“There is a telescoping ladder stored in the prep room.”
“Perfect.”
She made her way back to the prep area, wincing every time a round penetrated the bus’s thin skin. He must have punctured one of the decontaminate barrels, because a soapy scent began filling the interior of the bus.
After a quick search, she found the extension ladder stored in a compartment in the floor. Collapsed, the ladder weighed about thirty pounds and was only three feet long. Kim took it into the decontamination chamber where she stood facing the exit.
“Has Richtman moved, AMI?”
“No. He is in the same location.”
“Great.” Kim took a deep breath and steeled her courage before it left her. “Open the back door.”
The back door popped open and slid aside, and she descended the stairs and stepped into the night. She turned and unfastened the ladder and pushed slowly up on the rungs so they clicked into place. She leaned the ladder against the side of the RV with a soft clang.
She unslung her rifle and climbed to the top, carefully peeking over. The center raised eight inches to enclose the ventilation machinery to provide Kim ample cover. Another high-powered round tore through the RV and clattered around inside. That one might have gotten through to the decontamination chamber itself.
“I know you can hear me, Mrs. Shields.” Richtman’s voice rattled from his mask’s voice amplifier. “Come out, and we can end this now.”
Kim rested her rifle on the roof and climbed aboard, crawling out toward the raised section. She rested on her left side and pulled her rifle close to her chest.
“Otherwise, I’ll blow your bus to pieces, and it will be worthless. I have to assume you’ve found the cure because you weren’t wearing an air filtration mask.”
Beads of sweat trickled down her face and hung from her chin. She relaxed her grip on her weapon and tried to control her shallow breathing.
“Richtman is approaching Mobile Unit XI,” AMI said into her ear. “He is dragging something behind him.”
A spike of panic drove Kim to lift herself onto her elbow, and she peered down at the exit ramp to where Richtman had been standing. AMI was right. The man no longer fired from that position, and a shuffling and banging noise reached her from below.
She crawled across the top of the air conditioning unit in time to see Richtman limping hurriedly away from the RV. Drawing her rifle up with a clatter, Kim took aim and fired off a shot. Richtman had already turned and spotted her sprawled on the roof. He jerked away just as her round hit the concrete at his feet, then he swung his rifle up and fired a burst across the top of the RV that zipped over Kim’s head.
Determined not to miss again, she remained still and tracked the man in her gun sights. She fired again and then again, squeezing the trigger as the stock jumped against her shoulder. Richtman danced and jerked his hand up in a spray of blood, yowling. He spun and hobbled down the ramp with Kim’s bullets chasing him. She saw his shirt snap as one of her rounds hit home before he ducked behind his vehicle.
A moment passed before a guttural cry ripped the night air.
“You bitch!” Richtman yelled. “I would have made a deal with you. The cure in exchange for your freedom. But you’ve left me no choice.” The guttural cry came again, like something wrenched from the lungs of a wounded wolf.
Kim doubted any promises the mercenary made, and she wasn’t keen on negotiating with the jerk anyway.
Richtman stepped from behind his car and aimed his weapon in Kim’s direction. She ducked as shots smacked the side of the RV, though none came close to hitting her. On the last shot, something exploded against the side of the RV in a whoosh of noise and heat.
“I detect rising heat levels outside the vehicle,” AMI said.
“Richtman set it on fire. Is the bus fire resistant?”
“Yes, although the heat will cause irreversible damage if it reaches the vital components.”
Kim shook her head. “Do we have any fire extinguishers?”
“Mobile Unit XI is equipped with three fire extinguishers. One of them is located in the prep room.”
She grunted and crawled back to the ladder, carefully climbing down so she didn’t break a leg.
“AMI, the door, please.”
The RV’s door opened and shut behind her, and she found herself once again standing inside the decontamination chamber.
“Check the emergency panel inside the prep room.”
Kim stepped into the prep room and located a panel in the floor labeled “Emergency.” She slid her fingers beneath the latch and pulled, lifting the panel free. Laying inside was a two-foot long fire extinguisher and two first aid kits stacked atop one another.
“Got it,” Kim said, lifting out the extinguisher. She returned to the decontamination chamber. “Where’s Richtman?”
“The fire has reduced visibility on Mobile Unit XI’s right side to zero, and one camera is offline. I suspect it has burned out.”
With a soft curse, she tucked the fire extinguisher under her left arm and raised the rifle barrel. “Okay, but he’s not right outside my door, right?”
“Correct.”
“Okay. Open it.”
The door opened for her, and Kim descended to the pavement. Outside, the smell of burning wood and gasoline stung her nose, and the flames crackled and snapped.
Orange light sent fluttering shadows down I-70 as she swung the rifle around the back of the bus. She lowered her rifle and pulled the tab on the fire extinguisher, then held it down at her side. She stalked to the edge of the bus with the butt of her rifle against her hip. Richtman’s vehicle sat too far down the road to see, though she’d expose herself as soon as she rounded the corner and tried to put out the fire.
“You got this,” she said to herself. “Just keep him pinned down while you kill those flames.” She took a deep breath and lowered herself into a squat. “Okay, let’s go.”
Kim rounded the back of the bus as a wave of heat hit her in the face. She pointed her rifle at Richtman’s car down on the ramp and waited for him to poke his head up. When he didn’t, she glanced down at the fire extinguisher, placing it on the ground to adjust her grip.
After getting a good hold of it, she took her eyes off Richtman’s car and turned to put the fire out.
Her eyes flew wide as Richtman circled the flames and charged her with a lurching gait, smacking her in the head with the butt of his weapon. Kim staggered sideways, her head exploding with stars. Richtman limped after her, raising his weapon to strike her again. Her rifle stock caught on the concrete and jolted her to the side so Richtman’s strike missed.
Kim landed on her back as her weapon clattered away. Richtman’s rifle butt punched at her again, but she held the extinguisher up with both hands and blocked the blow. With a cry, she straightened her arms and squeezed the handle. Powder burst from the nozzle into Richtman’s face, covering his visor in white.
Richtman cursed incoherently and wiped his hand back and forth across his visor. She rolled away and staggered to her feet, trying to get behind him. He turned in the opposite direction, putting her right where she wanted to be, and she raised the extinguisher and charged.
Jaw locked tight, arms flexed with rage, Kim brought the extinguisher down on the back of Richtman’s head with a wild cry. Off balance, she only scored a glancing blow, sending them both tumbling to the ground.
Blackness threatened to seal her vision, but Kim shook her head and dug her palms into the warm concrete, pushing herself to her knees.
Richtman, on his knees, jerked his good leg beneath him and stood, searching for his prey. “Shields, I’ll kill you—”
Kim took three steps and leapt onto his back with an animal growl. She wrapped her legs around his waist and dug her fingers beneath his mask. She ripped upward, tearing the mask off with a victory cry to toss it aside.
If she couldn’t kill him, Asphyxia would.
Richtman screamed in rage and reach
ed back to snatch her hair. He pulled and jerked her head around in fury as Kim clawed and scratched at his face. He drove his head backward to smash her nose with the force of a brick.
Her head snapped back, and a warm gush of blood filled her throat and exploded down her chin. Strength fled her limbs, and she let go. She hit the ground, the wind punched from her lungs, head smacking the concrete. She groaned through a bloody grimace and gasped to breathe. Turning onto her side, Kim lay her head on the concrete and screamed inside against the inevitable black of unconsciousness.
Chapter 31
Moe Tsosie, Chinle, Arizona
“It’s very risky, Moe,” Rex said, leaning back against his truck. “I mean, there’s a chance you won’t come back.”
The night had deepened, and the doom of impending conflict loomed large over the group. The moon cast a reddish sheen across the desert like a bloody omen, offering no hope for anyone who dared stride on the sunbaked dirt.
Moe and his friends were about to dance across it.
“Don’t count me out so easily,” he scoffed. He held his arm outstretched with his palm against the truck’s hood. “I’ve done some fighting in my day.”
“I know, man. But you can’t take on an entire camp by yourself.”
Moe raised the binoculars to his eyes. “I’m not taking on the entire camp at once. Just a little at a time.”
They had parked by the triage spot a quarter mile away behind one of the abandoned military trucks. The field lighting above them remained dark, leaving them hidden to curious eyes. He directed his field glasses across the camp, looking for an opportunity in the green-tinted night vision.
The night lay over the desert like a cool salve, soothing the earlier instability to a simmer, though they had still not restored full power as shown by the flickering field lighting positioned around the edges. In the camp’s center, the lights died for two full minutes before returning to life for four—a pattern Moe might take advantage of.
Bonfires blossomed on the west side of camp, and piles of dead bodies burned within the devilish light. Guards came by and tossed more corpses on top, causing the embers to stir and flare up. The camp’s organization had a clear direction from someone. But who?
“I second Rex,” Sage said, coming to stand beside Moe with her arms folded across her chest. “I want to save Dr. Reemer and her staff, but maybe we should wait for a better time.”
“They’ll never be so vulnerable,” Moe pointed out. “Whoever has control of the camp will be focused on keeping that control, worried more about threats from inside rather than out. They’ll shoot anyone who doesn’t fall in line, and they’ll make examples out of Humphreys and his officers.
“But Brandi and her team are more use to them alive,” Sage countered. “They wouldn’t hurt them.”
“If the person in charge feels threatened,” Moe shrugged, “who knows what they would do? I doubt they would think twice about putting a bullet through a nurse’s head.”
Sage fell quiet.
He turned the binoculars to a trio of bonfire barrels on the south side of camp where two guards warmed their hands. “I think I found my way in.”
Moe stealthily approached the south edge of camp across the dry desert ground. The baked earth broke beneath his boots as he moved from brush to brush, rock to rock, praying for the land to protect him.
The barrels and the two guards stood just inside the edge of the field lighting. They warmed their hands over the flames and chatted. They wore civilian clothing with their rifles slung over their shoulders. One guard lifted part of a two-by-four from a pile of wood and tossed it in, causing the flames to leap up. Not professional soldiers, neither guard looked in his direction, seemingly unconcerned with a threat coming from the south.
The on-off pattern of the field lights remained. Two minutes off, four minutes on. Moe could only imagine some wounded field mechanic being forced to figure out which generator was causing the problem. It might take them awhile, but once they fixed it, the camp would be fully lit, making it impossible for Moe to get in undetected.
At fifty yards, he fell to his chest and crawled across the cooling desert floor. He worked his way between the brush, keeping silent as he angled toward his right. When he came within thirty yards of the guards, he stopped and drew his legs beneath him, reaching a crouched position. Keeping his rifle slung over his shoulder, he gently removed his seven-inch blade from its sheath.
He forced his breathing into a slow and steady rhythm and rolled his shoulders to loosen the tension in them. The guards chatted away with an occasional glance back whenever someone fired a gunshot or yelled, and the faint scent of burning flesh offended his nose with a sickly-sweet odor.
When the camp field lights died, Moe rose from his crouched position and advanced on the right-hand guard. His footfalls sounded like bombs going off, though the guard didn’t hear them over the crackling of the flames and the din of the camp.
He made it within five yards before the man looked up. His eyes flew wide as Moe shot forward and slammed his blade into the side of the man’s throat then ripped the blade free in a gush of blood. The man fell against the second guard and collapsed against the barrels.
“Hey,” the second guard growled. “Watch where you’re—”
She turned and saw her partner grasping his neck, blood spurting through his fingers. Her jaw dropped as Moe stepped over the dying man and raised his bloody knife.
The woman jerked back and raised her weapon. She stumbled over the pile of kindling and crashed onto her back, weapon discharging into the sky. Moe dove on her and slammed his hand over her mouth before drawing his blade across her throat.
His stomach turned as the life drained from her eyes, but he forced himself to continue, pulling his blade free and wiping it on her jacket before standing to see if anyone had noticed the scuffle. Several electric lanterns turned back and forth as camp guards searched for the source of the shot, though they’d been going off all night in several parts of the camp.
Thirty seconds later, the field lights burst into life, and guards’ footsteps approached from behind him. Moe stood over one barrel with his bloody hands brushing together over the fire. The heat grew exponentially as the bodies he’d stuffed deep inside caught fire and burned. The pungent reek of hair and clothing stung his sinuses, but he resisted the urge to wrinkle his nose.
Moe turned to the guards and raised his hand with a wave. While the field lights shined brightly, He was counting on the shadows and camp confusion to hide what he’d done.
One guard stepped within fifteen yards of Moe and lifted his lantern. The man wore military fatigue bottoms and a blue jacket. “Didn’t you have a partner?”
“She had to take a leak,” he called back, pointing south into the desert night. “Went out looking for a bush.”
The guard nodded. “Everything okay over here? You hear that gunshot?”
“Yeah, I heard it,” Moe pointed toward the east. “I think it came from over there.”
The guard nodded and lowered his lantern, leading the others in the direction he’d pointed. He watched them go with a heavy sigh. When the field lights died three minutes later, Moe turned and strolled toward the lab facilities, hands stuffed into his pockets, trying not to draw any attention to himself.
Despite the past day of chaos, people still worked to rebuild tents and other structures torn down in the chaos, and certain conversations piqued his attention.
“Carver’s got things under control now,” a man said as he hammered a tent spike into the ground.
Another woman rolled a dead body away from the tent where it had collapsed to one side. “Rumor has it he wants to execute Humphreys tomorrow.”
“You think the soldiers will protest?”
The woman stood and sucked air. “Anyone still alive will be loyal to Carver or die.”
Two gunshots fired from the other side of the camp, though no one acted surprised. Moe moved on, noticing those wo
rking with dead bodies wore gloves while the others shunned the corpses. They must know about the infection.
He stiffly nodded to any guards as he passed them, his clandestine infiltration making it easy to match the tense and edgy mood of the camp. He approached the pre-fab labs with their metal stairs and raised catwalk that encircled the facilities. No guards stood around the stairs, though two stood smoking cigarettes thirty yards farther north. Moe put his head down, stuffed his hands into his pockets, and angled for the metal steps. His eyes stayed focused on the main entrance that lay ten yards down off the catwalk.
He put his foot on the first stair when a voice stopped him.
“What are you doing?”
Moe winced and turned to see a guard strolling up while adjusting his belt, clearly just returned from using the restroom, or whatever passed for that around there.
Recalling the conversation he’d just heard, Moe improvised. “Carver sent me to fetch Dr. Reemer.”
“I don’t know their names. What does she look like?”
“Squirrelly woman with blonde hair. Kinda thin face.”
“Oh, yeah,” the guard nodded. “The mouthy one.” He finished with his belt and stared at him. “What’s Carver want her for?”
“Something about the, um...” He raised his hand and made a gesture at his mouth and nose.
“The sickness going around?”
“Yeah,” Moe nodded. “He’s got some questions for her.”
“I think Carver’s plan is the best,” the guard sneered. “If you get sick, you’ll get a bullet in the head.”
Another shot rang out, and Moe grinned at the man even though he was shaking on the inside... “That’s the best way to deal with it. Talk about stopping the spread.”
“And save on some food.”
Moe pointed behind him at the lab facility. “So, can I go grab the doctor?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Great.”
“If she gets out of hand.” The guard winked. “Let me know.
“I will.”
Spore Series | Book 3 | Fight Page 19
