But it was his next move that surprised everyone.
Using a password hacking tool one of his men had obtained through intimidation and force, he hacked into the police chief’s computer. Searching through the computer’s files, he quickly located what he was looking for: a personnel roster.
One that listed home addresses for each member of the force.
Three down and eleven to go, including the chief’s home, which he’d decided to save for last.
From there, they’d expand into the next district.
‘Grow or die,’ he thought to himself, taking another puff of his joint.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
North Los Angeles, California
Chief Petty Officer Gabriel “Chili” Serrano grimaced as he stepped up onto the short wall that bordered the parking lot of the industrial building. His body was still sore from the battle he’d been in just over a week ago, the one that left him unconscious and comatose for three days. His physical injuries were slowly healing, but the emotional scars caused by the loss of his team would take much longer to heal, if they ever would. To call them teammates would be more than insufficient or inaccurate. They were men he’d fought beside, facing death over and over. They were men he’d saved, and men who’d saved him. They’d bled together, they’d learned to fight as one, defeating the enemy time and time again.
They were family.
And they were dead.
Behind Serrano, four people followed: a young woman, a white man in his mid-twenties, an older white man, and a black man that was also in his twenties.
The older white man was Richard Singletary, a Marine Corps Vet that had served as a sniper in Vietnam. Lean and tall, the old man’s face was surprisingly smooth for someone in his early seventies. Dressed in a flannel shirt, blue jeans, and hiking boots, the old man followed behind his granddaughter, Jennifer Singletary.
Similar to what she wore when Chili first saw her, she was dressed in black jeans, a black t-shirt with a heavy metal band logo on it (this one Metallica), and black combat boots. Her dark hair was short, stopping at her shoulders, and her skin was both flawless and pale. Pretty and a little too thin for her five foot five inch frame, she carried herself with a confidence that was uncommon in twenty-one year olds.
Her age surprised Chili, as he had thought her to be a teenager when he’d first seen her, but he later realized his assumption was partly due to her manner of dress and lack of makeup, along with his own perceptions: any woman under the age of 25 looked like a kid to him.
Prior to the outbreak of the virus, she’d been powering her way through college, taking a course load that would see her graduate with a degree in microbiology after only three and a half years in school.
The young white man was her brother, Richard’s grandson Phillip. At twenty-three, he was a Sergeant in the Marine Corps, and had been stationed at Twenty-Nine Palms prior to the outbreak. Like his grandfather, he was tall and lean at six-two and two hundred pounds, and like his grandfather, he was dark haired and had a friendly smile that put others at ease.
The young black man, Sergeant Aaron Dennard, was a platoon leader member in his Company at Twenty-Nine Palms, and one of Phillip’s closest friends. At six foot and two hundred twenty pounds, he was heavier and stronger than Phillip, but easily kept pace with the fastest men in the company, including Phillip, when they were out on their long distance runs. Over the last two years, what had started as a friendly rivalry between the two men had turned into a solid friendship, which had only gotten stronger during their last deployment to Afghanistan.
A week and a half ago, Aaron had accompanied Phillip on a trip to Los Angeles to visit Phillip’s family when things went south in a hurry. Two days prior to their rescue of Serrano, Jennifer, Phillip, and Aaron had gone to the store to load up on groceries as they prepared to ‘shelter in place’ and wait things out. When the trio returned, they arrived just as the sibling’s mother attacked their father on the front lawn of their childhood home, killing him in the process.
Without consideration for the horrible thing she’d done, the woman turned away from their father’s dead body and charged at their elderly neighbor, taking him to the ground and beating him with a savage fury they’d never seen from the small woman. At that moment, they’d known she was lost.
When flames burst forth from the window of their home, they knew they were lost as well.
Sitting in an idling car, unable to go home, they considered their options. Aaron called their supervisor, Staff Sergeant Whitley, who answered on the third ring.
‘Hello?’ Aaron could hear the sound of gunfire in the background, accompanied by the sounds of glass breaking, loud banging, and distant screams.
‘Staff Sergeant Whitley? This is Sergeant Dennard.’
‘Fuck me, Dennard, where are you?’
‘In L.A., Staff Sergeant. We just saw - ‘
‘Someone kill someone else with their bare hands? Yeah, no shit. That’s happening all over here…’ A loud crash echoed in the phone, sounding closer than before.
Stunned, Dennard paused before asking, ‘What do you mean? Like, in town?’
‘Shit, I wish. On base, man. Shit’s bad. Captain killed the Gunnery Sergeant.’
‘Fuck!’
‘Yeah. Then he turned on the Major.’
‘Damn! Where are you now?’
‘Holed up in the barracks. Can’t get out.’ Another crash sounded. ‘Fuck!’ The man exclaimed.
Dennard paused, unsure of what to say.
‘Stay away, Dennard.’
‘What?’
‘Stay away. Don’t come back.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The fuck do you think I mean? Look, I look out for my Marines, no matter what. Stay away and stay safe. Nothing you can do here.’
‘But - ’
‘But nothing. I’ll take the heat if things return to normal. Stay away, you hear me?’ There was another crashing sound on the other end of the phone, this one loud enough to tell Aaron it was in Whitley’s immediate vicinity. ‘Oh shit…’
‘What is it?’
The line went dead.
With that option eliminated, the three of them felt lost. After sitting there for several long minutes, the siblings suggested going to their grandfather’s apartment in Century City. Seeing no better option, Aaron readily agreed.
Phillip pulled his phone and called the man. After verifying he was home, safe, and hadn’t been infected, they made their way across town, using roads that were uncharacteristically uncrowded.
At multiple times along the way, they saw the infected attacking the innocent, killing them without hesitation before moving on, looking for their next victim. Reaching across to open the glove compartment, Phillip withdrew his handgun, surprising his sister, who had no idea a loaded gun was in the car.
“Are you serious?”
“Of course,” he said, keeping his eyes on the road, “And yes, it’s registered.”
Jennifer stared at him in awe, suddenly realizing that her brother was trained to fight. Everything about him being in the Marines had seemed so... far away, so detached, so story-like. It was suddenly so real.
From the backseat, Aaron’s voice said, “Uh, since we’re sharing…” He held up his Sig Sauer handgun.
Jennifer’s widened. Her heart raced in her chest as she considered the ramifications of being in the car with two armed men.
As quickly as she’d felt a surge of anxiousness come over her, it was gone.
Being in a car with two armed Marines was actually a pretty good place to be.
Richard Singletary had taken them in, doing what he could to make them comfortable in the small apartment he’d occupied since their grandmother Linda had passed away five years prior.
They’d remained there, hiding from the crazy world outside the walls of the 1800 square foot apartment, certain all was lost until the moment Phillip had seen men descending from the sky one morning while he
stood watch on the balcony of the home. Watching the men parachute through the smoke filled sky, landing with skilled ease on the grounds of the Hillcrest Country Club, he felt a surge of confidence. The government wasn’t sitting around, doing nothing. They were trying to fix it. How, he didn’t know, but the sudden appearance of the soldiers filled him with hope.
He’d watched as the men disappeared down South Beverly Glen Boulevard, wondering where they were going. The men moved with purpose, indicating they had a clear objective in mind.
When his Grandfather emerged from his bedroom, he told him what he’d seen.
“UCLA.” The man said simply, sipping from his coffee cup.
“Really? Why would they go there?”
His grandfather shook his head, looking out from the balcony in the direction the men had traveled. “Major medical research laboratory there. Hopefully they’ll find what they’re looking for.”
Phillip nodded, looking on. To the north fires burned out of control. To the east and west, it was the same. Though the fires were still miles from them, they showed no signs of burning out. Instead, they marched steadily through the city, consuming everything in their path.
The old man’s thought echoed his own. “We’ll have to leave soon.”
It was early evening when they heard a commotion coming from the street below. Rushing to the balcony, the four of them looked down and watched as three soldiers and a dog ran down the middle of the street at full speed. A mass of infected pursued them, snarling and growling as they chased the group. The men were maintaining distance on the mass, but one slip, one fall, and they’d be done for.
The unmistakable sound of an Osprey drew their attention to the left. Looking in that direction, they saw the twin rotor aircraft descending towards the grass area of the county club.
“They’re not gonna make it.” Richard said. Turning away, he disappeared into his bedroom. When he rejoined them on the balcony, he had a backpack over his shoulder and was carrying three weapons: a high-powered bolt action long-range rifle, a shotgun, and an AR-15. He passed the AR-15 to his grandson and the shotgun to Aaron.
Jennifer, who’d never been closer to a gun than she’d been in the car when Phillip withdrew his sidearm from the glove compartment, reluctantly took Phillip’s gun and agreed to stay in the apartment.
Nodding, Richard looked to the two young Marines.
“Let’s go.”
He led them down to the second story outdoor pavilion that looked across West Pico Boulevard towards the grounds of the country club. The plan had been to pick off the infected from the backside as they pursued the group of soldiers, but when one man had collapsed to the ground and died, another decided to make a stand, motioning for the third to continue on.
It was the sign of a leader, someone willing to sacrifice his life for that of the mission and his fellow soldiers.
“We’re not gonna let him die.” Richard said flatly. Setting down the backpack, he opened the top.
“Damn.” Aaron said when he saw the bag’s contents.
“Holy shit.” Phillip echoed.
“Don’t tell the government,” Richard replied, grinning. Reaching into the bag, he withdrew several magazines, a box of shotgun shells, and the items that had elicited the awed responses from the men: grenades.
“These,” he handed one of the black cylinders to each of the men, “are stun grenades. These,” he passed two other grenades to the men, “are standard. Obviously a last resort. I’ll stay here and provide covering fire. Go get him.”
The two younger men descended to the street, where they’d engaged the horde of infected from behind, taking them down in droves. Together, the two men approached from the left rear side of the mass, forming a wall that forced the infected aside. Bodies fell as they repeatedly squeezed the triggers of their weapons, sending hot metal into the crazed things that were fighting each other to get to the soldier.
When Phillip saw the man go down under a pile of the infected, he knew they were out of time.
“Toss the stun grenade, then grab him!” He yelled at his friend, leveling his weapon and sweeping the barrel from left to right, dropping nearly a dozen infected.
Aaron nodded, pulling the black cylinder from his jacket pocket. He quickly pulled the pin and threw it towards where they’d seen the man fall. Reaching out, he pulled Phillip down and away just as the grenade exploded in a brilliant flash and deafening boom.
Serrano had woken up three days later in the old man’s apartment, filled with remorse over the loss of his teammates and the associated failure it reflected upon him. Even so, he was glad to be alive. It gave him a chance to avenge the death of his teammates.
When the three men found out he was a Navy SEAL, they looked at him with instant admiration and unwavering respect. To be a SEAL was to be the best of the best.
Correction: the best of the very best.
Their initial plan had been to simply head east, towards the mountains, but when they heard the radio announcement that San Francisco had been set up as a Protective Zone, their plans changed.
They were heading north.
Clearly, the government had a plan.
Whatever it was, they wanted to be part of it.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Mount Weather Operations Center, Virginia
Everything hurt.
Every inch of his body, from his shoulders to his ankles, was bruised.
Every muscle was sore from exertion, having been over tasked again and again. The micro fibers of each muscle had torn, and were still in the process of healing when they’d been torn again.
Blocking out the pain, he knew he had to continue.
He wouldn’t have it any other way.
Circling left, his left hand shot out, fast and accurate, heading directly for the other man’s temple.
It found nothing but air when it reached its destination.
A boot connected with his ankle, taking his feet out from under him, sending him crashing to the ground in a heap, leaving him with a mouth full of sand for his efforts.
“Dammit!”
“It’s all good, Sir. You’re getting better.”
Rolling onto his back, Doctor Jonathan Reed looked at the sky above, wondering if he was. “Yeah, right.”
Squatting down next to him, Staff Sergeant Ben McGhee, United States Marine Corps, extended his hand to help him up. “If it’s any consolation, Sir, you almost got me.”
Sighing, Reed took his hand and made his way to his feet, glad the day’s session was over. “It’s not.” He reached down and brushed his hands off on his trousers before extending his hands. “Thanks, though.”
The big Marine smiled as he shook Reed’s hand. “My pleasure, Sir. It’s not often that us grunts get to beat up on an Officer.”
Reed shook his head. “Well, thanks for taking it easy on me, at least.” He walked across the sand volleyball court where they’d been training in the sand to improve his speed.
‘Let’s be honest,’ he thought to himself, ‘it’s also to help soften the numerous falls you take at the hands of this Marine.’ Grunting, he reached over and grabbed his uniform top from the nearby picnic table. He pulled on his cover before making his way towards the gym, where he’d shower before heading back to the lab.
There, he’d meet with Andrew and Lisa and be brought up to speed on any new developments before the three of them would head to the DFAC for a quick lunch.
After lunch he’d spend fifteen minutes walking Steight, his German Shepherd, then he’d be back in the lab with them until 1500 (what he now called 2 p.m.) before Sergeant Mason would take him across the base to meet Sergeant First Class Jacobs for weapons training. They’d spend two hours running through the daily lessons he received on the Glock 9, shotgun, and, most importantly, the MP-4.
Following weapons training, he’d be driven back to his building, where he’d spend more time with his dog before cleaning up and meeting his fellow doctors for dinner. T
hen back to the lab for more analysis of their findings, working until sometime after midnight.
They’d struggled to make new headway, and it seemed unlikely that they would until they found someone who was immune, and unless that person ended up on the doorstep, it would be his mission to go to them, take blood samples immediately, store them securely, and bring the samples and the person back to Mount Weather.
His and his team’s top priority would be to ensure the person made it safely back to the base, but in the event that the person didn’t survive the journey, the blood samples would be a decent second option.
Waving at Staff Sergeant McGhee, he turned and headed towards the gym. As hectic as his schedule was, he didn’t mind. He had a mission and a purpose.
SEAL Team Eight had died to ensure he completed his mission in Los Angeles, and when the time came for him to complete his next mission, he’d be better equipped to succeed.
He had to.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Hesperia, California
“Well, I guess this is it.” Daniel shook his head, looking at the collapsed bridge in front of them. A hundred feet below, the burned out husk of a semi-truck that had been carrying some type of fuel laid on its side. Nearly a dozen cars lay on and around what remained of the truck.
“Dammit.” Serafina stated, looking left and right for other ways around the destroyed bridge. There weren’t any, meaning that their options were to climb down and hike across the valley or to backtrack thirty plus miles to find another way around.
Neither was appealing.
“Are the binoculars in the glove compartment?” Daniel asked, frowning.
“They’re in the center console compartment.” Serafina’s frustration was evident. Leaving their vehicles meant being exposed, both for the two of them and the girls, and for Logan and Paul, who were waiting in the truck behind the Jeep.
Surviving Rage | Book 3 Page 8
