“True. But I’ve been dreaming of him for weeks.” She shook her wet hair. “They’re always nice.”
“Tell me about them.”
“You know, simple stuff. Like having coffee with him in the morning. Or snuggling on the couch on a lazy Sunday. But then I have to wake up. I swear, Moe, I’ve never tried to get back to sleep so much in my life.”
“I can’t imagine.” The truth was, Moe could imagine. He’d been without someone for so long that loneliness had become his wife. He’d spent his nights on the road, long-hauling with nothing but Patsy Cline and the occasional audio book to keep him company. At least until recently.
“Tell me about her. You know, Sage.” Melissa raised her chin slightly.
“What can I say? The tragedy brought us together,” Moe shifted on his cot, eyes lifting to the ceiling as he relaxed. “I was an aging loser before all this. Just a washed-up marine driving back and forth across the country.”
“I find it hard to believe you were ever a loser,” Melissa laughed. “You’ve almost single handedly brought your people back from the brink of destruction. And you’re standing up to Carver.”
He shrugged. “It’s easy to make the right choices when I’m surrounded by such great people.”
“They follow you,” she pointed out. “Ahiga, Cynthia, Rex and Casey. Waki.”
“The spores have destroyed everything,” he sighed, “yet they’ve brought me blessings I didn’t expect. I wasn’t on good terms with my sister before all this. Now we have a second chance to make things right.”
“That’s exactly how I feel.” She shifted on the cot, pulling her ankles in tighter. “Scott and I were in the process of slowing down. We wanted kids, but we couldn’t align our assignments. The military was making it impossible, and I wondered if our marriage would survive. Now, despite everything, I feel like we have a second chance.”
Moe nodded. “Do you still want kids?”
Melissa turned her head, her wet hair laying on her cheeks. Her eyes misted over. “I don’t know, but I’ll ask him when I see him. I hope so.”
“I’m glad you two have a second chance. And I can’t wait to meet him.” Moe studied her as they sat in silence. “You’ve thought about abandoning your military post, haven’t you?”
She didn’t even blink. “It’s that obvious, huh?”
“I first figured it out back in Las Vegas when you refused Lopez-Reyes’s help getting in contact with General Walsh. You knew he would take you off the Chinle assignment and put you on something else. Something that would take you farther away from your husband.”
“You’re sharp,” she nodded. “I had many reasons for not contacting Walsh. There was Scott, plus I didn’t want to abandon you and the Chinle folks.”
“I believe you.” Moe rubbed at his chin before laying his hand across his chest. “You wouldn't have gone to Las Vegas if you didn’t care. You didn’t have to do that.”
“Your people are worth fighting for.” She smiled. “I guess you could say our goals are in alignment.”
“Well, I’m damn glad they are,” Moe said. “You’re a great partner.”
“You, too,” she agreed.
“I guess all we need to do now is finish this mission.”
“We will. We’re so close to Little Rock, I can taste it. I’ll call Scott after we’re airborne and see where they are. They should be close to the facility. He tells me it’s called Redpine.”
“Redpine.” Moe repeated the word, allowing it to roll around on his tongue. “Our salvation.”
Chapter 13
Bishop, Marion, Tennessee
The Stryker rolled from the hotel parking lot and down to the main strip. It turned sharply and barreled toward the expressway exit ramp as the morning sun inched higher into the sky.
Bishop used his thumb to toggle to the rear camera view, and he watched Kim wave to him through his virtual headset.
“Good luck, hon.”
“Thanks,” he said. He used his thumb to toggle back to the front view, blinking against the dizzying sensation as he pushed the Stryker faster.
He joined I-55 and turned south, enjoying his new range of vision from the driver’s seat. Bryant had walked him through how to use the virtual headset. It was a half-helmet he wore over his air filtration mask with a visor that covered his eyes. It fed directly into an external front camera that mirrored his head movements. If he looked to his right, the camera would move with him. If he looked up, he would see the sky.
He’d refueled the vehicle with diesel from a nearby gas station after practicing for hours the night before. His confidence soared.
They’d fed the kids breakfast and let them enjoy some outside time before loading them back on the bus. They were packed in like sardines, but not for long. Once he escorted Jessie and Bryant through the city, they planned on joining Kim on I-40. From there, they’d head west until they reached the Redpine facility in Little rock.
“Are you there, Bryant?”
“I’m here. We’re just outside Memphis and are staring at some smoldering buildings. I see signs of people on the outskirts of the city, but we won’t know about downtown until we drive through it.”
“Got you. Still coming in on I-40?”
“That’s right. I’d like to see if you can punch through any blockage on the bridge before we start our approach. As soon as you clear it, let me know, and we’ll come to meet you.”
“Perfect.”
Bishop drove down I-55 and then climbed the eastbound ramp to Memphis where they’d surveyed the city the previous day. He slowed at the highest point and used his magnification.
He zoomed in and scanned ahead for miles. “I’m about to pass West Memphis. I don’t see anything blocking the road into town. Advancing.”
“Roger that,” came the reply.
He gave the Stryker some gas and progressed toward downtown, feeling like a predator. Using his new virtual headset, Bishop swiveled his head back and forth as he gazed at his surroundings. A sprawl of subdivisions lay off to his right, truck stops and restaurants to his left.
He passed a racetrack fronted by a steakhouse and grill sign, and his stomach rumbled at the thought of a real meal.
“I need to quit thinking about food,” he mumbled.
“What’s that?” Bryant asked.
“Oh, nothing. I’ve been a little distracted with steak and pizza the past day. I’m happy to say I never took a good meal for granted back when things were normal.”
“You and me both,” Bryant said. “Tell you what. I’ll buy you a beer after this. It’ll probably be warm, but it’s on me.”
“You got it,” he agreed with a chuckle. “Just FYI. I’m taking the exit ramp to I-40, and I’ll be on the downtown bridge soon.”
“Do you see anyone on it?”
Bishop used his magnification to scan west. “I’m sitting too low. All I see are trees, cars, and corpses.”
“Keep going. You should hit a straight shot into the city soon.”
He picked up speed and in another quarter mile, hit the straightaway as the Memphis skyline rose in the distance. “Ah, there you are,” he said, and he used his magnification to look all the way across the bridge into downtown.
“I see a pyramid and some burning buildings off to the left.” He rolled forward and stopped at the foot of the bridge. He clicked his tongue. “The bridge is clear.”
“Clear?”
“Yep, clear. I’m staring right across into downtown. There’s not a single vehicle on it.”
“Normally, I’d say that’s good news,” Bryant growled. “Today, it seems suspect.”
“I know what you mean.” Bishop scanned across the city. The summer morning lit the impossibly wide Arkansas river and glinted magically off the pyramid’s point. “I think that pyramid was a shopping center.”
“I’m not familiar with Memphis,” Bryant replied. “But I guess I’m about to be. We’re coming through on the westbound lane. Be read
y to assist.”
“Roger that.”
Bishop rolled the Stryker out to the center of the bridge and waited. The soldier mumbled something to Jessie who must have been sitting in the passenger seat. She replied, though her voice was too low to hear.
“Okay, I-40 is swinging us south, and we’re making good time. The place is covered with Asphyxia. They must have been hit hard.”
Bishop nodded and then cursed himself. Every time he moved his head, the external camera mirrored him, shaking up his vision. He had to learn to keep his head straight, so he didn’t disorient himself.
Two minutes passed before Bryant broke the silence. “Hey, Bishop. We’re at the I-40 I-69 junction. We have some blockage here. And I hear engine noise through the external microphones. Can you come up?”
“I can do that.” Bishop hit the gas and pushed the Stryker forward. “Is it a man-made pileup?”
“Definitely. I’m seeing a dozen vehicles total. Cars, a pair of pickup trucks Two semi-trailers. It looks like some blue sheeting, too. It’s tall. I can’t even see over it. Jeesh, how did they do this?”
“On the way.” Bishop’s nerves kicked up as he reached the end of the bridge and drove forward.
Two curves later, he saw the blockage. It looked like a wall of twisted metal and debris topped by a lump of blue tarp.
“We have another problem,” Bryant said. “Three pickups just pulled onto the expressway behind us. Looks like they came from southbound I-69 to sneak up on us.”
“Let’s just hope they’re not ready for the Stryker,” Bishop said, trying to infuse some calm into the situation. “I’m going to hit the wall on my right, punch it, and retreat. You should be able to follow me through.”
“The trucks are keeping their distance,” the soldier said with steady breath. “It’s like they’re waiting for something.”
“I’m just about there.”
“Hit it at thirty-five miles per hour. That should do it.”
“Here I come.”
Bishop angled the armored truck at the wall’s right side, slowing to the required speed. He saw a Cadillac with a pair of smaller sedans perched on its trunk and hood, both smashed beyond repair. A Mercedes with a sparkling paint job lay beneath a pickup truck. The tractor trailers were mixed in with the rest.
It looked like a giant child had built the wall of wreckage from whatever they’d found on the road. Bishop’s stomach crawled with dread.
Most of the roadblocks they’d encountered were just cars lined up fender-to-fender, not piled atop one another. How could they have gotten the vehicles stacked on top of each other that way?
Bishop squinted his eyes and gripped the wheel. “And... Impact.”
The Stryker hit the Cadillac and plowed through it with a crash. The steering wheel jerked as the impact jarred him. The luxury car and leaning sedans blasted to the side, spinning away in a storm of debris. Glass shards and pieces of metal flew into the air. Plastic, fiberglass, and engine parts broke way and rattled across the concrete.
He whipped the wheel hard right, driving the Caddy into the cement guard rail with a satisfying crunch before he hit the brake with a jarring halt.
He turned his head and grinned at the bullet-black RV sitting fifty yards ahead of him. “Well, hello there,” Bishop said.
“Good to see you, sir,” Bryant waved at him from the RV’s driver’s seat. Jessie sat in the passenger seat, sitting stiffly with one hand on the dashboard.
“Going to make you some space,” he said, and he put the Stryker into reverse and slowly backed up toward the gap he’d left, angling for a pickup truck on his right to shove out of the way.
“Bishop, watch out!”
He jerked his head left to see the blue tarps rip away and a pair of massive yellow beasts emerge from the wreckage. A clawed excavator bucket rose above him and dropped like a hammer fall, smashing the top of the armored vehicle and scraping its teeth across the top.
His Stryker bogged down and strained against the pressure. He could get out from beneath it, but the bulldozer trundled toward him, angling for his rear end. If that monstrosity caught him, it would pin him to the rail. He’d be trapped, and they could shove him right off the expressway.
He hit the gas, racing the bulldozer through. Miraculously, he slipped from beneath the excavator’s bucket, causing it to slam the ground and send concrete spitting in all directions. Then he clipped the pickup truck and retreated forty yards before screeching to a stop in the open lane.
“I made it!” Bishop shouted, but his hopes fell as the powerful, impregnable bulldozer angled to block his way back through with its wide scoop.
The sounds of gunfire reached him inside his helmet.
“The people in the trucks have moved in and are firing on us,” Bryant uttered.
“I can hear that. What do you want me to do?”
Bryant stammered, more angry than afraid. “I don’t know. We can take some small arms fire, but not forever. And now the excavator is turning toward us. I guess we could ram one of the trucks behind us, but I’m running out of room.”
Bishop saw the big yellow excavator arm raise above the pile of wreckage as it went for the RV. He set his jaw. “I’m coming to get you, Bryant.”
“What?”
“I’m coming to get you. After I punch through, come over to the Stryker and get on the gun.”
“Right!” Bryant shouted.
He punched the gas, and the armored vehicle lurched forward. He drove straight for the bulldozer, seeing the man in the driver seat’s jaw fall open when he realized he was about to take a head on collision.
The man raised the dozer’s blade, but Bishop whipped the wheel to the left and slammed into the thicker part of the wall. For two full seconds, it was like driving a submarine in a sea of metal. Pieces scraped across his armor, screeching, bending, peeling aside.
The suspension shook and shimmied. Reverberations shivered through the hull. The Stryker’s left side lurched up, then fell to the pavement. Something briefly covered his external camera and then ripped away, leaving him with a wide open view of the road ahead and the big black RV.
He wove around the trundling excavator. The heavy bucket swiped at him, but missed, and Bishop pulled beside the bus and squealed to a stop.
“Let’s go, Bryant!” he shouted, hitting the rear door release and watching as the soldier leapt from the RV and ran between the two vehicles.
The people in the pickup trucks opened fire, and the sounds of shrieking machinery blasted into the cabin. He glanced right and saw Bryant duck as bullets ricocheted off the Stryker’s armor. He grabbed a handhold and swung himself inside.
“Shut it!” the soldier yelled as he pulled himself forward through the crew section.
Bishop hit the “Door Close” button and punched the gas to put some distance between themselves and the excavator. The bucket swung down again, smacking the concrete.
Bryant threw himself into the command chair, grabbed a virtual headset, and slapped it on. He punched a series of buttons on the console, and their mounted machine gun spun up. He swung it toward the approaching machine and fired several bursts in rapid succession. The loud pings of bullets hitting metal resonated in Bishop’s helmet speakers.
He worked to get the Stryker turned around but paused when he saw the three pickups that had blocked the highway. It seemed they had their own problems. Another vehicle had pulled sideways in the middle of the road; a big custom van from the ‘80s with a wolf painted on its side.
Whoever it was, they were firing on the people in the pickups. Bishop watched as a bullet ripped through one man’s chest while a second took a shot to the head and dropped out of the truck bed onto the pavement.
“Come on!” Bryant growled.
Nodding, he backed the Stryker up and then straightened them out, facing west toward the wreckage and the bulldozer that had turned to block the middle lane.
“Pull up,” the soldier said, and Bishop cl
osed within thirty yards of the big machine.
The driver had lifted the blade to protect himself from gunfire, but that didn’t stop Bryant. He fired bursts straight into the Caterpillar’s face. The .50 caliber rounds hit the metal in an effusion of sparks. Lead ricocheted or dented the blade, leaving deep divots.
A few bullets punched through.
The driver suddenly leapt off the machine and sprinted toward the edge of the road. Bryant whipped the gun in the man’s direction and chased him off the side of the bridge in a spray of concrete shards.
“That’s how you do it!” the soldier yelled, slapping his hand on the console.
Bishop grinned his enthusiasm as he navigated around the bulldozer and eased through the gap to the other side. Jessie drove the RV behind him, and they picked up speed heading west on I-40 toward the bridge.
“That’s it!” Bishop said. “I think we made it.”
“We’re not out of the woods yet,” Bryant countered, “but I dare anyone to screw with us now. Jessie, are you okay?”
“Right behind you,” she said. “Everyone’s fine here.”
Bishop turned his head toward the soldier to get a look at the man he’d wanted to meet. But he still wore his virtual headset and could only see the surrounding road.
They crossed the I-40 bridge and drew closer to West Memphis, leaving downtown behind.
“Great shooting,” Bishop said. “I had no idea those rounds could pierce through steel like that.”
“You have to soften it up a bit,” Bryant replied, “but it can be done. The driver made a wise choice. If he hadn’t bailed, I would have torn up the cabin, and him along with it.”
As they approached the I-40 I-55 junction, Bishop used his magnification to spot the blue CDC bus sitting at the top of the curve.
“I see you, hon.” He sighed triumphantly. “We made it.”
Kim let out a whoop of joy across the communication channel. “Yes! You guys are amazing. I heard the whole thing.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t try to give us orders,” Bryant said with a chuckle.
Bishop shook his head and laughed. The soldier knew his wife too well.
Spore Series | Book 5 | Torch Page 11
