Surviving Rage | Book 4

by Arellano, J. D.

The Salt Ponds, South San Francisco Bay

  In 1894, Cargill Inc. began mining salt in the wetlands of South San Francisco Bay. Separated by roads barely wide enough for the large trucks used to haul the product from one area to the next, the ponds are designed to allow the movement of water from one pond to the next, allowing the salinity to increase as the fresh water evaporates.

  Characterized by vibrant colors ranging from blue-green to orange, red, and even reddish-purple, depending on the season and the level of salinity, the Cargill-owned salt ponds are capable of producing up to 500,000 pounds of sea salt each year and cover more than 12,000 acres.

  It was the perfect place to lose the bastards chasing him, Reilley reasoned. Slamming on the brakes, he grabbed his gun and jumped out of the car. Racing around to the other side of the vehicle, he threw open the door and pulled Isabella out by her legs.

  The girl’s eyes widened in fear when he withdrew a knife from his pocket, but he ignored her. Squatting, he slashed through the bonds around her ankles and tossed them aside before grabbing her by the elbow and pulling her with him as he dashed into the wetlands that led to the salt ponds.

  Traipsing through low-lying bushes and weeds, he ran through the muddy earth of the wetlands, looking ahead towards the salt ponds. Basically dragging the girl through the mud, he was climbing a small ridge that led to the southernmost salt ponds when a gunshot made him throw the both of them to the ground. He landed face down in the mud a split second before the girl did, and the impact of her body on the wet ground sent muddy water splashing into his face.

  Growling, he let go of her elbow. Holding the gun in his left hand, he pointed it at her as he untied the bonds on her wrists.

  “Crawl,” he ordered.

  Nodding as tears cut through the layer of grime on her face, the thin girl began crawling forward, her long black hair dragging in the mud as she made her way over the ridge.

  “Stay next to me or I’ll kill you myself,” he told her as bullets whizzed over ahead.

  Her continued sobbing was the only response she gave as she dragged herself through the mud as quickly as she could.

  Shouting sounds came from behind them, along with the sound of boots splashing in the mud as their pursuers chased after them.

  Reaching the other side of the ridge, Reilley made his way into a crouching position and pulled the girl upward.

  “Stay low,” he ordered as he grabbed her elbow. They made their way to the bottom of the small hill, where the salt ponds stretched out ahead of them their vibrant colors seeming to glow in the mid-morning sun.

  Rising from his crouched position, he broke into a run, pulling Isabella along with him as he raced along the compacted dirt road.

  The shouting voices sounded closer, echoing through the quiet of the wetlands as the men chased after them. Glancing back, he saw that they hadn’t yet crossed over the ridge, but realized that when they did, there was nothing between his position and where they’d be.

  They’d have a clear shot.

  Pushing himself and the girl even harder, he turned right at the first intersecting road. The mounds of refined salt were several hundred yards away still, but if he could reach them…

  Gunfire sounded before bullets splashed in the brine-filled liquid of the pond between the two of them and the shooters. Plumes of water made their way across the pond as the men tried to adjust their aim to compensate for the distance.

  Turning left along the next intersecting road, he and Isabella charged on, desperately trying to put more distance between them and the men. The girl’s strength was fading quickly, and his wasn’t far behind, but fear is a tremendous motivator. They pushed on, gulping air as their legs propelled them forward.

  More gunfire.

  Isabella screamed as she fell forward, dragging him down with her.

  Landing on the ground near her, he watched as she rolled onto her back, revealing a half-dollar sized wound near her right shoulder where the bullet had exited her body. Unable to keep it together, she sobbed loudly, her face a mask of pain and terror.

  The guns of the men behind them erupted again.

  Dirt and rock showered their bodies as the bullets impacted the road near them. One bullet whizzed by Reilley’s head, close enough for him to feel the heat of it.

  ‘Fuck this,’ he thought. Rolling over, he brought the AR-15 up and pulled the trigger, sending bullets in the direction of the men. Surprised, they dove for cover, one of them sliding down into a pond as the bullets ripped through the air above them.

  That would buy them a few seconds.

  “Come on,” he said, grabbing the girl by the elbow again and forcing her upright. Crying, she allowed herself to be pulled as she kept her left hand over the wound in her shoulder. Her right arm hung loosely as she ran next to Reilley.

  They were closing in on the tall mounds of salt when a single shot rang out.

  Fire flared in Reilley’s left side as the bullet tore through his back and burrowed deep into his left lung, causing him to lose the grip on his rifle as he fell forward. The gun bounced end over end before sliding off the road, down the embankment, and into the salt pond on the far side of the road.

  Gasping for air, Reilley was oblivious to the loss of his weapon as he writhed on the ground. Blinking in shock, he saw Isabella trying to scurry away from him, kicking herself sideways on the ground, then rolling over to her knees. Struggling, she moved her left hand away from the wound in her upper left side and set it on the ground in an effort to balance herself. As she began to rise, he lashed out and grabbed hold of her ankle, causing her to scream.

  “Help me up, bitch,” he ordered as he moved his hand up to grab a firm hold of the waistband on her pants.

  Crying, the girl leaned down and looped her arm under his shoulder and lifted, helping to his feet.

  “Move,” he said, forcing himself into a shuffling run as he grabbed hold of her elbow again.

  As they reached the twenty-foot high mounds of salt, Reilley felt a glimmer of hope. If they could put the mounds between them and their pursuers, maybe they could reach the massive warehouses on the far side. He forced Isabella to the right, moving behind the first mound, his eyes already looking at the next mound.

  Footsteps were coming up fast behind him before a gun fired again, sending a bullet just a few feet to his left. It sent up a small cloud of salt as it hit the mound ahead of them.

  “You want the next one to be in your head? Keep fuckin’ runnin’, muthafucka.”

  Reilley knew when he was defeated.

  He’d been there often enough before.

  Stopping, he let go of the girl’s arm and brought his hand to his side, pressing it against the hole in his lower chest.

  The pain was unbearable, and he felt himself slouching as he slowly turned to face his aggressors.

  Two young, fit black men stared at him, breathing hard as they pointed their handguns at him.

  The one on the left, a man with hair woven in cornrows, and wore a black tank top and jeans, said, “Where you think you’re going?”

  “I…” Reilley could barely speak as he looked back at the man. “My side…” he grimaced.

  “Shouldn’t a run, muthafucka,” the other man said, crossing his arms in front of his chest. Like the first man, he wore a tank top and jeans, those his top was white. Unlike the other man, his head was clean shaven.

  “This girl your daughter or something?”

  “No…” he replied, gasping. “She’s immune….very…..valuable. Help me, and you can have her…”

  The two men burst out laughing.

  “You dumb fuck! We can take her right now! Whatchoo gon’ do ‘bout it?”

  “But - I - “ Reilley’s eyes fluttered as he fell to his knees, unable to remain standing. He’d lost too much blood, and it was clear now that he was dying. “Please….”

  “Man, fuck you. Why we wanna help you?”

  Reilley fell to his side, still gasping as he looked up
at the men.

  The man with the cornrows spoke. “Deebo, grab that girl and let’s get the fuck outta here.”

  As the second man stepped forward, the mound of salt behind the pair came to life. Reilley watched in shock as a white shape rose upward, salt spilling downward as arms extended. A knife spun end over end before embedding itself in the back of the man’s neck. A split second later a gunshot rang out. A hole appeared in the cornrowed man’s chest.

  Both men fell to the ground, bleeding out alongside Reilley on the road. As his vision slowly narrowed to a tiny circle, he found himself watching dark boots as they stepped up and out of the salt pile. A second later, everything went dark.

  Isabella felt strong arms gently lift her up.

  “Let’s get you cleaned up and bandage that wound,” Logan said, smiling at her.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Palo Alto, California

  Looking down at Richard, Serrano grimaced. Another person, hurt under his leadership. ‘Deal with it later, Chili,’ he told himself.

  “Alright, I’m gonna come around to your side. Backing out of the SUV, he moved around to the passenger side of the vehicle, ignoring the looks of the others as he moved with trained efficiency.

  Opening the door, his eyes met Richard’s. “Are you bleeding?”

  The old man shook his head. “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Where were you hit?”

  Richard shook his head again. “Not where, how.”

  Serrano looked at him questioningly.

  He closed his eyes and nodded. “Old injury I suffered in ‘Nam. Normally not an issue, but I ran out of steroids. Then the impact of the Highlander landing on the road...aggravated it.”

  “Will the feeling come back?”

  “In time, it should.”

  Serrano took a deep breath. “Alright, first thing is to get you out of here. I’m gonna use a fireman carry. You okay with that?”

  The man nodded. “Whatever works. I hate to be a burden,” he said.

  “Hey,” Serrano began, pausing to look at him. “I’d be dead if it weren’t for you and the others. This is one small, very small, step towards repaying you.” With that, he leaned in and pulled the man to the edge of the seat, then squatted down and brought the man onto his shoulders. Standing partially, he slowly backed away until he was sure he was clear of the SUV, then stood all the way up and made his way to the others.

  As he approached, he looked at the group. Sarah was, of course, still holding her children close to her, focused on comforting them. Aaron held Jennifer close, supporting her weight, while Phillip stood close by.

  Collectively, they watched in shock and surprise as he came towards them, easily carrying Richard’s thin frame on his shoulders. Not bothering to explain, he said, “Phillip, take point, let’s head down that street and find somewhere to hole up momentarily.”

  The young Marine looked at him, still confused. “What happened to my grandpa?”

  Ignoring the man’s question, Serrano replied. “Take point. Now.”

  His command spurred the man into action. Phillip spun on his heel without hesitation, bringing his rifle to bear in front of him. Keeping his rifle aimed in the direction they were headed, he moved forward, placing one front in front of the other as he focused on the area in front of them.

  The group fell in behind him, keeping pace with his slow, methodical, progress. Reaching the intersection, he paused.

  “To the right,” Serrano called out, focused on continuing in the direction they’d been headed prior to nearly being blown off the face of the Earth.

  As the group followed Phillip, Serrano looked down the street to their left out of habit. There was little to see other than a lowrider car, parked against the curb near a liquor store.

  Turning back, he looked at the street they were headed down, determined to find somewhere to stop so that they could regroup in relative safety.

  While the street where the lowrider sat was lined with small businesses - dry cleaners, hairdressers/barber shops, takeout food stops, and another liquor store - this block had been gentrified, with banks, expensive coffee shops, copy and print shops, and restaurants focused more on presentation than flavor.

  In each case, the glass windows of the establishments had been shattered, leaving the modern, wide-open spaces within completely exposed.

  Shit.

  His eyes moved back and forth to either side of the street as they made their way up the block. ‘There has to be something, somewhere we can hide’ he thought, feeling momentarily frustrated.

  Then he saw it.

  “On the left,” he called out, using his chin to gesture towards an armored truck on the side of the road.

  The massive vehicle sat abandoned, both front doors open. Near the driver’s door, a man’s body laid on the ground, his grey uniform torn mostly off of him, his prone form surrounded by a dried swath of blood. Based on the multiple small wounds that covered his body, his body had been picked at by birds and other animals at some point.

  Phillip paused when he saw the objective Serrano indicated.

  “That?” he asked, nodding in the truck’s direction.

  “Yeah. It’s about as secure as anything we can get at this point.”

  “Alright, let me clear it then.” Looking at Sarah and Aaron, he said, “Hang back. I’ll let you know if it’s safe.” The two nodded in response, stopping where they were.

  “You alright?” Serrano asked Richard, looking over his left shoulder to make eye contact with him.

  “Yeah, just frustrated.”

  “I’m sure,” Serrano said, unable to think of anything better to say in response. “You said it’s been that way for years. Is there anything you can do to help it?”

  “No,” Richard replied, before asking, do you need to set me down for a minute?”

  “No, I’m fine. You’re pretty light. What are you, about one eighty?”

  “One seventy. Anyway, no, not really anything I can do, other than stretch out and relax. Allow the muscles to calm down. Eventually, the feeling will come back, but the greater the agitation, the longer it takes.”

  Phillip came back from the far side of the truck. “All clear,” he proclaimed, nodding. It’s a bit of a mess up front, but the back has been cleared out and is relatively clean.”

  “Great,” Serrano said, stepping forward.

  The group made their way to the truck, heading around to the back of it so that they could avoid the body of the driver. Sarah urged the children into the back of the truck, then stepped aside so that Serrano could gently lower Richard onto the deck of the truck’s interior cargo area.

  Looking around, he shook his head.

  “What?” Sarah asked.

  “Just ridiculous that in the middle of the apocalypse, people were focused on getting their hands on paper money. Money that holds little value at this point.”

  “No kidding,” she said, looking around.

  “Mama, I’m thirsty,” Olivia said from inside the truck.

  Serrano nodded. “Yeah, we’ll take care of it.” He looked over at Aaron. “Aaron, you’re in charge here. Phil, come with me.”

  After taking a quick look at Jennifer, who laid on the deck of the truck near her grandfather, he nodded and stepped back. Checking his rifle quickly, he said, “Ooh rah, Chief.”

  Serrano and Phillip made their way back down the street, crossing the intersection back near where they’d left the SUV, and headed to the liquor store. They slowed as they closed in on the lowrider, looking for signs of movement within, but soon realized that its occupants were both dead, victims of shotgun blasts from close range.

  Moving past them, the two men made their way into the store, where they quickly grabbed bottles of water. As they turned to leave, Serrano grabbed a handful of candy bars and stuffed them into his pockets. He pointed at the bags of chips. Nodding in understanding, Phillip grabbed several bags and stuffed them into the front of his uniform blou
se.

  As they made their way back to the truck, Serrano considered their options. As far as he was concerned, they still had a mission, and if they could save the girl, they could bring her back, then head to San Francisco as a group.

  With Richard laid out and Jennifer injured, the question was, would it be him, Aaron, and Phillip that went to find the girl, or just him?

  In some ways, he wished it were only him, but he also knew that it was impossible for him to be in two places at once. No matter how much he hated the idea of needing the young Marines to leave those they cared about, the mission was the mission.

  And the mission could be the difference between saving the country they swore to protect, or watching it crumble and die.

  Arriving back at the truck, Serrano was relieved to see Jennifer up and coherent, though she was clearly in pain, holding her head as she leaned against the side of the truck’s interior.

  After passing out the water, he and Phillip placed the candy bars and chips in the middle of the group.

  Stepping back, Serrano sipped his water as he moved to the edge of the truck so he could look up and down the street. Once he was satisfied they were alone, he turned back to the others.

  “Listen,” he began.”

  “We know,” Aaron said, getting up from where he sat next to Jennifer. “We’ve gotta save the girl.”

  Phillip stood there, looking at Serrano for a moment, then nodded decisively. “Let’s get this done.”

  Looking towards Sarah and the others, Serrano searched for the right words.

  “We’ll be okay,” Sarah said confidently, before holding out her hand. “But I’m gonna need that gun.”

  Once Serrano and the two Marines helped them clear the cabin of the truck and move the dead driver’s body away from the vehicle, they did a quick check to see if the truck would start. As expected, the battery was dead, giving absolutely no indication that there was even the slightest bit of juice left in it. Checking the glove compartment, they surprisingly found something worth much more than the money that had been taken from the cargo area: a pistol, along with two spare magazines.