“Knowing Paul? There is an exceptionally good chance.”
“Is there another entrance?” Lexi’s frustration showed in her shaking voice and impatient demeanor.
Burke leaned back in his chair, going over the possibilities. “He’s only got the one lab, though he frequented many of the local colleges to teach classes or give lectures.”
“But where did he live? Did he have a home or apartment nearby?”
At first, Burke couldn’t picture Paul in a home setting. He’d only ever seen the man in a lab coat or out in the field gathering samples, knees and elbows stained with dirt. Then he remembered something.
“Come to think of it, I attended one of his nerd gatherings way back in the beginning.”
“Nerd gatherings?”
“You know, paper and dice gaming. Dungeons and Dragons.” Burke shook his head. “You’re too young to remember its heyday. People play the game online now, and in droves. Correction, they used to play online. Now, I suppose no one plays at all.”
Lexi grunted in acknowledgment.
“Paul was into fantastical pleasures, and I was into real ones.” Burke allowed his mind to drift back to the time he’d sat at the end of Paul’s gaming table, cringing at the mycologist and his friends as they went bonkers over rolling critical hits against make believe monsters. His voice drifted off in wonder. “To think they were the world’s most renowned scientists.”
“Well, do you know where his house is?”
“I recall driving there,” Burke said, squinting as he coaxed for the memory. “I don’t recall the street names, but I’m getting an image of the house.”
Lexi waited patiently outside, shifting from one leg to the other.
A smile lit Burke’s face. “Get in. It’s not far.”
He popped the door, and Lexi and her remaining soldier hopped aboard.
While the two situated themselves in back, Burke gave Richtman a call on Burke’s private satellite line. He wondered who remained to monitor and course correct all the satellites flying above the earth. He expected them to crash into the Earth’s atmosphere at some point, and all satellite communication would die along with them.
Richtman picked up on the third ring. “Yeah, boss.”
“Tell me you’re having better luck than we’re having here.”
“Lexi wasn’t able to tie up those loose ends?” Richtman’s tone held a hint of satisfaction, though he slurred his words. Burke assumed he’d taken an extra Percocet or two.
“Not yet, but we’re working on it. Are you still following Kim Shields?”
“She’s a tricky lady,” Richtman scoffed, “and she’s got some brass balls, too. But I’m way ahead of her, and I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve.”
“Where are you now?”
“Somewhere around Kansas City.”
“Do you know where she’s headed?”
“Negative on that, sir,” Richtman said. “Do you want me to find out?”
“Unnecessary,” Burke said, though part of him was curious about her destination. “Just finish the job, destroy her mobile lab, and get home. Got it?”
“Yes sir,” Richtman replied. “Loud and clear, sir.”
Burke cut the connection and rested back in his chair. He’d never considered himself the military general type, yet here he was fighting two fronts of a war. One possible solution was to cut his losses and head straight to his bunker in California, though he couldn’t guarantee Kim Shields and her friends wouldn’t become a thorn in his side years later. Burke wasn’t one to back down from a fight. It’s how he’d scraped his way to the top of the Forbes Top 50 CEO list.
He’d always looked down at the world from the top of the food chain, and he had no reason to change just because the world went to hell. A shark’s grin spread across Burke’s face, and he looked forward to another confrontation.
Chapter 26
Kim Shields, Lawrence, Kansas
Kim woke to a soft alarm ringing in the bus's cabin. She shifted in the lounge bucket seat and turned on her left side, adjusting the throw blanket covering her. AMI had tinted the front windshield and side windows black, and she’d left the bus running so the air filtration system ran at maximum cool. Kim shivered and shifted again, resisting waking up.
“Sorry,” AMI said in apology. “You told me to wake you up in the afternoon, and it is now 2:35. You might also consider stopping for fuel since Mobile Unit XI has a quarter supply remaining.
Kim wanted to start “snooze” mode, though she knew the sooner she got moving, the sooner she could fuel up and get back on the road. She threw the coverlet off and pressed the chair’s control button to slide into a seated position. After a pause, she stood and ambled to the sink. She turned on a trickle of water and cupped her hands under the flow. Bending lower, she splashed the cold water on her face and dried off with a towel.
She put a fresh coffee pod into the brewer and listened to the trickle as the pleasant aroma filled the cabin. A glance around showed no fungus growing anywhere, so the air filtration system must be working.
“What’s the spore count, AMI?”
“Airborne spore count density is 1,045 spores per cubic meter.”
“Not bad at all,” Kim nodded with satisfaction. “We’re kicking butt, and we should be able to reach zero toxicity at some point.”
She wiped down the lounge surfaces, seats, and dashboard. Once done, Kim stood in the lounge with one hand on her hip, facing the windshield. “AMI, reduce tint to seventy-five percent.”
Light filtered into the cabin and allowed her to see where she’d parked somewhere around Lawrence, Kansas. After the standoff with Richtman the night before, she’d barely had enough energy to skirt Kansas City before the excitement of the evening caught up with her. The barn had seemed perfect, nestled in pitch darkness with no way for Richtman to see her from the road. She’d slept soundly, her brain refreshed even if her body ached with stiffness.
“Okay, reduce the tinting by fifty percent.”
More light filtered into the cabin, shining in from the open barn door. Wet hay covered the floor, and light brown grasses swayed outside. Asphyxia remained present, though green vegetation continued to fight through. It almost seemed like a normal, country farm to Kim if not for the dour knowledge that the owners no longer tended their fields.
“AMI, dial up Bryant in Yellow Springs, please. I’d like to check in with him.”
“Dialing,” AMI replied. After a pause, AMI said, “Bryant is not picking up.”
“They must be busy with something.” She bit her lip. “Call Bishop, then.”
“Calling Bishop Shields.”
Kim waited for her husband to pick up. She’d talked to her family again after ditching Richtman last night to let them know she was okay, and she couldn’t wait to talk to them again.
“Hello?”
“It’s me, honey,” Kim said with an unfettered grin. “How are the kids?”
“Right here, Mom,” Riley said.
Trevor must have shoved his sister aside, for his voice burst through extra loud. “Yo, Mom!”
“Hey, settle down, buddy!” Kim laughed. “Sounds like your father is out of quarantine.”
Bishop wrested the phone from the kids with a grunt before his voice boomed across the line. “I don’t have any symptoms at all, and my wound is healing fine.”
“No sign of mold or fungus?”
“Nothing,” Bishop replied.
“Just keep an eye out. It could still be in your bloodstream.”
“You know I will.”
“I’m about to get back on the road,” Kim said, taking on a business-like tone. “According to the map, I’m between Topeka and Lawrence, so I’ve still got around nine or ten hours to get to you.”
“I still think you should let us meet you halfway.”
“I was thinking about that,” she said, nodding. “It might not be a terrible idea. I could meet you in five hours instead of ten. I’m just worried we’ll
lose satellite connection and miss each other.”
“As long as we both stay on I-70, there’s no way we can miss.”
“And there’s the traffic,” Kim added.
“There won’t be any traffic, babe.”
“Not regular traffic.” Kim shook her head. “It’s like I said before. I’ve seen some strange things on the road, and it wouldn’t take much to force one of us to take a detour.”
“I’m willing to take that chance,” Bishop said. “The satellite connections will probably last another ten hours.”
“No, you’re right,” she said. “But at least you’re safe right now. You guys leaving the house puts the entire family at risk.”
“I’ll tell you what,” he said. “We’ll pack some things and go check on some military vehicles down by the stadium. I’d been wanting to do that anyway. We might secure an armored Humvee or something. It could keep us safe on the road, and it will give you a two- or three-hour head start. I’ll call you before we leave, that way you know exactly when we’re on our way. We can even stay on the phone as we drive.”
“That sounds like a brilliant idea,” Kim said with a smile, and for the first time in two weeks, seeing her family became a real possibility.
“All right!” Riley shouted.
“We’re going to see Mom!” Trevor laughed.
A loud jostling caused her to move the phone an inch from her ear, and Riley hollered at her brother to cut it out. Then Bishop’s voice dominated the line once again.
“We’ll start now,” he said, apologetically. “As soon as I get these beasts under control. They’re over the moon, and I am, too. I’ll talk to you soon, babe.”
They said their reluctant, but expected, goodbyes.
Kim stood looking out at the afternoon light, grinning wide at the thought of reuniting with her family. A worrisome thought struck her, and Kim stepped back to the sink and stared at herself in the mirror. She looked frightful. Her hair had been in a ponytail for days, and her skin was dry and blotchy from zero care except for the multitude of disinfectants she’d scrubbed with. A small part of her wondered if Paul’s serum might be wreaking havoc on her skin. It certainly gave her an occasional stomach cramp.
She almost called them back and asked Riley to bring her brush, though she probably didn’t need to. The girl never left home without it.
“Bishop won’t fault me for looking like a mess.” She leveled a narrow-eyed stare into her own eyes, one corner of her mouth lifting in a smile. “It’s been a rough couple of weeks.”
“Let’s get back on the road, AMI,” Kim announced. “Can you find the nearest gas station? And are we looking for diesel or regular fuel?”
“Our bi-fuel engine accepts either, though diesel is preferred,” AMI replied. “And I’ve just routed you to the nearest gas station on the map.”
“Thanks.”
Kim made a second cup of coffee and placed it in the center console before she belted herself into her seat. She put the bus into drive and pulled out of the barn with a heavy rocking that spilled some of her coffee into the cup holder.
She cursed lightly, picked up the cup, and sipped some down before placing the cup back into the holder. Following AMI’s directions, she took a left on State Route 40 and drove west across the flat Kansas farmlands.
She drove parallel to I-70 with fields of tall grasses and ruined crops spread out on either side of her, their broken and diseased stalks lilting down in a frightful state. She shook her head at the sheer devastation of it and thought for the hundredth time that humankind might never recover from Asphyxia.
AMI chimed. “The Phillips 66 station will be up ahead on the left.”
“Thank you.”
The road swung them beneath the expressway, and Kim spotted the gas station just as AMI said. She pulled into the large lot and searched the surroundings for any signs of trouble. The lot held a spattering of cars, sitting at the pumps or pulled into the Mini-Mart parking spaces.
Kim frowned at the familiar cocoons of fungus-covered corpses in poses that passed for surreal art. Someone had fallen dead next to their car with the gas nozzle still inserted inside the fuel pipe. Other people had fallen running across the lot to some unknown destination.
“Running from death,” Kim whispered as she gathered her rifle, pistol, flashlight, and earpiece. “Open the door, AMI.”
She stepped out of the bus and paused. A faint breeze blew loose strands of hair around her face, and two pieces of metal banged together in the distance. No one approached her nor did she hear footsteps.
“Can you hear me, AMI?”
“Loud and clear.”
“This will sound like a stupid question, but where is the gas cap?”
“No question is stupid,” AMI said, tenderly. “The gas cap is in the vehicle’s rear next to the battery charging and sanitation ports.”
Kim shouldered her rifle and walked around to the back of Mobile Unit XI. Three ports of various sizes lined up side-by-side between the taillights, and she identified the fuel port. It was the middle-sized port in the center. She tried to flip open the cover, but it wouldn’t budge.
“AMI, are you able to pop the gas port cover?”
“Yes.”
The cover popped open, and she unscrewed the cap and allowed it to hang from its plastic cable. Then she stepped around to the pump. The digital numbers on the screen remained blank.
“I don’t think this will work without electric.”
She lifted the valve handle and flipped up the “On” lever. No numbers lit the screen. She took the valve handle to the back of the bus and placed the end into the fuel port. She squeezed the handle and wasn’t surprised when no diesel came out.
Leaving the valve handle inserted, Kim walked from the rear of the bus toward the store. “They have to have backup generators somewhere.”
She unslung her rifle and held it at the ready as she approached the store’s front doors. The surrounding area held the telltale signs of those who’d tried to get inside as they choked on Asphyxia. Fuzzy corpses had collapsed with their arms reaching for the safety of inside. Two corpses bonded together as if in an altercation.
One body lay next to the ice cooler holding a bag of water.
“You missed the cookout, Jim,” Kim said with dark humor, feeling sorry for the dead man even as her Kentucky accent twanged.
She pushed through the front doors and turned her flashlight on. Kim looked around in wonder. While the fungus had invaded into the entranceway, the snack aisles remained unsoiled. The packaging was untouched, and she estimated the aisles held enough snacks to feed an army.
“Jackpot.” She crossed over to the chips and nuts section.
She slung her rifle over her shoulder and opened a pack of honey roasted cashews. Kim closed her eyes and groaned in pleasure as she chewed on the first piece. Then she munched on the pack as she walked along the short hall past the restrooms to the back of the store.
It took her less than ten minutes to find the breaker box and the onsite generators locked inside two large metal encasements. A power switch labeled “Generator Start” was on the wall, and Kim flipped it on to bring the generators roaring to life. The lights swelled, faded, then lit up permanently with the electricity temporarily restored.
“Awesome,” Kim said. She stepped out of the back and made her way to the front of the store.
She grabbed another pack of honey roasted cashews when the sound of high-pitched rolling wheels reached her. Kim backed farther into the snack aisle, peeking around to see two boys of around twelve cruising toward her bus, riding skateboards.
One boy wore a Kansas J-Hawks basketball jersey while the other wore a white T-shirt, both of them wearing high-grade air filtration masks. When they got close to the bus, they leapt off their skateboards and kicked the back ends so their boards jumped off the ground. The boys snatched their skateboards out of the air and walked around the bus, studying it.
They met at the
front, exchanged a few words, then dropped their boards and skated toward the store. She retreated deeper into the aisle as the kids blasted through the front doors without a care in the world.
“I want some barbecue chips,” one boy said, and the other’s reply was unintelligible because of his mask.
The boy in the Kansas jersey came around the aisle and stopped when he saw Kim standing there, holding her rifle. His friend ran into him, issuing a long string of complaints until the Kansas jersey kid pointed to Kim.
“I won’t hurt you,” she said, lifting her left hand to show she wasn’t aggressive.
The kids looked like they might run, but the Kansas jersey kid’s curiosity got the best of him.
“You some kind of officer or something?”
“Sort of,” she replied. “I’m with the CDC, and that’s my bus out there.”
“Cool bus,” white T-shirt kid said.
“Thanks. I’m just passing through.”
The Kansas jersey kid stepped forward in wonderment despite the ominous presence of her rifle. “Hey, how come you’re not wearing a mask?”
“I don’t need one.”
“Does that mean it’s safe to take them off?” The boy placed his fingers on his own mask and started to pull it off.
“No!” Kim cried, raising one hand in alarm. “The air is still toxic! Leave it on.”
The boy let go of his mask, and he stared at Kim with a questioning look. “Why?”
She explained. “My body has developed antigens against the fungus. I can breathe it and not die.”
“Where can we get some antigens?” the white T-shirt kid asked.
“We’re working on some treatments...” she smiled, wanting to keep it simple. “We’ll have a cure soon. Just hang in there.”
“We will,” the Kansas jersey kid said with a nod, then he glanced at the rows of snacks with a guilty look. “We’re just a little hungry, that’s all.”
“Take what you want,” Kim shrugged, stepping back. “I recommend the honey roasted cashews.”
The boys grinned behind their masks as they raided the shelves. Kim circled to the next aisle and left the store, striding back to the bus.
Spore Series | Book 3 | Fight Page 16
