Spore Series (Book 1): Spore

by Soward, Kenny

  “Now, I’ll get out of your way so you folks can get on with business,” he said.

  Tom hesitated a moment, then he gestured at the screen. “Nancy, where are the rest of your crew?”

  Nancy looked across the table at Alison and Bob before her eyes returned to Tom. “I’ve got three down with Asphyxia.”

  Kim and Tom both nodded. Kim had noticed the other folks missing from the meeting but thought they might be busy with other work.

  “How did that happen?” Tom asked.

  “They must have only been partially exposed.” Nancy shook her head.

  “They didn’t experience the violent auto-immune response we’d initially seen.” Kim nodded her head in understanding.

  “Yes, a low abundance of spores in a single area promotes slower activity.” Nancy said.

  Kim had seen similar results when looking at Samantha Rogers’s blood compared to some specimens taken off her own clothing. “It bides its time and allows its mycelium to bore deep. Eventually, it reaches a critical mass and germinates.”

  “That seems to be what we’re dealing with here,” Nancy agreed, then she leaned back in her chair. “Before we talk about antibiotics and a cure, let’s talk logistics. Bob, Kim. How are things looking out there?”

  “The news says it all,” Bob said. He looked like he was on the edge of a nervous breakdown. “The communications and power situation for the country is dire. Cellular and radio towers are down. Most power stations have been left abandoned and are failing. This will make it difficult for people to know where to go for help and impossible to keep uncontaminated foods fresh and dry.”

  Kim added her part. “As perishable food sources rot, people will go through non-perishable items and soon face starvation.”

  “On the flip side,” Bob said. “There just aren’t very many people left. Our field teams have estimated a staggering eighty-seven percent mortality rate. With the low demand for non-perishable food, survivors may scavenge long enough to create small, isolated farms.”

  Kim nodded. “Those in colder, drier regions may have some protection from Asphyxia, but that’s just speculation. The spore clouds are still moving west.”

  “It’s like this all over the world,” Bob continued. “We’ve lost connection with Germany and France, although we still talk to England, China, and Russia. They’ve not been able to stem Asphyxia either.”

  The meeting fell silent for a moment before Nancy took a deep, resigned breath and pressed on. “Tom, tell me you folks are making some progress on the cure.”

  “Thanks, Nancy.” Tom’s tone was professional and steady. “First, let me give you some progress on our facility. We lost city power last night, so we’re on generators right now.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Kim said with a glance over at her boss.

  Tom turned to Kim. “We have a backup battery system that kicks in when the city power fails. The batteries will take the power load until the backup generators can come online. It’s a seamless exchange. You wouldn’t have even seen a flicker of lights.”

  “Okay, got it.” Kim nodded, though a dreadful weight grew in her belly. The walls were closing in, and soon their location would be one of the few safe havens in the entire eastern United States. At least until the backup generators failed or ran out of fuel. What would they do then?

  “Regarding a solution,” Tom continued, “None of the standard fungicides worked on the test subject. Not even some of the tricks I had up my sleeve. But Alison and I are starting the next round of tests.”

  “The simulations all work for these tests,” Alison added, her voice rough and raspy. Kim had the sudden and chilling impression that the entire Atlanta team was sick. “We’ll be deploying solutions to attack Asphyxia’s cell wall as well as protein inhibitors to stem fungal growth and cause a complete breakdown of the fungal reproduction cycle.”

  “And if those don’t work?” Nancy asked with her brow raised.

  No one had an answer.

  “I’ve been looking for the helicopter that had been carrying the girl, Fiona, to us.” Kim said. “But Lieutenant Richards hasn’t found the aircraft, the girl, or Agent Talby.”

  “I think we have to assume something happened.” Nancy’s voice held a sad note. “And that’s a huge blow to our efforts.”

  “Yes, it is.” Kim turned her head away from the monitor and web camera to hide the tears that filled her eyes. She couldn’t find Fiona, couldn’t reach her own family, and the world was crumbling down around them.

  “Let’s just hope our testing on Samantha Rogers works,” Tom said. His tone didn’t fill her with hope.

  Chapter 30

  Jessie Talby, somewhere in Pennsylvania

  Jessie stood over the pilot and breathed through her mask. The gentle click of her respirator was maddening in the morning light. The sky was bright blue, and the sun shone through the bay window like any normal day.

  The pilot wasn’t moving, or breathing, and his mouth hung open inside his respirator with a single line of drool running off his chin. The wound in his shoulder had gotten worse through the evening, soaking several sets of bandages before Jessie had grown exhausted and fallen asleep.

  “I think he’s dead,” Fiona said, and she poked the pilot’s boot for good measure.

  “Don’t, Fiona.”

  “Sorry.” She dropped her gaze to the floor and stepped away from the couch.

  “We should have used the beat-up old truck out back and made a beeline for D.C.” Jessie punched her palm. “We should have been there by now.”

  “I’m sorry,” the little girl replied.

  “And I’m stupid.” A pang of disappointment rose in Jessie’s heart. She’d not heard from her family since the Asphyxia outbreak started, and she didn’t know if any of them were dead or alive. The promise she’d made as a CDC field agent had taken precedence over her own selfish wishes, otherwise she would have driven straight home and seen to her family. The truth of it was, they were likely dead along with ninety percent of the population. Jessie shook her head. “I’m not sure how much more of this I can take. The world is over. It’s just...over.”

  “I feel the same way,” Fiona said. Her voice held a note of childish aggravation that was adorable, and her tiny hand slipped into Jessie’s. “Are we going to die, like Mom?”

  Feeling petty and stupid, Jessie knelt beside the little girl and held both of her hands. “Absolutely not,” she said as she fought back tears. “I think...” Jessie struggled to find the right words, then the disappointment she’d felt a moment ago flipped upside down and became a surge of hope. “I think you’re here to save what’s left of this world. I think you’re here to save me.”

  “Really?” The little girl’s eyes grew wide.

  “Yeah, and I’ll get you to Washington as soon as I can. No more delays.”

  Bending down, Jessie removed the pilot’s gun from its holster and gave him one last glance. She took Fiona outside and put her in the passenger seat of an SUV she’d taken from the neighbor’s house two miles down the road.

  It was a newer model than the old Ford parked in the driveway, complete with air conditioning, a feature she needed after breathing into a hot respirator going on two days.

  She placed a blanket in the girl’s lap. “If you get cold, just wrap up in this blanket, okay?”

  “Okay, Jessie.” Fiona placed her hands on the blanket like a perfect princess.

  Jessie shut the door and walked around to the front of the vehicle, glancing over at the barn where she’d found the farm’s owners. They were an older couple, as she’d suspected, out watering a personal garden full of flowers and herbs.

  The old man had collapsed right into the flower bed with a can of Harvest Guard lying next to him. The old woman must have gone to help her husband when she’d become stricken and fallen onto her back. Over the next several days, crimson and black fungus had choked the garden to death.

  With a gulp, Jessie guessed at huma
nity’s chances against Asphyxia. Even if they found a cure, how would the survivors grow enough crops to stay alive? Jessie shook her head, because it didn’t matter. She was one of the privileged few who still had a job to do. Probably the most important job in the world. And she had to do it before Asphyxia claimed her, too.

  While inside the home, how many times had Jessie absently lifted her tight mask and scratched at her itchy skin? How many times had she removed her coveralls to relieve herself? And what about in the morning when she’d been so hungry that she’d eaten three packs of Hostess Cupcakes in the bathroom with her mask laying in the sink?

  Sure, she’d been careful. Sure, there’d been no signs of spores in the air when she’d tested the bathroom air. It didn’t mean she’d not already infected herself somehow. It didn’t mean Jessie had all the time in the world.

  She opened the SUV’s hatchback and tossed her backpack inside. Then she went around to the driver’s side and climbed in.

  “I don’t know where we are,” Jessie said, putting the key she’d found into the ignition and starting the vehicle. “I lost my phone this morning, and this truck doesn’t have GPS to follow, so we’re flying blind. But, with a little luck, we’ll be in the capitol in just a few hours.”

  “Awesome possum,” Fiona said.

  “Awesome possum, indeed.”

  Chapter 31

  Bishop Shields, Ft. Collins, Colorado

  “Riley, make sure you get around all the windows and in any cracks you see in the wall,” Bishop said. He tossed the twelve-year-old another tube of caulk, and she turned and caught it with one hand.

  Ejecting the old tube, Riley cut the end off the new one, poked a hole in the stopper, and placed the tube in the caulk gun. Then she turned and angled the point into the corner of their living room where the drywall had separated. She squeezed the trigger to lay a bead of caulk and pressed it in with her finger.

  “Good girl,” Bishop said, then he turned to the stairs and shouted up. “Trevor, do you need more caulk?”

  “I’m good, dad,” Trevor shouted back. “I’ve got three new tubes up here.”

  “Awesome,” Bishop mumbled to himself, looking around for something to do.

  They’d been working all day to prepare the house for a potential spore cloud. Based on his wife’s advice, their best bet was to caulk every crack they found especially the gaps in the windows and in the doors leading outside. Bishop had already sealed the back door with some external caulk then he sealed over that with strips of duct tape.

  Kim had also advised to do the first and second floors before sealing the basement. Something about the spore tendrils being larger and weighing more than standard spores gave them a better chance of survival on the higher floors. Bishop and Trevor had already moved a small refrigerator upstairs along with all of their camping gear, including a small gas stove to cook food.

  The next concern was their water supply; they just didn’t have enough. Their stockpile of seven cases of bottled water would only last so long, so Bishop had scrubbed every container clean, including their garbage cans, and filled them up with city water. If the spore cloud arrived, he’d turn off the faucets for good and subsist on what they had.

  Besides the backup air filtration masks he’d scored from the hardware store, he’d gone online to learn how to fashion them from scratch. He’d double checked their flashlights and even scooped several large candles into his cart while shopping for food. He’d just gotten out of the grocery store when people rushed in and began stripping the shelves clean.

  The next time he saw his wife, he’d be sure to express his gratitude.

  With the kids on top of everything, Bishop returned to his office and sat in front of his computer. As a writer, he didn’t need a fancy machine. His laptop was an older model but powerful enough to run architectural design programs.

  His three monitors stretched across his desk, filled with research and notes on how to survive a gas attack. The idea was simple. Keep the clean air in. Keep the bad air out.

  Toggling through the windows on his computer screen, Bishop settled on the news. He clicked on the live feed from the local station and turned the volume up.

  A field reporter for WFTC was standing somewhere in the center of town as the wind whipped his short hair around. He gave a blunt nod toward the camera and fixed the viewers with an expression of serious concern. “This is Roger Nienaber reporting for WFTC news. I’m standing outside of Colorado State University where the United States Military is supporting FEMA in the construction of several massive shelters. This follows reports that storm winds have blown dangerous toxic clouds from the Mid-South and Rust Belt westward. While the dangerous clouds aren’t expected to reach Ft. Collins for at least another twenty-four hours, toxic particulates could still be in the air. Authorities are asking people to stay indoors, seal their vents, doors, and windows, and listen for future instructions.”

  The reporter stepped toward the camera, gesturing with an open hand and using a more conversational tone. “The toxicity is not poison gas like you would expect, but fungal in nature. We’re talking about spores in the air, like the spring allergies you might normally see, only these are deadly. There have been reports of small incidents on the outskirts of Ft. Collins where farmers sprayed antifungals on crops, contributing to the outbreak. If you cannot seal your home using the list of items now showing on the screen, it’s vital for you to come down to Colorado State University and take advantage of one of the many clean FEMA tents.”

  Bishop had been so intent on listening to the reporter that the three heavy knocks on his front door startled him. He stood and went to the door, first looking out the side window to see who it was.

  Two soldiers in full military fatigues stood on his doorstep. They weren’t carrying rifles, yet their presence sent a chill down Bishop’s arms.

  “Hi, fellas,” Bishop said, easing out onto the porch. “What can I do for you?”

  The soldiers’ eyes widened at Bishop’s size, and they moved back to give him some room.

  One soldier took the lead, saying, “Bishop Shields?”

  Bishop swallowed thickly. “Yes.”

  The soldier nodded. “Your wife called in an order with Ft. Collins to come check on you and your children.”

  Relief washed over him. “So, she’s fine?”

  “As far as we know, sir,” the soldier said. “How are you and your kids?”

  “We’re doing fine, guys.” Bishop released the breath he’d been holding. “Kim, um, Mrs. Shields, gave us some instructions on how to seal the house. We’re in good shape.”

  “That’s good to hear, sir. Colonel Ward is instructing all military families and families of government employees to make their way to Colorado State University. You’re aware of the FEMA facility being set up there?”

  “I heard on the news, but I think we’ll be okay here.”

  The soldier nodded and stepped back. “Just letting you know the offer stands, sir. If you go down to the stadium, just let them know you’re Mrs. Shields’s family and they’ll get you some cots right away.”

  “Will do, guys. Thanks.” The soldiers began walking away, and Bishop held out his hand to stop them. “Hey guys, one more thing.”

  The soldiers stopped and turned, and the one who had been speaking with Bishop nodded.

  Bishop fished his cell phone out of this front pocket and held it up. “I’ve been trying to reach Kim for over two days. I can’t seem to get her. Is there any way you can call her? The news said the power is out in most places to the east, and cell phone connectivity is almost nonexistent. I was thinking you guys must have a satellite connection to Washington.”

  “As far as I know, sir, Mrs. Shields’s call came across the military line. There’s no way they’ll let you call back on that line. Sorry, sir.”

  “No, I understand.” Bishop pursed his lips and gave them a nod.

  “Maybe when things settle down, they’ll let you put a call in
.”

  With that, the soldiers marched down the walkway, got into their jeep, and drove away. Bishop retreated into the house and shut the door behind him.

  “What did the soldiers want?” Riley came in from the living room. She placed her fists on her hips with her caulk-covered index finger exposed so she wouldn’t get it everywhere. She’d rolled her jeans up and donned her “working” sneakers and a stained T-shirt from when she’d painted her room last fall.

  “Your mom sent them. She wants us—”

  Riley’s eyes grew excited. “Is Mom okay? Can we talk to her?”

  “Unfortunately, no.” Bishop held out his hands to explain why, because he knew his daughter wouldn’t stop with the questions until she found her answers. But the thudding of running feet interrupted him as his son, Trevor, half-tumbled, half-slid down the stairs.

  The boy stopped five steps from the top and leaned on the rail.

  “Wow, you guys,” Trevor said. “Did you see the military jeep out there? I think that was a Growler.” Trevor was only ten, though his interest in all types of military equipment was like nothing Bishop had ever seen.

  It had all started when Bishop was writing a military science fiction novel and showed Trevor his research. The boy had marveled at the light strike vehicles and heavier assault machines in the U.S. arsenal, and he’d kept up on current military weaponry ever since. There were many nights when Bishop came upstairs to make sure the boy was sleeping but caught him watching YouTube videos of jet flyovers and helicopter maneuvers.

  “Like I was just telling your sister,” Bishop continued his explanation. “Your mother sent some guys over to let us know we can go to the FEMA facility if we want to.”

  “Are we going to go?” Trevor asked. It was clear he was excited about the possibility of hanging around military personnel.

  “I’m not sure yet,” Bishop said. “We’ll have to see. Just keep working for now.”

  “Ariana and her family are going,” Riley said with a shift of her hips. “So is Tristen, Kyle, and Sharay. We should probably go, too.”