Spore Series (Book 1): Spore

by Soward, Kenny

  The front door of the jail flew open, and the bedraggled sheriff jogged out, half waving. “Hey, I was hoping I’d catch you before you left. Sorry for the inmates’ language. They’re not pleasant people, but we appreciate the help.”

  “No worries, Sheriff,” Randy said. “It’s a tough situation in there.”

  “Yes, it is. And that’s why I need your help again.”

  Randy glanced at his still-rattled sister. “What’s the job, sheriff?”

  “We need you to collect more fuel for the generators.” His brow arched and he lifted his eyes to gaze across the town. “We’ve got about three days of fuel left, but I’d like to stockpile it now. I figure you can check the gas stations and see if any of them will pump. If not, we can figure out how to get them working later. So, what you’ll need to do is—”

  “What’s that going to get you, sheriff?” Randy threw up his hands in frustration.

  “What’s that, son?”

  “I mean, you’ve got some dangerous guys in there.” Randy gestured toward the building. “I’ll bet every one of those jerks is thinking of a way to get out of there. And Officer Smith and the other guys are exhausted.”

  The sheriff was a good inch taller than Randy. He stood stiffly and looked down his nose at the young man. “You don’t think I know all that? You don’t think I know we’re walking on a razor’s edge?”

  “No, I know you do.” Randy shook his head. “I’m just saying, it’s a disaster waiting to happen.”

  “What would you have me do, Randy?” The sheriff’s stern eyes bore down. “Want me to let them out?”

  “No way.” Randy shook his head. “Especially not Krumer.”

  “Want me to just abandon the place and leave them to die?” The sheriff hardened his tone. “Some of them did nothing more than smoke some weed. Others just had a few too many drinks and got a little rowdy.”

  Randy thought about the two older men who were in for drunk and disorderly. “Not all of them. Just the bad ones.”

  The sheriff shifted his weight to his other leg. “So, you want me to get out their case files? We can round up some coffee and donuts and make a day of going through them. You can help me decide which ones get to die. Sound good?”

  “I’m not a judge.” Randy shook his head again and looked away from the sheriff. He was seeing the deeper layer to all this, and his admiration grew for the men sticking to their posts.

  “Well, neither am I.” Stans’ voice sank lower as his weariness returned. “So, how about you just go get us the gas?”

  Sheriff Stans turned and walked back inside the jail.

  Chapter 37

  Randy and Jenny Tucker, Kentland, Indiana

  After a long day of gathering gasoline and scavenging for the library people, Randy and Jenny climbed out of the old Ford and stumbled to the front door of their home. The generator was still running, and one faint light shone through the interior of the house, giving it a warm and inviting glow.

  As they approached the front door, Randy saw that the fungus had encroached around the doorframe once more. It looked like some evil portal from a haunted house.

  Randy opened the front door, grabbed a bucket of bleach from just inside, and scrubbed the fungus from around the frame. Once done, he and Jenny decontaminated. They left their soiled coveralls to soak in the utility sink and stripped their air filtration masks off to breathe in cool, fresh air for the first time all day.

  “Taking off my mask after a long day will never get old,” Randy said. He used disinfectant soap to wash his face and then stood at the top of the basement stairs, waiting on Jenny.

  “We didn’t even get a new vehicle,” Jenny said as she took off her own mask and finished disinfecting her skin.

  “We’ll get one tomorrow,” Randy said as he led his sister down the stairs into their safe place. “It’s not like we’re going anywhere soon. We’re probably stuck feeding those inmates forever.”

  “A lot of them were sick,” Jenny said, leaving the significance of her words to linger in the air.

  Randy remembered what one of the inmates had said about “stuff” coming up from their toilets, so he inspected the drains in their kitchenette and bathroom and sprayed bleach into them to ensure there was nothing coming up from the septic tanks.

  They each took a shower, dressed in shorts and T-shirts, and microwaved some soup. They pulled out two TV dinner trays and ate in front of the white noise of the television.

  “The folks at the library were in friendly spirits today,” Jenny said as she ate.

  “They’re still alive,” Randy nodded. “And they’ve got us to bring them supplies, for now. I’m just not sure how long we can keep this up with the sheriff’s demands. If we’re stuck helping around town, we won’t have time to search for other survivors. I mean, who knows who else is out there doing what we’re doing just to survive.”

  “What if one of us drove down to Indianapolis to check on the FEMA camp there?” Jenny asked, hopefully. “Maybe they can help us, or at least give us a place to bring people to.”

  “That’s what I’ve been thinking.” Randy slurped some beef barley soup off his spoon. “I was thinking about it as soon as we heard that last news report, but then we got busy. I’ll talk to the sheriff about it tomorrow.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” Jenny finished her soup and pushed the tray away from her. Randy finished a moment later. He could normally eat two or three bowls of soup, and a sandwich on top of that, but they had to ration their supplies.

  Randy sat back on the couch with a sigh and then winced as Jenny’s feet landed in his lap. Looking over he saw that she’d turned sideways on the couch and stretched her long legs all the way across.

  “You should rub my feet.”

  “I’m not rubbing these nasty things.” Randy grabbed her big toe and jerked it playfully.

  Jenny yowled and wiggled. “Hey, you used to rub them when we were little!”

  “Your feet were a lot smaller then,” Randy grinned mischievously. “These things are boats now.”

  “Hey, you know I hate my enormous feet.” Jenny flashed him a mock frown and pulled her legs back.

  Randy grabbed her feet and held them in his lap with a chuckle. “Just kidding, sis.” Then he stroked the top of her foot like he had when they were little kids.

  “Ah, that’s much better,” Jenny said, settling into the couch and resting her head back.

  Soon, he heard light snores coming from her end of the couch and saw she’d fallen fast asleep. Randy stared ahead, stroking his sister’s skin and thinking back on better days before their lives had been snapped in two.

  Jenny had always been there for Randy after a big football loss, listening to him rant about the mistakes he’d made and what the team needed to do to get better. She’d always brought him ice for his shoulder and helped him stretch his bruised body the following day. And he’d always helped Jenny train for her track meets, offering advice and spending hours at the track to help her improve her race times.

  He would never forget the time she’d won her first meet and they’d celebrated with their parents at the Pizza King. They were sophomores at the time, and Jenny was over the moon at having blown the competition away in the first 5000m race of the season. She’d never looked back after that, getting faster and faster over the next three years.

  They had always taken care of each other. Even when Randy had a girlfriend or Jenny had a boyfriend, they always ended up being the most important things in each other’s lives besides their mother and father.

  Randy suspected that being twins gave them a special bond, something that went beyond a regular sibling relationship. He was certainly thankful that he had Jenny now, and he wouldn’t know what to do without her.

  That’s why he had to protect her above all else. No matter how much responsibility the sheriff placed on Randy’s head with the inmates, Jenny was the most important thing. More important than every man in that jail or every p
erson left alive in town, as far as Randy was concerned.

  Chapter 38

  Kim Shields, Washington, D.C.

  “Good to see you’re up early.”

  Kim looked up to see Bryant enter the commons area. He still wore his fatigues and boots with his pistol strapped to his hip. He hadn’t shaved, and the dark growth around his jaw made his ice-blue eyes stand out even more.

  “I’ve hardly gotten any sleep at all.” Kim stifled a yawn over her coffee cup.

  “You and me both.” Bryant went to the coffee maker, replaced the old pod with a fresh one, and brewed a fresh cup. “I walked the halls a dozen times overnight. Burke and his merry band are locked away in their room.”

  “Up to no good, I’m sure,” Kim said. In her exhaustion, she’d forgotten about her resentment toward the CEO and the danger he presented being here. “I’m almost tempted to kick him and his buddies out. We got what we needed from him.”

  “You could do that,” Bryant said. He pulled over a chair and sat opposite Kim. “But I think General Miller will want to keep him around in case things get back to normal. You know, to dole out some justice.”

  “I’d love to see that,” Kim said with a faint smile, then she shook her head. “But I don’t think things will be back to normal any time soon. I mean, have you realized how many millions have died already? Can you imagine what it’s going to take to repopulate the world? I mean, there could be entire countries wiped out.”

  “It’s hard to wrap my head around,” Bryant said. “I’m just trying to fly straight and perform one task after another.”

  “I think everyone left alive will need to think like that to get through this.”

  “Did you hear from the little girl?” Bryant asked. “What was her name? Fiona?”

  Kim shook her head. “We haven’t heard a thing. I have one of the CDC field teams out looking for her now, but my guess is that their chopper crashed. I hope she’s still alive.”

  Bryant looked grim and sipped his coffee.

  Kim sighed and rubbed her hands down her face.

  “You okay?”

  “I just miss my husband and kids,” Kim smiled. “They’re in Ft. Collins. I haven’t been able to reach them directly, but I spoke to some folks at my old office, and they promised to check in on them. They’ve got their hands full, too. Some of the spore clouds drifted through the drier part of the country. They’ve reported contaminated air reaching Nebraska, Kansas, Oklahoma, and even California.”

  “That’s not good.” Bryant shook his head. “And it explains why I’ve heard nothing from Missy.”

  “It that your wife?”

  Bryant nodded. “She’s stationed at Edwards Air Force Base in California.”

  “She a pilot?”

  “She is,” Bryant smiled fondly. “I already asked her to fly out here and pick me up, but she denied my request. She has other orders.”

  Kim chuckled, and it felt good to laugh after several days of death, sleeplessness, and hard work. “So, you got to talk to her?”

  “Two days ago,” Bryant said. “They were planning on airlifting supplies and troops to the FEMA camps in the spore zone, but if what you say is true—”

  “Kim, can you come to the control center? I have something you might want to see,” Dr. Flannery called through the intercom.

  “Duty calls,” Kim said to Bryant.

  “Is Lieutenant Colonel Bryant with you, by any chance?”

  “Right here, Doc,” Bryant said, raising his voice.

  “This may interest you, too.”

  “Be right there.”

  Kim exchanged a look with Bryant, and the two got up and exited the commons. Tom’s voice sounded encouraging, so Kim moved at a hurried pace, and the long strides of the soldier kept up with her. They came to the control center door, and Kim swiped her ID against the reader. She waited for the door to slide open and they stepped inside.

  Tom stood over by the high-tech equipment, peering into one of the high-powered microscopes. As they approached, the doctor looked up from the instrument, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

  “Don’t smile at me that way unless you have something amazing to say,” Kim said, looking hopeful.

  Tom barely hid his excitement. “Have you looked at Samantha Roger’s blood after we tried solution B-18?”

  “Not for a few hours,” Kim said.

  “I added a protein inhibitor to the treatment plan, and the combination broke down Asphyxia’s cell wall. The protein inhibitor keeps the cells from repairing themselves and enables the patient’s own immune system to attack the cells.”

  “That’s amazing, Tom.” Tears of relief welled in her eyes. “Provided the fungus doesn’t mutate again.”

  “Well, Samantha is a long way from full remission.” Tom’s tone grew more subdued as he stepped away from the microscope and gestured to Kim. “But the initial findings look great.”

  Kim bent over the microscope and studied the breakdown of the cells. She noticed several flowery fungal cells already split open and the super-charged white blood cells cleaning them up. It was beautiful.

  She stepped back from the microscope and put her hand to her chest. “This is a huge first step.” Then she opened her arms and caught the doctor off guard with an embrace.

  Tom chuckled and hugged her back, lifting Kim off the ground. They turned to Bryant. The soldier held up his hand, and Kim and Tom each gave him a high five.

  “We need to tell Atlanta as soon as possible,” Tom said. He grabbed his laptop where it rested next to the microscope and sidestepped over to the conference room door.

  Kim followed the doctor but then turned to see Bryant lingering in the center of the room. “Bryant can come, too?”

  “Please, join us, Bryant,” the doctor waved the soldier over. “I want to bring General Miller in on this, and the president.”

  “Yes, sir.” Bryant quick-stepped over to them.

  They got situated in the room with Kim and Bryant on one side of the conference table and Tom on the other. The doctor sat down, pulled the conference control pad in front of him, and began sending out calls for the Atlanta CDC to join.

  “I’m calling the Atlanta CDC, the president’s line, and General Miller,” the doctor said. “We might not get them all on video, but I’m hoping they can at least dial in on audio.” Tom sat back, opened his laptop, and waited.

  Kim turned her body to the monitor and built-in camera at the end of the conference table. She saw her reflection in the black monitor screen. She’d pulled her hair back into a ponytail, though several loose strands hung around her face, and her eyes looked tired.

  Despite her exhaustion, the new test results had her blood pumping with excitement, and she couldn’t wait to give Atlanta the news. The only problem was that Atlanta never came online. The screen remained blank, even after several minutes.

  “What’s going on?” Tom said, sounding worried.

  “Bob and Alison looked sick on the last conference call.” Kim said. “I haven’t received anything from them for sixteen hours.”

  “Nancy must be down, too,” Tom said, sounding defeated.

  Finally, the monitor flickered to life and Nancy Wilkens’s face flashed on the screen. Relief washed over Kim. She had gotten used to Nancy’s gruff voice, and it was good to know she was still alive.

  “Thank God, Nancy,” Tom lifted his head, eyes wide. “We didn’t think you were going to answer.”

  The woman spoke but immediately started coughing. She covered her mouth with a napkin to hide the telltale signs of Asphyxia; flecks of black and pink mucous.

  When she was able to speak, Nancy lowered the napkin and wiped the corner across her bottom lip. “Sorry, Tom, but it looks like the fungus got me too.” The woman’s voice sounded like sandpaper, and she looked delirious. “I’ve got everyone else resting. I’ll tell you though, none of us are doing well.” Nancy covered her mouth and coughed again.

  “We’ve made so
me progress,” Tom said, and he rattled off the details about solution B-18 and the protein inhibitor that seemed to wreak havoc on Asphyxia’s cell walls. “I’ll send you the compound details now.” Tom’s voice was full of grim determination. “You should be able to synthesize enough to give your team a fighting chance.”

  Nancy’s head bobbed tiredly. “Thanks, Tom. Great work.”

  Kim leaned forward. “Do you need one of us to come to you, Nancy? We could synthesize something here and get it down to you in sixteen hours or so.”

  “Nonsense,” Nancy straightened in her chair, eyes lighting up as her voice took a forceful tone. “I can do it here and get it administered in half the time.”

  “It’s not been widely tested,” Tom reminded them. “B-18 is an extremely preliminary formula. The side effects—"

  “Damn the side effects,” Nancy grimaced. “We can’t perfect the formula if we’re dead. Once we confirm B-18 really works, we’ll need to make as much of it as we can for distribution to the FEMA camps.”

  Nancy’s eyes turned to Kim. “You need to meet with Birkenhoff and see where he can lend a hand. There’s a Durant-Monroe Chemical plant in Cincinnati, but I don’t know what their capabilities are and who they have left to help us.”

  Kim nodded just as the conference line beeped.

  “This is General Miller,” a gruff voice said. “I’ve only got a minute. What’s happening?”

  “Thanks for your time, General,” Tom said. “Will the president be joining us?”

  “No, but he hopes you have some good news for us.”

  “We do,” Tom said, and he broke down what had transpired with B-18 and their plans to continue testing it, mostly on themselves in order to stay alive.

  “If it works, do you think Birkenhoff can help us mass produce it?” the general asked.

  “If any of his labs and facilities are still functional,” Nancy said, “they should be able to help. We’ve contracted them to produce other vaccines and medicines in the past. I’m just not sure they have the people to pull it off.”

  “What’s his mood like?” Miller asked.