Looking down at the still healing grooves on his arm, he shook his head. It wasn’t fair. Why hadn’t the heroin worked on Parker? It’d helped him. It’s not like he was immune or something…
You killed your friend, Timothy.
‘No man, it was an accident…’
First you killed Rosie, then you killed Rodney, and now you killed Parker.
‘I was trying to help!’
Grabbing the bag of heroin and the syringe, he fixed himself his second and last dose of the deadly drug.
The picture on the television changed to one of colored bars.
“This is the Emergency Broadcast System with an urgent announcement. If you or someone you know is immune to the Rage Virus, please make your way to one of the protective zones immediately. Your help is needed as soon as possible. Protective zones had been set up in San Francisco, Oklahoma City, Indianapolis, and Boston…”
CHAPTER TEN
The United States of America was dying.
The country that was home to over 300 million people was on its last legs as it struggled to survive. The virus showed no discrimination as it decimated the population, turning people into killing machines regardless of who they were prior to the infection. Old, young, tall, short, heavy, thin, fit, out of shape, physical attributes and/or wellness didn’t matter. Ethnicity and race made no difference either as the virus consumed the people. Wealth did make a slight difference, since the poorest, living in cramped spaces and in close proximity to one another, were infected much more rapidly than those who had the opportunity to isolate effectively, but eventually the virus ran through the entire range of the country’s classes, saving the wealthy for last, finding its way into their homes via housekeepers, repair technicians, grocery delivery people, and the like.
Those who managed to hide, to stay clear of the Rage-filled infected that sought to destroy anything and everything in their path, watched as the country that held so many hopes and dreams for its inhabitants began to die a slow, painful death. Some cities, like Los Angeles, had burned to the ground, the fires unchecked as they raged, consuming everything in their path. Other cities simply went dark as power grids failed, leaving the remaining residents isolated, cold, and hungry. Cities seemed to shrink as people moved closer and closer to the city centers in an attempt to pool resources and establish defenses.
Smaller cities and towns in more remote locations were taken back by nature slowly as first the grass, then shrubs, then bushes began to spread into areas they’d previously been kept back from. In time, nature would win the battle for the land.
It always did.
For decades, mankind had abused the planet constantly, sending pollution into the rivers and skies, trash into the lakes and oceans, and numerous gases into the atmosphere without remorse, always assuming the planet would find a way to adapt and survive. Those who protested the abuse were labeled as alarmist or deemed as Anti-American, supposedly wishing that the country would fail over a ‘few oil spills’ or a ‘little bit of methane gas’, but rational people saw what had been happening.
The Earth was losing the battle.
Maybe the virus was Mother Nature’s way of fighting back.
Part III
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Mount Weather Emergency Operations Center, Virginia
“I can’t stand this,” the tall blonde woman stated, rising from her chair. Resuming the pacing that seemed to occupy so much of her time, she twirled a loose strand of her hair around her finger as she thought about how hamstrung they were.
So close and yet so far.
All of their efforts, all of their analysis, all of their work had brought them so close to solving the problem, and yet they were stuck now, waiting for something - actually, someone - to be brought to them.
“Neither can I.” Doctor Chang added, sitting back on the thick leather couch and resting his head on the plush cushions. Reaching up, he removed his glasses, before pinching the bridge of his nose. Staring at the computer screen for the last three hours had made his eyes tired, as well as his neck, shoulders, and upper back. Maybe he needed to pace as well.
Rising from his chair, he looked over at Doctor Bowman, watching for a second as the woman’s long legs moved her back and forth across the length of the room.
“Wanna go for a walk?” He asked, pointing towards the door.
The statuesque woman paused, chewing her lip as she thought. Her eyes moved towards her desk, where mounds of paper were stacked next to multiple notebooks that were filled with her handwritten notes.
“Come on, Lisa. Fresh air’s one of the few pleasures we can still enjoy,” Andrew reasoned, smiling slightly. Fresh fruits and vegetables had run out three days ago, and while three days wasn’t very long, it seemed like they’d been eating canned vegetables for ages. The remaining meats available were from the deep freezers that occupied the back portions of the base Dining Facility, and though the cooks that worked there were good at the craft, the meat was occasionally tough and usually flavorless.
Nodding, she relented. “Okay, you make a good point.” Removing her access card from the computer, she slid it into the holder around her neck. “Besides, Jon can’t be the only one of us getting exercise.”
“Also a great point.” Chang replied, grabbing his access card as well. He walked over to the mini fridge in the corner and withdrew two of the pre-filled reusable water bottles. Passing one to her, he opened the door to the lab, gesturing for her to exit first.
She smiled as she walked past. “Thanks, and I said you made a good point. I - ” she said, jabbing her thumb towards her chest, “made a great point. Jon spends at least four hours exercising each day. I don’t know how he does it.”
Chang looked down at his stomach, which had started decreasing in size, thanks to the time he’d been spending on the treadmill in his room. “Well, I’m sure he’s in great shape.”
Lisa smiled at him as she turned away, leading them down the hall. “Yes, yes he is. VERY good shape.”
“Are we sure there’s nothing else we can do while we wait?” Lisa asked, wiping a light sheen of sweat away from her forehead with the back of her hand. The day was hot and humid, and the dark clouds off to the south looked like they'd bring rain, which would be a blessing. Rain could be captured and filtered to help accommodate the base residents, providing some level of relief to the closely monitored water usage. Scheduled shower days had become the norm, and the lack of easy access to running water was proving to be a difficult thing for people to get used to.
Looking around as he spoke, he hoped rain would also help bring some green back to the brownish landscape of the military base.
“Fairly certain. If we only had to deal with responding to the introduction of Doctor Roberts’ drug, we could simply make sure everyone received new doses of standard vaccines, but we now need to figure out how to develop something that can fight off the new mutation of the virus.”
Lisa shook her head, looking at the dark asphalt beneath their feet. “And we don’t know how to synthesize a cure without understanding how the blood can properly react to fight off the introduction of the newly mutated virus.”
“Precisely. We need to see how the blood of an immune person reacts.”
Lisa exhaled loudly, her frustration clear in the sound. “Shit,” she said, looking off into the distance. Across the large field of brown grass, a mother and father played frisbee with their two children.
It was the most normal thing she’d seen in weeks.
“Hey,” Andrew began, following her gaze before smiling at the sight of the family, “we have accomplished a few things. Most importantly, when we verified that the blood of the unvaccinated reacted with Doctor Roberts’ drug the way we’d anticipated, we developed a method for producing a sample virus, one which we can use to test the vaccines we develop in the future.”
“We’ll still need blood samples from the newly infected. Those who have the mutated version of the virus.
”
“True, but the blood of someone immune will be able to fight that as well, and we’ll likely have a ninety to ninety-five percent solution based on that.”
Realizing she’d been staring at the family, Doctor Bowman hastily turned her head, not wanting to alarm them. “So we wait.” She said with an air of finality.
“Yes,” Doctor Chang replied. “We wait.” He looked in the direction of the quarantine area. “Hopefully not for too much longer.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
San Jose, California
The white Cadillac Escalade maneuvered through the wrecked cars that lined the sides of the streets as it made its way north through the city. The windows were tinted pitch black, making it impossible to see how many people rode inside the big SUV. Behind the vehicle was a large black Chevy Suburban, similar in size and with similarly dark windows.
Slowing as it approached the intersection, the windows on the Escalade descended, revealing tattooed men with guns in the front and rear seats of the vehicle. The four men looked in either direction, their eyes scanning for signs of people. Their objective was those people who hadn’t been infected, but they’d gladly deal with any of the infected they came across, should the need arise.
After several long moments, the man in the front passenger seat slumped back in his seat, frustrated. Reaching up, he pulled his Oakland Raiders hat down until the bill was aligned with his eyebrows.
Tired and bored, Hector “León” Guitierrez brought a joint to his lips and inhaled deeply. Moving the joint away, he held the smoke in for several long seconds, then exhaled, blowing a large cloud of smoke out the window.
‘How long until another caravan comes this way?’ He wondered, thinking about how they’d overtaken the last group of survivors trying to get to San Francisco. It’d been a bloodbath, and when it was over they’d killed twelve and taken five hostages, all young women. The men had fought valiantly, trying to protect their group, but they’d been no match for the superior firepower and numbers of Hector’s gang.
Taking another puff from his joint, he looked towards the high rises that were clustered near the downtown area. He and his crew would soon run through them, taking what they want and killing those who got in their way.
Killing was nothing new for him or any member of the Varrio Diablo, which had been one of the most dominant gangs in San Jose, California, for well over ten years. In fact, taking a life was the most important part of the initiation process. What better way to be sure that a new member was a) not hard enough, b) not a member of a rival gang, or c) not a cop, than to have the person kill a member of one of the other gangs that threatened their turf? Hector and his men would only go as far as to lend a weapon and provide the ride, but wouldn’t interfere. If they were successful, cool. If not, they usually died during the attempt, and if they didn’t, they were hunted down by the other gang within a few days. It was a tough initiation, but it had proven to be highly effective. He’d done it, his brother had done it, and both of his cousins had done it. Javier Dominguez, aka Serpiente (snake), the leader of their gang until he’d been killed in a hit at a taco shop two years ago, had done it as well, and had actually killed three members of the West Side Familia, their biggest rival gang.
When Serpiente died, there’d been little doubt amongst the members of Varrio Diablo about who would take his place. Standing five ten and a hundred and seventy five pounds, he was far from the tallest or most muscular, but Hector had been Javier’s right-hand man for the last five years, and his penchant for violence and his strategic decision making had made him the obvious choice.
His first decision? New initiations would be required to kill no less than two members of the West Side Familia gang. It provided Varrio Diablo with a cheap supply of henchmen, as well as some level of deniability.
His decision had proven highly effective. West Side Familia numbers had been cut by over a third by the time they decided to take the fight to Varrio Diablo, and while their forces were being decimated, the Diablo’s were growing. The result of the battle was a decimation of the WSF, culminating with Hector staring down their leader as he pulled the trigger, sending a bullet through the man’s eye and into his brain.
Hector had said the right things, and completed the act without hesitation, but in truth the man had done him a favor by killing Javier. The man had lacked ambition. He’d been more than happy to rule their ten square block area, never feeling the need to expand their turf. With new members coming in, the opportunity was there to increase their footprint, to reach into new areas and take what was there, but Javier had been too fat and lazy to seize what was there for the taking. Sitting around, surrounded by young women and an endless supply of booze, weed, and cocaine, the man had been all too satisfied to maintain the status quo.
Where was the fun in that?
More importantly, where was the STRENGTH in that?
Hector’s long-held belief was that an empire was either growing or dying. There was no in between. Stagnation bred complacency. Complacency introduced vulnerability. Vulnerability made you a target.
Under Hector’s leadership, they’d grown their turf to encompass over twenty square blocks, doubling their footprint in the city, and during that time, they’d killed off or absorbed three smaller gangs. He left them little choice. Join and prove allegiance (through initiation), or die. That was it.
But he wanted more.
With the spread of the Rage Virus, the police force had been effectively shut down, leaving nothing in their way. While other gangs had approached the situation with unbridled enthusiasm, Hector had made them do the unthinkable.
He’d made them wait.
He instituted a quarantine for their members, requiring them to remain in their homes unless they were on patrol. Armed patrols cruised their turf, day and night, 24/7, looking for the infected and killing them without hesitation. No one came in, no one went out.
Failure to comply with his orders meant death, plain and simple.
After a week, he’d gathered his gang in the park that was near the center of their territory. Stepping up onto a picnic table, he’d looked at the men and women who lived under his rule.
“Alright, check this out homies. This damn virus killed a lot of people out there, right?”
The people around him nodded and vocalized their agreement.
Taking a puff of his joint, he asked, “But we still here, right?”
Again his crew agreed with him.
“And we here ‘cause of me. I’m the one that set up the quarantine. I’m the one that keep you inside, where you’re safe, know what I’m sayin’?
“But now it’s time for us to get ours, right? We goin’ out there, and we gon’ take what we want.”
“Yeah!” The people cheered, raising their bottles of beer in agreement as they nodded and pumped their fists.
He pointed off towards the center of the city. “The police ain’t even around no more. They gave up. Ain’t nothing and nobody gon’ stand in our way.
“The infected people out there ain’t nuttin’ to worry ‘bout, neither.” He pulled his silver plated pistol from the waistband of his pants and pretended to aim it at something in front of him. “You shoot ‘em, they die. Bang!
“Just don’t let ‘em sneak up on you, and you’ll be aight. That’s why I’m making a three person rule: No one goes out with less than two people. You stick together, you watch out for threats, and you do your job, aight?”
People eagerly nodded in agreement excitedly. His desire to grow their gang and expand their turf had become infectious. They wanted more.
And now it was time to get it.
“Aight, Julio’s gon’ divide you up into teams, and we gon’ start taking the West Side. I want at least three blocks in each direction every day, got it?” He didn’t wait for their response. They knew the deal.
“We get the West Side, then we decide what we want next.”
“You coming with us, León?” Someone
asked enthusiastically.
Hector didn’t mind the question. He knew they gravitated towards him and simply wanted him to be there.
“Nah, ese. Me and a couple homies gonna take care of some shit.”
Which brought him to the present.
Looking down at the list of addresses, he checked the street name on the sign. “Left here,” he said, smiling.
The driver turned the wheel, guiding the Escalade down the street. The black Suburban followed them.
Hector grinned. Of the three homes they’d visited, they’d only had to kill one family so far. At the other two they’d found the occupants already dead, killed by one or more of the infected. Even though it was likely that the number of occupants who’d survived was small, it was important that they visited each one. They had to be thorough if they wanted to be successful in the long run.
Impressing his people yet again, it had been his idea to hit the local police station, to take out any resistance and to add to their stockpile of weapons. It was a bold decision, one of high risk and high reward.
They’d pulled it off without much trouble, overwhelming the three remaining police officers in the station in minutes, killing them in a barrage of gunfire that shattered windows, chewed up furniture, and shredded bodies. The police officers’ bulletproof vests hadn’t helped much as they’d taken rounds to their legs, necks, and heads.
It was a resounding success, and one that gave them more firepower and more protection. The station’s riot gear had been gathered and taken back to their turf, where he’d decide how it would be used. Bulletproof vests and helmets had been distributed amongst the men (and two women) that rode with him, making them feel even more unstoppable.
Surviving Rage | Book 3 Page 7
