Surviving Rage | Book 4

by Arellano, J. D.

  There was no other way to describe it.

  They were in a war zone.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  Over Redwood City, California

  Captain Quinn felt like he was pulling the controls of the giant aircraft through quick drying cement as he desperately tried to bring the C-17’s nose up in an effort to delay the inevitable impact. Looking ahead, he saw the telltale square-shaped, lush green area of a huge, 18-hole golf course. Though it was far from his first choice, it was much more preferable than colliding with the buildings, homes, and other structures below. It would be much better if the area was flater, but ultimately, grass, sand, and water were more forgiving than wood, concrete, and rebar.

  But first, they had to reach it.

  “Come on, you sonofabitch!” he yelled, pulling even harder on the yoke as he fought against gravity’s pull on the aircraft’s 280,000 pound frame.

  In the seat next to him, First Lieutenant Knight felt helpless as he looked at the seemingly endless array of switches, toggles, and buttons.

  “What can I do?”

  Shaking his head, Quinn replied, “I don’t know!” He swore aloud, adding, “Fuck! Pray!!”

  Knight felt the violent shaking of the aircraft as it threatened to break apart while they continued to make their barely controlled descent towards the earth. Directly ahead of them, a series of multiple three-story apartment buildings stood in the path of their downward trajectory.

  They wouldn’t clear them.

  Not even close.

  ‘Might as well,’ he thought to himself. Though he identified as a Christian, he was the first to admit that he rarely practiced the religion. His knowledge of it being weak, he went with the one prayer he did know.

  “Our Father, which art in heaven, Hallowed be thy name.”

  A huge section of the aircraft’s exterior on its left side tore away, ripping free and flying away from the aircraft and briefly flying underneath them.

  Creating a sudden increase in lift.

  Thy Kingdom come, Thy will be done,”

  The C-17 cleared the apartment buildings, heading towards the golf course at a speed far too great for any type of controlled landing.

  “In earth as it is in heaven -

  In a flash, an idea entered Quinn’s mind, making him call out.

  “Stop!”

  “What?”

  “Shut up! Listen, try the reverse thrusters on Engine Two.”

  “What? But it’s - ”

  “Just do it!”

  Knight lunged forward and pressed the button for the reverse thrusters.

  The thrusters on the damaged engine choked and stopped, choked and stopped as they tried in vain to start.

  “Now the other side, hurry!”

  Knight hit the buttons for the thrusters on Engines Three and Four. They came to life instantly.

  Airspeed dropped immediately in response as the thrusters on the right side of the C-17 diverted the thrust, using it against the plane’s forward motion.

  But the action slowed the right side of the aircraft more than it did the left side of the aircraft, slowly starting to bring the nose away from the golf course.

  “Shit!” Quinn yelled, realizing what was happening. “Cut it!”

  Knight jammed his thumb into each control, ending the actions of the thrusters.

  “Landing gear!” Quinn ordered, struggling to maintain control of the aircraft.

  Knight flipped the switch for the landing gear, watching as the light slowly illuminated, indicating they were in the Down position. The additional drag slowed the aircraft, but only a little.

  The Reverse Thruster on the remaining port side engine came to life, pushing air forward.

  “It’s not possible-”

  Quinn’s eyes bulged in disbelief as he saw the indicator illuminate. Instantly, he shouted, “Reverse Thruster Engine Three!”

  Knight slammed his finger into the button.

  The thruster responded, pushing air forward. Together, the two thrusters, combined with the additional drag caused by the extended landing gear, slowed the aircraft tremendously just before impact.

  To a speed of two hundred and seventeen miles per hour.

  From the moment of impact until the aircraft stopped, Major Quinn and Lieutenant Knight were little more than another passenger aboard the C-17’s massive frame. The aircraft slammed into the ground with incredible force, separating the tail section from the rest of its body as the rear landing gear took the brunt of the impact. The aircraft bounced on the uneven surface, catching air as the ground sloped down and away, introducing open space below its frame, before slamming into the upper edge of a sand trap. The impact cracked the frame of the aircraft, causing panels and sections of its latter half to fall away, leaving a wide trail of composite materials, metal, and hydraulic fluid in its wake.

  The front end of the plane bounced skyward momentarily before gravity took hold again, bringing it back down violently, snapping the two wheels of the front landing gear like toothpicks under its weight.

  From there on it was the nose of the aircraft digging a massive, twenty-three foot wide trench through the golf course, churning up grass, dirt, irrigation piping, and roots along the way.

  The remaining right wing tore through several trees before the damage took its toll, folding its length backward before a massive Monterey Cypress ripped it away, breaking it apart and sending the pair of giant Pratt & Whitney turbofan engines tumbling away like twin wrecking balls, destroying everything in their path before losing momentum.

  In the cockpit, Quinn and Knight were thrown about violently, testing the strength of their seat belt harnesses as the aircraft pitched side to side, forward and back, and every possible combination within.

  At one point Quinn felt a jarring motion as his right shoulder was dislocated, causing him to lose his grip on his seat’s armrests. His arm flopped around uselessly, all the while doing irreparable damage to the tendons, muscles, and cartilage in its socket.

  Knight fared worse, having the floor of the aircraft thrust upward suddenly, sending a shockwave through his extended right leg, shattering his kneecap, tearing the Anterior and Posterior Cruciate Ligaments, and nearly ripping the lower half of his leg from his body. The intensity of the pain caused him to lose consciousness immediately, leaving his limp body to ride out the remainder of the aircraft’s travel through the tree-lined length of the golf course.

  He felt no pain as a broken branch came through the aircraft’s shattered windshield and penetrated his chest, killing him.

  In the cargo area, Sergeant Mason was kept safe by the harness at his seat until one of the sample transport boxes needed for the transfer of Isabella’s blood to the CDC broke free from its ties. It flew across the open space of the cargo area, bouncing twice on the deck before smashing into the side of his head, knocking him unconscious.

  Nearby, Reed watched in stunned awe as the young man was injured by the alloy metal case. Unable to help as the aircraft’s relentless momentum carried them forward, he was too distracted to notice Sergeant McGhee’s lifeless body as it flew across the cabin. It slammed into his lower left leg, breaking his tibia. Waves of pain and nauseousness flowed through him as he fought to reach down towards the broken appendage, irrationally thinking he could put it back together with his hands. A jarring bounce slammed his head back against the wall of the aircraft, the impact greater than the thin helmet could protect against.

  Everything went black.

  Eventually the aircraft stopped, its front end crumpled but intact as it rested against a line of trees. The windows of the cockpit were empty frames, their contents spilled upon Quinn and Knight. The left wing was actually the longer of the two now, with the right one nearly completely sheared off, and two massive holes lined its port side, one from the impact of the missile's steel rods, the other caused by a section of the port wing tearing through the plane’s exterior. Everything aft of the main cargo area was gone, left
behind somewhere along the three-hundred yard trench created during the plane’s violent landing.

  Two miles from where the aircraft came to rest, Steve Sommer frowned as he squinted in the direction of where it stopped. The explosion and subsequent rising fireball that he’d been expecting didn’t come.

  Could there be survivors?

  Holding up the Cuban cigar, he shook his head in disappointment before putting it back in his pocket.

  It would have to wait.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  East Palo Alto, California

  Daniel’s feet were literally hot from the repeated strikes on the sidewalk as he ran. Ignoring it, he pressed on, looking at the buildings on either side of the road in hopes of finding something offering potential seclusion.

  Just as they’d left the commercial area behind, they’d finally had good fortune come their way in the form of a multi-car pileup at the last major intersection before the road transitioned into the business district. Cars, trucks, a minivan, and a Jeep that looked eerily similar to Daniel’s Rubicon had smashed into each other, leaving little room for vehicles to pass. Buoyed by the good luck, the two of them dodged to the curb to get around the accident, barely slowing as they sought to increase the distance between themselves and their pursuers.

  They were a few hundred yards from the wreckage when they heard the SUV screech to a halt. Seconds later, bullets flew in their direction, striking the pavement, pinging off cars, and breaking windows. Ducking instinctively, they moved closer to the curb, trying to keep vehicles between themselves and the shooters.

  Daniel cursed to himself as he looked for somewhere to take cover. Finding somewhere to hide on either side of the road was out of the question. From where they were, the people shooting at them would see exactly where they went, then home in on their location.

  Looking ahead, he saw exactly what they needed: the road curved away and to the left. If they hurried, they could get beyond the curve before their pursuers did, which would give them the opportunity to dodge into one of the office buildings and wait for the gang to pass by.

  If all went well, they could give the gang the slip, then double back towards where they’d left Serafina and the girls.

  As they rounded the curve, what they saw in their immediate vicinity wasn’t promising. What stood in the distance beyond was.

  The area to either side of the road was lined with tall, barbed wire-topped fences, surrounding four-story cement buildings with dark, tinted windows. The top of each, several hundred yard-long building, was covered in an array of antennas and satellite dishes. The edge of each roof was lined with security cameras, and not the little ones that offered grainy images of shapes that were barely discernible as humans. These were the types that could read a car license plate number from a block away. Nothing would get by without being identified by the cameras.

  ‘Are these the data centers for Plus?’ Daniel wondered, thinking of the massive data storage/home assistant/email/app store/damn-near-everything company that had started out as a search engine. He’d heard their data centers were in the Bay Area, but assumed they were further from the city, where the cost of real estate was less expensive. Then again, the multi-billion dollar enterprise could easily afford the mortgage.

  Even if they weren’t already tired from running six-plus miles at a breakneck pace, they’d struggle to get over the ten-foot high fences, though, so as promising as the interior of the property appeared, it was out of the question. The most likely outcome of any attempt to scale the fences would be them getting stuck on the barbed wire. Their pursuers would find them hanging atop the fence, ripe for the picking.

  Or, more accurately, for execution.

  What stood at the end of the street was much more promising.

  A giant parking lot stretched in both directions. The stalls within the lot were covered, the roofs above them lined with solar panels.

  Beyond the lot a half-mile long building glistened in the sunlight like a beacon of modern, technology-focused dominance. Where smaller companies struggled to pay the rent on brick and mortar buildings in quiet industrial parks, this one had purchased more than fifty waterfront acres.

  Unlike the buildings surrounded by the barbed wire-topped fences, this one was easily identifiable, thanks to the massive blue and white sign that he and Paul recognized as the social media giant that had few peers, save possibly the one in China.

  Even from where they were, still nearly a block and a half away, they could see the tree-lined nine acre park that rested atop the three story main building. Daniel had heard stories of the company’s workplace, ones about conference rooms with ball pits, indoor skateparks, and canopy covered hammocks on the roof, but he’d put the stories out of his mind. What happened there, happened there. Seeing it directly ahead of him was different. Suddenly it was real.

  The opportunities to get lost inside the massive headquarters were nearly infinite.

  A mile behind the pair, the sound of metal being torn apart sounded loudly as the SUV forced its way through the wreckage, its powerful eight cylinder engine growling as it pushed smaller vehicles aside.

  “Hurry up!” the Scorpion yelled inside the vehicle, leaning forward to look towards where the two men had rounded the corner.

  “I’m trying!” Clint responded, pressing down on the gas pedal. The SUV was pushing against the left front bumper of the lifted Jeep Rubicon, and the off-road vehicle’s thickly studded tires were fighting against the sideways movement, refusing to give ground. The heavy steel bumper was digging into the passenger side of the Mercedes, scraping through the pain and gouging the metal.

  “Try harder!” the Scorpion replied. In a flash, her knife was in her hand, the point of blade pressed against the side of the man’s throat.

  “Alright!” Clint yelled, slamming his foot down on the accelerator.

  The SUV lunged forward, forcing its way past the Jeep. The Jeep’s metal bumper left a lasting reminder on the Mercedes, tearing through the side panel of the vehicle and ripping off the front right fender. As the SUV squeezed past, the passenger side mirror was ripped from the Mercedes by the Jeep’s front end. It fell to the ground as the vehicle pressed on.

  “Go!” the Scorpion screamed. They had to catch the men who’d killed the only person she’d ever loved, the ones who’d torn a hole in her heart.

  ‘I’m going to fucking kill them,’ she said to herself, before adding, ‘but not before I make them beg for mercy.’

  Reaching the front of the enormous building, Daniel and Paul saw something they’d hope they wouldn’t: broken windows and doors. On the ground near the front entrance, they spotted a number of protest signs, some covered in blood, others bent and torn. Looking down at them, Daniel saw the messages he’d seen in the images that had been plastered all over the media:

  Stop Spreading Lies!

  The Virus is a Hoax!

  The Only Rage That Matters is Rage Over the Infringement of Our Rights!!

  Around the country, small groups of extremists had refused to listen to the messages played over the emergency radio stations and TV news stations, insisting it was, as the sign suggested, a hoax. Others had pushed back angrily, calling the request for them to stay indoors an infringement on their First Amendment rights. They were a small, small minority, but their extreme views and ridiculous slogans made for great reporting, and the media lapped it up.

  Until it was too late.

  Looking off to the side of the main entrance, Daniel spotted what he’d expected. A broken video camera with the massive logo of the local news station emblazoned along the side. The power cords that led from a nearby van to the camera had been used to strangle its operator. The camera itself had been used to beat an Asian reporter to death.

  Hearing the sound of the SUV accelerating towards their position, Daniel saw few options left. Shaking his head, he led Paul into the building, entering the three story high lobby area. The interior of the building was an extension
of the bloodshed near the entrance. Bodies lay in nearly every direction, some on the marble covered floors, others left atop the fixtures that lined the entryway.

  As if it were part of some abstract art exhibit, completely untouched by the extreme violence that had consumed everything else inside the space, a twelve-foot high rock waterfall still flowed peacefully, sending water down into a thirty-foot long Koi pond. The pond’s inhabitants, all over eighteen inches in length and clearly well-fed, swam back and forth, oblivious to the carnage that had taken place outside their domain.

  Deftly stepping around the overturned furniture, potted plants, pooled blood, and countless corpses, Daniel broke right, darting past the dark security desk and up the stairs. Paul followed close behind, muttering “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.” Halfway up the staircase, Paul slipped and fell forward, smacking his knee against the hard surface of the stairs.

  Skidding to a stop, Daniel rushed back and helped the young man to his feet. “Come on,” he said, pulling him forward.

  Paul said nothing as he complied, grimacing in pain as he limped along, climbing the stairs one at a time, grateful for Daniel’s strong arm supporting him.

  Reaching the top of the stairs, the two of them came face to face with close to a hundred of the infected.

  A second later, tires skidded outside the entrance to the building, blocking their retreat.

  They were trapped.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  East Palo Alto, California

  She’s gone.

  ‘NO!’ he yelled back at the pessimistic voice in his head as he redoubled his efforts. He pressed down on her chest, pushed air into her. Pressed on her chest, pushed air into her. Again. And again.