“He resents being here,” Kim said, “but he hasn’t been unhelpful, yet.”
The general was quiet for a moment before he spoke again. “I think we need to hold the man and assume control of all Durant-Monroe properties, both physical and intellectual. Separate him from his people and lock him in a room. Then I want you to interview him and find out what assets he has remaining. Assuming he’s still in contact with them.”
Kim nodded.
“As soon as you folks confirm that B-18 is the real deal, we’ll redirect all remaining personnel to converge on your position and escort you to the nearest Durant-Monroe production facility. Maybe we can even fly some folks in from the west coast to help make up for any labor shortages.”
“I’ll start working on that now,” Kim said with a nod. “I’m still in contact with the remaining twenty-five field teams, and I can redirect them here.”
The general looked grim. “Any theories on why the field teams are being so heavily affected?”
“By the time Asphyxia transitioned into its second phase,” Kim said, “it had already infected many of the field teams. Their symptoms wouldn’t have been noticed right away, so any decontamination protocols were too late. The teams were sleeping in infected tents and didn’t even known it.”
“They were walking around infected, thinking they were clear.”
“It just hit us too hard, too fast, sir,” Kim agreed as the heavy weight of reality bore down. “We just didn’t have the resources and the proper facilities to keep our people one hundred percent clean.” It was a truth Kim had not even admitted to herself until that moment. But the steady decline of teams reporting in over the last forty-eight hours, and signs of coughing symptoms in those teams who did report in, had shown her the truth.
“Same thing that happened to our first FEMA camp,” Miller said. There was a pause and then the general resumed his hard, determined tone. “Well, people, you have your tasks. Let’s confirm B-18 and then gather all our strength for one final push. And make sure you lock down Birkenhoff. He is not to leave the facility.”
Tom turned and gave Kim a hard look. “Kim, I want you to carry your sidearm from here on out. You got that?”
“Got it,” Kim said, secretly hoping she didn’t have to use it.
Chapter 39
Burke Birkenhoff, Washington, D.C.
Burke leaned forward in his chair and squeezed his fists tight where they rested on either side of his laptop as rage swept through him. Tom Flannery had given Burke access to the CDC communication application, and Burke had used a personal USB stick with hacking software to overhear their conversations.
At first, Burke wasn’t interested in listening to a bunch of scientists fail miserably at trying to stop the inevitable last gasp of mankind. His intention had been to wait it out and then sneak away to live out the rest of his years at his California bunker with Pauline.
But with General Miller’s order to lock Burke up against his will and take control of Durant-Monroe assets, it was clear he wouldn’t get to do that by simply playing along.
He’d have to take action.
Durant-Monroe didn’t have many assets left. The company had been losing money for years as they fought off hostile takeovers and increasing costs. Burke had lost contact with his facility leaders two days ago, and he assumed his scientists and workers had either died or abandoned the company all together.
He couldn’t tell General Miller about his company’s lack of assets if he wanted to remain valuable to them until he could escape. As soon as they found out he had nothing to offer, they’d toss him in a dungeon and throw away the key.
“They think they can hold me here,” Burke sneered. “It’s not going to happen.”
“Sounds like we’re about to bust out of here, boss.” Pauline sat cross legged on the bed, her long legs drawn up beneath her and her hands resting on her knees in a meditative pose. She wore a skintight pair of jeans and a plain black T-shirt with the bottom portion tied up at her waist.
“You run interference down by the quarantine area,” Burke said. “Don’t let that pesky scientist release those soldiers. I’ll grab Richtman, the boys, and our guns. We’ll take over the facility.”
“Aren’t the guns locked away?” Pauline asked.
“I have the code to the storage closet,” Burke said with a snide grin.
Pauline stood up and slipped her feet into a pair of sneakers. Then she crossed over to their bags and got out the pistol she’d hidden in one of the side compartments. “What if Shields becomes difficult?”
Burke glanced pointedly at the pistol in Pauline’s hand.
After a moment, Burke saw that Pauline was struggling with the idea. Her nose and cheeks held a wincing expression, as if she’d just stubbed her toe on a piece of furniture. Pushing back his chair, Burke crossed the room and used his index finger to lift her chin.
“We’re not in the old world anymore,” he said. “It’s dog eat dog out there now, and no one’s going to look out for us but ourselves.”
Pauline didn’t seem convinced. “I’ve done a lot of things for you, Burke. A lot of really bad, dirty things. But this is by far the dirtiest. I’m not sure I can do it.”
“Don’t do it for me, dear.” A slight snarl worked its way onto Burke’s face. “Remember this. It won’t be just me and Richter they’ll keep locked up down here. It’ll be you, too. Oh, sure, it will be comfortable for a while. We’ll have plenty of food and water. They might even treat us well.” He added a sinister note to his voice. “But, mark my words, there will come a day when the food and water will run out, and only scraps will remain. Do you think they’ll spare a bite for us?”
Burke lifted Pauline’s chin higher. Fear and uncertainty filled her eyes, though she hung on Burke’s every word, and that’s exactly where he wanted her.
He pressed her. “Or, they’ll all get sick first and die sooner than that. How are you going to break out of your quarantine cell after they leave you there to rot? They’ll be too sick and tired to get out of bed.”
“They say they have a cure,” Pauline said.
Burke shook his head. “Maybe they do have a cure, but that won’t stop the death of society and the pain of restarting.” Burke pulled his finger away and took a step back. “I’ll leave it up to you, Pauline. But I can promise you one thing. If we do what we need to do, get out of here, and get back on that bus, I promise you’ll be sipping margaritas on the back patio of our bunker inside a week. We’ll be far too high for any fungus to reach. You’ll gaze out over the Pacific Ocean and forget all about this gloomy part of our lives. Many of our friends are already there, waiting for us.”
Pauline gripped the gun tighter. “I guess we have to make some hard decisions.”
Burke stepped back and gestured at the door. “Nothing good in life is ever gained without a big decision. You know what decisions I’ve had to make. Can I count on you to do the same?”
Pauline took a deep breath and tucked the pistol behind her hip inside the waistband of her jeans and strode from the room.
Chapter 40
Moe Tsosie, Jack Rabbit Road, Arizona
Moe and Lane stood outside of Coyote’s in the late morning sun. He tossed the last empty gas can down and gripped the lighter in his hand.
“You didn’t have to help me,” Moe said with a glance over at the bodies of the marauders they’d dragged to the side of the parking lot. A group of vultures had already descended to feast on the bullet-ridden corpses, and Moe expected coyotes and other creatures to follow.
“I know I didn’t,” Lane said. “But I liked Rocko, too. I didn’t know him as long as you, but he made people feel at home.”
“That he did,” Moe conceded. “And now the world’s worse off with him gone.”
Moe recalled the first time he’d ever stepped into Coyote’s almost a decade ago. Rocko greeted him the first time much like the last, with peaceful intent and a welcoming heart.
“
I called him my brother,” Moe said, choking the words out through a tight throat. It hurt Moe to say. Still, it was the truth, a proud truth.
He flicked the striker on the lighter and tossed it onto the line of gasoline he’d drawn to where they stood. The flames caught, racing along the flammable trail until it hit Coyote’s and went up with an audible whoosh and blast of heat.
Moe and Lane took two steps back and watched as fire licked across the front and crawled up the dry-rotted siding. The flames reached the top and danced along the roof. Soon, fire engulfed the entire structure, and sweat formed on Moe’s forehead and dripped down his temples.
“I’ll head out now,” Lane said with a pat on Moe’s shoulder.
Moe turned and held out his hand. “It was good meeting you Sergeant First Class Lane Tithing.”
“You too, Staff Sergeant Tsosie.” Lane took Moe’s hand in a firm grip and shook it.
“Maybe we’ll meet again.”
“Maybe,” Lane grinned, and his steel-gray eyes sparked with mirth. “But probably not.”
“Where are you headed? Just in case I make it out that way.”
“El Paso.” Lane said, and his expression turned wistful. “After that, who knows?”
“Got it,” Moe grinned. “Good luck, sir.”
“You too.” Lane released Moe’s hand and turned back to his truck. He paused. “Oh, that reminds me.” The man picked up one of the AR-15s and a pack of what Moe assumed was ammunition and placed it next to Moe’s truck.
“I can’t take that,” Moe said, though his eyes lingered on the weapon. He knew the weapon was worth its weight in gold.
“You can, and you will,” Lane insisted. “You’re an excellent shot, and I can’t think of anyone else who would put it to better use than you.”
“Thanks.”
Lane walked to his blue Mack R Series and climbed in. The rig rumbled to life, and the man pulled away with a brief salute to Moe. Moe returned the gesture and watched the rig pull across to the main road on its way to the entry ramp. The truck took I-40 east toward Holbrook, and the diesel engine faded until Moe stood alone next to the crackling building. Moe said a silent prayer for Lane and waved one last time.
He turned back to Coyote’s and watched as the flames devoured the place. Within forty-five minutes, the roof caved in, and the walls followed. At that point, Moe figured Rocko’s corpse was burning, too.
The fire burned for another thirty minutes before he stowed the AR-15, several magazines of ammunition, and a backpack of nonperishable foods in his truck. Once loaded, Moe climbed up into the driver’s seat and slammed the door shut behind him. He started the rig and sat for a moment while it idled.
With several quick tugs of his horn, Moe pulled away and headed for home.
Chapter 41
Randy and Jenny Tucker, Kentland, Indiana
Randy walked out of the house and into the warm, cloudy day. As he moved to the truck, he avoided patches of fungus, a habit that was becoming instinctual.
He waited for his sister there, staring out across their ruined crops and the patches of green grass and trees trying to stay alive against the BD. He found himself silently rooting for those patches of green, desperate to break through the crimson and black fungus.
A glance at the sky showed storm clouds drifting toward them, but there were no traces of spores in the air.
“Happy Saturday morning,” Jenny called as she came up and put her arm around her brother.
“Hey, sis,” Randy responded.
“What are you looking at?”
Randy twisted his lips in disgust. “Just staring at the fungus and wanting to burn it all away.”
“That would probably work.”
“There’s not enough gasoline in the world to do it,” he said. “But someone in Indianapolis will have a better solution.”
“You still want to drive there today after we get our chorin’ done for the sheriff?” Jenny said “chorin’” with a slight drawl.
“Yes, I do.” Randy gave a firm nod. “So, let’s try to keep it short with the sheriff today. We’ll see if they need help to feed the inmates again, but then we’re cutting out early and heading to Indianapolis.
“What about the folks at the library?”
“They’ll be fine,” Randy replied. “They’ve got enough food for two days, and they’re down in the basement where they’ve got clean air for now.” He saw the doubtful expression on Jenny’s face. “Okay, we’ll swing by and tell Mrs. Brody what we’re going to do. It’s less than two hours into the city, so we’ll be back before anyone even knows we’re gone.”
“Should we see if Officer Smith wants to go with us?”
“I don’t think so,” Randy said. “They’ve got enough to worry about. We’ll tell the sheriff what we heard on the news and then we’re leaving. I’m sure he won’t object when I tell him we’ll bring back some help.”
They stood in silence, and Randy’s eyes scanned the edge of the field where their parents lay buried beneath fungal growth.
“You know, right about now I’d be calling the guys to go shooting or do some fishing,” Randy said. “This was my favorite time of year when the crops were in the ground and school was out.”
“Nothing to do but have fun,” Jenny agreed, following his gaze. “I’d be sleeping late and then heading out for a run.”
“The good old days,” Randy said.
“Think we’ll ever get them back?”
Randy wrapped his arm around his sister’s shoulder and gave her a brief squeeze. “I hope so, sis. I hope so. Come on, let’s go check on Ally.”
The twins got into the truck, shutting the doors gently as they’d trained themselves to do. Randy started up the old Ford and pulled onto US-41 north toward Ally’s place.
They rode in silence, Randy glancing in his rearview mirror as their tires stirred up tendrils of BD. The spread on the road was thin and stretched out. The BD probably couldn’t get much nourishment from dry rock.
“We’re on our way, Ally,” Jenny sang.
“Sorry we didn’t make it there yesterday,” Randy said. “But part of me was happy. Those inmates pissed me off, and I needed a break.”
“It won’t be so bad next time.” Jenny shook her head. “Maybe we can even help some of those guys get out of there, because I think you’re right. Someone needs to decide who should stay in the jail and who gets to leave. I thought about how to tell Sheriff Stans, too.”
“That’s cool,” Randy nodded, happy to have her input.
Randy pulled the truck into Ally’s driveway.
The old farmstead looked serene beneath the shade of the hundred-year-old oak trees, and the yard was lumpy with their bulging roots. Patches of fungus had fallen off the trees and into the yard, and Randy hoped that was a good sign.
Randy glanced at Goldy’s corpse as they crossed to the front porch and stepped up. Jenny knocked, and they waited. She knocked again, and they waited some more.
When no one came, Jenny walked around the house and peered in through the windows, although there wasn’t much to see. Ally had covered them all with plastic garbage bags like they’d told her.
“I don’t like it,” Jenny said, frowning at the house.
“Do you think she might have left?”
Jenny turned and looked out toward the Honda out by the barn. “Her car’s still here.”
An uneasy feeling stirred in Randy’s belly.
Jenny returned to the front porch and knocked one more time, extra loud, before she opened the storm door and tried the doorknob. The door opened as soon as she touched it. Randy noticed part of the frame had snapped where someone had broken in.
Jenny looked back at him with a worried expression.
“Back up, sis,” Randy said. He drew his pistol from his coverall pocket and stepped in front of her, glancing around the dimly lit living room as he entered.
Jenny opened the front door wider, and light spilled in to reveal the house
in disarray. Sneaker prints and spots of fungus marked the hallway leading into the kitchen. On his left, Randy saw furniture had been knocked over.
“Someone fought here,” Randy said.
Jenny stepped into the living room, yelling, “Ally! Ally, are you okay?”
“Sis, wait,” Randy said, but Jenny was already stomping through the living room and into the back of the house.
Cursing under his breath, Randy followed her, keeping the barrel of his gun pointed downward. As he passed through the living room, he saw a TV dinner tray dumped on the floor along with a bowl of something dark, like soup, and a book. The covers and blankets Ally had been sleeping on were tossed to the side and scattered across the floor.
Randy hurried through the house and caught up with his sister at the end of the hallway. She stood stock still at the threshold of a room, staring at something that lay just inside.
“Who could have done this, Randy?” she sobbed, putting her hand to her chest and clutching at her overalls.
Randy edged past her and looked into the room. He wasn’t familiar with the layout of Ally’s house, though judging by the posters and teenage-style lace decorations all over the room, it must be Ally’s bedroom.
The young woman lay on her back, arms and legs splayed, mouth wide open, trails of fungus ran from the corners of her lips.
Her air filtration mask had been ripped from her face, and her head had been caved in by some blunt weapon. Blood and parts of her skull and brain spattered the carpet.
Randy felt the contents of his breakfast start to come up, and he had to turn away before he hurled all over Ally’s corpse.
“Oh, Ally.” Jenny’s voice sounded frail behind her visor. Then her knees gave out, and she slid to the floor.
“Stay here.” Randy wanted to help his sister; however, the killer might still be in the house. He stepped inside Ally’s bedroom, avoiding any blood, and glanced around. Seeing no signs of the killer or his weapon, Randy stepped back into the hallway and checked all the rooms before returning to his sister where she knelt sobbing by Ally’s side. Jenny held the young woman’s hand, stroking her palm as her chest hitched.
Spore Series (Book 1): Spore Page 23
