She grinned when the numbers on the gas pump’s digital screen lit up, indicating it was ready to pump. Then she walked to the back of the bus and squeezed the pump handle again, smiling as the diesel fuel flowed into the tank.
“It’s working, AMI. Is the tank filling up?”
“Affirmative. It is filling up.”
She locked the pump handle so she could step away from the vehicle, and she watched as the kids left the store and skateboarded away. The Kansas jersey kid waved to her as they exited the lot, and she waved back with a friendly smile.
She filled up the tank and returned to the store to turn off the generators and gather more snacks. After taking only what she needed, Kim got back in the bus to finish the last leg of her journey.
Chapter 27
Randy and Jenny Tucker, Indianapolis, Indiana
The forklift gave a dangerous lurch as Randy backed it up and did a quick spin. Then he pushed the throttle forward and hit the acceleration pedal to trundle across the warehouse floor at a modest ten miles per hour. When he reached the other side, he placed the forks under a waiting skid filled with diaper boxes and lifted it six inches off the ground.
With a wink at Tricia and Jenny, Randy backed up the forklift. He remembered to be careful with loads of goods, so he turned slower before heading to the other side of the warehouse. A crew built racks as they brought in more product, yet they remained unable to keep up with the growing inventory of scavenged items from local stores and homes. As soon as a rack went up, a more skilled forklift driver picked up what Randy left and stowed it higher up.
Product filled less than a quarter of the warehouse, so there was plenty of room for growth. As Randy set down his skid by the rack builders, someone hollered to him. He looked around to see Dodger standing nearby with his arms folded across his chest.
“Better be careful, or they’ll pull you off that, too,” the scout called.
“I’m being careful, man.” Randy scoffed, though in reality he could stand to be at least ten percent more careful. “Getting ready for a scouting run?”
“I’m on home defense tonight,” Dodger said with a shake of his head.
“We have defenses?” He backed up the forklift until he came even with Dodger. He lowered his eyes. “I mean, of course we do.”
“Yes, and I work defense two nights a week,” Dodger confirmed.
“You guard the doors?” Randy nodded toward the warehouse bay doors, of which there were twelve. They’d been sealed shut to avoid letting in the spores, and a crew with welding torches added a second layer in the form of metal slabs cut from the side of trucks and vans.
“No, I man the roof guns.”
“Whoa! We have roof guns?”
“Four of them,” Dodger said. “One in each corner. Big puppies, but don’t ask me to name what they are. I’m not a gunner, but I scout and run ammunition.”
Randy shook his head, recalling his walk through the Colony troop barracks when Jergensen had called him and Jenny in to reward them with their vouchers. “Based on what I saw, the Colony has bigger weapons. They might even have a tank. They’d go through this like butter.”
“I think John assumes that,” Dodger said, “and I’m sure we have some tricks up our sleeves if Odom brings in the heavy armor.”
“Let’s hope he never finds this place.”
Dodger shook his head. “My bet is that they already know about us.”
“Why don’t they attack then?”
“Because they don’t want to leave the airport exposed by assaulting us head on.” Dodger spoke like it was obvious. “They might have the power, but we’ve got the speed, and we’ve got them outnumbered. At least for now. Of course, I can’t pretend to know what Odom is thinking.”
“No, you can’t.”
“So, you think he’s crazy?”
“Not crazy,” Randy replied. “Just paranoid and obsessed with being the boss.”
Dodger scoffed in amusement. “Ah, little man syndrome.”
Randy raised his eyebrows. “You might be right. He is a short guy.”
A bell rang to show it was break time, and Randy leapt down from the forklift. Together, the two strolled toward the center of the open warehouse as the sounds of relieved and excited workers echoed off the walls. Jenny and the crew walked toward them with David pushing Tricia in her twin chairs.
“She’s all yours,” David said. He gave Tricia’s chair a hard shove, so she coasted toward Randy with a helpless smile on her face.
“Thanks, man!” He turned as Tricia rolled by, placing his hands on the back of the chair and continuing to push. “Having a good time over there?”
“Not as much as you’re having on the forklift.”
“It’s pretty fun,” Randy agreed. “How’s the hip?”
“It feels a lot better already,” Tricia said. “I’m taking Tylenol 3 for the pain, and I’m supposed to have the bandage changed later. Push me to my appointment after break?”
“You’ve got it.” He tapped on the back of her chair.
“I might try to walk tomorrow,” Tricia boasted.
“Easy there. Don’t get ahead of yourself. You’ve got some time to heal, so use it.”
“Yes, sir!” Tricia’s mock obedience caused them both to laugh.
Upon reaching the cafeteria, someone announced it was pizza day. A combination of frozen and homemade pizzas lay spread out across the tables, and the thirty people coming off shift grabbed paper plates and dug out the pieces.
Randy’s stomach roiled with hunger. “I haven’t had pizza in weeks.”
“It’s his favorite food,” Jenny explained, bumping into David.
“Mine, too,” Tricia said. She pointed at one table. “Pepperoni, please.”
“I’ll park you and go in with two plates.” He placed Tricia on the outside of the tables then launched himself toward the pepperoni pizza.
He loaded up two plates with three pieces each and brought them back to the table with Tricia and Dodger, while Jenny and David took the next table over. Randy introduced Dodger, and everyone went to work demolishing their slices.
Jenny leaned closer to Dodger and grinned. “So, you’ve seen firsthand what a pain my brother can be?”
“Whoa!” Randy said, trying to keep up with Tricia. She’d already finished with her second slice.
“Naw, he’s okay,” Dodger said, talking around his food. “He’s a little excitable but a great fighter.”
“Dodger was telling me about the defenses,” Randy said to Tricia. “They’ve got some guns up on the roof.”
Tricia nodded as if she already knew about them. “John told me they’re Browning M2 .50 caliber guns with tripod mounts. And they’ve got two M60s and some M4 carbines, including the ones we brought when we escaped. Anyway, I can fire all of them accurately. John knows where to find me.”
“I could barely hang on to my gun the other day.” Jenny shook her head. “I think I might have hit the concrete a few times.”
“It was enough to keep them honest,” Tricia assured her.
“How does that compare to what the Colony has?” Randy asked, honestly curious.
“We...” Tricia shook her head. “They have several .50 caliber mounted machine guns on armored vehicles, and almost unlimited M4 carbines or AR-15s. They’ve got two armored personnel carriers, a handful of helicopters, and a tank. I mean, there isn’t a comparison. I gave John some ideas on how we could stop them, but I wouldn’t count on winning a straight up fight with them.”
“I told you they had a tank.” Randy shot a look at Dodger. The scout had turned pale at Tricia’s rundown of the Colony’s weaponry. Randy turned back to Tricia. “You told John everything?”
“Why do you think he let me stay?” Tricia shrugged. “I had to spill my guts. Make no mistake, it would be a lopsided fight. The only way to fix the Colony will be to replace Odom with someone better. Taggert, maybe. Though I’d have no idea how to go about that.”
&
nbsp; “I can see why they’re such bullies,” Dodger agreed. “They don’t need faster cars if they can just run things over.”
“Let’s just hope it doesn’t come down to a straight up fight,” Randy said, going quiet.
Chapter 28
Moe Tsosie, Chinle, Arizona
The horses whinnied, seeming to sense the tension as Moe and Sage got them saddled up. Sage led Copper outside, and Moe led Rust, the two beautiful horses shaking their heads with enthusiasm.
He placed his backpack on the ground and pulled out a pistol, handing it to Sage.
She shook her head and placed her hand on Copper’s golden-brown snout. “I can ride just fine, but you’d be wasting that on me. I’ve never shot a weapon in my life.”
“Fair enough,” he replied. “I don’t intend to get close enough to use them, anyway.”
Moe pulled a pair of binoculars from his backpack and hung them around his neck. He shouldered his pack and AR-15 and mounted Rust, giving his old friend a pat on the neck. Sage mounted Copper with ease and got him under control as he side-stepped and whipped his tail back and forth.
“Be a gentleman, Copper,” Moe admonished the horse. He lifted his eyes to Sage. “I don’t take Copper out as often as I’d like, but he’s usually an obedient boy.”
Sage leaned down and rubbed Copper’s neck while whispering something he couldn’t hear. The horse made a low rumble in his chest before he nodded his head, seeming to like the sound of Sage’s voice.
Moe paused to take in the scene. Sage sat straight on Copper’s powerful form with her hair down and her shock of gray whipping around her face. Her red flannel shirt framed her round shoulders, and her gold-toned skin reflected the sun’s diminishing light.
She caught him looking and flashed him a sideways grin. “What?”
“Nothing,” he said. “Let’s get going.”
They kicked the horses into a gentle gallop, riding north toward the shallow head of Canyon De Chelly to skirt around the northern edge of town. They picked their way down a grassy incline, and Moe peered down over a half dozen mobile homes and houses resting in the canyon’s base.
Route 7 wove down from Chinle into the depression, then angled up toward the canyon’s rim where it continued eastward. Several dirt roads wove into the base to serve tour businesses and the Cottonwood Campground where the land held moisture like a cupped hand.
They galloped the other direction, west across Route 7 and through a forested area before arriving at the shallowest part of Canyon De Chelly. They crossed the muddy bed and splashed through a shallow trickle of water, surging up the opposite shore when they reached it.
Moe looked at Sage with a questioning expression, and she nodded in response. They kicked the horses into a sprint along the edge of the gully, then slowed to a gallop as they circled around and looked south toward town. After a quarter mile, he searched for a place to spot their surroundings.
The newest parts of Chinle lay to the west of Canyon De Chelly, including the Wildcat Den and the FEMA camp. The old parts nestled on the east side, closer to the canyon base, establishments that included the old town hall, tourist hotels, and his coveted Denny’s.
They found an abandoned ranch on the north side with two dilapidated cars left behind by Navajo citizens. Moe guided Sage to the highest spot he could find where they paused to take it all in. An opening in the trees left a plain view of Chinle.
Moe lifted the binoculars and scanned the town. “The Chinle Seventh Day Adventist Church is burning, and people have gathered around the trailers.”
He stood in his stirrups to search back to the southeast, trying to get a status on the Denny’s. A smile flicked at the corners of his mouth. “I’m not a hundred percent sure, but I think the Denny’s is okay.”
“Let’s keep circling up and around,” Sage said, and she turned Copper to the northwest and spurred him into a gallop.
Moe lowered the binoculars and gave Rust a, “Yah!”
The gelding burst ahead with a sudden surge of speed, eager to catch up with his brother. They rode along the forest edge as a spring breeze drifted sweetly across his nose. At a certain point, he gave a whistle to get Sage’s attention. When she turned back, he pointed to a trail in the trees and led Rust in.
Together they navigated to another shallow part of the gully and crossed, angling back south to split the town in two.
They rode past small farmsteads and ranches with circular pens for horses or other livestock. Groups of people tore through the houses, throwing personal items into the yards as they destroyed the property. They watched Moe and Sage pass with wary eyes, and he experienced a flash of anger that these refugees would disrespect the homes of his people.
And he swore many of the looters had black fungus patches on their lips and around their noses, some of them too sick to do anything but sit slumped in porch chairs.
“We knew this would happen,” Moe said more to himself than anyone else.
They galloped over to Route 7, putting them on the opposite side of the highway, and Moe got out his binoculars and searched around. To the east, the Denny’s lay looted with its windows smashed and some booths pulled out into the parking lot, though it wasn’t burning. To his right, the Wildcat Den smoldered, and the dialysis clinic across the street raged with flames along with several cars in its parking lot.
Farther south behind the Wildcat Den lay one of Chinle’s only modern subdivisions. At least five of the cookie-cutter homes were on fire, though the refugees had spared the rest.
“Why would they burn homes?” Sage asked. “I mean, wouldn’t the homes have supplies?”
He shook his head. “Many are sick. I mean, I don’t think they’re right in the head. Others might just be angry or expressing rage at the situation. Everyone is out of control.”
A layer of smoke coming off the burning homes and Wildcat Den blocked him from seeing any farther, so they would have to circle around if they wanted to scope out the camp.
“Moe!” Sage hissed. Her panic-filled tone caused him to spin Rust in a complete circle and peer back the way they’d come.
A ragtag gang of refugees from the looted homes approached Moe and Sage on foot. One held a pistol in his hand, while the others held bats and other blunt objects. They spread out, and the leader raised his pistol high and angled sideways, like a “gangsta” in a rap video.
“You need to step down off those horses,” the man said, stabbing the barrel of the weapon at Moe to emphasize his words. “Or I’ll pop you.”
Knowing he wouldn’t get anywhere by talking, Moe unslung his AR-15 and grasped it in a firing position. The man stepped back before his face twisted into an angry sneer. Moe fired a burst of rounds. The first two bullets hit the ground at the man’s feet, and the last one ripped through his kneecap and blew blood and bone across the dirt.
Rust jumped at the sound of the gunshots, but he gripped the horse’s reigns with his left hand as Sage fought to keep Copper under control. By the time he got Rust settled down, the refugee gang had sprinted off in every direction to leave the wounded man writhing on the ground.
The man raised his pistol and took aim at Sage, and Moe swung his barrel up and fired two more bursts, zippering the man up the middle and sending pieces of him flying off like flesh and blood confetti.
He gave Rust a kick and trotted the horse up to the dead man. Moe dismounted and approached, pulling out an old cloth and some plastic from his jacket. He snatched up the man’s weapon, wrapped it in plastic, and stuffed it into his backpack. He got back on Rust and turned him around as Sage stared at him with her jaw hanging open and the blood drained from her face.
“We gather any weapons we find from now on,” he said with firm determination. He regretted she had to see that, but there wasn’t any other way. “Guns, ammunition, and grenades. We’ll wrap them up and clean them later, in case they’ve got the fungus on them.”
“Okay,” Sage said with wide eyes.
“Thi
s way.” He kicked Rust into motion, and Sage fell in behind.
They galloped the horses north once more, returning to the outskirts of town to avoid any attention the gunfire might have drawn.
Once north of town, Moe circled west and then curved to the south. They crossed Highway 191 and gave a wide berth to more looted farmsteads and ranches. Someone had broken into a truck and did fishtails in the yard, sending a wide cloud of dust into the sky. A gun fired, and someone screamed, though he couldn’t tell from which house.
“Looks like they moved in,” Moe grumbled.
“Let’s just avoid them,” Sage called back. “I’m worried about Dr. Reemer and her staff. I think they might be—”
“We’ll make our way to the south side of the FEMA camp.” Moe cut her off.
Sage nodded, and they drove the horses harder, more anxious than ever to know what happened to the doctors in the camp. As they swung around, evidence of the previous night’s chaos showed.
“Oh, no!” Sage covered her mouth as she glanced repeatedly toward the camp.
They were a good half mile off, though it was easy to see dozens of bodies lying prone inside the camp. Tent material lay scattered across the grounds, wrapping around poles and corpses and burned out portable restrooms like a white and blue covered wasteland.
Others moved within the camp, though Moe couldn’t tell if it was an organized effort or refugees wandering around.
They approached a cluster of boulders his people called Solitary Rock, a renowned place of isolation, meditation, and prayer the elders sometimes used. “We’ll climb up the rocks to get a better look.”
Sage nodded, and they dismounted behind the semi-circle of stones, the largest one standing ten feet high. They left the horses standing in the shade while they leapt up the rocks one at a time, starting from the smallest one and working their way to the top.
“Watch out, the stone was baking all day in the sun,” Moe pointed out as he crawled along the flat surface on his stomach.
Sage lowered herself onto her stomach like Moe, careful to crawl on her forearms rather than place her palms on the hot rock. “Thanks for the warning.”
Spore Series | Book 3 | Fight Page 17
