Spore (8 page)

Mindy took a breath and located her best friend’s avatar. Just as Dani had said, Stace lived in Minnesota with her hubby, Jeff Howard. Not only did they have new lives in a new state, their pictures showed them fawning over their young son. Jeff had insisted he never wanted kids. Ever. Under any circumstances. But apparently he’d only refused to have children with
her
.

“Rotten bastard.” She closed the browser window and was faced, again, with the weird goop on Evelyn’s grave and the fizzy ball in the creek. She examined both photos for a long time and tried to ignore the faint sounds trickling through from Sean and Mare’s bedroom. They sounded so happy.

She lowered her head. Had she and Jeff ever giggled while having sex? Ever enjoyed each other? Not that she could recall. Not even in the early days of their marriage, or their one drunken encounter that had started it all.

Eventually the house fell quiet again. Mindy couldn’t help but imagine her hosts entwined and breathless, whispering and caressing one another. If Jeff had ever reached for her, he’d only been interested in getting it done, leaving his mess, then rolling over and going to sleep. She allowed herself one harsh moment of frustration and regret, then took a breath and reminded herself she wasn’t done yet. By God, she wasn’t going to screw up her second chance.

Lips pursed, she opened another window and visited news sites, reading everything she could about the day’s odd happenings. Most seemed to blame an Ag chemical spill making people crazy. Or drugs. Or a cult. The only comments about anyone coming back from the dead were limited to angry posts accusing Sean of scaring people to sell his stupid comic, or because he was too drunk or stoned to tell fantasy from reality.

But on one message board, a little boy wanted to know if he came to Iowa if his dog would come back, like the man on TV said. He missed her so much.

“Aw, maan,” Mindy said, her eyes stinging. She knew how a kid could love their dog, and how it hurt to lose them.

But I came back. Other people came back. What’s to keep a dog from coming back, too?
If whatever had brought her back was in the water, maybe it wasn’t limited to people already buried in the cemetery.

She looked over her shoulder toward Sean and Mare’s room, now silent.
He helped me, helped everyone. Would he help the kid?

Deciding he would, Mindy took a breath, and responded.

Chapter Nine

“No no no no no!” Ghoulie said, lurching away and slamming on his side onto hard dirt floor. He kicked out, finding nothing but more pain from his missing feet, and screamed, “I can’t! I can’t!”

“Sean!” Mare yelled, shaking him. “For God’s sake! Wake up!”

Scream still ripping out of his throat, Sean rolled away from Mare and landed, naked and gasping for breath, on the floor beside the bed.
I’m home,
he told himself, gaze darting about the room illuminated by the always-on light shining from behind the half-open bathroom door.
Everything’s okay.
He winced then braved a glance at his feet, toes splayed and digging into the threadbare carpet.
Still there, still whole.
Sean leaned his head back to bonk against the nightstand and blew out a relieved breath.

Mare crouched on the bed, watching him with a worried smile. “Babe. It’s just a dream,” she soothed. “A bad one, sure, but just a dream.”

He nodded, not trusting his voice, and took a moment to collect himself. He hadn’t had a scream-himself-awake dream in months, maybe years, even though they’d been common after his abduction. Standing, he took a breath and muttered, “I’m too old for this shit.”

He’d taken a single stumbling step toward the bathroom when a knock sounded on their door. “You guys okay?” Mindy asked.

Mare leaned over the side of the bed and reached for a T-shirt. “Yeah, we’re fine,” she said, thrusting her arms through the sleeves. “Just a bad dream.”

That’s right. We have a houseguest.
Grumbling, Sean snatched his jeans and boxers off the floor before walking nude to the bathroom.

Better be some left, or it’s gonna be a long night,
he thought, snatching open the medicine cabinet with a shaking hand. He found his old prescription meds behind the sunblock and antibiotic ointment. When reaching for the pills, he knocked most of the shelf contents into the sink, but he didn’t care. Four Prazosin tablets rattled in the bottom of the bottle. Six months expired, but oh well.

He managed to fish one loose without dropping any down the drain and dry swallowed it while screwing the cap back on. He pulled on his clothes, tidied up, and gulped a couple of palmfuls of water. He met his own gaze in the mirror and decided he looked more tired than crazy.

Mindy jumped and Mare nodded hello when he opened the bathroom door.

“I didn’t mean to intrude,” Mindy said, retreating to the kitchen. “I just didn’t know—“

“No intrusion. I do crap like this all the time. Since I’m already awake, I’m gonna try to work.”

Once his nerves settled enough to create a good line, drawing came easier than it had the day before. He even managed to sketch a couple of spreads without layout blocking.

He heard Mindy return to bed, but he kept drawing, only occasionally having to toss desperate sketches of footless children pleading from the dark.

It’s 3:17 in the goddamn morning,
Todd thought as he staggered out of his SUV.
Missing kid, dead people oozing out of slime balls, and now this. Jesus, I’m exhausted.

He was the third officer to arrive at the crime scene but at least there were few spectators in the way. He staggered past vehicles flashing red and blue lights on the back of apartments and shops to the city cops kneeling near a dead woman.

Blood from her mashed head had spattered nearby dumpsters and walls. Other than massive cranial trauma, she appeared uninjured, but until the Division of Criminal Investigation finished their job, there was no telling what she’d endured. The flattened mass of her skull beside the otherwise normal-looking body reminded him of roadkill on the highway, and her teeth had scattered across the alley like dice tossed in a crooked game of craps.

Gawkers peered down from windows and a young black woman lurked near a stairway leading to apartments above a real estate office. She smoked a cigarette and eyed all three cops warily.

“That the witness?” he asked the men documenting the body.

“Yep,” the nearer officer said without looking up. He bent and photographed a bloody cast-iron skillet. “She’s all yours.”

Skillet. That’s different. Lover’s quarrel, maybe?
Todd thought, trying to not remember the mess of his own marriage as he took a wide path around the deceased. He introduced himself to the witness and took her information. “What’d you see?”

The woman took a drag on her cigarette. “Not a goddamn thing,” she said, not meeting his gaze. “Heard screams, heard a fight, saw her lying there, and called you assholes.”

“So you didn’t see who flattened her head with that frying pan?”

She blew out the smoke. “Nope.”

“What did you see, LaTonya? You wouldn’t be standing here if you didn’t have something to tell us.”

She glanced at the other officers. “It’s bullshit, man,” she said, dropping the cigarette and crushing it under her sandals. “Makes no fucking sense.”

Todd offered her a patient smile. “Try me.”

“I didn’t see anyone, okay? I didn’t. But I heard them. Kept crying, bawling like a baby, with ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I don’t have a choice,’ every time they fucking hit her. Even after she’d finally died.”

LaTonya hacked up a wad of phlegm and spat beside the stairs. “She ain’t got a head anymore for God’s sake. That takes some work, some effort, ya know? To really pound someone flat like that.” She fished another cigarette out of her pocket and lit it. “What kind of asshole goes to that much trouble and apologizes while doing it? It’s just fucked up.”

Todd had to agree, but he’d seen crazier things. “You recognize the victim?”

“Nah,” LaTonya said as she took a drag. “Don’t know who she pissed off, neither. Just glad they weren’t pissed at me.”

“Sean? Sweetie?” Mare’s voice coaxed from the soft, cozy dimness of sleep. “I think you need to get up.”

He rolled onto his back, one arm covering his eyes before the morning burned them to ash. His mouth tasted like old spit and stale coffee. “Unngh. What time is it?”

“Quarter after eight. I know you didn’t get to bed until almost dawn, but there’s a reporter outside. She’s asking for you and says she’s not leaving.”

Sean groaned as he rolled out of bed and staggered to the bathroom to piss. “Why does she want to talk to
me
?” He kicked the door closed behind him.

“Because of what happened yesterday. And last night. And something about Ghoulie. I tried to answer her questions, but apparently I’m not photogenic enough or something. She just turned off the cameras and asked where you were.” She paused then said, “Mindy’s scared half to death they’re looking for her. She’s hiding in the linen closet.”

Probably the pushy girl from yesterday.
“Okay, okay. Can you grab me some clean clothes?” he asked around his toothbrush.

“Already have. And there’s more.”

He spit and rinsed. “Good more, or bad more?”

“It’s not good more,” Mare sighed. “Murph emailed about an hour ago. They didn’t even look at the sketches before telling him this will be Ghoulie’s last issue. They’re not renewing the regular contract and they’ve refused another mini-series, too. Three years was long enough. Ghoulie’s done.”

Figures.
“Even if, by some miracle, we have decent sales this time?” Sean asked, leaving the bathroom. Mare had laid a clean pair of jeans and his one and only collared shirt across the bottom of the bed, along with socks and his good shoes.

She leaned beside the bathroom door, arms crossed over her belly. “Even if sales increase. Least that’s what the email said. After two failed series and returns on the minis, Black Pawn’s done with you and Murph both.” She approached him as he pulled on the jeans. “Do you want a printout?”

“Nah. Frankly I’m surprised we lasted this long.” He reached for the shirt. “Maybe if I don’t come off as a loony, this interview will help? If not Ghoulie, maybe another contract? Another comic publisher? Shit, a couple of band posters or a matchbook cover?” He kissed her and looked into her hopeful eyes.
Anything to keep the full financial load off you.

She smoothed his bed-mussed hair. “Couldn’t hurt, babe.”

The same pesky reporter stood on the stoop and Sean sighed as the cameraman adjusted the camera and light. “You guys do know I’m just a dude who draws comics, right?” he asked as he closed his front door behind him. “I’m not an expert on anything except maybe converting pencil drawings to vector graphics. I honestly don’t know why you’re talking to me again, especially after I came off as such a crackpot last time.”

The reporter shrugged as she smoothed her blouse and hair. “Boss seems to think you’re as good a face as any on this tainted water story.” She checked her teeth in a reflection on the camera lens and added, “Besides, with the sheriff, CDC, and hospital all denying anything’s happened at all, you’re all we’ve got.” Plastic smile back on and the microphone poised, she said, “Ready?”

“Guess so.” Sean flinched as neighbors across the street came out to watch.

The reporter filmed her intro then turned to Sean, asking if he’d seen any more people lurking around the tree farm.

“No, I haven’t.”

A thin line appeared between her eyebrows. “Mr. Casey, access has been severely restricted to the Juniper Road area and local hospitals. Something’s going on right near your property.” She paused, then continued, hopeful. “Did you see something else? Maybe something you’re not supposed to talk about? Did you witness the sabotage to our local water supply?”

Water sabotage? What the hell?
“I don’t know anything about any of that,” Sean said. “Look, I’m on a deadline. For my comic. GhoulBane.”

“Yeah, yeah, comic.” She gestured and the cameraman stopped recording as her plastic smile faded. “You’re the only person we’ve met who has the slightest idea what’s happening out here. Well, other than the sheriff and doctors who either deny everything, or say ‘no comment’ then sic lawyers on us.”

“I don’t know anything about water sabotage. I just saw…” He paused, trying to figure out how to explain the tree people without getting Todd in trouble.

The reporter spread her hands wide. “Please, Mr. Casey. People have a right to know who’s responsible.” As if sensing a weakening in his resolve, she gestured at her cameraman and he lifted the camera and resumed recording. “What did you see?”

“It’s not really something I can put into words. I’m an illustrator, not a poet, but I do know it’s a…
What the hell am I doing? Even if Todd doesn’t get pissed at me, everyone will believe I’m nuts.
He sighed, the camera catching every breath. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

“You’re telling our viewers not to fear toxic—“

“Nothing’s toxic.” The camera rolled on as he took a breath and added, “That’s all I can say, and I shouldn’t have said that much.”

The reporter blinked for a moment, then gathered herself. “Yesterday you told us the dead have risen and today you’re insisting waterborne Anthrax isn’t toxic?”

Sean shook his head, confused. “What? Anthrax? Who said anything about Anthrax?”

“The CDC is investigating and we have confirmed reports of positive tests. So you’re denying the presence of Anthrax in our local water?”

“There isn’t any Anthrax in the water! It’s just a harmless, slimy—“
Shit.
Sean took a cleansing breath. “I’m an illustrator. That’s it. Not a scientist, not a theologian. An illustrator who helped some people yesterday. Why are you asking me these stupid questions?”

The reporter pushed the microphone closer to his face. “So, Mr. Casey, you’re telling us waterborne Anthrax is safe?”

Sean clenched his mouth and glared at her.
Fuck it. I’m screwed either way.
“Why are you harassing me over bullshit lies instead of trying to help these people?”

The cameraman muttered, “Dude, you’re ratings gold!”

The reporter smiled. “So instead of accepting the truth of Anthrax tainted water, you’re still insisting the dead have risen?”

“No. I’m saying you’re an opportunistic bitch and your station is a shitty TV tabloid.”

Without so much as a flinch, her smile turned into a concerned frown. “You obviously need psychological help, Mr. Casey. Can you tell us more about these dead people you’ve imagined?”

“Get off my porch.” He turned to stomp into the house and slammed the door in her face.

Mare and Mindy had wandered next door for iced tea and gossip when Sean turned on his computer about an hour later. Despite the sinking feeling in his gut, he read Murph’s emails. At first angry and frustrated, by the most recent email Murph had become resigned to their fate, and their failure.
And why not,
Sean thought, opening Chrome and locating the first bookmarked job search site.
He has a regular job.

“Ooh. Someone needs line drawings of faucets for a farm plumbing catalog. Faucets
and
hydrants. Be still my heart,” Sean muttered as he clicked to apply.

Web design, animation, more web,
he thought, working through the postings.
Doesn’t anyone need print graphics anymore?
He’d found two potential jobs by the end of the listing queue and closed the window to see a popup ad.
Damp basement getting you down? Call us to clean mold and mildew so you can breathe easier!

He opened a fresh window.
All this rain, I bet lots of folks have wet basements. Our sump’s working almost constantly, and it’s a wonder we haven’t had any mold—

Sean stopped, finger over the mouse button.
Mold. The spore people in the creek. It had to start somewhere.

A few minutes of Googling later, he found a topographical map of Boone County and zoomed in to just east of Pinell. Juniper Creek meandered past the cemetery and he traced it upstream to its source northeast of town.
Over by the chicken farm,
he thought, opening a new window. This time, he searched for water table information then saved both images and a satellite view to his hard drive.

He brought all three into PhotoShop, each on a separate layer, and adjusted their sizes until various points lined up, especially the curves in Juniper Road. He frowned at the screen as he flicked through the layers, his gaze drawn again and again to the chicken farm north of town.
Upstream from the cemetery. On high ground. And chickens can create a lot of toxic gunk.