Spore Series | Book 4 | Exist Read online

  But what were their plans? What did they want?

  At the top of a slight rise, the hippie bus waited for them. It stretched across the dirt track, Venom and Light scrawled on the side in freshly painted black and white.

  Carver sat on the roof of the bus, feet dangling, heels kicking against the window glass. His scraggly hair flitted in the wind, head bowed low, as he peered at the oncoming truck. His attractive companion sat on his right in her bell bottoms and moccasins. Blood stained the front of her flowered shirt.

  The big man named Cash sat on the bus’s hood with his shoulders slumped, hands folded in his lap. He stared at the pickup, as if sizing them up, searching for weaknesses.

  Moe didn’t recognize the man behind the wheel; a thin, gaunt fellow with greasy gray hair combed back on his head.

  They were all part of Carver’s little clan. All of them dangerous and shifty. He saw no weapons, though he guessed they were well-hidden. He swiveled his attention, searching their surroundings as the pickup rose from the canyon’s protective embrace and entered hostile territory, which used to be their hometown of Chinle.

  He ground his teeth at the notion of refugees squatting in the homes and businesses built by Chinle folk. Their blood, sweat, and tears tossed away like rain. The progress they’d made dashed in the space of a few short weeks. Another repeat of history, a burden for the Navajo people to bear.

  “What do you think?” Melissa asked Moe as Rex swung the pickup wide to the right and then back left. “Can we trust them?”

  Moe finished scouting their surroundings. As far as he could tell, no one lurked in the woods around the campground and visitor center, and nothing but empty desert stretched off to the right.

  “I think nothing,” Moe replied. “They’re our enemies, and that’s all.”

  The captain nodded as Rex pulled alongside the bus and drew to a stop, leaving fifteen yards between them. Moe had specified that distance since it was an easy range for him and Melissa to score hits with their pistols, though untrained shooters found it more difficult.

  He stood in the truck bed and joined Melissa and Sheriff Ahiga on the right. He raised a foot and placed it on the side wall, wincing inwardly as a sprig of pain shot up his ankle.

  Sage had enforced the joint with a brace and athletic tape, yet it still bothered him. He’d twisted it for sure, though they didn’t have the equipment to x-ray it. Moe would deal with the pain and do his best to avoid looking weak.

  They’d agreed ahead of time to let Moe do most of the talking, a point of contention with Sheriff Ahiga, who had plenty to say. Moe had convinced him that he was angry enough for the both of them. Besides, he’d dealt with the hippies before and had an idea how to handle them.

  Rex put the truck into park and sat behind the wheel, staring at the wild-looking bus with a sneer on his lips. A shotgun lay in the seat next to him, and his hand rested on the stock.

  As the dust settled around them, Moe let his eyes linger on each of Carver’s people, staring them down before moving to the next. The big man, Cash, appeared to be a blank slate at first glance, though there was sly intelligence in his slack expression. Something shifted behind his dark eyes, a subtle note of violence waiting to happen.

  The woman called Susan looked back at him with open hostility. Her blue eyes beamed like laser ice across the dirt road, fixed primarily on Moe. He stood straight and let her stare, not saying a word, not buying into the fear she wanted him to feel.

  His eyes lifted to their leader, Zane Carver. The man’s shirt lay open, and a thick metal amulet hung on his chest from a leather rope. It appeared to be a pair of serpent heads, facing down, forked tongues licking out and touching tips.

  The man waited for Moe or Ahiga to say something, to show anger or defiance at their town being overrun. Yet, they stood quietly and patiently as the others shifted uncomfortably on the hot bus roof.

  Finally, Carver tilted his head and smiled. “Sorry about your horse, Moe. I heard it took a full clip to bring him down.”

  Moe’s teeth ground together, but he didn’t take the bait. “He was a good horse. And I’m sorry about the...” he paused to tick numbers off on his fingers before waving his hands absently. “All your people I killed. I guess I lost track trying to count them all.”

  Carver’s easy expression hardened and then eased. He kicked his feet out and grinned. “Let’s not talk about death, man. It’s such a drag. Sorry for bringing it up.”

  “Then what do you want to discuss?”

  “Yeah, why did you call us out here?” Ahiga scowled, and Moe glanced over to see the Sheriff’s hands clenched tightly in front of him. “You’ve taken over Chinle. What else do you want?”

  Carver clicked his tongue and gestured, innocently. “Now, we didn’t take your Podunk town, that camp, or anything, for that matter. We simply fixed an out-of-control situation. You should be thanking us.”

  “You’ll be handing Chinle back to the citizens then?” Moe asked. “When will that happen?”

  “I never said that,” Carver shot him a conniving look. “I think we should stay in control for a spell longer, to make sure life goes smooth.” The man’s expression lightened. “And we could really use your help.”

  When Moe fixed him with a stoic frown, the hippie leader continued. “Get your folks to come out of the caves and climb up from the canyons. We’ll talk about getting them back into their homes.”

  Moe glanced up at the sky above town, squinting at the sooty black clouds that stained it.

  “Sorry, but we can’t do that,” he replied. He hiked his thumb over his shoulder. “Our people are happy living in the canyon now. We’ve done it for hundreds of years to escape persecution.” He shrugged. “It’s nothing new to us. We’ve got dozens of defensible positions, weapons, a helicopter, and an ace pilot. What makes you think we would come out now? Do you realize how many times your kind has lied to mine?”

  Moe wasn’t a scholar on his Navajo past, and he hadn’t practiced the old ways as his mother had, but he guessed the question would irk Carver, and he was right.

  “Hey, don’t lump us in with the colonists of the past,” the hippie leader scoffed. “I pushed for diversity studies at my university. I fought for the underprivileged.”

  Moe raised his chin at the man. “Are you saying my people are underprivileged? We can’t take care of ourselves?”

  “That’s not what I meant.” Carver scoffed and shook his head. Then he hesitated and raised an eyebrow with a chuckle. “Look at you, trying to use my own logic against me.”

  Moe shifted gears. “You were a teacher before this?”

  “I was a professor, a long time ago.” A peaceful look passed across his face. “Then I received a message in the form of light and venom, and all was made clear to me. Now I’m here, spreading the word of the one true god. Crazy how it all worked out.”

  Moe didn’t know what he meant about the “message,” and he didn't want to ask. The sun was beating down hard, and his brow dripped sweat. He glanced at Melissa. Her expression remained stoic as she looked around for any signs of an ambush.

  “You asked us here,” Moe said, anxious to hurry the conversation along. “What did you think we’d say? Sure, we’ll come out from the protection of the caves? We’ll come back into the fold?” Moe scoffed. “Buddy, you were dead wrong.”

  “Okay, listen.” Carver put his hands on the roof and stood up. Gone was his playfulness, replaced by a serious tone. “I understand the past is ugly, and your people have suffered. But this is a new age. And know this. We don’t have a treaty to break with you, get it? I guess what I’m saying is that we’re trying to form an alliance.”

  “You let them torch our town.” Moe glanced at the sky and the dark soot stretching above them like a smear. “You kept the doctors prisoner.”

  “I was protecting them,” Carver gestured. “It was chaos, man. I was trying to get things under control.”

  “I was there,” Moe spat. “
People panicked because of the fungus, then the soldiers overreacted and opened fire. But something else played a part in the massacre. Something escalated it from alarm to terror. And I think that something was you.”

  Carver blinked at Moe. “You think I let that fungus into camp? You think I instigated the riots?”

  Moe shook his head. “Maybe not, but you took advantage of the situation. I’m sure of it.”

  Susan’s subtle glance up at Carver told him all he needed to know. A growl escaped Cash, and he banged his heel on the side of the engine cover to show his displeasure at Moe’s audacity.

  “That’s what I thought.” He nodded and turned to slap the truck’s roof, so Rex would drive away.

  “Wait!” Carver held out his hand. A sideways grin spread on his lips, bordering on manic. “At least send out the women and children. We’ve got food and water for them. We’ll make sure they’re taken care of.”

  Moe spun back, anger twisting his face. “Your camp is infected. You’ve got a few nurses, but no doctors.” He leveled a hard gaze at the hippie, hoping to wound or frighten him. “Bodies are piled up in your backyard, and you’re burning them. That doesn’t sound like a safe place at all.”

  Carver pursed his lips but kept his gaze locked on Moe.

  “You’ve got major problems,” Moe continued. “And we don’t want anything to do with them. Stay out of the canyons.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  “It’s a promise,” Moe stated, flatly. “If we catch any of your people entering down in the basin or along the rims, we’ll take them out.”

  Carver gave a slow nod, and his smile widened further, eyes gleaming as if he enjoyed the back and forth. The man strode to the center of the bus, causing the flimsy metal roof to buckle with every step. He squatted, touching his chin before pointing at Moe. “You’ll come to see things our way, over time. When you run out of whatever food stores you squirreled away. When you see we’ve cut off your access to water. You have, what, a few thousand people down there? How long do you think they'll last, man?”

  “As long as we need to,” Sheriff Ahiga spat, unable to hold back. “You idiots will destroy each other before we’re out of food.”

  “Shut up, old man.” Susan’s deadpan glare threatened to cut him in two. “Chinle is the beginning of a new society. You should thank us for inviting you. You should be on your knees, begging for it.”

  “We heard a lot of gunshots over the last few days,” Melissa retorted with a stiff, professional tone. “Doesn’t sound like you’re getting along at all. Might want to go make sure the kids are playing nice.”

  Susan unfurled her long body and stood with slow, deliberate movements. She placed her hands on her hips and glared at the pilot.

  “She’s right, you know,” Carver said, still with the pleasant tone. He turned his pale eyes to Sheriff Ahiga. “We’re forming something special in town. We saved it from the military. I know you didn’t want them there. And, believe me, they would have stayed as long as they pleased. They would have stayed, and history would have repeated itself. Colonel Humphreys would have used your people for who knows what.”

  Ahiga pulled his cowboy hat brim down low. “We’ll be fine in the canyons and caves.”

  The hippie shook his head, lanky hair brushing his cheeks. “You’re passing up our special introductory offer. A chance for a new beginning. A place at our table. A chance to bring back the old ways of your people.”

  “You know nothing about Navajo tradition.”

  “Yeah, but I’m willing to learn. Look at me,” Carver chuckled and gestured to himself. “I’m for free love and peace. Spirituality and nature. That’s what it’s all about.”

  “All the same...” Ahiga glared.

  “Our invitation stands for now,” Carver said. Then his voice took on a warning note. “But it won’t stand forever. Take it back to your Elders, or whoever. Think about it, have a pow-wow, and give us a formal response.” He held his hands out in a wide gesture. “We’ve got plenty to do in the meantime.”

  Down inside the bus, a dozen figures rose from the bus seats. They leaned forward, peering out at them through the smudged glass with ghostly faces.

  Carver stood atop the bus, hands wide and wearing the same thin smile. Moe wanted to knock it off with his knuckles. Instead, he turned and slapped his palm on the truck’s roof. Rex put the vehicle in gear and eased around so they faced into the canyon. He put them on the dirt track and coasted into the strong embrace of weathered stone.

  Moe, Ahiga, and Melissa knelt in the truck bed to keep from falling. They stared back at the crazies on the bus and the pale faces gazing through the dirty windows, and a chill ran up Moe’s spine.

  “I expected an ambush from the surrounding woods or desert.” He shook his head. “Not from inside the bus.”

  “Carver’s a crafty bastard, to be sure,” Ahiga admitted. “Full of surprises. We just have to think of them before he does.”

  “He played nice today because he’s worried about Window Rock,” Melissa said. “They’re going to come down on him hard once they hear he murdered Humphreys. I’d expect him to try to take the caves at some point.”

  “We would massacre them,” Moe said, though he wasn’t so sure. “Are you still trying to call Window Rock?”

  “It’s hard to get reception down in the Canyons. We’re going to remove the chopper’s antennae and move it to the upper trails today. I’ll let you know as soon as I reach someone.”

  “Good,” Moe said. “I’d love to have their help, but I’m not sure if the council will accept it. Not after they shot John and Klah.”

  “We can try.” The sheriff sat down and leaned against the side wall. “Whatever is decided, it must be with the safety of our people in mind. That is the only consideration.”

  Moe looked around at the armed Navajos hiding in the alcoves and brush along the sides of the canyon. Their weapons were old rifles and pistols. Some held crossbows and hunting bows. They’d need better gear to defend themselves against Carver and his cult, but Moe had no idea where they’d find it.

  It was going to be a long, hot, deadly summer.

  Chapter 2

  Kim, Salina, Kansas

  Kim walked into the decontamination chamber on stiff legs. Her feet pressed on the cold floor, drawing a sharp intake of breath. Her muscles still ached after her fight with Richtman, head still foggy from what was surely a lingering concussion.

  She lifted her disposable gown over her head and tossed it in a waste bin. “AMI, are you there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Please proceed with a light disinfectant foam. Then follow with a standard soap and water shower.”

  The cold foam spat from nozzles in the ceiling and walls, drawing a gasp from her when it hit her skin. She hugged herself, rubbing cleaner over her arms and shoulders and chest. She’d lost weight, and her bones stuck out.

  She winced when her fingers ran over the lower ribs on her left side. Had Richtman elbowed or punched her there? Probably. The fight was a blur in her mind, the painful blows like the distant memories of someone else.

  She had bumps and bruises everywhere, scrapes on her knees and elbows. A massive, discolored, yellow bruise covered the top of her thigh. Her right big toe was sore, and she had no idea why.

  The bandages on her hands grew soggy, so she peeled them off and tossed them into the waste bin. Her scraped palms looked much better, and she wouldn’t be re-bandaging them. She needed them free to type.

  Warm water shot out of the nozzles, soothing her aching joints and muscles. She lavished in it, sputtering from her still swollen lips as she passed her hands through her hair. The soapy water made her skin slick and clean. After she rinsed off, she asked AMI for a quick burst of cold to wake up.

  Kim stepped into the prep room and grabbed a fresh towel from the bin. She dried off, her skin radiating with a faint floral smell.

  Once dry, she dressed in jeans, a white T-shirt, and socks sh
e’d brought from the Washington facility. Kim did a quick clean up and looked around with a sigh.

  She noted the tiny holes in the wall Richtman’s bullets had made, and she marveled at how well Bishop had filled and sanded them. Her husband was a real fix-it man when he wanted to be.

  “What’s the spore count?”

  “Zero spores per cubic meter,” AMI replied.

  “Incredible,” Kim said. “We wiped it out.”

  “The duct purification created a seventy-five percent reduction in spores and increased our air scrubbing efficiency. The filtration units now run at reduced power, saving significant amounts of energy stores.”

  Kim whistled low. “That’s great news.”

  “Agreed.”

  She glanced at the green light on the wall, indicating it was safe to pass through. She stepped forward, and the door hissed open. Kim turned to her workstation on the right and sat. She spun in the chair, looking around at her centrifuge, specimen containers, hematology analyzers, and freezer. She had everything she needed. It was just a matter of getting started.

  “Bishop, are you there?” she asked, knowing AMI would link her to his earpiece.

  “Hey, baby.” His deep voice filled the speaker, sounding muffled and heavy in his air filtration mask. “Feeling better?”

  “Much. You know how I hate being bedridden.”

  “You’re not a very good patient,” he chuckled, “trying to get up and help around the bus.”

  “Is that why you posted Riley as a guard?”

  “With instructions not to let you up until this morning.”

  “Speaking of the bus. What’s the status?”

  “Trevor and I are sanding the last two patches,” he said. “They’re just superficial marks. After that, I’m going to check on tires for the bus. With any luck, I’ll find some.”

  “How many do we need?”