He paused at that last part, wondering how many people Tricia Ames had shot. He liked the young woman. She had a good-natured, trusting vibe about her. Despite that, Jenny didn’t appear ready to give the woman the benefit of the doubt.
“So, you’re saying it’s tough defending the Colony?” Randy asked.
Tricia turned back. “Let’s go grab some grub and I’ll tell you what we’re up against.”
Fifteen minutes later, they were sitting at a table in the food court eating granola, canned creamed spinach, and cold cut sandwiches. It was well into evening, and there weren’t many people eating. Tricia had mentioned that the food court stopped serving after six, though there was a commissary where you could request something as long as you had a ration ticket available.
The sandwiches were a welcome surprise, and Randy devoured his in record time.
“Good, right?” Tricia nodded at him stuffing his face.
Randy grunted and kept on chewing.
“So, what’s going on out there?” Jenny took up the conversation where they’d left off. “Why would anyone need to shoot at you? There should be tons of supplies now. At least for the time being.”
“There’s plenty to eat,” Tricia acknowledged, and she took a bite of her sandwich before setting it back down. After she finished chewing, she went on. “It’s a battle for the suburbs around the city. Not just for stockpiles of food but for building materials, solar panels, and generators. There are three dangerous groups out there,” Tricia looked out the enormous glass terminal windows where the stars were shining through. “Some of them are a hundred or two hundred people strong. Right now, they’re not a problem, but if they joined forces against us...” Tricia left the twins to make their assumptions.
Randy nodded as his eyes moved around the quieting terminal. He spotted someone in blue throwaway coveralls walking through and taking samples of the air. Must be a health official doing an air quality check.
“And they don’t want to join the Colony?” Jenny looked around. “I mean, I have to admit that it seems like a solid place to weather the storm.”
Tricia shrugged. “They don’t want to be under military control, and I can’t say I blame them. When all this started, I thought we’d be okay. I thought it was a done deal. But our government wasn’t ready for this. No one was. The survival game has been reset to zero, and only the strong will pull through. Colonel Jergensen is the strongest person we’ve got. That’s why no one challenges her.”
“Don’t we have any reinforcements coming?” Randy asked. “I mean, this is the United States Military we’re talking about.”
“Not that I’m aware of,” Tricia shook her head sadly. “Everyone’s got their own problems in their own part of the world. We’re into our second week, and things feel shaky. That’s why we have to stick together if we’re going to survive out here.”
The three finished their meals in silence as the ventilation units hummed all around them. Randy figured they must have tied in some military-grade air filtration with the standard ventilation to keep the air clean.
“Well, I think I’ll turn in,” Tricia said. “I’m leading the excursion tomorrow.”
He nodded, secretly pleased they’d be going out together. “Where are you staying? I’m assuming with your unit?”
“Yeah, I’m bunked in another part of the terminal with my squad.” Tricia stood. “Try to get some sleep. We start early, and it will be a long day.”
“Roger that, corporal,” Randy replied in a mock military tone.
Tricia chuckled. “See you two in the morning.”
As Tricia walked away, he looked across at his sister who was staring daggers at him.
“What?” He raised his eyebrows.
“Roger that, corporal,” Jenny mocked him with her bottom lip jutting out. “You’re so pretty, corporal. Can I touch your hair, corporal?”
“Oh, very funny, sis.” Randy shook his head. “Totally funny. Hilarious.”
Chapter 14
Bishop Shields, Ft. Collins, Colorado
Bishop stood in the master bedroom and stared out the window as the spore storm died down. The last of the mysterious, dusty tendrils fell across their concrete driveway and pathway lights. Fungus covered their two vehicles, and he’d need a snow scraper if he wanted to get it off.
Maybe later.
Where the tendrils had settled hours ago, the glowing red fungus had already faded to crimson. Did that mean it wasn’t deadly anymore?
No, he couldn’t fool himself. That stuff was instant death, and he had to blink away the images of screaming victims running through the streets to remind him of that. They were in a precarious position, and it was up to Bishop to make the right decisions if he wanted to watch his children grow up.
His only concern was trying to keep fuel in the generator and the lights on. They had all the food and water they’d need for at least three months. They’d worry about what to do next when the time came.
“Where the heck are you?” Bishop shook his head, wondering for the hundredth time if they should go to her. Again, his thoughts circled back to “no.” The best bet was to go back into town sometime this week, check for a satellite radio, and try to give Kim a call that way.
A knock on the front door interrupted his thoughts. At first, he didn’t believe it was real, but it came again. Three brief raps on the front door, so firm that he could feel them through his feet. He leaned forward, trying to peer down and get an idea who was down there. Whoever it was stood inside the front alcove, and he couldn’t see them.
“Did you hear that, Dad?”
Riley stood in the doorway, leaning against the door frame with a serious expression.
“Yeah, I heard it,” Bishop said, then he put his feet into his slippers and moved past his daughter to the stairs. “Stay here.”
They’d placed a table at the top of the stairs with a box of dust masks, hand sanitizer, and latex gloves ready to use in case someone needed to go downstairs for something. He didn’t know if the dust masks would be helpful, though it couldn’t hurt to put one on.
Bishop slid the dust mask over his face and pulled on a pair of latex gloves. He parted the plastic sheet and tiptoed down the stairs.
There were three more knocks on the door, and Bishop shouted, “Coming! Hang on!”
Reaching the foyer, Bishop crossed to the door and peered through the peep hole. A man stood on the other side of the door wearing an air filtration mask and beanie on his head. He only spied part of the man’s face, though he recognized him as his neighbor, Francis, from three doors down.
Spore growth streaked the man’s head and visor, and the eerie red glow illuminated his features in a haunting light.
Bishop checked the lock on the front door, stepped to the entryway glass, and tapped on it. A moment later, Francis’s masked face appeared in the thin pane, and his face lit up with a friendly grin. Bishop had rarely talked to the man, and those had been less than satisfying interactions. Their kids played on the same sports teams, and Francis was known for being an overbearing, hard-to-handle parent.
Francis waved, and Bishop waved back. The man stared up and down at Bishop before he made a startling motion as if remembering what he’d come for. He pulled a notepad and pen up, wrote a message, and turned it toward the window.
“How are you, Bish? You folks safe and sound?”
Bishop held up his finger and ambled down the hallway and into the kitchen. He found a pad of paper and a pen and went back to the window where Francis waited for him. The man held up the question again, and Bishop nodded that he understood. Then he wrote his reply and put it up to the window.
“We’re good, Francis. Snug and tight here. You folks?”
Francis gave Bishop a thumb’s up before he wrote something else on the bottom of his page and flipped it around. “Not so good. House compromised. Everyone sleeping in Pilot for now.”
He nodded at the message and looked around at all the ho
uses in the neighborhood. Then he responded. “Try houses around. Should be open. Get bleach, tarps, tape, caulk. Get it clean, bottom to top. Seal it up. Move in till help comes.”
Francis’s smile faded when he saw Bishop’s message, and he flipped the page over and started writing a fresh note.
Bishop understood what the league umpires must have felt like whenever Francis caught them after the game to argue a bad call. He’d corner them and complain until the sun set. With dozens of parents around, Francis hadn’t seemed too threatening. A lot of the parents even thought his behavior was amusing. They joked with the umps about landing on Francis’s naughty list one day and getting an earful after the game.
Standing in his foyer with a thin pane of glass separating them and the world falling apart, Bishop didn’t find it so amusing.
Francis put his note against the glass. “Saw you get supplies two days ago. Good for you. We REALLY need to get clean, Bish. Need rest. Clean food. HELP?”
Part of Bishop wanted to let the man and his family in, because it seemed like the right thing to do. Another part of him understood that bringing Francis and his family inside would put Travis and Riley at severe risk. He knew Francis’s type well. The guy always complained and argued, yet he did nothing to help. He expected the other boosters to plan team functions and trips while he annoyed coaches until they gave his kids a starting position on the team. He was a leach. A taker. And Bishop knew that soon after he let the family move in, Francis would try to bully everyone around.
He didn’t want a man like Francis in his house, and he was positive Kim would agree.
Flipping to a fresh page, Bishop wrote something. When he finished, he held the pad to the glass. “Sorry, Francis. Can’t take risk.”
Francis shook his head and his eyes grew angry as he wrote furiously on the bottom of his pad and flipped it. “You’ve got a generator. Power. Supplies. NEED to get clean or die. HELP.”
“Plenty of generators and supplies.” Bishop held the pad up to the window and gestured all around with his pen.
Francis stared at the message and then up at him with a deadpan expression. To Bishop, it was the expression of a child who had been denied an ice cream cone. He saw rage boil in his eyes, and he expected Francis to let the rage explode like he’d done to umpires a dozen times before.
With a glance down, Bishop realized how exposed he was with just the thin glass between them. All it would take was for Francis to toss a rock through the glass and let the fungus inside.
But Francis only pursed his lips and gave him a faint nod of acceptance. He turned away and strolled down the path with the hunched shoulders of someone who’d been wronged.
“Great,” Bishop said. “Now I’ve got this maniac to deal with, too.”
“Who was that?”
He turned and looked up. Riley and Trevor stood at the top of the stairs with dust masks on. “Just a neighbor,” he replied. “They were looking for help.”
Riley’s eyes grew apprehensive. “Are we going to let them in?”
“No, we’re not.” Bishop stepped to the foot of the stairs. “There are plenty of places for them to go. They might have to do some work to get it prepped, but they can do it if they’re careful. Look at us, right?”
“That’s right,” Trevor said with a sigh of relief. “We worked hard to get our house ready. We can’t be letting everyone else in to mess it up.”
Bishop put one foot on the stairs as guilt warred with his common sense. “Look, kids. Normally, I’d say to help people whenever you can. It’s the right thing to do. But we need to be careful about who we let through our door. That was Francis.”
“Oh, heck no,” Trevor shook his head. “That guy is nuts. I mean, John and Kristen are cool. But their dad is a loon.”
Riley was nodding her head in agreement. “He’s right. You made the right decision.”
“I’m glad you agree,” Bishop chuckled. “Although I think it might be good to put some of that plywood we’ve got downstairs to use. We need to board up as many windows as we can, and we need to put together a plan to defend this place if we have to. We need to hold down the fort until your mom can get home.”
Both kids agreed enthusiastically with their father. While he didn’t like the situation they were in, Bishop was fortunate to have such a powerful bond with his children. Their survival would depend upon it.
Chapter 15
Jessie Talby, Zanesville, Ohio
Jessie drove the Humvee down I-70 at a solid forty miles per hour, weaving around the vehicle wreckage and dashing through narrow passages, sometimes clipping other vehicles.
Every time she hit something, Bryant winced or gasped.
“Hey, buddy,” she said with a scoff. “You wanted to come.”
“I know I did,” Bryant laughed. “I wasn’t going to sit in DC and sulk in a hospital bed while you got sicker. It was a miracle you even showed up.”
Jessie nodded. Their high-tech protective suits circulated cool, filtered air, and their hoods were equipped with communication devices, so they didn’t have to shout.
She glanced back at Fiona where the girl was seat belted into the back seat. She wore her plain clothes and an air filtration mask, though she complained about it. The girl knew she was immune to Asphyxia, and she was tired of the adults telling her what to do.
Still, the girl seemed happiest on the road, and she flashed Jessie a smile and a thumbs-up to let her know she was okay.
“Fiona is adorable,” Jessie said, coughing a little to clear a tickle from her lungs. She glanced outside to see vast swaths of exploded windshields, plastic parts, and metal strewn along the expressway. After impact, many of the vehicles appeared to have rolled two dozen yards or more before coming to rest on their wheels. Others looked like someone dragged them to the edges of the road and shuffled them around.
“Yeah, she is,” Bryant said. “You have any kids? Husband?”
She scoffed good-naturedly. “Man, I’m married to this job, but my mom and dad are in Dayton. I was hoping to swing by after we’re done with whatever we’re doing.”
“You’re sick, aren’t you?”
Jessie blinked. “Is it that obvious?”
Bryant slid down to get more comfortable in his seat. “I just noticed you coughing. And you take off your respirator every time we stop to clean the inside.”
She didn’t know what to say, so she glanced outside at the passing vehicles. Their way was clear through the middle of the highway, almost as if someone had come through with a giant snowplow. She kicked the speed up to fifty miles per hour. “You have any family of your own?”
“No kids, yet,” Bryant said. “My wife is a pilot stationed at Edwards Airforce Base.”
“That’s a long way off.”
“Way too long,” he agreed. “I heard from her once when the outbreak happened, but I haven’t been able to reach her since. It’s driving me crazy, to be honest with you.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Jessie said. “I guess everyone has heavy duty problems these days.”
“That’s why I wanted to help Kim. Especially after what Burke and his goon squad did to her facility. I feel responsible for that jerk getting loose.”
Jessie smiled at his sense of duty. She could relate. “Speaking of Kim, do you want to try her again on the phone?”
“Sure,” Bryant said. He picked up the satellite phone that rested in the seat between them and dialed her up. After a moment, Bryant put the phone down and shook his head. “No good. I keep getting some computer voice named AMI. She wants me to leave another message, and I’ve already left three.”
“I hope Kim’s okay,” Jessie said. She drew a deep breath and coughed hard, shooting a bit of pink mucus into her mask. Not only did it hurt to cough like that, it was gross, too. She hated that he’d seen her cleaning the mess out of her visor. She’d thought about not wearing the respirator, though it probably went a long way toward keeping any additional spores out of
her lungs, and the air was cool and fresh compared to the hot, humid spring.
“The general wouldn’t have let her go alone if she wasn’t capable,” he assured her. “That bus she’s driving is a tank of a vehicle.”
“Good,” Jessie said. “More protection for—”
Jessie put her foot on the brake and slowed the Humvee down.
Bryant shot up in his seat. “What is it?”
“Looks like some blockage,” she said. “We’ve seen a lot of pile ups, but not like this.”
A semi-trailer truck lay jackknifed in the road, and several other vehicles were scattered in front and behind it, cutting them off. At first glance, it looked like the obvious result of an Asphyxia spore cloud on unsuspecting drivers.
“Just take the exit ramp,” he pointed, “and then re-enter the highway.”
Jessie turned the wheel and eased down the offramp. They were at a cross-section of an old country road in the middle of a rural town, though the road markers were mysteriously gone.
“Wait,” she said, stopping the Humvee before she got to the end of the ramp.
“What is it?”
“Something was wrong with those vehicles blocking the road,” she said, thinking back on the cleared highway they’d just passed through. “The scattered debris…It looked like someone had dragged the cars to the side. And there were no dead bodies anywhere.”
“Like someone had removed them.” Bryant narrowed his eyes, looking around the flat land to either side of the ramp and out in front of the vehicle where their headlamp shined. The grass was tall with patches of fungus browning the stems.
The lieutenant colonel lifted himself out of his seat and climbed into the vehicle’s roof turret. A spotlight snapped on above Jessie and began scanning the area around their truck. The light whipped over to the left before it shot across to the entry ramp where they’d planned on returning to the highway. Two pickup trucks were stretched across the road, blocking it.
With tension gripping her stomach, she tried to follow Bryant’s light, but he moved the spotlight too fast. A sharp gun report cut the night, and Jessie jerked in her seat as a bullet pinged off the Humvee’s armor.
Spore Series | Book 2 | Choke Page 9
