As he did a lap around the house, Bishop lifted his radio to his visor. “You were right, Son. There are some tracks that lead over to the Smith’s but I’m not going to follow them.” He found another set of prints on the other side of the house, coming from the direction of Francis’s house. No surprise there.
“He’s gone,” Bishop said with a deflated tone. “I’m coming inside to get cleaned up.”
“Do you need help?” Trevor asked.
“No, I’ve got it,” he replied.
“Okay. See you upstairs.”
He entered the basement and shut and locked the door behind him. He passed through their decontamination chambers, ensuring he scrubbed himself down from head to toe and threw his coveralls into the stationary tub to soak them in bleach. In the last chamber, Bishop took off his air filtration mask and scrubbed his face down good in case any spores had gotten beneath the plastic seal of his mask.
Leaving the radio and the softball bat downstairs, he trudged upstairs and had himself a quick bowl of microwaved barley soup. Then he went upstairs to talk to the kids about the day’s shift. They agreed to keep watch while their father slept, but no one expected Francis to be back anytime soon.
Bishop entered the master bedroom and dropped on the bed, pulling the coverlet over him once more. He tried to rekindle the dream about his wedding reception but ended up drifting off to a time when he and Kim had gone to Gatlinburg, Tennessee for a quick vacation.
They’d found a stream on the motor trail and got out to take some pictures. Before he knew it, Kim had stripped off her shoes and socks and waded into the stream. Drifting closer to sleep, Bishop did his best to linger in the moment, recalling everything about the trip, the log cabin where they’d stayed and all the things they’d done. It was one of the best times of his life, straight out of college with no kids but with plans for marriage and a long life together.
He held onto that moment, content and happy to remain within the memory as long as the world would allow. He grinned and allowed himself to feel blessed for a moment. Blessed despite the hardships. Blessed despite the threats to their lives.
Bishop’s eyes flew open when the banging started up again.
Chapter 28
Moe Tsosie, Chinle, Arizona
Moe groaned as he sat on the tailgate of Rex’s truck. His forty-seven-year-old body wasn’t what it used to be, and his back and legs screamed at him for a comfortable bed to rest in. He ignored his body’s complaints. As a soldier, he’d survived worse conditions, and as a truck driver, he was used to sleeping in the back of a truck cab after a sixteen-hour driving stint.
While most people caught their second wind, he had five or six winds to go through before he’d be out of steam.
He stared out across the desert as the morning sun teased the edge of the horizon. He, along with Rex and a small mixture of Chinle players and FEMA workers, camped beneath a tall pole strung up with a powerful light. They meant the beam to be a beacon for anyone coming across the desert to escape the plague in the east.
Moe didn’t know how much longer they would have to stay at triage, but he’d go as long as they needed him to.
Rex was dead on his feet, arms folded across his chest as he leaned back against the truck with his eyes closed. His QLOG tablet sat dusty next to him, along with a box of tags used to mark refugees after the camp EMTs saw to them. Moe logged the information into the tablet and sent it ahead along with the injured.
A few of the Chinle kids lay passed out in the truck bed with a tarp stretched above them, and the other triage nurses and soldiers were making use of any available car hood or back seat to catch a few minutes of shuteye before the next refugees trickled in.
A dozen 4-wheel drive vehicles sat parked off to the side, brought in by earlier refugees.
Moe had caught their stories as they recounted escaping Albuquerque, Santa Fe, or Denver. They talked about a vast spore cloud that had descended upon the cities, killing tens of millions in the space of a few minutes while the panicked mobs fled and fought for survival.
There were a lot of small towns between Albuquerque and Chinle, and Rex heard those stories, too. Even though the spore clouds had finally dwindled somewhere in the desert, refugees overran the smaller towns to the west. And while many principled people tried to establish some order amidst the chaos, others committed terrible crimes.
Moe had focused on keeping people alive and helping get them into camp. Most were just tired and hungry, though others had gunshot wounds, broken bones, or other mysterious injuries that needed more serious attention.
Hearing a truck engine, Moe caught sight of a military transport leaving camp and heading their way. They were a quarter mile off, the truck following a pair of ruts carved in the dirt.
He waited for them to arrive and then dropped from the tailgate, waving at the driver as they pulled up.
“No new customers,” Moe shouted.
“I’ve got some customers for you,” the driver replied, hooking his thumb toward the rear of the truck. Dr. Sage Denentdeel and Josiah Cooper appeared from the back of the truck with an urn of coffee between them.
As the tired pair walked past Moe, Sage nodded back the way they’d come. “There’s donuts back there, too. Courtesy of the Speedway. Probably the last ones in town.”
“I’m on it,” Moe said, and he hoofed it to the back of the truck and retrieved two pink boxes of donuts.
Back at Rex’s truck, Sage and Josiah placed the urn on the tailgate and started handing out cups of coffee with creamer and sugar packets to the entire team. Moe and Rex opened the boxes of donuts and used napkins to pick out a treat for everyone. His stomach rumbled at the sweet smells of maple sugar icing, chocolate, and glaze.
Once they’d handed out everything, Moe returned to the truck and poured himself a cup of coffee, opting for one creamer just to take the edge off the bitter taste.
Sage joined him, and together they leaned against the tailgate as Rex took donuts and coffee to the other workers.
“You look tired,” Moe told her.
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Sage replied with a smile as she chewed on the last glazed donut. She winked at him. “You look fresh, like you could do this all over again.”
“Trust me, my body aches,” he complained. Then he happily took another bite of his bear claw and washed it down with a sip of coffee. “But I’m used to working long shifts driving my truck. I’m sure that’s nothing to what you folks have to deal with at the hospital.”
“Sometimes we work twenty-four or forty-eight-hour shifts,” Sage agreed. “But mostly we’re on call. I can often find a few minutes to shut my eyes. Not last night, though.”
Moe studied the woman as the first rays of light stretched over the foothills and valleys to the east. Her skin was a beautiful tawny tone that absorbed the sunlight. She’d pushed her shock of gray hair behind her ear to keep it out of her face. Her eyes simmered with youthful maturity that made it impossible to tell her age, though she must be somewhere near Moe’s.
Sage stared out at the desert before looking at him. He glanced away and raised his coffee for another sip.
“Will the refugees stop coming in?” Sage asked.
Moe shrugged. “Hard to tell. But our elders need to prepare for the long haul. We’ll have strangers living right next door to us for the foreseeable future. Maybe even years, if you ask me.”
“That’s hard to get my mind around,” Sage shook her head, “but you’re probably right.”
“I mean, where else will they go?” Moe asked with an open-handed gesture. “Unless there are more camps in California or near Phoenix. I suspect Colonel Humphreys will inform us of what the government response will be.”
“What if there is no more government?” Sage asked in a flat, hard tone.
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Moe admitted. Actually, it had lingered in the back of his mind, but he didn’t want to admit it. He shook his head. “If that’s the
case, it changes everything. We’ll be an island out here. Just Chinle, the US military, and around five thousand refugees.”
Sage raised her eyes to the sunlight. “Can we all get along?”
“We can get along with them,” he nodded, “but I can’t say the reverse is true.”
“There’s a meeting later with the town elders,” Rex added.
Moe nodded his agreement. “Good. Maybe we can set the tone for a good working relationship between our people and the military.”
“I’m going home to pick up some things,” Sage announced. “Since I’ll be living down here for the foreseeable future. Unless the spore clouds hit here, too. I mean, should we go back to the Wildcat Den?”
Moe gazed out across the horizon, and all he saw were clear skies and bright, powerful sunlight. “If those clouds were anything like regular mold, they’d find it tough to live out here in the desert. If it weren’t for an unusually wet spring, they might not have made it to Albuquerque and Santa Fe.” He shook his head. “The spore clouds are the least of our problems now.”
“Good,” Sage said. “I’ll be back in an hour. Josiah, you coming with me or staying here?”
The captain of the Chinle basketball team gave her a slight wave. “I’ll stay here with my brothers.”
“Okay. See you soon, guys.”
He watched Sage exchange a few words with the driver of the military truck before she climbed into the back. The truck rumbled to life and returned the way it came.
“What now?” Rex asked.
“We stay here until someone comes to relieve us,” Moe said. He ran his hand through his long hair, which had gotten greasy over the last two days. Something caught his eye out on the horizon. It was a pair of four-wheel drives moving toward them from the Chinle airstrip. He pointed. “Look.”
“Our work never ends,” Rex said with a shake of his head, and he crushed his foam coffee cup and tossed it at the boys in the back of the truck. “Let’s go, Stephen and Tracey. We’ve got company.”
Chapter 29
Kim Shields, Yellow Springs, Ohio
Kim pulled the bus down the tree-lined driveway back to the trail that led to Paul Henderson’s lab. She’d already radioed the mycologist to make him aware she’d successfully rescued Bryant, Jessie, and Fiona and was bringing them in. Although, with one caveat. She’d exposed herself to the Asphyxia fungus and compromised her mobile lab.
Paul hadn’t seemed worried about it, and that didn’t surprise Kim. The man managed his infection by means of a super concoction of antifungal drugs he’d put together, and the proof lay in his results. He lived.
After parking at the end of the gravel lane, she returned to the decontamination chamber where her guests had remained for the entire two-hour journey.
“Sorry, I couldn’t make you more comfortable,” Kim told Bryant as she slipped back into her protective suit. It might be a moot point, but she didn’t want to make her infection worse by breathing the stuff outside. She suspected Jessie had the same idea, and it had probably saved her life.
The CDC field agent was curled up in a ball in the back of the chamber, her arms folded across her chest, and Kim heard her wheezing through her hood’s communication system. Fiona slept with her head resting on Jessie’s hip.
“It’s no problem,” Bryant groaned as he stood. His wounded hip had been bothering him to the point of agony. His leg was pretty much useless.
Kim gently woke Jessie and Fiona up. “Before we leave the bus, you need to understand something. Burke Birkenhoff was here snooping around.”
Bryant’s face reddened behind his visor. “That CEO and his goons?”
“Just one goon,” Kim said. “A guy named Richtman, and he’s wounded in the hip like you. I’m not sure why they’re here except that Paul Henderson was on their list of people to eliminate who might find a cure for Asphyxia.”
“How do you know it’s them?” Bryant’s expression was level and sober. “Did you talk to them?”
“No, but Paul showed me some security video of two guys poking around outside his lab. I recognized the suits, and Richtman’s limp. It’s them.”
“No problem.” Bryant unslung his rifle and checked his magazine.
“Jessie, can you walk?” Kim asked the CDC field agent.
The woman rolled to her knees, stood, and held her hands out to steady herself. Once stable, she gave Kim a sharp nod.
“I’ll help her,” Fiona said, hugging Jessie around the waist.
Kim smiled down at the little girl. She represented a nugget of hope, and they had to protect her with their lives.
“AMI, pop the back door.”
The back door clicked and sprung open then slid to the side. Kim guided Bryant down the narrow stairs until they were standing on the fungus-covered grass. The once green turf had changed to a dead brown color, the fungus sucking the life out of everything.
Jessie and Fiona came out next, and the CDC field agent looked even weaker than before she’d boarded the bus two hours earlier. Kim understood time was of the essence if they had any chance of saving her. Any more strain on her body and she could go septic.
“Close and lock up,” Kim ordered, and the AI complied. “Okay, this way.” She guided Bryant up the slight incline to the trail leading to Paul’s lab. The going was rough with the soldier dragging his wounded leg behind him, and Jessie wasn’t winning any races.
Inside the suit, everything was quiet except for the sounds of their breathing. Kim’s head was on an aggressive swivel as she searched the woods for any sign of Burke or Richtman. She held her pistol in her left hand, for all the good that would do. She wasn’t accurate with her normal shooting hand much less her off one. But if she saw either of those goons, she’d send a round in their general direction to scare them away.
They passed the fungus-covered jogger caught in the trees, and Kim noticed her pink jogging suit was now barely discernible through the thick growth that had cocooned her body.
After what seemed like forever, they entered Paul’s glade, navigated past the air conditioning unit and filtration systems, and reached the front door. Kim waved up at the camera, and a moment later the door popped open and slid aside on a silent track. Paul was there, waving them inside.
Kim didn’t allow herself to relax until the door shut behind her and locked tight. Paul led them through quarantine, taking Fiona to the end where she only had to scrub up with some mild antifungal soap and water. The rest of them adhered to the standard process, if just by force of habit and to clean up their equipment, before they stood in the guest room.
They’d all stripped off their masks except for Bryant, whose slouched form worried her, but not as much as Jessie. The young woman was wheezing like a tea kettle on the verge of boiling. Her eyes, nose, and lips showed spots of fungus growth.
“It’s great having you all here.” Paul grinned wide from his round face. “Let’s get you downstairs and situated.”
“I think we need to get Bryant to a cot,” Kim said, “and Jessie needs whatever that concoction is you have that arrests the fungus.”
“Of course.” Paul moved faster. “Follow me.”
Paul assisted getting Jessie down the hall and to the spiral staircase. It was a downright struggle carrying them down the tight, twisting confines, though they managed it without hurting anyone.
Fiona’s face lit up when she saw the commons area with its wall of board games and enormous stereo system in the corner. “Wow, this place is cool!” she declared, running over to check out the games.
The mycologist gestured to two rolling tables he’d brought from the lab. “I’m not setup like a hospital, but we can use these as gurneys.”
“No, these are perfect,” Kim said, and she braced her foot against one wheel as Bryant lay back.
Jessie leaned forward and rolled onto the other table without too much trouble, and soon they were cruising through Paul’s garden at a good clip.
“Are you worried a
bout the spores infecting the garden?”
“If they do, I’ll let nature balance it out,” Paul said, and he whistled softly as they approached the general lab area. “I’m thinking we can put them both in the staff quarters. Mr. Bryant can decide if he wants to continue wearing his mask or not, though there will come a time when he’ll need to eat or drink.”
Kim nodded. Paul was right, but she’d let Bryant make that decision when he was ready.
They reached the staff quarters and placed Bryant and Jessie on two of the three bunks. Paul stood back, winded from pushing the table, and placed his hands on his hips.
“I’ll go prepare an antifungal injection for Jessie,” he said before offering an uncomfortable smile. “A bit of fair warning. It hasn’t exactly been tested for the market, so there may be some side effects. I was on the toilet all day the first time I took it. I got a little feverish, too. And it can cause some bloating—”
“She’ll take it,” Kim said with an appreciative smile. “And fix me up a dose while you’re at it.” She never would have remotely considered such a decision two weeks ago, but times had changed, and she didn’t want to allow the infection to progress in her like it had Jessie.
After the mycologist left, Kim walked to the mini fridge and brought back a bottled water for Jessie. The young woman nodded from where she sat propped up on some pillows. She started to accept the water but paused, gesturing for Kim to open it for her.
Kim twisted the top off and handed it over.
She put the edge to her lips and drank gingerly.
“That’s better.” Her face brightened. “My throat feels like I ate sand.”
“The fungus is likely working its way down from your throat and nasal passages into your windpipe,” Kim said as she inspected her nose and mouth area.
“Thanks for that visual,” Jessie groaned.
“Sorry,” she gave a sideways grin, then she lifted her hand and paused. “May I?”
“Sure thing,” she said with a shrug.
Spore Series | Book 2 | Choke Page 17
