“Not us,” Zack replied. “A few groups in town fighting over everything. They stormed the remaining guardsmen, and they died in the lot.”
“I noticed. So, you’re out here trying to stay away from people?”
“Exactly,” Zack nodded. “And we might be waiting for a ride out.”
“That’s why you’re looking at our helicopter,” Moe realized. “You think it could be a quick way out.”
“Some of us were wondering that,” Zack agreed. “We’ve got some wounded and need to get them to civilization.” He nodded toward the city. “What’s happening there ain’t civilization.”
Moe glanced over his shoulder at the vehicle lot. “Plenty of cars. Just pack up and leave.”
Zack put his fists on his hips. “We sent scout teams. None have come back. We were thinking an air lift might suit us better.”
Moe raised his hand and ticked a finger. “First off. There isn’t much civilization left. At least nothing better than what you have here.” He pointed to the west. “California is gone, and I just lost three good people on a supply run to Las Vegas.”
“Sorry to hear that,” Zack looked at the ground and shook his head. “I used to love Vegas.” He raised his eyes. “So, you can’t offer us a lift?”
“I’d love to, but we can’t afford the added weight if we’re going to get where we need to go.”
Zack’s face fell with disappointment, but his eyes still held curiosity. “Where’s that?”
“Arkansas.”
“Arkansas?” the big man laughed. “What’s in Arkansas?”
“A cure.”
Zack blinked and then leaned in. “A cure? For the spores?”
“That’s right.” Moe squinted as the wind whipped around them. “My people back in Chinle are infected with them. That’s why we’re out here. Refueling, then jumping to the next stop. There’s a lab there where doctors are working on perfecting a serum.” A well of uncertainty bubbled up in Moe’s chest as he thought about how crazy the plan was. Fly across the country, pick up a few vials of miracle juice, and fly home. All in one piece. He shook his head. “We’re not sure we’ll reach the next stop, or who’s there waiting for us.”
Zack stared at Moe with a questioning look. “So, if you find this cure, you’ll have to transport it home.”
“Yeah,” he scoffed darkly. “Crazy, right?”
The big man shrugged. “Sounds like you’re one of the few folks left in the world with a cause worth fighting for.” Zack turned and looked back. “We’re good people. Got three wounded and a pregnant woman with us. I’m afraid we don’t have much hope. We’re about ready to hop in some vans, pick a direction, and go.”
Moe fixed the man with a hard look of promise. “Hang around for a few more days. If our mission is successful, we’ll be back through. If you still need help, we’ll see what we can do. We can always use good people. Especially if they have guns and know how to use them.”
“We’re not military,” Zack said, “but at least half of us were part of a gun club before the bad stuff went down.” He nodded. “I’ll talk to the others. Maybe we’ll hold out a few more days and see how it goes.”
Moe grinned. “Sounds good.”
He held out his arm, and the big man clasped it. With a final nod, Moe turned and jogged back to the chopper. As soon as he was aboard, Melissa opened her cockpit door and slid into her seat. She strapped herself in, slipped her helmet on, and began punching buttons for liftoff.
Moe put on his headgear and crouched behind Hicks. The woman had released the triggers and pointed the gun away, resting her arm on the weapon stock. Trainor climbed in the other side and squatted beside him.
The helicopter engine kicked up another notch, and they lifted off the tarmac. Moe watched Zack’s people gather around him. He spoke to them, gesturing up at the chopper and then south toward Arkansas. He imagined the looks on their faces when he told them what they hoped to accomplish.
It seemed far-fetched. Near impossible. Yet, they were doing it.
“Who were they?” Trainor asked.
“Just a group of hopeful survivors trying to make something add up.”
“Sounds like us,” Hicks said, scoffing.
Moe nodded and stepped over to his seat as the two soldiers locked their weapons and threw the doors shut.
Chapter 10
Kim, Marion, Tennessee
Jessie had called to let Kim know the Dyersburg bridge was out, and they were taking a roundabout way to Memphis. They’d been trying to avoid it, but it looked like they had to pass through downtown and suffer whatever trouble waited for them.
With maps of the city on hand, Bryant and Bishop had discussed several plans for driving the RV through safely. They’d eventually settled on the I-40 route. They would attempt it in the morning after a decent night’s sleep.
With nothing to do but wait, Kim was trying to get the kids to spend more time outside. But the summer sun beat down on them and drove them back inside the bus.
Left alone in the Hampton parking lot, Kim crossed to where Bishop stood waiting for her by the Stryker. They briefly hugged, and she butted her forehead lightly against his visor. While they couldn’t greet with a kiss, at least she got a chance to feel his strong arms around her.
“You can squeeze me tighter,” she chuckled. “I’m not a porcelain doll, you know.”
“You may not be porcelain.” Bishop gazed at her with his deep brown eyes. “But you’re still my doll. How are you feeling?”
“I’m healing,” she said, looking up at him and batting her eyelids jokingly. “Seriously. Give me a squeeze. Quit playing around.”
“Okay,” Bishop conceded. He gripped his hands behind her back and put some strength into it. Grinning, Kim held onto her breath as long as she could until she finally let it out with a whoosh and a laugh.
“Now you know how the quarterbacks used to feel when I tackled them,” he growled.
“Oh, but did they love you, too?”
Bishop lifted his eyes as he considered the question. “I did receive a few love letters back in the day. Mostly guys asking me to take it easy on them.”
“Right!” She drew the word out in a sarcastic drawl.
Their good humor died down as they stood holding each other.
“How are the kids doing?” he asked. “They must be going stir crazy packed inside the bus.”
“They’re handling it great, so far.” Kim shook her head and glanced back at the bus. “It’s like a summer break sleep over so far. They’ve got snacks, air conditioning, and video games. They’re piled on top of one another, but they don’t seem to mind. As long as we get them outside once or twice a day,” she added, pointedly.
“Do we have enough chemical foam to keep disinfecting them?”
“We’re down to twenty-five percent,” Kim said with a tinge of worry. “Probably three days max, then we’ll have to ground them for good. We need this Redpine place to pan out. But if it’s half of what it’s cracked up to be, we’ll be fine.”
“And if it’s not?” Bishop raised an eyebrow in question.
“Then we find someplace new. Someplace better.”
The big man nodded and smiled.
She prodded him in the belly with her finger. “I’m worried about you.”
“Me? Why?”
“This right here.” Kim flattened her hand and rubbed his stomach with her palm. “You’ve lost weight.”
Bishop took a deep breath and released it with a nod. “I guess that’s what happens when all you’re living on is canned soup, beef jerky, and water.” He blew a raspberry. “I’m thinking about looking around for a beer.”
“Maybe we’ll go check out the hotel for some,” Kim chuckled. “Anyway, try to eat a little more, okay? You can’t live on a thousand calories a day.”
“Noted. Take better care of myself.”
Kim placed her cheek against his chest, eyes lifted toward the city she couldn’t see. Rolling
forests dotted with townships that stood between them and the urban sprawl. The landscape seemed greener than ever. “We have to get Jessie and Bryant through Memphis.”
“We will.” Bishop squeezed her harder, his hands rubbing up and down her back. “We have another meeting tonight to go over the plan. The best thing is that I don’t have to take Trevor.”
“That’s a huge relief.”
“Bryant showed me how to use my virtual display to look around. It makes me a little dizzy but will improve my driving a thousand percent.”
They watched as billowy clouds drifted up from the south, taking an edge off the sun’s potency. The horizon took on a deep orange-pink tone divided by the rising city smoke.
Kim’s pulse pumped steadily through her veins, and a pleasant buzz stimulated her brain. Quiet moments were few and far between, yet they were intoxicating when they happened.
“This is as close to date night as we’ve had in a long time,” she murmured.
“I forgot about date nights.” Bishop placed his cheek on the top of her head. “Mike’s Steakhouse. Wow. That was our go-to.”
Kim released a long sigh. “Best steak. Best salads. Their ranch dressing was to die for.”
“We used to buy it by the quart.”
“I think we put it on everything. French fries. Hamburgers--”
“Pizza.”
“Oh, pizza. You had to say it, didn’t you?”
They laughed and squeezed each other tighter, her stomach growling at the thought of eating real food.
As Kim stared at the horizon, she reveled in her husband’s protection. It was nice after being “on” all the time, always stressed and hard-working. Sometimes it was good to let go.
She wiggled against him. “We just have to reach Redpine.”
“Maybe we can get off the road and into real beds.”
“According to Jessie, they have all that,” she nodded, feeling hope rise in her.
“Do you think they have pizza?” Bishop murmured dreamily.
Chapter 11
Randy, Ft. Leonard Wood, Missouri
“Hurry up. We need to go.”
The driver tapped his hands on the steering wheel as Randy and the rest of the assault team loaded the last of the weapons into the back of their van. The crew of six had packed the entire rear with crates of ammunition, rocket-propelled grenades, and an assortment of rifles.
The Ft. Leonard Wood stash had been a jackpot. Two big armories left abandoned by the small military force remaining on site. From what Randy had gathered on the scouting report, it had primarily been a training facility. They kept their heavy equipment on the south side of the base by the motor pool and Bloodland Lake.
They’d driven their six vans stealthily along the unguarded back roads connecting the training grounds and nondescript buildings that housed armored vehicles, tanks, and larger artillery pieces on trailers. There were gunnery ranges by the dozens, all surrounded by heavily forested woods. The maze of twisting roads had left Randy disoriented. He couldn’t have found his way back to the expressway if someone promised him a cure for his infection.
They’d accidentally taken a wrong turn once, stumbling on a wide lot filled with lumps of fungi-covered corpses. Soldiers caught out during routine training, no doubt. The stuff clung to the surrounding plants and vegetation, slowly shedding away but still dangerous to anyone breathing it.
Eventually, they’d found the armories and broken in.
It was sometime in the early morning, possibly 2 or 3 AM. The wild sense of adventure he’d had upon leaving Ft. Wayne thrummed in his veins. The night was quiet, crickets and bugs chirruping as Randy grabbed a crate of ammunition from the armory and delivered it to the back of the van. He slammed it down and shoved it inside like a Tetris piece to fit in smoothly with the others.
“This van is just about full,” he said to their team leader as he backed away from the van doors.
“We fill it to the top,” Steve replied. He was a barrel-chested soldier Randy had just met the evening before.
“There won’t be room for us.”
“We’ll figure it out.” The team leader hoisted a duffel of rifles to the top of the stack and shoved it toward the front.
With a shake of his head, Randy picked up an empty duffel and returned to the concrete armory full of weapons and live ammunition. They’d cut down a metal fence and through the bolted doors to break in, but he had the feeling this wasn’t their first rodeo. They’d already loaded the other two vans in record time.
Inside the building, he flipped open his flashlight and moved to the weapons rack. Then he took his list from his pocket and held it up.
First were the group “A” and “B” materials. That included automatic weapons, mortars, pistols, rifles, and shotguns. Then came the group “T” material, which included ammunition and service components for the above.
He picked up a case of grenades and stuffed them in his duffel. Then he took boxes of cleaning and oiling supplies to maintain all the weapons they were looting.
Deeper inside, Randy grabbed three M4 carbines off a rack and placed those into his duffel. Then he moved to the shelves of ammunition and seized a crate of 5.56 caliber rounds. Feeling wild, he dove even deeper and snagged a case of twenty-five Fragmentation M26 grenades and set it on the floor.
It wouldn’t fit into his duffel, so he found a cart nearby and placed that, and his bag, on top. He grabbed one more case, stacked it, and dove a row deeper where he discovered a case of twenty-five M18 smoke bombs.
“Let’s go!” Steve called from the front of the building.
Randy loaded the last crate on top of the cart and shined his flashlight around, looking for anything else that might be of use to them.
He blinked in surprise at the burring sound of automatic rifles firing from edge of the woods.
Someone shouted.
Someone screamed.
The close-sounding reports of his team returning fire reached him. Randy unslung his rifle and crept quickly forward between the rows, breath coming in gasps, heart rate ratcheted up to a nervous thrum.
A small percussion shook the air, and he threw his hands over his head as dust settled over him. He moved on. The building entrance seemed like a mile away despite it only being twenty or thirty yards.
He saw movement around the vans, his team taking cover, shooting back toward the tree lines. The air flitted with tiny sparks, pings of sound as bullets ricocheted everywhere.
He sprinted forward hoping to join the fray when a bright flash of light punched him in the chest. He flew backward, feet sticking straight out for an eternity before he crashed into a rack of service parts, toppling it in a clatter. He landed on his back, eyes wide and staring at the ceiling as a brilliant orange glow illuminated it.
Ammunition began popping off randomly. Single shots and then bursts, like a kid throwing firecrackers in the back yard. Some rounds flew inside the armory and smacked the shelves and concrete. But it wasn’t people firing at him. It was the remaining ammunition they’d packed into one of the vans. Something must have penetrated it and set things off.
His eyes flew wide with fear. One fragment could easily ignite everything inside the armory into a huge ball of flame.
Randy was sitting on a powder keg!
With a gasp, he crawled off the clutter and kicked his arms and legs until he lay flat on the floor once again. No one from his team returned fire or fled inside. Steve wasn’t screaming out orders. Had they all been killed?
If so, it would only be a matter of time before the soldiers came for him. But they wouldn’t come right away with all that ammunition firing. Rounds zipped by over his head. Concrete dust settled in tendrils as he crawled through it.
Randy finally stopped and covered his head, hands clenched into fists.
He waited for his life to end in a bright flash of light, but it didn’t. Everything fell still outside but the crackling flames of the burning vans. Someone moaned. Ano
ther person cursed. The sounds of scuffling boots reached him in the dark. Voices whispered. A single bullet snapped off, and the moaning stopped.
They’re not taking prisoners.
Head pounding, ears ringing in long swells, Randy turned and crawled deeper inside the armory. His brain whirled. He had an arsenal at his disposal, but any misjudgment would leave him dead like the rest of his team.
He made it to his cart and raised to a crouch. His legs shook. His head and back ached where he’d slammed into the shelving.
He fumbled for his flashlight, shining it on the items he’d collected on his cart. He started to grab a second carbine with the intent of blasting his way out like Rambo, but he decided against it. He moved his hand to the case of fragment grenades. He lifted the lid and tossed it to the side. Could he throw a couple and escape in the confusion?
The sound of voices closed in. Randy cast aside all other thoughts and opened the case of M18 smoke grenades. He just needed to slip past them and find room to run.
He held a canister in front of his face and saw there was just one pin to pull. Easy enough. He turned, jerked out the pin, and threw. His toss flew perfectly over the rows of shelving and into the lot.
“Grenade!” Someone shouted, followed by the sounds of people diving to the concrete.
He tossed another, and then two more, dispersing them evenly across the building’s front. The first two smoke bombs popped and sizzled, bursting with a massive cloud of purple haze drifting around the entrance. The third and forth went off soon after, and Randy lifted his rifle and stalked forward.
“Hey, they’re just smoke grenades!” someone shouted.
“Back off. Wait for it to clear! I can’t see crap!”
He looked both ways, listening to sounds of footsteps through the hazy gloom seeping inside. While they waited and shouted to each other, Randy slipped out of the double-wide door and stepped into the night. He stalked quietly along the front wall to the corner of the building. Then he turned the edge with his barrel pointed low. He couldn’t see anything. The smoke had wrapped around the sides to limit his visibility to almost zero.
Spore Series | Book 5 | Torch Page 9
