Spore Series | Book 3 | Fight

by Soward, Kenny

  Moe tromped up the stairs and strolled to the lab door like any tired guard. He gave the door three brief knocks as he looked back at the guard. The man stood facing out into the camp as the field lights returned to life.

  He stepped into a quiet, dimly lit reception area, shutting the door behind him.

  “Dr. Reemer?” Moe leaned forward and peered into the shadows.

  Three angry doctors wielding shiny surgical knives charged at him from the shadows.

  “Whoa!” he shouted, raising his hands in surprise.

  One doctor swiped at Moe’s stomach with his blade. He jerked back and then kicked the man in the gut, sending him to his knees.

  “I said, hold on!” Moe shouted, and he turned to face the next attacker with a snarl. “It’s Moe Tsosie!”

  “Wait!”

  The doctors backed off as Brandi Reemer pressed between them, holding her own scalpel. “Moe, it is you!” She lowered her weapon and gave him a brief hug before backing off with a wrinkled nose. “You smell awful.”

  “Burnt bodies, lots of smoke,” he waved, as if that explained everything. Then he fixed the doctor with a firm look. “You ready to get out of here?”

  “We’ve been ready. That Carver guy is a nut case. He’s been back and forth about executing us outright.”

  “Carver.” Moe let the word sit on his tongue. “The name sounded familiar when I heard it a minute ago, but I can’t—” Then he remembered Zane Carver and his strange followers had come in on that weird hippie bus last week. “How’d he end up in charge?”

  Brandi’s laser blue eyes shined beneath her thoughtful eyebrows. “From what I gather, he’s been building a following in camp since he arrived. The guy has some people convinced he’s the second coming of Christ.”

  “More reason to get you out now.” Moe shook his head.

  “You have a plan?” Brandi placed her hands on her hips.

  “Yeah.” He gave her a grim stare. “We’ll walk right out of here.”

  Chapter 32

  Moe Tsosie, Chinle, Arizona

  Moe pushed the door open an inch and glanced around at the guards. They’d allowed the lights to cycle twice already, and the guard he’d spoken to would get suspicious if he didn’t bring Brandi out soon. The problem was that his guard had gone over to talk to the two cigarette smokers for the past twelve minutes, and they couldn’t leave with them all so close.

  Then his spirits lifted when the two cigarette smokers strolled away with the original guard returning to his post by the stairs.

  “How’s it look now?” Brandi asked.

  “It’s perfect. The two other guards walked off. That leaves us one to deal with. Here we go.”

  The lights died again, and Moe pushed outside with his rifle at the ready but the barrel lowered. A line of eight doctors and nurses filed out behind him, wearing their ID badges around their necks. He’d taped their wrists together and made them place their hands on the shoulder of the person in front of them.

  The guard they needed to bypass stood ten feet from the foot of the stairs, and he turned when he heard them coming. His eyes went wide at Moe’s line of prisoners, though the sight of their wrists taped, and their orderly line dampened his alarm.

  Moe descended the stairs with a casual grin, stepping aside to let the hospital staff slide by on the outside. He whipped his head around and snapped at the line of prisoners. “Please, do something stupid. I’m begging for an excuse to kill one of you.”

  When no one replied, he turned to face the guard again, widening his grin. “Sheep, man. Nothing but sheep.”

  “I thought you said Carver wanted just Reemer?”

  Moe let his rifle hang loose from its shoulder strap as he slid his hand to the hilt of his knife. “He said Dr. Reemer, but he might have said them all. You know Carver. I don’t want to piss him off, so I’m bringing all of them. Don’t worry, they’re docile as sheep.”

  The guard turned and watched as the doctors stopped marching and stood in a straight line, blocking the pair off from the rest of the camp. No other guards stood within twenty yards, and Moe hoped that if anyone looked in their direction, they’d see a shadowy line of prisoner’s being ready to march.

  Doubt showed on the guard’s face. “Cool, man. You need any help with them? I could—”

  Moe jerked his blade upward, intending to stab the man in the neck like the guard at the barrels. The man flinched, and the knife blade sliced up through his cheek. He slapped his hand to his face as Moe kicked his legs out from under him and shoved him hard to the ground.

  The guard’s breath burst from his lungs, and he lay gasping for air, unable to scream for help. Moe fell to his knees and brought his knife down in one smooth motion, pegging the man’s neck to the ground. The guard’s eyes fixed on Moe as he tried to dislodge the blade, though Moe’s grip was strong, and the guard’s hands soon became slick with blood.

  As the man’s grip weakened, Moe twisted and pulled his rifle off his shoulder, tossing it at the feet of the doctors. After a quick glance around, Brandi separated her rigged bonds, bent, and scooped up the weapon. She stepped out of line and held the rifle on the rest of the doctors like a guard.

  Moe pulled the still gurgling man beneath the catwalk and put him out of his misery. Then he stripped off his ammunition, stowed it in the waistband of his jeans, and stepped to the head of the line.

  “Stay close,” he growled.

  He marched the doctors south between the tents and workers, nodding to anyone who stopped and stared. Moe acted like he had a place to go, displaying confidence in his stride and the way he held his weapon. He glanced back at Brandi. The doctor played the part of camp guard well, jabbing the barrel of her weapon into a nurse’s back with a scowl on her face.

  They reached the tent the workers were erecting on his way in. They’d finished their work and had moved on to their next assignment. Moe held the tent flap open and ushered the doctors inside. Then he stood guard as the field lights blazed on, bathing everything in light.

  The camp continued its normal bustle, though Moe was positive someone would find the dead guard beneath the catwalk within the next four minutes. He glanced south. Seventy-five yards of camp lay between them and the outer guard posts, so he took a deep breath and finished counting the four minutes until the lights died.

  “Let’s go,” he hissed into the tent. The doctors filed in behind him, and they resumed their journey through the camp.

  They came upon a group struggling to move some tent material and wooden beams across their path.

  “Out of the way!” Moe shouted, his voice rising in nervous tension. “We’ve got orders from Carver. Let’s go!”

  The workers moved faster and cleared the path in a minute. Still, it was a delay, and he would need to make up the time if he wanted to escape before the lights blared once again.

  One young guard approached and walked next to him. The man looked barely twenty, wearing a curious expression and his rifle swinging from his shoulder. “Where are you taking them?”

  “Out for execution,” Moe growled, then he added, “Carver wants the coyotes to have them when we’re done.”

  “Outstanding. Can I watch, man?” His voice took on a lusty tone. “Can I help, even?”

  “Yeah,” Moe said through slatted eyes. “We could use the help.”

  “Cool,” the kid said, falling in with them.

  The lights blared on, leaving them exposed. Moe looked up with a wince, then he lowered his eyes and plowed ahead. He moved fast without seeming too hurried, though part of him wanted to shout for the doctors to run.

  Moe estimated it was another forty yards to the patrol area. He held up the doctors as a group of workers passed by, then he angled them left around a pair of joined tents until they came within sight of the original barrels where the guards barbecued.

  “Are you going to use your pistols or rifles?” the kid asked. “The rifles will be messy—”

  “It’ll
all be messy,” Moe smiled grimly, and the kid scoffed.

  The field lights faded as they reached the blazing barrels. Moe stopped ten paces away and gestured for the doctors to pass on through. He looked back into the camp to check if anyone noticed them walking out with eight prisoners.

  “How far are we going?” The young man practically danced in his skin, then his nose wrinkled up. “Man, I didn’t think the corpse burn reek could reach over here. Man, that’s strong.”

  The line of doctors stopped, and Moe spun, weapon tight in his hand. A lantern approached out of the darkness, surrounded by a handful of figures. The lantern raised, its owner peering through the barrel fire at Moe. His mouth ran dry when he saw it was the same guard he’d spoken with earlier.

  “Who is that?” The guy moved his lantern aside and looked harder.

  Moe started to squeeze the rifle’s trigger, but the kid stepped in front of him.

  “Hey, James!” He waved at the guard with the lantern.

  The guard stepped closer, eyes squinting. “Is that you, Chris?”

  “Yeah, man,” Chris chuckled. “It’s me.”

  “What are you doing out here?”

  “Special assignment,” Chris replied, gesturing at Moe. “We’ve got orders from Carver to take these folks out and de-brain them.”

  James looked closer at Moe. “Hey, aren’t you the guy I talked to before?” He looked down the line of doctors. “And aren’t those prisoners?”

  “Back off, James,” Chris said. “You’re just pissed—”

  “They’re trying to take the prisoners,” James backed up, his voice spitting a warning note. “Step away from them, Chris.”

  All the guards tensed, and Moe shot Brandi a covert glance.

  “What are you talking about, man,” Chris said, his voice high. “Why would they take the prisoners?”

  Moe put his rifle to the back of Chris’s head and squeezed the trigger. The bullet blasted through Chris’s skull and hit James dead center in the face. Both men dropped like rocks, and he lowered his rifle to his waist and sprayed two bursts of bullets from right to left, dropping another man. Brandi side-stepped and fired, and one guard opened up in return.

  The doctors broke their fake bonds and charged the firing guards. Two bursts of bullets hit the doctors before they clashed, and Moe saw a guard go sprawling onto his back, firing up into the sky. He ducked around the burning barrels and fired at the man. Two rounds struck his shoulder, and the third entered the side of his neck, leaving him to squirm and gurgle in his own blood.

  Three of the hospital staff overpowered the last guards, stole their weapons, and shot them. The grisly fight was over in less than thirty seconds, and Moe stood up to count the cost.

  A male member of Brandi’s team lay dead while another man and woman cried in pain where they writhed on the ground.

  The camp came alive with shouts, and the field lights popped on again, illuminating the desert.

  “Let’s go!” Moe shouted. He grabbed one of the injured to help them rise. The woman gritted her bloody teeth and stood, and Moe saw she’d been gut shot. She wouldn’t make it far, but they had to try.

  Two others helped with the second wounded man, and they rushed into the cool desert night. Gunshots rang out, and the baked earth popped open around their feet.

  “Brandi, give them something to think about!”

  The doctor turned, holding her rifle awkwardly in her hands. She fired a burst of rounds with the weapon jerking like crazy. She wouldn’t hit any guards, but she only had to delay them.

  Moe held his left arm wrapped around the injured woman’s waist, and she grunted with every step.

  “It hurts like hell,” she growled.

  “We’ll get you some help. You just have to make it—”

  The woman fell at his feet with a baleful moan.

  “Little help!” Moe cried out. Two free hospital staff members lifted the woman between them and carried her off into the darkness. Headlights blinked in the distance as he pointed. “Run to the lights!”

  More rounds flew in their direction, and he turned as a dozen guards ran after them, Jeep engines roaring to life.

  They’d have a tough time getting away with the wounded, unless Moe could give them something serious to think about. He turned and got to one knee, raising his rifle to his shoulder. He aimed at a cluster of shadows running toward them and fired three quick bursts.

  Three shadows pitched onto their faces, and the rest of the group slowed their advance and spread out. One stopped and spat some rounds back at Moe, and he felt at least one round buzz past his ear. Moe dove to the ground, rolled, and came to one knee behind a scrub bush.

  He raised the rifle and fired at a group on the right, then shot back to the left again. When the Jeep headlights rolled out of camp and sped toward him, he knew it was time to go, so he turned and ran as fast as he could toward the triage camp.

  His hopes soared when Rex pulled from his position ahead and sped to meet the oncoming doctors with his headlights on them. He skidded to a halt fifteen yards from the group, kicking up a cloud of dirt. Brandi tossed her rifle into the truck bed and turned to help the others climb up.

  Moe ran to the driver’s side and placed his hand on the door frame, heaving for air. “You’re taking the south trail, right?”

  “I’ll take them across the rough ground,” Rex confirmed. “I’ll make sure they break a few axles.”

  “I’ll see you at the caves.” Moe nodded, then he backed away from the truck and ran the rest of the way to the triage camp where Sage waited with Rust and Copper.

  “Did you get them out?” Sage asked, handing him Rust’s reigns.

  “Yeah, they’re out,” Moe said, breathlessly. He shouldered his rifle and climbed into Rust’s saddle with shaky arms and legs.

  Rex’s truck tore off across the desert, and three Jeeps bounced over the rocky terrain after them.

  A group of camp guards ran in Moe and Sage’s direction, though they were still seventy or a hundred yards distant. The guards stopped and fired at them, bullets ricocheting off the abandoned vehicles nearby, others zipping past their heads.

  Sage mounted Copper and hollered, “Yah!” She leaned against the horse’s neck as they shot off.

  Rust cantered sideways before Moe turned him and kicked his flanks. “Go, boy! Yah! Yah!” They raced across the desert toward home, cutting through the wind like an arrow.

  Chapter 33

  Jessie Talby, Yellow Springs, Ohio

  Jessie jolted awake to an explosion and the house shaking angrily. She lifted herself to a seated position as a tumble of bricks and wood hit the floor somewhere in the hallway. Small pieces of the ceiling broke away to crash on the floor.

  The electric lantern at her bedside toppled over as a cloud of dust rolled into the room from the hallway, followed by a deathly silence.

  The ache in Jessie’s right shoulder ignited, and she slouched in pain. Looking around with heavy eyes, she saw it was nighttime. Paul and Fiona were gone.

  What had just hit them? Where was Bryant?

  Something heavy rested in Jessie’s lap, and she looked down to find her gun laying across her thighs. With her hand on the weapon, Jessie swung her legs off the bed and placed her feet on the floor.

  Her right shoulder throbbed, though something urgent called her from the deep silence. Jessie stood and walked ahead with shaky steps. At the door, she leaned forward and peered into the hallway. Her vision sharpened, and her eyes traced across a pile of brick, wood, and plaster spilled onto the floor from a stairwell rising to the third level of the house.

  The large rectangular landing lay wide open before her, encircled by a wooden rail and bathed in moonlight. Several doors lined the right wall, and the foyer opened to her left, and she could see from the high crystal chandelier almost to the floor.

  Jessie had a straight ahead view of the stairs leading down to the next landing where a shadow moved. She narrowed her eyes
at the muscular figure, noting the glint of a long knife, and she moved to the rail and leaned against it.

  “Bryant?” she hissed.

  The soldier turned his face up to her, though his expression was lost behind the shadows. “Go back,” he whispered. “Go back.”

  Jessie looked down to see the front door blown in with wood scattered across the foyer floor. At the next landing down, the stairs turned hard to the left, making an L shape. Bryant had almost reached the joint of the letter. The position would give him a strategic vantage point over the front door once he reached it.

  With a nod, she backed away, then something caught her eye. An unfamiliar shadow crept along the inside of the stairwell beneath the soldier. It was a tall figure. A man, but not Paul. He wore all black coveralls with a full hood, holding up a pistol as he mirrored Bryant’s movement.

  Jessie wanted to hiss Bryant’s name again, though it would draw the intruder’s attention. She lowered herself to one knee and looked between the rail spindles. At the front door, a blink of a shadow filled the entrance, passed through, and disappeared somewhere inside the house. Bryant flinched at the sound, his head tracing some movement Jessie couldn’t see.

  Why did he only have his knife and not a gun? Had he run out of ammunition?

  The man beneath Bryant crouched and hesitated, then eased forward another foot. He’d reached the inside joint of the L shape. All he had to do was raise and fire and Bryant would be a dead man.

  With a sweaty palm, Jessie lifted her pistol with her left hand and fixed her target within the sights. The gun was heavy, and her body weak with blood loss. She clenched her jaw, arm shaking, finger poised on the trigger. She squeezed one eye shut, then alternated between them, trying to fix her target with growing frustration.

  An involuntary grunt escaped her, and the man’s head snapped around. Jessie squeezed the trigger, and the man cried out and dropped his weapon. She fired again, and the wood splintered near the man’s head as he pitched forward and went down.

  Another figure emerged from the back of the house, rifle turned upward and firing at Jessie. A burst of hot lead flew past her face, and something stung her cheek as the railing exploded in shards of wood. She flew backwards with a cry, but not before watching Bryant leap from the landing above and land on the figure’s back.