“Bingo,” he grinned into his mask.
“You find some tires?”
“I found the whole Parts Department. I’ll grab what we need and roll them out. Be ready with the door.”
“Roger that.”
“How’s it look out there?”
“Still nothing.”
“Good.” Bishop shouldered his carbine, pulled the tire list out of his shirt pocket, and moved to the rack.
He shined his flashlight on the paper and then against the sidewalls to match the type he needed. He found two, pulled them from the rack, and placed them to the side.
His ears caught a sudden clicking and rattling sound inside the bay. He spun and shined his light through the window. The same glare reflected off the glass, making it impossible to see.
“Did you hear that?” Bishop snuck to the door and cast his beam into the cavernous space. Nothing moved, and a quietness lay about the place. “It sounded like someone shaking a can of spray paint.”
Trevor hesitated. “The external mic picked it up, but I don’t see anyone on camera. I see your light in the back of the bay, but that’s it.”
After a moment of searching, he chalked it up to the wind, or some loose can that had rolled off a shelf. He shook his head and returned to the tire rack. Bishop pulled three more good ones down, checked the treads, and pushed them into the bay.
“Here I come,” he said as an anxious feeling grew in his gut. “Open the door.”
He rolled one tire Hand-over-hand between the bays and tool chests, eyes scanning to the left and right, searching shadows for threats. He felt defenseless with his palms pushing on the dirty treads, gun rattling on his back. Still, he made it to the Stryker without incident, feeling like he’d run a gauntlet. He only had to do it four or five more times.
He shoved the tire into the crew area and turned it on its side. “Leave the door open but keep an eye on it.”
The boy nodded, and Bishop jogged back to the parts room. He rolled a second tire out, and then another, always glancing into corners and up at the truck cabs, half-expecting someone to leap out and surprise him.
Soon he had all five stacked in the Stryker’s crew section. He returned to the bay and found a decent-sized toolbox sitting on a workbench. He removed the things he didn’t need and filled it up with wrenches, two six-pound mallets, and two cans of bolt loosening spray. After placing it in the vehicle, he went back and scored a powerful hydraulic jack which he manhandled into the Stryker.
After he’d loaded everything on board, he leaned against the stack of tires and held his carbine at the ready. “Okay, close it.”
The door lifted with a mechanical whine, easing shut as Bishop peered around the edges into the dwindling gloom. He’d worked up a sweat in his haste to collect the tires and tools, and his breath came shallow and raspy.
He rested his carbine in a crew seat and felt his way to the front. Then he buckled himself in and shot Trevor an earnest look. “Now, let’s change some tires.”
Chapter 3
Randy, Indianapolis, Indiana
Randy parked the forklift and hopped down. He jogged to the wall, pulled a coiled power cable from its hook, and dragged it back to the machine. He plugged it in and turned the charger on so it would be ready for the next shift.
He wiped the sweat off his brow with his shirt sleeve and looked at the progress the camp had made over the past few days. More racks stood with tons of goods in them, filling a quarter of the warehouse.
They brought in ten or fifteen new people every day, and the housing facility was filled to bursting. They’d have to relocate to a larger place soon.
He didn’t worry about any of that. It was critical for him to get back into John’s good graces and pick up another scouting assignment with Dodger. Anything besides driving the forklift. It was tedious work, and his neck ached from looking up all the time. Randy rubbed it to loosen the kinks while he searched for Tricia.
On cue, she rolled up in her wheelchair with a welcoming smile. “I’m starving. How about you?”
“I could eat,” he replied. As they turned toward the cafeteria, he nodded. “I thought you were ditching your wheels for crutches.”
“I tried.” She shook her head, ponytail bouncing over the back of her chair. “The hip just won’t have it. It’s better, though. Give me a couple of days and I’ll be back on my feet.”
“My mom had a hip injury once.” Randy remembered when his mother had fallen in the shed helping his father with tractor repairs. “Really did a number on her, but she recovered.”
He winced inwardly as the unbidden image of Anita Tucker choking on spores flashed in his mind. He shook his head to eject the memory, replacing it with a shaky grin.
“Where’s Jenny?” Tricia asked, shoving on her wheels. “I haven’t seen her around.”
“She’s been hanging out with that David guy a lot.” Randy’s grin faded. He let his hand rest on her wheelchair handle as he strolled along next to her. “I’ve hardly seen her since she switched to the later shift with him.”
“You taking it okay?” The soldier shoved her wheels once and coasted for ten feet before glancing up at him. “I mean, you’re super overprotective.”
“We’re both protective of each other,” Randy agreed, then his grin spread wider. “You should have heard what she said about you when she caught on that I liked you.”
Tricia gasped and pulled an incredulous face. “Do tell!”
“It was nothing,” he laughed it off. “She just didn’t want to see me hurt. She thought you were a cold-blooded soldier.”
“I am, but I have a soft, squishy center,” she winked. “You just have to break through my hard, outer shell.”
“That’s so true,” he chuckled.
They rolled into the cafeteria where they had a choice of stew or chili, both a mixture of food stuffs on hand. Could be meat and tomatoes one day, chicken and dumplings with beans the next. Randy figured it was easier for the cooks to throw together what they had than force standard meals on everyone.
“I’ll take the stew,” Tricia said, rolling up to a table. “And some crackers too, please.”
Randy fetched their dinners, brought them back, and placed them on the table. He returned for two cups of warm, unsweetened iced tea, and the cook tossed him two packs of snack cakes for dessert.
He sat and grabbed a bottle of hot sauce, sprinkling it on his chili and crumbling crackers over the top. He ate in silence for the first few bites, enjoying the woman’s company and grateful for the meal.
His eyes drifted back to the chow line. “I wonder when the fresh produce is going to run out? Leafy vegetables are already toast, but the corn, peppers, and tomatoes will last awhile.”
“I have no idea what John has or what he’s planning.” She scooped some stew and held it in front of her lips, pausing to speak before she wolfed it down. “It’s not like they’re forthright with information around here.”
“I don’t blame them.” Randy made a sour face. “You never know who they’ll bring in. I’m not sure John is even interviewing people anymore.
“Still mad they let Kirk in?”
“Not mad. Concerned.”
“Look, Kirk was one of the first people at the Colony. He was on my scavenging team for two weeks before things went belly up. I know you had a bad experience with him, but that doesn’t make him a spy.”
“Yeah, I know,” Randy replied. He changed the subject. “Anyway, we had a grow house out back at our farm, and I helped my father with his hydroponics grow beds. I might talk to John about helping them set up something like that. Maybe I can get reassigned.”
“You must be anxious to get away from me.” Tricia looked wounded.
“That’s not it at all,” he replied, shooting her a sheepish grin. “I mean, I want to be with you, but I get sick of driving a forklift. I can see this stretching out for weeks and months.”
“But you're so good at it.”
&nb
sp; “But I can do...” Randy let his words trail off as he watched two men stroll in from the gymnasium tunnel. It was Dodger and Kirk, talking and laughing as they angled for the warehouse.
“I’ll be right back,” Randy said, and he put down his spoon and leapt up, hurrying after the two. He caught up with them as they reached the last row of storage racks. “Heya, Dodger.”
The pair stopped and turned, their conversation broken. Kirk flashed Randy a dark look while the scout was pleased to see him.
“Hey, Randy, my boy. What’s up?” Dodger held out his hand, and he return-slapped it.
“Can I talk to you a second?” He made a head gesture back toward the cafeteria. “Alone.”
“Sure, buddy.” The scout glanced at Kirk. “Wait by the receiving area doors. I’ll be right behind you.”
Kirk twisted his lips in a doubtful frown but nodded and moved on.
Dodger squared up to Randy and folded his arms across his chest. “What’s up?”
“I just wondered if Kirk was going out scouting with you.” Randy regretted the words as soon as he spoke them. He sounded awkward and petty, and his exaggerated hand gestures didn’t help.
Dodger grinned at his discomfort. “Aw, are you jealous?”
“No. I know Kirk. He’s from the Colony, and he was one of the first people I met. The guy--”
“Gave you a hard time,” Dodger cut him off. “You two had some issues before, but he tells me everything’s cleared up. Are you saying that’s not true? Because John thinks you two are good. If you’re not, we need to let him know.”
Randy’s face grew hot with embarrassment. He didn’t want to sound like a child. “No, we’re fine, but I’m not going to lie. I don’t have a good feeling about him.”
Dodger shifted his crossed arms. “Go on.”
“When the shit hit the fan back at the Colony,” Randy explained, “he and a girl with him, Stephanie. They were together when they bolted. I never saw them apart. Now, here he is without her.”
“You think he’s a Colony plant?”
“Exactly.”
“He told us what happened,” the scout acknowledged. “He said Stephanie got lost and picked up. He said he would have been shot if he’d gone back for her. I feel kind of bad for him. It was a tough choice to make.
Randy shook his head. “I just can’t see how Odom didn’t catch both of them.”
“He didn’t catch you and Jenny, did he?”
“Only because John showed up.”
Dodger scoffed and shook his head. “Tell you what, man. I’ll keep an eye on Kirk while we’re out.” He patted Randy’s shoulder. “And I’ll let John know if he says or does anything suspicious. I swear.”
Randy paused and bit his lip. He had no other evidence, and no recourse. “I wish I was going out with you.”
The scout backed up, holding his hands out with a shrug. “Hey, man. You screwed up. That’s the price you pay.”
“I hope they pull me off the forklift soon. It’s one dead-end job.”
Dodger laughed and shook his head. “I’ll catch you later.” The thin, shifty man turned on his heel and jogged off.
Randy stared after him, envious they were going out in the Tesla to do something worthwhile. He imagined the shifting forces of the impossibly fast car on his muscles and bones. The way it hugged corners and ran circles around the Colony troops.
His eyes moved past Dodger to the other end of the warehouse. The workers looked small as they sorted scavenged product and stacked it on skids. Standing amongst them was Kirk, feet spread, and arms folded over his chest.
Randy couldn’t read the man’s expression, but judging by his tight stance and hunched shoulders, he wore a scowl.
Chapter 4
Jessie, Yellow Springs, Ohio
Jessie hugged the wall with her one good arm and leaned right to peer out the second-story window that overlooked Paul Henderson’s front yard. Two oak trees stood as sentinels in the overgrown grass, casting wide shadows across one corner of the house.
His driveway circled from the garage and twisted down into the forest to the access road to Yellow Springs. The woods were thick and tall, boughs swaying in the light wind.
Gray fungus clung weakly to the branches and leaves, much of it falling in clumps to the ground.
“It’s dying,” she whispered. “It must be. Please, be dying.” She took a deep breath, noting it wasn’t accompanied by the usual congestion caused by the Asphyxia spores.
She reminded herself to gather some air samples before the day was out. She’d planned on doing that until Burke had loosed his mercenaries on them in a move that had nearly destroyed them.
With a sigh, she shifted her right arm in its sling and turned away from the window. She strode across the bedroom and almost hit someone coming in. Jessie twisted to the side to protect her arm. The quick move drew a shock of pain from her shoulder socket. The person she’d almost hit was the combat medic, Doug Weissman, and he jerked back at the same time. “Whoa!” he said.
“Sorry,” Jessie piped, spinning in the hallway to face the soldier. “I should watch where I’m going.”
“No, it’s totally my fault,” he apologized, his dark eyes staring back at her through his protective visor. The medic was a tall, capable healer with surprisingly gentle hands and an easy-going disposition. “I need to tie a bell around my neck to let people know I’m coming.”
She laughed. “Now that would be funny.”
“How’s the arm?”
“Surprisingly good.” She put her shoulder forward as if to show him. “I appreciate you taking the bullet out. If it wasn’t for you, the infection would have killed me.”
“Probably,” he nodded. “But we can’t dwell--” He turned his head and coughed heavily, and Jessie clutched her chest in sympathy. It wasn’t so long ago when her own throat was raw with Asphyxia. When Weissman faced her again, she saw the familiar dark spittle inside his visor. Still, he continued in a rattling voice. “I was trying to say, you can’t dwell on what could have happened. Fact is, you lived. You’ve got a great immune system.”
“Thanks to Paul’s serum,” she agreed. “I still feel weak sometimes, but I’m getting stronger every day. And we’re going to get you better, too. Just hang in there.”
“I will,” Weissman assured her. “Well, I need to get back on patrol. We only have two on for the day shift. Me and Price.”
“Good luck,” she nodded, leaving the soldier to his work. While they had a sizeable force of fighters in Paul’s house, they were all sick. They struggled with their breathing and felt miserable.
Jessie stepped over to the damaged rail and looked down on the foyer’s bloodstained hardwood. Three evenings ago, she and Bryant had fought off two intruders in a brutal confrontation. She remembered the paralyzing fear of watching their enemy sneak up on Bryant. She recalled holding her pistol in her left hand and shooting at the man, hitting him with her first shot but missing with her second.
Despite her wild firing and the kick of the gun, she’d been accurate enough to kill him. Corporal Dex and his soldiers had stripped the body of weapons and put him in the back yard, covered by a tarp.
Shaking the memory loose, Jessie crossed the wide landing and glanced up the tower stairs the enemy had struck with a rocket-propelled grenade. They’d swept up the debris to ensure no one hurt themselves on the splinters and nails.
Lexi still stalking them filled her belly full of dread. Their wildcard was having Burke locked up in the basement. She might not attack, knowing they held him prisoner.
Then again, Jessie didn’t understand why anyone would care whether Burke lived or died. It wasn’t like he could pay his mercenaries anything of worth. Money was useless.
She turned to the stairs and descended to the lower floor. There, she met Private Dewayne Price who walked the hardwood. She’d hit it off with the soldier almost right away. His easygoing attitude was a welcome distraction from the lingering tension.
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He came out of the kitchen and strode down the bloodstained hall with his carbine pointed at the floor and his boots thudding heavily. The inside of his air filtration mask was smeared with dry spittle, a sight they’d all grown used to seeing.
“Hey, Jessie.” The soldier smiled despite the mess in his mask.
She stopped at the bottom of the stairs. “Hey, Dewayne. How’s the lungs?”
The soldier put his hand to his throat. “Raspy. Feels like I gargled with toilet bowl cleaner.”
“Been there, done that.”
“That’s right. You had the spores bad, too.”
“I still do,” she shrugged. “It’s just on mute for the moment until Paul and Kim can find a more effective treatment. Don’t worry, we’re going to get you taken care of.”
Another promise she hoped didn’t turn up empty.
“I appreciate that.” He spun and walked backward into the dining room area with a brief salute. “Catch you on the flip side, Talby.”
Jessie chuckled and nodded. “Have a good shift. Three more hours, right?”
“That’s right.” The soldier pointed at her and disappeared into the other room.
Smile lingering on her face, Jessie made her way to the kitchen where the fresh-brewed scent of coffee tantalized her senses. Paul had a meager store of supplies in his pantry, though it was mostly snacks and hot beverages. The soldiers had their rations, but those would run out in a matter of days.
They’d have to scavenge sooner than later.
The good news was that the city water still worked. Her tests for spores had come up clean. She guessed it was because the water tower had protected the supply from infection. Considering the entire town was likely dead, that gave them several months of fresh water with serious pressure.
The kitchen was small but quaint with a counter, a modern flattop stove, and cabinets placed along the back wall. A large pantry rested against the near wall, and a refrigerator and more pantry space lined the wall opposite from where Jessie stood.
Spore Series | Book 4 | Exist Page 4
