Surviving Rage | Book 4

by Arellano, J. D.

  “Yes, Major, those are boxing analogies. I’m just saying we’re barely hanging on, and we need to focus on that. Once we start to recover, to regain our strength, we can consider doing more.

  “For now, we’ll focus on maintaining what we’ve got.”

  Major Kincaid nodded. “Got it, sir.”

  “Good, now - ”

  The door to the room burst open, slamming into the wall. A middle aged dark haired woman in Army Fatigues entered the room, breathing heavily.

  “What the hell, Colonel Woodworth?”

  “Sir,” the woman began, pausing to take a breath, “we just received a radio call from someone who’s uh… well, he’s got someone who’s immune.”

  The General’s mouth dropped, as did Major Kincaid’s.

  “That’s great news, Colonel.” Armstead said, nodding.

  Unsure of how the man would respond to the caveat, the Lieutenant Colonel looked away from the man’s gaze. “There’s a catch, sir.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Mount Weather Emergency Operations Center, Virginia

  Another typical Northeastern U.S. morning greeted Jonathan Reed as he set out for his daily five mile run. Even at 6 a.m., it was in the high 50s and humid, and he knew by the time he was done, he’d be drenched in sweat.

  Trotting next to him, Steight looked up at him happily, tail wagging as he kept pace. The dog loved running, and as Reed had increased his distance over the last few weeks, his companion had, too, happy that she was included in the morning routine.

  Reed slowly increased his speed, lengthening his stride as he covered more and more ground, letting his well-conditioned muscles propel him onward as his mind raced. He was frustrated at the feeling of helplessness as they waited for someone immune to find their way to one of the Protective Zones.

  Out of desperation, they’d tried taking samples from scores of people and testing it against the virus, trying to find someone who was unknowingly immune, but every attempt had failed. The Rage virus took over quickly, agitating the cells in a frenetic fashion that was, quite simply, downright terrifying.

  Steight darted ahead of him, her nails scratching the pavement loudly as she tore after a rabbit, but as always, she pulled up after seeing the rabbit dart away. She never truly went after any of the small animals, always choosing to break off her chase after they were sufficiently scared, and Reed was convinced that’s all it was: reminding the other animals that she was there.

  Steight waited until Reed caught up, then looked up at him as she fell back in alongside him, her tail wagging happily.

  “Good girl,” he said, as he continued on. He felt sweat start to form on his forehead and temple as he climbed one of the small hills on the base, his feet hitting the surface of the street in perfectly measured strides.

  Glancing towards the dried sports fields off to his left, he wondered how long it would be before another game was played there. Would the world return to normal when the cure for the virus was found, or had too much damage been done to the country’s sense of togetherness?

  People had turned on one another out of fear and anger, as evidenced by how the previously unvaccinated, who still remained in the quarantine area out of safety concerns, had been treated by their fellow survivors on the base. When faced with challenges, the human psyche needed to have an enemy, someone or something they could blame for their bad fortunes.

  Pastors blamed the devastation caused by hurricanes on the existence of same-sex couples.

  People blamed entire religions for the actions of a few extremists, starting wars that killed tens of thousands of people.

  The poor blamed their economic situation not on the greed of the rich, who blocked every attempt to increase the federal minimum wage, but on other poor people, namely immigrants.

  Would people blame the advances of modern science for the outbreak?

  Would they suggest that the attempt to cure the incurable had been both foolhardy and reckless?

  Steight barked suddenly, breaking Reed’s train of thought.

  Looking up, he saw one of the white government vans parked up ahead. Sergeant Mason stood next to it, waiting patiently as Reed approached.

  Reed slowed his stride as he approached, wondering what it was that brought Mason out here. He brought his left wrist up and pushed a button on his watch, ending his run as he slowed to walk.

  “Good morning, Sergeant,” he said, reaching up to wipe more sweat from his brow.

  Steight went over to the man and rubbed against his leg, her tail wagging happily as he reached down and rubbed her head.

  “Morning Sir. We need to go to the briefing room to meet with the President immediately.”

  Looking down at himself, he saw his shirt was covered in sweat. He figured he probably didn’t smell too great, either. “Right now? Can I have a chance to clean up?”

  Mason shook his head. “After, Sir. They want you right away.”

  “Okay…” Reed said, heading for the passenger side of the van. He opened the back and motioned for the dog to get in. She leapt into the vehicle without hesitation, then made her way towards the front, positioning herself between the two seats.

  Reed closed the rear door and got into the front passenger seat. “Any idea why?”

  Mason started the van as he spoke.

  “I think they’ve found someone immune.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Fresno, California

  Standing up violently from his chair, Steve Sommer reached down, grabbed his coffee cup, turned and hurled it against the wall as hard as he could. The cup shattered upon impact, sending pieces of porcelain flying in all directions and coating the wall in a wet sheen of coffee.

  “This cannot happen!” he yelled again, his eyes burning with intensity.

  “Alright, we’ll go to San Francisco and cut them off,” Hank said, putting his hand out in an effort to calm the man down.

  “You’re damn right we will, but do you understand why?”

  Eager to impress the man, Trent spoke up. “‘Cuz you’re the boss.”

  In two strides, Sommer rounded the table and placed his right hand around the man’s throat, pushing up and backward, leaning the man back in his chair until his head was against the wall.

  Sommer brought his face down until it was less than six inches away from Trent’s. “I don’t need a ‘yes man’, you fuck. I need people who believe in the cause.” He released his grip on Trent’s neck and stepped back, then grabbed his gun off the counter and held it as he crossed his hands in front of him.

  “Now which one are you?” he asked.

  Afraid to move forward out of concern for having his movement misinterpreted, Trent swallowed and said, “I’m a believer, Steve. One hundred percent.”

  Nodding, Sommer went back to his seat and sat down, still glowering. He stared at the men seated around him, taking time to meet each one’s gaze, conveying his deep displeasure.

  After several long moments, he spoke.

  “Three years after the end of World War Two, the -” Sommer held up his fingers to make air quotes, “ - ‘World Health Organization’ was created. Any idea where they are headquartered?” he asked.

  Not waiting for a response, he went on. “Geneva, Switzerland, the place where the Geneva Convention was ratified. Why does that matter? Because the Geneva Convention details the rights and treatments that must be given to non-combatants.”

  “Apparently, people were bothered by how Germany dealt with its infestation problem,” he said, shaking his head. “They didn’t like how the Germans got rid of the Jews that had spread throughout the country like a Goddamn plague.

  “I think that’s bullshit.

  “I believe a country has the right to conduct a little cleaning when they’ve got an infestation problem - just like we’re doing now.”

  The men around him nodded in agreement, listening intently.

  “So what’s the point of me bringing up the W.H.O., and what does it have t
o do with the girl who’s immune?” he asked rhetorically, signalling for Hank to give him another cup of coffee.

  The man did so quickly.

  Taking a sip of the coffee, Sommer looked around at the men again, then continued. He held up three fingers. “Three years after the end of the war, the W.H.O. is formed. Suddenly, the whole world cares about the health of other nations?”

  He took another drink and shook his head. “Anyway, the W.H.O. is quiet for a few years, mostly releasing studies and providing research materials, but then, ten years after being established, it begins working to eradicate smallpox.”

  “That’s a good thing, though, right boss?” Graham asked.

  Sommer held up a finger. “Hold that thought. The W.H.O. does work to eradicate smallpox, and by 1967, nine years after they were asked to get involved, they announce that they’ve accomplished their objective.”

  “World leaders are thrilled.

  “Celebrations are had.

  “Funding is increased.

  “And the W.H.O. becomes a more recognized and respected entity.” Sommer leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table as he continues, his voice taking on an even more serious tone. “In 1977, they introduce something called the ‘W.H.O. Model List of Essential Medicines’, two hundred and twelve medicines that the W.H.O. says countries should consider using for medicinal purposes. The list contains all kinds of stuff: antibiotics, pain killers, dermatological treatments, antipsychotic medication, heck, even stuff to help with diarrhea.

  “But more importantly, they recommend a whole bunch of vaccines.”

  He let his words sink in before he continued.

  “Are you all familiar with the MMR vaccine?”

  From his spot in the kitchen, Hank nodded. “Measles, Mumps, and Rubella,” he answered.

  Sommer nodded. “Exactly. Now, the Persians documented the Measles somewhere around 400 B.C. The Greeks were the first to mention the Mumps, right around the same time.

  “Rubella, though, is very similar to both of these diseases, and for a long time, it was called, simply, German Measles.

  “So why lump it in with the others?” he asked.

  He looked around the table. Each of the men shook their head in confusion, not understanding where he was going with his lecture.

  “I can see you’re not following, so let me ask this question: how are vaccines created?”

  “Got this one, Steve,” Trent said, smiling. “They have some of the dead virus in ‘em, so your body can develop immunity.”

  Sommer nodded. “Yes, that’s good, and close enough for our conversation. So a vaccine designed to fight off something that was first discovered in Persia - which is now Iran - would have what kind of traits associated with it?”

  “Persian?” Graham asked, feeling slightly more confident.

  “Exactly. And the Mumps vaccine?”

  “Would have Greek genes in it,” Randall said, shaking his head. “Son of a bitch.”

  Sommer sat back in his chair watching as realization came over the men’s faces.

  With the exception of Trent, who looked around, confusion showing on his face. “What?”

  “These fuckers create vaccines and they introduce other races into your bloodstream, changing your blood, and probably affecting your children’s DNA.” Randall said.

  “Dang it!” Trent said, smacking the table. “I knew that Twenty Three and Me was wrong!”

  Sommer put up his hand, making them all fall silent. “In the Seventies, the W.H.O. - the same group that was formed right after World War Two, in the same place where laws were passed limiting how a country could deal with their internal problems - added the MMR vaccine to its list of ‘essential medicines.’”

  Leaning forward again, he looked at them and said, “They’re watering down the White race.”

  He let the words simmer for a minute, then finished.

  “And now our so-called government wants to introduce a Goddamn Mexican’s genes into the entire population.”

  He shook his head. “Not on my fuckin’ watch.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Central California

  The old truck rumbled and shook as it grudgingly made its way up the 5 North. In the driver’s seat, Logan rubbed his eyes as his mind worked through the possible scenarios regarding why Joe Reilley had taken Isabella.

  Was he a pervert?

  Was he a psycho, intent on harming the girl?

  Or was he trying to hold her for ransom?

  Whatever the man’s reasons, his actions were unforgivable, and with that said, one thing was certain: Logan was going to find him and make him regret hurting Logan’s friends and kidnapping Isabella.

  There could be no doubt.

  He estimated that the man had a three, maybe three and a half hour lead on him, one that was probably growing as the newer and well-maintained Prius outpaced the old, beaten down, farm truck, so he did the only thing he could do:

  He refused to stop for anything other than fuel.

  He’d stopped once for that reason, adding more gas to the truck’s big tank by siphoning it from an overturned SUV, taking the opportunity to drain his bladder, but other than that, he’d been driving nonstop since leaving the ranch.

  Fire burned inside him, and it would continue to burn until he got his hands on Joe Reilley.

  Preferably around the man’s neck.

  It was just after four a.m when he’d heard Serafina’s desperate calls for help coming from the front of the house. Jumping out of bed, he’d ran through the house and onto the porch, not bothering to put on his boots before stepping outside.

  He’d found Serafina was near the front steps, holding her husband’s body across her lap, cradling his head in the crook of her arm. Light from the lamp on the front porch reflected in the tears that streamed down her face when she looked up at Logan.

  “Why?” She’d asked, shaking her head as she looked back down at her husband’s limp form.

  Sensing movement behind him, he’d spun around just in time to see Paul roll over on the ground before managing to rise to one knee.

  Logan rushed over to help him, hoping that the young man would be able to provide some kind of information about what had happened and, more importantly, who’d done it.

  “You alright?” he’d asked, reaching down and firmly placing a hand on the teenager’s back, keeping him where he was. “Go slow. You might get dizzy.”

  Paul nodded, remaining where he was. Looking down at the ground, he said, “Almost had that bastard.”

  “Who?”

  “Joe. Son of a bitch attacked me.” With Logan’s help, Paul made his way to feet on unsteady legs. Shaking his head, he looked at Logan. “I got him in the ribs at least twice, so he’s hurt, but...the fat asshole just knocked me down…”

  Logan’s eyes noticed the marks on the young man’s neck. “He choked you out?”

  “Yeah, I thought he was going to kill me.” Looking past Logan, Paul’s eyes widened. “What happened to Daniel?”

  “Looks like he was hit from behind.”

  “What about the girls?” Paul asked.

  “Shit!” Logan turned and ran into the house, crossing the living room in long steps before throwing open the door to the room the girls were sleeping in.

  The space between Ashley and Brenna was empty.

  Isabella was gone.

  Ashley’s and Brenna’s snores filled the room. The two were deep in slumber, which made Logan suspicious. Turning on the light, he went to the bed to check on them. Both appeared fine, though they barely stirred at his intrusion or the introduction of light.

  Turning away, he headed back to the front of the house, where he found Paul trying to help Serafina move Daniel inside. Grabbing the man’s torso, he helped them move the man inside and onto the couch.

  Serafina sat back on the floor, still in shock over what had transpired. “I don’t understand…” she began.

  “Isabella’s gone,” Loga
n said flatly.

  The woman leaned forward and rested her forehead against the edge of the couch. “It was Joe, wasn’t it?”

  Logan nodded. “Yes.”

  Serafina punched the couch with her fist. “I knew it!” Muttering under her breath, she shook her head in frustration. “Creepy son of a bitch…”

  Standing there, Logan felt filled with both frustration and agitation. His heart pounded in his chest as he stood there, his eyes moving from Serafina’s frustrated form to Daniel’s unconscious one, and then to Paul’s bruised face and neck.

  He had to do something.

  Barely a week ago, after the loss of Wendy, the woman he’d hoped would become his fiancee, he’d settled on caring about nothing and no one. His decision to join the Alvarados on their trip north was partially based on convenience and partially based on doing the right thing.

  Even so, he’d never planned to find friends and grow to care about the people he’d be traveling with.

  But it’d happened, and now someone had hurt them.

  He hadn’t been able to save Wendy.

  He wasn’t going to allow himself to be put in that position again.

  Stepping away, he made his way back out onto the porch, crossed it, and walked to the remaining Prius. It was the one Daniel and Serafina had been riding in with the girls. Assuming they’d keep their map in the same place he and Paul had, he opened the glove compartment.

  ‘Bingo,’ he said to himself, grabbing the folded piece of paper and turning away from the car. Stepping quickly, he rushed back inside and over to the dining room, where he spread the map on the large wooden table in the center of the space.

  Rising from her spot on the floor, Serafina crossed the living room to join him at the table.