Surviving Rage | Book 3

by Arellano, J. D.

  By the time he was done, his hands were calloused and his back felt like he’d done a fifteen mile ‘hump’ with a fully loaded pack, something he hadn’t done since his Active Duty days in the Marines.

  Determined to finish what he’d started - to return the house to some level of respectability - he started at the front driveway, where he used the hose to wash away the dried blood. When the blood was mostly gone, he poured a trail of laundry detergent along the length of the stain, then used a push broom to scrub it into the pavers before rinsing all of it away.

  After a short break, where he did little more that sit on the steps and sip water from the hose (he knew he wouldn’t be able to use the kitchen until he cleaned up every trace of his mother’s blood), he moved inside, where he used straight bleach to clean the tiles throughout the entryway, sitting area, office, and kitchen. Once the floors were clean, he soaked a sponge in bleach, then moved slowly from the front door to the office, then to the kitchen, finding every splatter of blood he could, wiping them away methodically.

  By six-thirty in the evening he was finally done. Exhausted, hungry and thirsty, he slunk to the kitchen and opened the fridge. He grabbed a soda, then closed the refrigerator, knowing he was too tired to cook anything. Opening the freezer, he found himself face to face with his grandfather’s favorite guilty pleasure: chicken nuggets. With tears forming in his eyes, he removed the package and took it to the counter, where he struggled to keep his emotions in check while pouring a dozen of the pieces onto a cookie sheet.

  After sliding the cookie sheet into the rapidly warming oven, he chugged his soda, belched loudly, then returned to the fridge.

  ‘You need more than a soda, Darren.’

  Grabbing a beer, he made his way to the sitting area and plopped down on the couch. He sipped his beer while looking through the windows at the river, wondering what life would be like from there on.

  After some time, he replaced the empty beer bottle with a fresh one then turned on the flat screen TV. The news of the outbreak came fast and hard, making him realize hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of people were being faced with the same harsh reality he faced.

  Realizing he’d completely forgotten about his work, he returned to his car and grabbed his cell phone. Though it was nearly dead, it still had a small bit of power, so he plugged it in and called his office.

  Nothing.

  He called his boss’s personal cell phone number.

  Nothing.

  He tried several coworkers before giving up on reaching anyone from his job.

  Sitting back in the chair, he felt stunned by how rapidly things had happened. He’d understood the virus’s fatality rate, and the behavioural changes caused by it, but nothing he’d heard had indicated the world was crumbling around him.

  Looking back at his phone, he decided to call the Marine Corps Recruiting Office where he worked on his duty weekends.

  Nothing.

  Scrolling down through his contacts, he found the number for Master Sergeant Polanski, the Senior NCO that reported to him.

  The call went straight to voicemail.

  Remembering the tactical radios they kept at home for use during their duty weekend training exercises, he made his way up to his room and retrieved it from its charger. Turning it on, he checked each channel they normally used. He was met by nothing but static.

  He was alone.

  Exhaling, he looked away from the gravesites and allowed his eyes to travel to the river. He watched as the water moved by, uncaring of the tragedy that had befallen the human race.

  The earth would prevail.

  Even if the race of man ended, the earth would live on.

  Looking towards the shallow, protected spot in the river where he and his sister Jackie had played as children, he wondered if she’d been given a proper burial.

  ‘Probably not,’ he said to himself, closing his eyes as he shook his head slowly, feeling more sadness take over him.

  Behind him, the door creaked.

  “How ya doin’, Captain?” A distantly familiar voice asked.

  Turning around, Darren Miller felt his eyes widen in shock as he faced the man who’d entered his bedroom.

  It couldn’t be.

  If there was a God, it couldn’t be.

  His mouth suddenly became dry as he choked out his words, shocked at what he was seeing.

  Or rather, who.

  “You’re supposed to be dead.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  San Jose, California

  The big SUV moved slowly as it approached the large, modern home that sat atop the hill. Surrounded by walls that maintained a two hundred yard perimeter around the property, the home was mostly dark, lit only in sporadic locations by small lamps that provided light to those inside. The landscaping lights that normally would have provided an additional element of security were dark, and the gate that extended across the driveway had been secured with a chain and padlock, both providing evidence that power to the home was non-existent.

  Which also meant that the security system would also be non-operational.

  Inside, a figure moved near one of the windows at the back of the home, disappearing after passing through the lighted area. It was the third person they’d seen over the last thirty minutes, but even if there were twice that number inside the home, it wouldn’t worry Leon or his gang. They were strapped and ready to deal with any trouble they encountered. Over the last few days, they’d been 100% successful at taking what they wanted when they wanted it. Those who tried to fight back were quickly taken out by his gang’s superior firepower.

  Though it wasn’t necessary at this point, Leon had come to prefer being out with the gang, conquering new areas over being back on his home turf, trying to relax in his home.

  It wasn’t that his home was small or uncomfortable by any means (upgrading his home had been one of his first priorities), it was that when he was there he was constantly confronted with the issues the residents of his territory were bringing to him almost constantly.

  Not enough food.

  Not enough water.

  No access to medicine.

  No way to bathe regularly.

  No electricity.

  The list went on and on. Everyone needed something, and they wanted him to solve every problem they encountered. It was enough to drive a man crazy. He’d offered them protection, and he’d provided it. Why did he have to deal with all the other bullshit? It was like they couldn’t do shit for themselves.

  The home in front of him would provide the perfect separation from all of them. He’d use it like a castle. If people wanted something, they’d have to climb the hill, request entry from his guards, and then present their case to him in the home’s exterior courtyard. Even better, he’d only entertain requests at certain times each day - if he felt like it.

  If not, fuck ‘em.

  “Whaddaya think, Leon?”

  Leon glanced at Julio, who crouched next to him in the bushes as they watched the home. The man’s face was covered in several days worth of hair growth, giving him the beginning of what would be a full beard. The man had gotten leaner over the last week and a half due to their reduced access to food, but he hadn’t complained once. Instead, he remained by Leon’s side, a trusted advisor and confidant.

  “I think we take it.”

  Without a word, Julio looked past Leon to where Miguel and Sam were. He nodded and made a motion with his hand, pointing towards the gate.

  Miguel and Sam remained crouched as they made their way to the gate, moving quickly and quietly as they left the bushes and crossed the pavers that comprised the home’s driveway, making their way to the gate.

  Bringing up a pair of bolt cutters, Miguel waited until Sam was holding the chain that kept the gate closed before he cut it, ensuring the loose ends wouldn’t bang against the frame of the gate. Though not completely necessary due to the overwhelming force the gang would bring, the element of surprise was still nice
to have. If they could take the home without firing a shot, that would be a good thing. Saving ammunition was important. It wasn’t like more was being produced.

  Together, the two of them opened one gate’s panels, then moved through the opening and positioned themselves on either side before Miguel motioned for Leon and the others to advance.

  Rising from their positions in the bushes, Leon and the rest of his crew crept up the drive until they were at the gate. Counting Miguel and Sam, there were ten of them in total, giving them a better than three-to-one advantage over the people inside the home.

  ‘This will be even easier than I thought,’ Leon thought, grinning slightly in the darkness.

  He pointed at Clinton, Oscar, and Tony, then pointed towards the left side of the home, indicating that they should go around that side towards the back. Next, he sent Tyrone, Gilberto, and Lizette around the right side.

  Leon settled on one knee, relaxing. They’d wait a couple of minutes, allowing the two groups to get into position, before advancing on the front of the home.

  Looking beyond the home, towards the mountains to the west that created a barrier between Pacific Ocean and Mountain View, he smiled. The home’s location was perfect. From there, he’d had an almost king-like position, looking over his subjects that lived in the city below. As he thought about it, he decided he’d created a no-occupancy zone where the base of the hill met the nearby residential area. The members of his crew would be allowed to live on the hill - below him, of course - but aside from them, no one would be allowed to live within one, no, two miles of the hill.

  It would be perfect.

  Glancing back towards Julio, he realized the man was watching him, as were Miguel and Sam. They were waiting for the order to proceed.

  He nodded.

  The four of them stayed low as they made their way to the front of the home, climbing the circular steps that led to the double doors at the entrance. Positioning themselves on either side of the doors, Leon motioned for Sam to open the doors. Sam tried the door’s handle, but, as expected, it was locked. Using proper tools and deft fingers, Sam picked the lock, turning and smiling at Leon when the mechanism emitted the satisfying clicking sound of the lock being disengaged.

  Grasping the handle, Sam opened the door and stepped through, moving off to the side to allow Leon and Julio to enter. The two men walked through the door, keeping their guns at the ready as they entered the home’s dark interior. The lights they’d seen from their position in the bushes had been toward the home’s rear, so they moved through the entryway quickly, advancing down the Spanish tiled floor that led in that direction.

  Their boots made no sound as they walked carefully towards the home’s bedrooms, moving slowly as they looked left and right towards the doors on either side of the hallway. They paused at each, opening the doors slightly to peer inside, finding each of them empty.

  ‘They’re probably staying close together for safety,’ Leon thought, smiling. Having them all together would only make things easier.

  At the end of the hall, another set of double doors greeted them. Holding his AK-47 up with his right hand, he reached out and grasped the handle of the door with his left, testing the knob. It turned easily in his hand.

  Nodding at Julio, he threw the door open and entered the room, followed immediately by the other man.

  The room was completely dark, with only the filtered moonlight coming in through the sheer curtains that covered the windows. In the center of the room were three chairs. In each chair, a figure sat.

  “The fuck?” Leon said aloud.

  Brilliant white light shone directly at them from chairs. With their eyes fully adjusted to the darkness of the night, the effect was stunning. Blinded, they stumbled backwards as they turned their heads away, trying to escape the intensity of the light. From all around them, the sounds of weapons being drawn told Leon they’d walked into a trap.

  “Put your guns down!” a voice commanded.

  Blinking as he tried to open his eyes, Leon hesitated.

  Next to him, he heard Julio mutter, “Fuck that.”

  “Julio, don’t - ”

  A single gunshot echoed in the room before Leon heard his closest friend fall to the ground next to him.

  He dropped his weapon, raising his hands slowly. Though his friend was dead, he wasn’t worried. He still had backup outside.

  “Good choice,” the voice said, moving closer to where he stood.

  Finally able to keep his eyes open, Leon looked up and found the familiar face of Simeon “Skull Crusher” Williams, standing near the bound forms in the chair. In the chair on the left was a man, in the middle, a woman close in age to the man, and to the right, a younger woman that bore a resemblance to the woman. Glancing down to where Julio lay, Leon saw the pool of the man’s blood rapidly approaching his own feet. His longtime friend was dead; the top half of his skull a memory.

  “You made a big mistake,” Leon growled, feeling anger rise inside him, something he hadn’t felt in weeks. Things had been so easy, he hadn’t felt the need to get angry. Maybe he’d lost his edge. Once he was out of this, he’d refocus himself, regain his edge. Return to his warrior ways.

  Skull Crusher shook his head. “Nah, dog. This ain’t no mistake. This here? This is business.”

  Leon scoffed. “What? You made a deal with someone? There ain’t no one more powerful than me in this city.”

  Skull Crusher smiled and shook his head. Stepping closer to Leon, he stared at him intensely. “You know, Leon, you ain’t shit. Back in the day, I’d a beat your ass.” He shrugged as he backed away. “But like I said, this is business.”

  Leon smiled. “We’ll see who beats who’s ass. You think I came here without backup?”

  The other man grinned. “What, those six you sent around back?”

  Leon felt his smile crack. The trap had been bigger than he’d realized. ‘You idiot, Leon…’ he thought, swallowing slightly.

  From behind him, two people walked past, moving to the right of where Skull Crusher stood. The sight of them made Leon’s heart race.

  Betrayal had come at the worst time.

  “Clint? Lizette? You’re with him?”

  The large black man and the petite Latina shook their heads, smiling.

  Another gunshot rang out, sending Miguel’s body flying sideways as a bullet struck him in the side of his head.

  Stepping forward, the young, dark haired woman, the one he’d secretly lusted after for the last week, glared at Leon. “No. They’re with me.”

  “Sam? What the fuck?” Leon asked, shocked at the depth of the betrayal. He’d expected one of the men to betray him, not a woman. How did she think she could pull this off? She needed him. She needed his protection.

  Samantha Garcia, a woman who barely spoke in his presence, moved her head to the side, tossing her long, dark hair effortlessly. Her dark, cat-like eyes met his as she walked around to stop in front of him. Turning away, she looked at the three people tied to the chairs. She motioned towards their bonds.

  “Cut them loose.”

  Skull Crusher’s men did so without hesitation, using their knives to slice through the duct tape that bound the family’s arms and legs. Pausing with a hand near the tape that covered the man’s mouth, one of the men looked back at her, his eyebrows raised questioningly.

  “Nah, leave those on. I don’t want to hear any of their shit.”

  With their bonds cut, the family remained seated, afraid to move.

  Samantha Garcia looked at the three of them as she leaned down and withdrew a dagger from a sheath strapped to her ankle. Standing up again, she spun the blade in her hand effortlessly as she spoke.

  “If you three want to live, you’ll get the fuck out of this house in the next thirty seconds. Don’t stop for anything, don’t ask for anything, and sure as fuck don’t take anything.” She gestured around the room and the greater home with her hand. “What’s here is the price of your freedom. You under
stand?”

  The three people nodded vigorously in agreement.

  “Good. Now get out.”

  The three leapt from their chairs and ran for the doors in a panic. They crashed into each other as they tried to fit through the single open door, then managed to coordinate their movements enough to get through the opening. Their footsteps faded as they ran through the home before the sound of the front door being thrown open echoed throughout the house.

  Irritated and impatient, Leon’s eyes burned a hole into the young Latina woman as he glared at her.

  “Sam, you owe me an explanation for this betrayal.”

  With her back still to him, the woman looked towards the bedroom wide expanse of windows as she spoke. “You know, I’ve always hated being called Sam. The thing is, you never cared to ask. To do so would have required you to give a shit about someone other than yourself.”

  She shook her head, causing her long, dark hair to move in waves. “We both know that would be asking too much from you.” With catlike quickness, she spun around and threw the dagger. The blade spun as it flew through the air before embedding itself in his throat, knocking him backwards. Leon fell to the tiled floor in a heap as his mind tried to decipher what had just happened. Gurgling sounds came from his mouth as his eyes widened in shock.

  Samantha Garcia stepped over his body, placing a foot on either side of him before she squatted down. She reached out, grabbed his head, and held it, forcing him to look into her eyes before he died.

  “I’m the Scorpion.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Fresno, California

  “You’re supposed to be dead.”

  The man in front of Darren grinned as he shook his head.

  “Honestly, that’s a pretty shitty way to greet a fellow Marine, Captain.”

  Protesting the sight of the dead man, Darren felt his voice rise as he spoke. “But...you died in a car accident four years ago! I attended your funeral. Your father was there! Your mother was there! I hugged her to comfort her!”