Spore Page 24

  “He was here,” Sean choked out. His mouth felt very, very dry. “Stay there. I’m gonna check the house.”

  She nodded, her eyes wide, and he walked past her to their bedroom. It had been ransacked, their dressers opened and dragged across the room, and the mattress flipped against the wall.

  Sean’s heart skittered and his hands clenched. He was looking for something.

  “Babe?” he choked out as he returned to the kitchen. “Where’d you hide the gun?”

  She opened the freezer and pulled out a box of diet fudge bars. She upended the box and the .38 slid into her hand, sealed in a zipper bag with the air squeezed out. She tossed it to Sean. “As much as he bitched about missing fat and sugar, I figured he wouldn’t look in there.”

  He nodded. Smart girl.

  Even in the bag, the gun was frigid cold yet a comforting weight in his hand. And it was loaded.

  He returned it to Mare before pulling the flashlight from the drawer and stuffing it in his back pocket. “Watch the stairs. I’m going to check the studio and Mindy’s room first.”

  Mare nodded and he grabbed the softball bat before continuing to the hall. No sign of Paul, but his spread for pages twelve and thirteen, a shadowy figure taunting terrified children in a dark alley, had been taped to the drawing board when they’d left the house. Only scraps of tape remained. Goddammit. Now I have to do it again.

  “He took an inked spread,” Sean said as he stomped to the stairs. “I swear, this comic will never get done.”

  “Fucker.” Mare stood between the back door and the laundry room, her back to the corner and the gun pointed toward the floor. The metal had already begun to frost in the humidity.

  Sean flicked on the stairwell light and thundered down. The mess looked diminished and rearranged, but Paul was nowhere to be seen, not even behind the furniture or under the stairs.

  Muttering, he hoisted himself into the hole. Both puddles in the near corners held slime, and a third slime pocket had newly become visible in the back. The slime to the left had faint bubbles coming from its hazy surface. He’d seen the tiny bubbles before, when Betsy the dog and other animals spored in the back yard. In about ten, twelve hours the bubbles would turn to ooze and the slime would start to dissolve. The other nearby pocket remained fuzzy and bubble free.

  He climbed out and glanced at his watch. Maybe somewhere around three am for the first one. Whee.

  He checked the windows while he was in the basement and locked the two he found unlatched. He saw no obvious grit or footprints beneath.

  Once upstairs, he checked other windows. All but the laundry room were already latched, as they should have been. The washing machine had mud and grit in its otherwise empty drum so he examined the window closer.

  “He came in that way?” Mare asked.

  “I think so,” Sean replied, stretching to reach the latch. “Was the only one unlocked, but I know we locked it yesterday.” He flicked the lever over and pressed past Mare. “Gonna try something.”

  Out in the backyard, he saw a few new critter-sized slimes but shrugged them off. No holes big enough to bury a person had yet been dug. Probably tonight, then. He strode the couple of steps to the laundry room window and tried to open it from the outside. A couple of jiggles later, the top frame bounced off the track, rendering the latch useless. “Tricky bastard,” he muttered, before trying other windows. They all remained in place.

  Despite her initial nervousness, Mindy managed in Todd’s kitchen easily enough. He had a big skillet, a whisk, and adequate measuring tools. She had to pound the chicken with a can of baked beans and zest the lemon with a box grater, but she didn’t mind. It was so nice to cook for someone special. Todd had changed into jeans and a polo shirt, and he hovered in the living room, basking in the aroma but never getting in her way or interrupting.

  She hummed as she worked her way through the recipe in her head. She couldn’t remember how much wine or lemon juice, so she modified the sauce by instinct until it tasted glorious.

  “Can you get plates and silverware?” she asked as she carried the pot of pasta to the colander in the sink. “Maybe a couple of wine glasses?”

  Todd leapt to be of service and took a deep, pleased breath as she arranged everything on a platter. “This is amazing,” he said, following her to the table.

  “I hope it tastes as good as you remember,” she said as she placed a hearty portion on his plate. He poured the wine and insisted he was sure it would be ever better.

  As they ate, she relished his blissful sighs and how he slowed down to savor and swoon over every bite. Always nice to cook for a happy eater.

  “So what made you decide to do this?” he asked as he placed another cutlet on his plate.

  “I love to cook and, well, you’ve just been so nice to me,” she said, trying not to feel self conscious under his warm scrutiny. “Even that first day, when I came out of the trees, you were nice. I don’t think anyone else that day was, other than Sean. There’s not much I can do to say thanks for…for never treating me like a freak.”

  “You’re not a freak. You’re just a person out of her time.”

  She toyed with her pasta and sighed. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

  “Hey,” he said, drawing her gaze to him. “It’s going to be okay. We’ll get your ex. Make him pay.”

  “It’s not him, not really,” she said. “It’s more I’ve never really had a chance to do anything before. But now…” She blushed and lowered her eyes. “I met with some really important people today, and I didn’t get nervous or screw up once. I have a couple hundred fans following me online. I’ve started my own business. All these things I never would have done, never could have done, if I hadn’t died.”

  He reached for her hand and she let him grasp it as she met his quiet, concerned gaze. She felt tears sting. “I want Jeff to pay for being so rotten to my mother after my death. I want him to pay for the crap that’s happened these past couple of days. But, in a weird way, killing me was a gift. I’m a new, better person because of it. I just want him to leave me alone to live my life. Is that too much to ask?”

  “No. It’s generous, actually. Considering.” He squeezed her hand then let it go. “You have every right to be angry, you know.”

  “I was,” she admitted after a sip of wine. “I was hurt. Furious. But then I realized he hadn’t taken anything but time. I’m back. I’m still me. I still have my memories, my dreams. The only thing I don’t have is him and that’s just fine.”

  “What about your family? Your mother and sister?”

  She set down her wine. “Mom died a few days ago. Her heart just quit. Dani sent an email, told me not to come to the funeral. Said it was my fault Mom died so quickly after I came back.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Me, too. Mare took me to the cemetery the day after the funeral to put flowers on her grave, so I got to say goodbye. I just hope Dani can forgive me.”

  “For what? For coming back? For being given another chance?”

  She looked at him and shrugged.

  “She should have been thrilled.” Todd set aside his fork and stared into her eyes. “I understand fear. I do. I see it every day. But if I’d lost someone I loved like that, I can’t imagine being mad at them for coming back. Fear passes. Family remains.”

  “It’s not that simple. She has her own family and it’s all over the news, the internet, that we’re making some people sick.”

  “But, you’re not. That’s media hype,” he insisted, his voice firm and unyielding. “I’ve dealt with hysteria since the beginning and can assure you that you’re not the problem at all. It’s the crap in the water. It makes things… More. If you’re sick, you get sicker. If you’re fast you get faster. It’s made junkies more addicted and thugs angrier and assholes more assholier.”

  “Really?”

 
“Yes. Scientists and medical people have been crawling all over this stuff these past two weeks. They don’t yet understand how, but it’s a weird fungal enhancer. It grows healthy cells, improves them, streamlines them, makes them more efficient throughout the body. They say it enhances brain activity in the front lobe. Creativity. Focus. Energy. Personality. That all gets stronger, even in non-spores. But, if there’s a problem, a mental dysfunction or a chronic disease, it’s enhanced, too.”

  “So my mom’s heart disease…”

  “It got worse. Fast. Not because of you, but because this stuff’s in the ground water, probably has been for a while. She’d been drinking it for weeks and, given this stuff’s potency, her death was inevitable. It’s not your fault. You’re a victim of this too. A lucky one, yes, but still helpless to prevent it.”

  He took a sip of wine. “The CDC told us that’s why only otherwise healthy accident victims spored. For anyone who died from disease, sporing caused the disease to explode in the fungal bodies, taking over the healthy cells and killing them again before they’d fully formed. It’s a mixed bag. Some folks re-grew lost limbs, others dropped dead of a previously managed illness. Between all of the unexpected death calls, hyped up paranoia, and the missing kids, we’re getting run ragged at work.

  “People are scared. The reality is that the world’s changing and sooner or later we’ll all get heart disease or diabetes or cancer. When we do,” he snapped his fingers, “that’ll be the end of that.”

  Mindy nodded and reached out to touch his hand. She’d seen too many relatives die slowly and in great pain, weak and gasping for every desperate breath. “At least we won’t suffer. Won’t linger endlessly in agony anymore.”

  Todd lowered his gaze and picked at his plate.

  “What?” she asked. “What don’t you want to tell me?”

  “Spores are different,” he said, pausing before looking into her eyes again. “We’ve had a problem with…”

  “With what?” she asked, worried.

  “One of the spores…” He muttered a curse and drained his glass of wine before refilling it. “He disappeared a few days ago, kidnapped, and we found him tortured.” He drained the second glass and pushed away his plate, his gaze pained. “He healed. You heal. That scratch on your face from this morning? It’s already gone.”

  Mindy reached up to touch her cheek. She felt no welt, no pain. Even her beaten back had stopped hurting. “Oh boy.”

  “There are a lot of sick freaks out there. This stuff in the water might make them more vicious, and a spore, someone like you who heals rapidly, could last longer and endure more. There’s a lot of play value in a victim who won’t easily die. With millions at stake, there’s no telling how far an ass like your ex might go, especially if he’s amped up by the fungus.”

  “Don’t,” she said, pushing away from the table as she gathered up her dirty dishes.

  He stood, following her to the sink. “I just need you to be careful. Extra careful.”

  The dishes clattered as she stacked them on the counter. Trembling, she turned to face him. He towered over her, a massive wall of muscle and intimidation, but Mindy felt no threat, no scorn, only the calm assurance of safety and fortitude.

  She thought he might kiss her—and she was pretty sure she’d let him. She blushed and managed to smile. “Thanks.”

  He blinked, his mouth falling open for a moment. “Why are you thanking me?”

  “For caring.” She started toward the table to gather up the rest of the supper mess, but paused to kiss his cheek.

  When she returned, hands full of plates and wine glasses, he stood where she’d left him, watching her, an astounded smile teasing his lips.

  Mindy skirted past him, feeling his gaze on her. “Let me just get these washed up. Do you have a something I can put the leftovers in?”

  “Yeah,” he said, moving toward the cupboards in the corner. “Let me get you a—“ His phone rang, and he glowered and muttered a curse before excusing himself to answer it, leaving Mindy to smile as she located the bowl herself.

  Laundry room window nailed shut. Check. Doors locked and barricaded. Check. Deputy still outside. Check. Sean sat at the drawing board with a glass of iced tea and tried not to worry.

  Mare turned on her music—a well loved Madonna CD—and he relaxed as she belted out Nothing to forget, all the pain was worth it while clanging around the kitchen.

  That’s my Mare. Nothing keeps you down for long. He practiced a few brush strokes to loosen his hand before returning to the latest cell, three children tied in the dark while spore slime bubbled behind them.

  He had the kids brushed in, and the main shadows on and around the spores when Mare, singing Good little girls never show it, moved from the kitchen to the bathroom. He heard the faint clink of the toilet lid hitting the tank over her singing Do you know? Do you know?

  Then Mare screamed.

  Sean shot out of his studio and rushed to her, knocking aside a kitchen chair in his haste. She stood in the bathroom, pants wadded below her knees, screeching, her hands and thighs smeared with blood.

  “Sean! Oh my God! Sean!” she wailed, reaching for him then drawing her hands back as if loath to touch him with her stained palms. “What’s happening? Am I dying? Oh, Sean!”

  Clots and dribbles of blood twirled in the toilet and her underwear was a gruesome mess. He swallowed. They’d both heard, hell, everyone had heard, how people were dropping dead from unexpected diseases. Not Mare. Please, anyone but Mare.

  Despite the blood, he held her, shaking in his arms. “It’ll be okay. You’ll be fine. Let’s get you to the hospital.”

  She nodded and whimpered as he cleaned her up, helped her put on fresh clothes. “I’ve been hurting for a couple of weeks now,” she said as he found her shoes. “Belly cramps. I just thought it was a stomach bug or too much greasy food, not something…” She tugged at her hair and rocked like a child trying to soothe herself. “Not anything bad. I should have gone in right away. Should have had someone check.”

  He held her face in his hands and kissed her. “It’s okay. You’re going to be fine.” Shoes on, he helped her up and held her close as they staggered to the front door, Madonna wailing about nothing equaling nothing. Sean struggled not to wail himself. Wailing would not help anyone. And, no matter the cost, no matter the task, he had to help Mare.

  She clenched at him, her hands like talons against his arm. “My mom, my grandma, they died from cervical cancer.”

  “I know, babe, I know,” he soothed as he helped her down the steps.

  “I thought that, maybe, since all that stuff was removed when I was a kid I’d be okay. I wouldn’t—“

  They reached the car and he opened the door for her, eased her in. “It’s not cancer,” he assured her. “Shh. Let’s get you to the hospital.”

  “It has to be!” she sobbed, her face in her hands as he hurried around and slid behind the wheel.

  “Maybe we were too rambunctious last night,” he suggested, backing out then speeding down the road. “Maybe it’s just a burst blood vessel or something.”

  “People are dying! I see it every day at work. Just fine, then bam! They’re dead. And now it’s my turn. Oh, God, oh Sean. I’m only twenty-nine. It’s too soon. I can’t leave you!”

  He grasped her hand and squeezed it. “Shh. You’re not going to die. This is fixable. It has to be.”

  Traffic was uncooperative, too many hay mowers and weekend dawdlers on the road on this rare sunny day, but he managed to keep her coherent if not completely calm as he rushed her to the hospital in Boone.

  A hospital worker stood at the emergency room door with a clipboard. “Accident, illness, or unknown?”

  “Unknown,” Sean said. “She just started bleeding.”

  The clerk asked their names and symptoms and Sean gave her the details. Once
past the sentry, they entered to find the emergency room awash with people gasping for breath, looking pale, haggard, and terrified. He located a chair for Mare before he stood in line at the registration desk.

  He often looked over his shoulder, terrified she too, would start fading. All around, people moaned in pain and fear.

  The digital check-in requested insurance information, medical history, all the standard crap, so he knelt before Mare and hurried, asking her when he didn’t know the answers.

  They were almost done, checking off family history issues, when the middle-aged man beside Mare hitched a pained breath and fell forward, landing with a loose smack on the floor beside Sean.

  Mare screamed and covered her mouth as she lurched toward the woman hacking and coughing on the other side. The old woman across the aisle from them whimpered and daubed at her oozing face with a grimy hankie, but the others sighed and looked away. Sean reached over to roll the man onto his back, but dead, unseeing eyes stared at him. No one seemed to care.

  Mare silently rocked herself, her eyes closed.

  “Look at me,” Sean said and Mare did, her whole body quivering. “I am going to take this to the receptionist and be right back, all right?”

  “Hurry. Don’t leave me here to die alone.”

  He hurried. When he returned, he stepped over the dead guy to sit beside her, to hold and cradle her. No one came for the dead guy for almost half an hour and he was thrown onto a cart and pushed away like a load of dirty laundry. Sean saw four others fall dead to the floor while waiting to see a doctor, and he lost count of those who simply slumped unconscious against their neighbor. Three hours later, they called Mare’s name. Other than crushing fear, she seemed unchanged, no worse, but no better. He tried to feel encouraged, but found it impossible in the sea of death and dying.

  Blood smeared her chair when she stood, but he ushered her away from it, hoping she wouldn’t see. Dark blood stained the crotch of her capris. No one seemed to notice them stagger past.

  Haggard nurses helped her onto an examination table and asked many of the same questions he’d already answered on her digital check in. They requested he leave while they helped her undress. She protested, demanding he stay, but the nurses were insistent.