“Got it,” Logan said before walking away slowly and smoothly, moving with a warrior’s grace. He ventured around the building before returning after a few minutes. Coming back to Daniel’s side, he shook his head. “Nothing. A bit of blood on the backside of the building, but nothing else.”
Daniel nodded. “Got it.”
As he started to turn back towards the building, Logan added, “One thing, though. There’s definitely something dead inside. It fucking reaks. Probably a whole lotta dead inside.”
“Any sounds of movement?”
“Not that I heard. Totally silent.”
Daniel took a deep breath, then nodded. “Alright. Men’s or Women’s first?”
Logan looked over at the building. “Pretty sure the smell was coming from the men’s room. How about I clear the women’s first so nothing sneaks up behind us. You stay outside and watch my back and the entrance to the men’s room.”
“Good plan, but shouldn’t I clear the women’s room? The shotgun’s better for close quarters engagement.”
Logan nodded, then quickly slipped the strap for the AR-15 over his head. He held out the gun. “Agree about the shotgun. So switch.”
“What?”
“Switch,” the man said, glancing towards where they’d parked the cars. “Look, you’ve got a hell of a lot more to live for than I do.” He continued looking in the direction of Daniel’s family. “A hell of a lot more.”
Daniel reached down and grabbed the loose t-shirt he kept at his belt. Pulling it free, he wrapped it around his head, covering his nose and mouth. “Thanks, but this isn’t a suicide mission.” He held up the gun. “I’ve seen what this baby can do. I’m pretty sure one shot would clear that entire room.” Without waiting for a rebuttal, he walked to the small building and positioned himself near the wall to the entrance.
Logan lifted the strap to his gun and placed it over his head as he made his way over to where Daniel stood.
Daniel looked towards the corner of the short hallway. Halfway down its length, a massive steel gate, which was probably used on the rare occasions when the restrooms had to be closed, stood open. Beyond that, the interior of the restroom was dark. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the small torch flashlight he carried. Holding the shotgun pointing towards the dirt area off to his left, he held the flashlight against the barrel of the gun and wrapped a velcro strap around it, cinching it tightly to keep it in place. He nodded at Logan, then moved down the hallway, bringing the rifle back up to his shoulder as he did. The torch illuminated the hallway with brilliant white light as he moved forward.
Reaching the corner, he slowed his breathing momentarily, counting to three silently, then swung around the corner, pointing the gun into the room, the mounted flashlight illuminating the small space.
There were two small metal sinks on the wall to the right, a soap dispenser mounted in between them. In front of him were four stalls. The doors for the middle two stalls were open, showing nothing other than empty toilets and toilet paper dangling from the rolls. The two doors on either end were partially closed, but not latched. Stepping backward, Daniel squatted, grimacing as his knees protested the movement. Holding the shotgun low and parallel to the floor, Daniel shone the light underneath the stalls. In the stall on the right, he saw nothing other than the white ceramic base of the toilet. In the stall on the left, against the wall, he saw a pair of legs angled sideways. The legs were spread slightly, and both feet were pointed upwards, showing the dark rubber soles of the person’s shoes.
Stepping backward into the hallway, Daniel turned his head slightly to make sure Logan was watching. When the other man made eye contact, he pointed inside the room, then held up his forefinger, signifying the presence of one contact. Logan tapped his chest, then pointed towards Daniel, asking if he should join him. Daniel held up his hand, signalling that the man should wait. He glanced back at the stall, then squatted down again and directed the light towards the fourth stall again. The feet hadn’t changed position. Rising to his feet, he looked back at Logan and shook his head.
Choosing aggressiveness over tentativeness, Daniel strode over the stall quickly and kicked the door open with his boot, the door swung in, hit the sidewall, and bounced back, but the split second of view was enough to tell him that the person in the stall was not a threat.
Much like the others they’d encountered, she was dead.
Daniel stepped closer to the door and pushed it open more slowly using the barrel of the shotgun. The woman was slumped sideways in the stall, her pants still pulled down to her lower legs. As expected, she’d been violently attacked by someone (or something) that had slammed her head repeatedly into the tile wall behind her. Her neck was covered in dark bruises, likely from being choked during the attack as well.
Looking on the woman, Daniel made a mental note that when they removed the woman from the room, they’d pull her underwear and pants up.
She deserved at least some dignity in death.
But first they needed to clear the other room. Taking one more quick glance around the room, Daniel made his way back outside, holding his shotgun with the barrel facing down. Approaching Logan, he said, softly, “One woman, dead. We’ll move her later so we can use the facilities.”
Logan nodded. “Sounds good.” He looked towards the other restroom. “Same approach, or go in together?”
Daniel followed his gaze. From where he stood, he could smell the stench emanating from the space as well. “Same approach.” He brought his gun to bear and strode forward, heading towards the small hallway. Rounding the corner, he stopped and stared in disbelief.
Inside the restroom, looking outward through lifeless eyes, were five of the infected, all trapped behind the big steel gate, their arms stretched out in futility after death, reaching for the world outside.
A world that would have been available to them if they had pulled the door towards them instead of trying to push it outwards.
Their bodies appeared brittle and dry, frozen in time, slumped near the ground or atop one another as they’d tried so desperately to escape the confines of the restroom.
Walking backwards, Daniel motioned for Logan to come forward. He lowered the shotgun, relaxing after nearly 20 minutes of intensity.
Logan came forward and looked towards the restroom. When he saw the infected trapped inside, he shook his head. “Stupid fucks. Probably for the best, though.”
“No doubt,” Daniel said, turning away from the restroom as Logan checked each on up close.
“Hang out for a minute, will ya?”
“Of course. What’s up?”
“Just a precaution.” Pushing his rifle to the side, he walked briskly back to the Nissan, reached inside and popped the trunk. Moving to the trunk, he withdrew the tire iron. He carried it back to the gate and slid the tire iron through opening for the lock, barring exit. “Just in case,” he said, nodding as he walked out of the small hallway.
“Might as well,” Daniel replied. Together, the two of them walked out to where they could be seen by the others. Daniel motioned for them to join him. Looking at Logan, he said, let’s get the woman out of the lady’s room.”
Reentering the women’s restroom, they each removed their leather protective gloves, then donned a pair of latex gloves. They moved the woman out of the stall, then set her down so that Daniel could get her dressed. When he was done, they carried her outside and over to the line of hedges near the edge of the fenced area. Not having shovels, they couldn’t give her a proper burial, but at least she wouldn’t remain half-dressed on the commode.
When they returned to the front of the small building, Serafina was backing the Prius they were using into one of the spaces near the curb. Ashley was in the driver’s seat of the other car, backing in as well as she talked to Paul.
Once the two cars were parked, Serafina and the others began setting up lunch while Daniel and Logan began revisiting the vehicles to gather what supplies were available in them.
Though Serafina had initially balked at staying with the kids, Daniel made it clear he wanted an adult with them at all times. The fact that he and Logan were the strongest of the group was without argument.
Daniel and Logan’s efforts were highly productive. They gathered thirteen bottles of water, five small bags of chips and three large ones, two unopened bags of beef jerky, an unopened bag of walnuts, blankets, two flashlights, two pocket knives, an extra map, and a shotgun with three boxes of shells.
As they were sitting there, eating and relaxing in the shade of the small pergola, Logan stared at the semis. Stuffing the last bit of his dried fruit in his mouth, he washed it down with a long swig of water, burped loudly (earning a look of disapproval from Serafina and the girls), and said, “Let me check something out.” Swinging his leg out from the bench, he stood up and started walking towards the big trucks.
“Need some help?” Daniel asked, hoping the answer would be ‘no.’
“A little. Paul, can you give me a hand?”
Paul exchanged a surprised look with Daniel, his eyes wide, then said, “Sure,” before getting up and following the man.
Twenty minutes later, they returned to where Daniel and the others were carrying two cb radios and two giant antennas.
“We got time for me to hook these up?” Logan asked.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Chowchilla, California
Irritated by the inconvenience, Steve Sommer wiped flecks of blood from his sunglasses, glaring at the bodies of the people he and his men had gunned down.
‘Dirty shits,’ he thought, ‘they almost slipped by us.’
Forty minutes ago, he’d been riding in the passenger seat of the muscle car, with Hank behind the wheel and Randall in the backseat, when something caught his eye. Traveling south on Highway 99, he was looking towards the horizon to the west when his eyes settled on a small, standalone home far off the highway. As the home began sliding its way past his field of view, he was almost certain he’d seen the curtain move in a window near the far corner of the house. Initially, he moved his eyes, focusing his attention on the trees near the base of the small hills to the west, but after a few seconds, he just felt something in his gut.
“Hold on.” He ordered, not bothering to turn his head. Instead, he stared out through the windshield, his eyes narrowing to small slits behind his dark sunglasses.
Hamk eased his foot off the gas a bit, allowing the car to slow some as he waited for further instruction. He took one more puff from his cigarette, then flicked it out the window.
“Turn around. We’re gonna check that house back there.”
“Cool,” Hank said, slowing and turning the wheel to the left slightly, towards the center divide. He coasted to a turnaround spot designated for California Highway Patrol, then swung across the center median and guided the vehicle out onto the highway, heading north. “I didn’t even see a house.”
“It’s probably nothing,” Sommer conceded. He spat out the open window before adding, “but we need to be thorough.”
In the backseat, Randall lowered his window and tossed an empty beer can out. “I hope someone is there. I’ve got a lot of catching up to do so I can be in ya’ll’s league.”
Sommer smiled as he looked out the windshield. He and Hank had done a lot of killing over the last week.
‘A lot of good work,’ he thought to himself, smiling even wider.
“No offense, brother,” he said, leaning over to look towards the small house, “but if all goes as planned, you’ll never catch up with us, and that’s okay.” Sommer removed his sunglasses before turning his head to look at Randall. “You put in work, like we do, you stay committed to the cause, and the world will be a better place.”
Randall’s face turned serious as he met Sommer’s gaze. “I’m committed, brother. I’ve dreamed of this day my whole life.” Once Sommer nodded in understanding, Randall turned his head and looked out the window again. “This country has needed cleaning for a long time.”
“Damn right,” Hank said, pulling the car to the left to use the median divide again. The car bounced slightly as they crossed over the dirt and rocks in the middle of the highway, then leveled out as they hit the smoothness of the pavement once more.
Almost immediately after re-entering the road, Hank pulled the steering wheel to the right, slowing before leaving the asphalt of the highway for a hard packed dirt road that led west, curving slightly as it approached the small structure.
Hank stopped the car in front of the small home, turning off the engine and sat there, waiting for Sommer’s direction. Sommer got out of the vehicle, sliding his big gun into its holster on his belt. Walking towards the front door, his boots crunched rock and gravel as his head turned slightly while he scanned the small windows at the front of the home.
He was about to lift his foot to step on the first step that led up to the home when he had another hunch. Pausing, he turned and looked at Randall, then used his finger to make a circle motion, indicating that the man should go around to the back of the home. Randall nodded and left, moving quickly.
Sommer looked at his watch as he waited. It was only 10:07, and if all went well, they’d complete three, maybe four more ‘tasks’ before 10:30. Considering they’d already killed five people this morning, in the form of a young black couple and a small Cambodian family. This could put them at eight or nine well before noon.
The previous record of twenty-two was within sight.
When he felt sufficient time had passed, he began ascending the small collection of steps in front of the home. Extending his hand to knock on the door, he heard a gunshot at the rear of the house.
Remaining silent, he looked over at Hank, who met his gaze briefly before turning and walking towards the rear of the house. Moving to the side of the door out of an abundance of caution, he put his back against the siding of the house as he reached over and knocked on the door. At that point, he knew it didn’t make sense, since Randall had either shot someone or someone had shot at him.
But maybe it would confuse those inside.
A high, piercing scream sounded from somewhere in the house.
Sommer smiled.
Seconds later, Hank threw open the door. His left arm was around a dark-skinned Mexican woman.
‘Probably snuck into this country,’ Sommer thought. ‘Probably taking a job from an American, too. Fucking wetback pieces of shit.’
“Whatdaya got?” He asked before spitting on the cement of the porch.
“This bitch, then a couple kids in the living room. Randall shot some guy out back. He was trying to run towards the barn.” The woman struggled in his grasp, squirming as she tried to get loose, all the while speaking rapidly in Spanish.
“Shut the bitch up.” Sommer growled.
Hank's right arm came up before his fist flew outwards. It slammed squarely into the middle of the woman’s face, breaking her nose. Her eyes fluttered as blood burst forth from her nose, spilling down onto Hank’s sleeve.
“What the?” Hank exclaimed, looked down at the blood on his sleeve. “Stupid bitch!” Without hesitating, he released the woman, and shoved her backwards into the wall. As her back hit the wall, she stumbled slightly on wobbly legs. Before she could fall, Hank pulled out his gun and shot her in the head, splattering blood and brains against the wall.
‘That’s seven,’ Sommer thought, smiling.
A door slammed in the house, then Randall came over to where they stood. Putting his hands on his hips, he asked, “Can I put a bullet in those little shits? They won’t shut the fuck up!”
Sommer smiled. “If you didn’t, I’d question your commitment.”
“Pshh!” Randall replied, spinning on his heel. He strode across the living room and made his way to the first door on the left. Kicking it open to the sounds of screaming, crying voices, he withdrew his gun, aimed and fired once, then aimed and fired again.
The room went silent.
Sommer stepped over the
dead woman’s body and into the small house. The place smelled like those disgusting tamales they loved so much. Looking towards the kitchen, he saw a small pot on the stove, the flame still on underneath it. The smell of spices wafted from the area. ‘Gross,’ he thought, shaking his head. Turning away from the kitchen, he made his way to the rear entrance of the house and stepped outside. Sure enough, the body of a Mexican man laid about twenty yards away, directly in line with a barn structure behind the home. The doors to the barn were closed, hiding what was within.
He turned his head towards the house slightly. “Let’s see what’s so important about that barn.”
The two men fell in on either side of him as he walked towards the barn.
The structure was slightly taller than the house, with faded wood panels and a roof that sagged in the middle, its shingles faded and broken from age and weather. The few windows that dotted the sides of the building were nearly opaque from grime and accumulated spiderwebs.
Reaching the door to the building, Sommer found it closed, but not locked. He listened for a moment, pressing his ear against the surface of the door, then pulled it open.
In the dim light of the building’s interior, dozens of brown faces looked out towards him
Sommer smiled.
The record would indeed fall this day.
Standing in front of the door, looking at his prize, he said, “Randall, go get the rifles.”
When they were done, Steve Sommer counted 26 bodies in the barn. They’d almost missed a couple of small children, who’d hidden under the bodies of the dead, desperate to escape the unchecked wrath of the three men.
In the end, they were found, bringing the midday total to thirty-five.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Castaic Junction, California
“Fuck.”
“I agree,” Serrano said through his balaclava as he stared at the mountains in front of them. Fire raged across them, burning everything in sight as the flames shone a deep, angry orange as they licked the sky. Sparks burst forth randomly in multiple spots, flying on the wind as they sought to find unburned spots on the hills.
Surviving Rage | Book 3 Page 19
