” Rocko reached across and patted Moe’s shoulder. “I would not have believed it if you weren’t here to confirm it.”
“Believe it, brother,” Moe sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve. “It’s real, and it will soon destroy us all.”
“Was it terrorists?” Rocko asked.
“No.” Moe took a deep breath. “One broadcast said this mess was man made, some side effect of crop spraying.”
“Do you agree with that?”
Moe remembered how he’d force-sprayed the resilient fungus off the side of his truck at the A&B Truck Wash. “I agree with it, yes. We did this to ourselves.”
Rocko swiped his bar rag across the woodgrain surface. “Well, I hope they find the people who did it and make them pay.”
“Me, too,” Moe said.
“So, what are you going to do?” Rocko asked.
“I’ll let the dust settle and then head home to Chinle,” Moe said. “I need to see if my people are okay. And if things stay this bad, we’ll need to deal with the problem when it reaches our towns. How about you?” Moe gestured around. “Will you go down with the ship?”
“Hell yes,” Rocko said with a ridiculous grin, then his expression sobered. “I’ve got family up in First Mesa, but I haven’t seen them in years. The Coyote has been my life for a long time. I can’t imagine ever leaving it.”
“Okay if I stay a day or two?”
“My house is yours, brother,” Rocko threw his arms wide and let them fall at his sides. He looked at the quiet truck driver at the end of the bar. “That goes for you too, friend.”
The man nodded and shook his empty beer bottle. Rocko snatched a fresh bottle from his cooler, popped the top, and slid it down, leaving a trail of perspiration behind.
Moe let his eyes linger on the cool droplets before lifting his eyes to the terrible devastation on the television screen, and he wondered if he had the will to live through it.
Chapter 24
Bishop Shields, Ft. Collins, Colorado
Bishop Shields pushed the big Home Depot cart through the store, ticking things off the list Kim had given him. He’d already been to the air filtration mask department and scored a half-dozen masks. Three for normal use, and three as backups. He didn’t think it was being too greedy since he’d left another few dozen on the rack. His family came first, and it was his job to keep them protected when the spore clouds rolled in.
He moved to the pleated furnace air filters next. Kim had told him to grab as many of those as possible, especially the high-grade ones most suited for picking small particulates out of the air. He grabbed ten of those, leaving four, then grabbed a handful of dust masks before he moved on to the other items.
He picked up plastic tarps, dozens of tubes of caulking, rolls of tape, several gallons of disinfectant soap, bleach, rubber gloves, and scrubbers. On a whim, he navigated to the coverall section and was surprised to find several high-grade Tyvek coveralls in stock. Kim had mentioned regular stores rarely kept the good ones on-hand, though he might get lucky.
“Bingo,” he grinned, sorting through the various sizes to see if they had one that would fit him. Bishop was a large man, standing six-feet four-inches tall and weighing two hundred and forty-five pounds. He kept in shape and had the shoulders of a defensive end. That was because he played the position at the University of Kentucky for two years until a back injury had caused him to miss his last two seasons.
They didn’t have any in his size, but he picked up two for the kids and grabbed one as a backup.
All finished with his shopping, Bishop pushed his cart to the checkout line and rang up over a thousand dollars’ worth of goods. He pushed the heavy cart out to his Lincoln SUV, drawing stares from people who wouldn’t have been able to budge the cart much less push it up the slight incline to the car.
He felt much better after getting everything inside his vehicle. The family should have enough filter material to cover the vents, and plenty of plastic and cleaning supplies to set up a clean area.
If it hadn’t been for Kim, he wouldn’t have been reminded of what to do. Certainly, he’d written his pandemic series two years ago, though most of that knowledge had gone out the window.
Despite being a little more prepared, a twang of nervous tension grew in his chest. Taking the phone out of his pocket, he tried to call Kim. The line gave a disconnected signal that added to the tension.
Part of him wanted to pick up the kids and drive east to
the capitol and put his wife safely in the car with them. But the sensible part of him knew that Kim was well within the “cloud zone,” as the local news teams had mentioned, and it would be suicide driving into it.
The fungus was springing up all over the world. Flights were shutting down, and travel warnings ran as tickers on every television broadcast. There was even rumor of an outbreak in California that originated from a batch of contaminated produce.
The anxiety was spreading through the city like wildfire. People entering the Home Depot moved at a quickened pace. Their eyes darted everywhere as they hurried to beat the larger mobs that were sure to come. It wasn’t quite panic, but the brink of it.
Bishop got into the Lincoln, started it, and headed back home to drop off his newly purchased items. He wanted the kids to sort through it and organize the house to build their clean areas. While the kids did that, Bishop planned on fighting the crowds at the grocery stores to stock up on as much food as possible. He couldn’t shake the feeling that everything he did, no matter how small, would play a direct role in their survival. And he’d do anything to ensure their safety.
Chapter 25
Kim Shields, Washington, D.C.
Kim fried her brain working on the synthesis maps for Tom; she hadn’t done such intense work in years. It had been over twenty-four hours since he’d given her the task, and she was just about finished with the final sequence. Once complete, she and Dr. Flannery would work on creating vials of solutions to try on their CDC patient.
The only sleep she’d gotten was five hours of fitful slumber on her hard mattress after she’d turned the maps over to Alison at the CDC in Atlanta to run her simulations. Alison had mock-tested Tom and Kim’s solutions against the Asphyxia model they were building in the CDC database. So far, the results seemed promising.
As she worked, Kim watched a side monitor as dark and depressing stories came in from all around the world. Asphyxia had spread to over a hundred countries, and governmental agencies were fighting to produce a solution.
Airports had shut down in the United States right away, and China, India, and most of Europe quickly followed. Shipping ports were also shutting down around the world, with shiploads of produce and trade goods left sitting in docks to rot until the authorities got in and inspected them.
The world was crumbling through their fingers, and Kim felt too small to stop it. At the same time, she’d been watching yesterday when CDC Field Unit Three had found the little girl named Fiona sitting unaffected in a room full of corpses. The girl had showed no outward signs of infection, and her lungs seemed to have a high resistance to the Asphyxia toxin. While Kim’s heart had gone out to Fiona, it gave her hope for the world. Perhaps the immunity Fiona demonstrated might help to find a cure.
“Hello, Kim,” Tom said.
Kim glanced at the monitor she normally used to communicate with him, but he wasn’t there.
Tom chuckled. “I’m outside.”
Kim’s eyes lifted to see Tom standing on the other side of the glass with his hands clasped behind his back and a pleased, but tired, expression on his face. “What brings you all the way down here, Tom? Another blood test?”
“Not quite. All of your blood tests were negative. I’m here to see if you’re ready to come out of quarantine.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure,” Tom nodded. “If you were afflicted with Asphyxia, you’d know it by now.”
“In that case,” Kim gave a small fist pump. “I’m ready.” She looked around at her electronic tablet and her computer setup, which she’d become intimate with over the last two days. “What about my computer things? I’m right in the middle of finishing the last synthesis map.”
“The room I’m moving you to has the same setup. It’s right off the commons area, so you’ll have access to all the snacks and coffee you’d ever need without calling on me to get them for you.
“Sold.” Kim gave him an enthusiastic nod.
“Leave your quarters and go down the hall to examination room C.”
Kim exited her room, skipping down the hallway to the examination room where the doctor was waiting outside in light Tyvek coveralls.
“Have a seat on the table.”
Kim kicked off her slippers and removed her shirt. The doors slid open and Tom stepped in.
Tom held up a hand. “It’s unnecessary to get completely undressed.”
With a nod, Kim pulled her shirt back on and hopped up on the table.
Tom stopped in front of her, and his eyes moved along her face and down to her neck.
“Have you noticed any lesions or spore growth on your skin?”
Kim shook her head convincingly. “No, and I’ve been looking.”
“Hold out your hands.”
Kim held out her hands, and the doctor brought his gloved hands up beneath them. He inspected her fingernails and then flipped her hands over to stare at her palms. He did the same with her feet, looking between her toes and checking her heels.
It had been some time since Kim’s first interview with Tom, and she forgot how big the man was. He wasn’t muscular but had a thick body shape some men often get when they reach middle age.
He checked her breathing with a stethoscope and then finished with a quick examination of her back, ears, nose, and throat before he stepped back and removed his own mask.
“I’ll trust you on the rest.” He smiled and slapped his hands lightly against her shoulders. “You’re free.”
“Thanks, Tom,” Kim said, hopping off the table and sliding back into her slippers. “I probably need some real clothes now.”
Tom motioned for her to follow, and together they left the examination room and moved down a hallway toward the control center. “You can raid someone’s locker. I noticed several gym bags lying around. As a general rule, we always have spare clothes on hand in the event our clothing is compromised and needs to be disposed of.”
“It was the same back at Ft. Collins,” Kim acknowledged.
“If we need to snip someone’s lock, that’s what we’ll do. I doubt any of our fellow CDC employees will mind. I don’t think they’re coming back.” Tom’s smile barely tugged at the corners of his mouth. His eyes remained sad.
“We won’t know until I get out there in the field and check, Tom.” Kim tried to sound hopeful. “I’m sure someone is alive out there.”
“I hope you’re right," Dr. Flannery said. “Okay. Help me with the last of the mapping, then you can poke your head outside and have a look around. We just don’t want you getting hurt before Fiona arrives.”
“Fair enough, Tom,” Kim agreed. “When is she due?”
“They were bringing her by chopper, so she should be close. But we have to take into consideration the circumstances. There could be delays.”
“I lost contact with Talby after watching them bring her in,” Kim said. “If they’re not here in the next few hours, can I get your authorization to have a field unit search for them?”
“You don’t need my permission, Kim,” Tom said. “Do what’s necessary to bring that girl in.”
They approached a heavy steel door that divided the quarantine wing from the rest of the lab. Tom pressed his ID against the reader, watching as it turned green. He gestured for Kim to do the same. “Swipe in here or your ID won’t work anywhere else in the facility. We frown on tailgaters.”
“Understood.” Kim took her ID out of her pocket and pressed it to the badge reader.
It flashed a brighter green to show her authorization. Tom hit another button for the door release, and the heavy steel slab slid away. Tom led Kim across the threshold and stopped at the next intersection.
He indicated a hall leading away. “Your room is the first door on the left before the commons area. Fuel up if you have to, then join me in the control center ASAP.”
“I’d like to look at the patient, first.”
“She isn’t in the best condition.”
Kim put her hands
on her hips and faced the man. “I’ve seen some rough stuff, Tom. I don’t think you can faze me at this point.”
Tom gestured for her to follow him in the other direction, down a hall labeled “CDC Control Center.”
They passed a dozen doors on either side of the hall before reaching the control center at the very end. They swiped in with their IDs and also placed their hands inside a hand reader as a second form of verification.
“Just an extra precaution,” Tom said as the door slid open with a quiet hiss of compressed air.
They entered a circular room with high-definition monitors and computer stations set around the outside. In the center was a row of high-tech gear. Kim counted five other doors in the room besides the entrance, though she couldn’t remember where any of them led.
The control center was the hub of the facility, and from what Kim remembered, everything branched off from there in a spoke-like pattern. If one were looking down on the layout like the face of a clock, Medical and Labs were on the north side of the control center from eleven o’clock to one o’clock, Quarantine was two o’clock to six o’clock, and the commons and staff quarters were seven o’clock to ten.
And they were just on Sub Level One. Kim had no idea what secrets the lower levels held.
“This way.” Tom angled for a set of double doors labeled MEDICAL | LAB on the far side of the chamber.
Kim had been through this section of the facility during her previous tour, and she wasn’t any less impressed with the place. The tiles were immaculate, the walls precisely labeled, and nozzles and cameras set into the ceiling for both human and microbial security. After thirty yards, they came to a fork that designated Medical to the left and Lab to the right. They took the left-hand fork for Medical.
Tom turned toward her as he walked. “We reserve this section for the rare instance we have a patient.”
“Most of the patients we treat would be at hospitals,” Kim acknowledged. “So we wouldn’t receive many here.”
“Not since the 2008 outbreak.”
Spore Series (Book 1): Spore Page 14
