“Your beer?”
“Yeah, I’ve been figuring out how to make it.”
Logan nodded slowly, then looked up. “What makes you think I’ll come back this way?”
Daniel smiled before turning away. “Because this is Cali. Everyone wants to live here, even the ones that talk trash about it while they do.”
Walking back to the last group, Daniel made his way to where Paul stood. The young man looked nervous as he waited near the big Humvee, looking down at his M-16 with a mixture of fear and awe.
“Hey, don’t worry, buddy. We’ll teach you how to shoot that thing,” Staff Sergeant Dennard said loudly while looking out of the corner of his eye at Daniel. “Marines actually know their way around rifles.”
“Yeah,” Daniel replied, winking, “‘cause the Navy was out stealing your girls. All you had left to do was stay home and, you know,” he said, mimicking a repeated back and forth pulling motion near his crotch, “‘polish your gun.’”
“Son of a - ”
Daniel pulled Paul away before the Marine could think of a response. Leading him a few steps from where the others stood, he reached in his pocket and took out a coin. “When I retired, I had coins specially made. I gave them to friends, family, and the military men and women who participated and helped with my retirement ceremony. I want you to have this one.”
Paul stared down at the coin in wonder. “You’ve had this with you the whole time?”
Daniel shrugged. “It’s a good luck charm. Seems like it did the trick.”
“I can’t take this,” he replied, pushing the coin back towards the older man.
Daniel put up his hands. “Please do. I’ll be fine here. Serafina, myself, and the girls aren’t going anywhere anytime soon, and when we do, General Armstead said he’d assign some Marines to accompany us back down to SoCal.”
“But…”
“Hey,” Daniel interjected, cutting the young man off. “You’re family. Don’t forget that.”
Paul nodded. “Thank you,” he said simply, lowering his eyes in respect.
“Alright,” Daniel replied, stepping back and reaching out to smack the young man on the shoulder, “that’s enough mushy stuff. Go kick some ass.”
“Will do,” Paul replied, smiling.
“Time to roll, Jenkins!” Staff Sergeant Singletary yelled, smacking the side of the Humvee emphatically.
“Okay!”
“Make us proud, Paul.”
“I will, Sir,” the Corporal said, before turning to head towards the Humvee. At the last second, he turned and looked back at the older man. “I’ll tell you what: I’ll call you when I get there.”
Daniel was in the process of waving at Chief Serrano when he heard Paul’s words, and because of that, he assumed he’d heard incorrectly.
‘Call me?’ he asked himself as the heavy duty vehicles lurched forward, their engines creating a thick dark cloud of exhaust.
‘How the hell would he do that?’
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
South of Harrisonburg, Virginia
Day 1
‘Dear God, I can’t take it.’ Leaning back in his seat, Andrew closed his eyes and willed his body to cool itself inside the Humvee. As intense as the Virginian summer heat was, the humidity made it ten times worse. Add to that the thick, rip-stop embedded material of the camouflage uniform, combined with the lack of ventilation inside the Humvee, and he felt as if he would pass out at any second.
An hour into the drive, at 9:00 a.m., when the sun was still low in the sky and they were only twenty-five or so miles from Mount Weather, he’d asked about air conditioning, only to be met with a somewhat mocking snort.
“Huh. The A.C. in these things is meant for the equipment, boss. Not for us human inconveniences,” Corporal Snyder replied, smiling. “Don’t worry though. You’ll get used to it. Everyone does eventually.”
That was three hours and ten-plus degrees ago, and he defnitely had not gotten used to it. His t-shirt was stuck to him down the middle, from his neck to his waistband. From there it went outward, spreading along the waistband of his underwear. Other sweat originated lower, making him feel...swampy.
‘And there’s no chance of us being able to shower at the end of the day, is there?’ he asked himself rhetorically.
‘How do these guys, correction: guys and gals do this?’
“Alright, Doctor Chang, Doctor Bowman. We’re gonna stop for lunch here in a bit,” Sergeant Khan called out from his place behind the wheel.
“Aww, man,” Corporal Healey said from her spot between the two doctors. “I barely got forty-five minutes on the fifty.” The ‘fifty’ was what she and Corporal Snyder called the big gun mounted to the top of the vehicle. Since they’d had to stop only forty-five minutes ago to decide on a route around Harrisonburg, she’d pressured Snyder into switching spots, as per the unwritten rule: with every stop came a rotation on the ‘fifty.’
“Sorry, Healey. You shoulda passed on it, knowing it was getting close to lunchtime,” Sergeant Khan said, shaking his head as he searched for a good spot to stop. They were leaving the small city behind, and as they drove towards the outskirts of town, the buildings were getting less frequent, which was a good thing, but they were also more run-down. Some looked like the duct tape that was holding them together was about to give way and send the ramshackle structures tumbling to the ground.
“Too bad, loser,” Snyder chimed in, grinning before leaning down and spitting a dark, chewing tobacco-filled plug of spit into an empty water bottle he held.
“Fuck off,” Healey replied, adding a middle finger pointed towards the man as good measure.
“Settle down, Marines,” Khan said, chastising them. “Snyder, tell Jeffries and the others up there to head for that Wawa up there on the right, but to head around back, towards the trees. Keep some space between us and the building.”
“Copy,” Snyder replied before picking up the mic. He hailed the Marines in the other Humvee and passed on Sergeant Khan’s instructions before adding, “and tell White he still owes me the brownie in his MRE.”
“Copy that,” the voice said in response.
Following the other vehicle past the fuel pumps and the convenience store, Khan took the lead and drove up over the curb and onto the overgrown grass beyond the parking lot. The Humvee barely registered the challenge, and soon he was pulling the wheel to the left and bringing the vehicle to a stop underneath the wide branches of an oak tree.
“Alright, ladies and gentlemen, this is our stop,” Snyder began, using an emcee-like voice. “Our lunch meal today consists of chemically-heated, freeze-dried food that you eat out of a pouch!”
“Jesus Christ, Snyder. Give it a rest already,” Healey said, rolling her eyes.
Snyder grinned as he looked at her, continuing to use the same voice. “Later in our trip, our supper will consist of - you guessed it - chemically-heated, freeze-dried food that you eat out of a pouch!”
Healey ignored him, shaking her head as she dropped down from the gun mount.
The Marines piled out of the two Humvees and took up a perimeter as the two doctors emerged from the armored vehicles, both glad to stretch their legs.
“Ever thought you’d be doing something like this?” Andrew asked Lisa.
She shook her head. “No. Definitely not.” Her brow furrowed as she considered the situation. “Then again, I never thought I’d be doing any of this.”
“Fair point,” Andrew conceded.
“Alright,” Sergeant Khan began, as he walked back to the two of them. “Why don’t you pick out what you want for lunch. Of course, after the way Snyder described it, it probably doesn’t sound very appetizing,” he conceded.
“It’s okay,” Andrew replied. “I think we both understand that Corporal Snyder is just trying to add some levity to the situation.”
Lisa nodded in agreement. “Times are tough,” she added. “Need something to make it seem manageable.”
Sergeant
Khan smiled. “Well, that didn’t take long,” he said, looking over to where Corporal Snyder stood joking with the other Marines. “He’s a damn good Marine, though.” Lowering his voice, he added, “Of all the Marines here, he’s the one I’d want watching my back. He’s just... fuckin’ dedicated - excuse my French.” Without waiting for a response, he reached into the back of the Humvee and pulled out four light brown pouches. “Alright, I’ve got: Chili Mac, Meatballs in Marinara, Beef Ravioli, or Cheese Tortellini.”
Finishing the last bite of Beef Ravioli, Andrew spread the last bit of the ‘Bacon-Cheese spread’ on the remaining bit of dinner roll and stood up. Walking over to the trash can at the edge of the parking lot, he forced the heavy brown plastic pouch into it, wedging it past the refuse that clogged the opening. Though there would be no one coming to empty the receptacle any time soon, Andrew felt guilty putting the trash anywhere else.
Turning to look back towards the others, he saw Lisa chatting with Corporal Healey while the other Marines joked with each other. As usual, Snyder was the center of the conversation, and at the moment he was pointing towards his rear end and moving his hand away in a manner Chang could only describe as explosive.
Happy to be out of the Humvee and in the fresh air, Andrew decided to walk towards the edge of the tree line, near where a side road ran up to the gas station/convenience store.
Knowing he shouldn’t stray far from the Marines that had been assigned to protect them, he took only a few steps out onto the grass and stopped less than twenty feet from where they were gathered. Looking up at the massive oak tree, it occurred to him that regardless of everything mankind was struggling to deal with, the tree seemed healthy.
It didn’t matter to the tree whether man lived or died.
It would live on.
And so would the earth.
As if on cue, a squirrel darted out from the tree’s base and picked up a piece of food on the ground nearby. What the squirrel found, Andrew had no idea, but the squirrel quickly grabbed it and darted back towards the tree, only to stop halfway in a flurry of dust. The squirrel turned and raced back towards Andrew. Unworried about the presence of a human, the little creature zipped right between his legs, turning him almost completely around as he watched it go by. A second later, three more squirrels dashed past him, drawing his attention as they shot by on tiny feet that barely seemed to touch the ground.
The sound of breaking branches and heavy footsteps drew his attention back towards the tree. For a brief second, Andrew thought that perhaps he’d see a deer or some other wild animal, but when eyes landed upon the creature that created the noise, he felt his stomach drop out from inside of him.
Charging through the bushes and the tree’s lower branches was a large-bodied white man in a torn white t-shirt and jeans. The tail of his mullet flew behind him as he closed in on Andrew, oblivious to the fact that the tree’s branches were tearing long gashes on his arms, chest, and face. Though blood seeped from multiple wounds on the man, he seemed oblivious to it as he focused his bloodshot-red eyes on Andrew. Slowed momentarily by a branch too thick for him to push past, the man snarled before slamming his arm down onto it, breaking it and possibly his arm in the process. He stumbled sideways slightly, then regained his footing and rushed forward, closing the gap between the two of them rapidly.
Mustering all of his will, Andrew could do little more than take a step backwards. Then another.
He was suddenly shoved aside violently, and as he fell to the ground he heard gunfire shatter the near silence. The big man that had been charging at Andrew stopped in his tracks as bullets hammered into his body. A second later the man’s legs folded underneath him and he fell to his knees. He wavered there for nearly four full seconds before gravity took over and pulled him to the ground as his strength left him.
Andrew stared at the man’s body in shock. Although he’d studied the effects of the virus and read numerous accounts of encounters with those afflicted, he’d never been so close to the loss of life.
When he looked back towards where he’d been standing, Corporal Snyder was there, extending his hand.
“Stay close, Doc. Always.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Tehachapi, East of Bakersfield, California
Day 1
Bringing the radio mic up to his mouth, newly commissioned Chief Warrant Officer Serrano took one final look at the map in his hand before speaking into it. “Take exit one forty-nine up there.”
“Roger that,” Specialist Zhang’s voice replied through the radio.
Frowning at the use of ‘Roger that?,’ Serrano shook his head. ‘What is this, the Air Force?’ he asked himself.
As if reading Serrano’s mind, Nicholson’s voice came over the radio. “What Specialist Zhang meant was, Hooah!”
Shaking his head, Serrano looked over at Phillip. The Marine chuckled. “Army,” he explained.
In the rear seats, Aaron nudged Paul, who was struggling to stay awake in the seat behind Serrano. “Try not to be lame like they are.”
Unsure of how to respond, Paul gave a thumbs up before turning to look out the window. Having left the city limits of Bakersfield behind nearly an hour prior, he’d finally felt relaxed enough to close his eyes and try to get some rest. While the drive through the medium-sized city was largely uneventful, the still fires that had burned through the downtown area had begun moving outward, unchecked by even the most rudimentary attempts to slow their spread. ‘How much longer would the city still exist?’ he wondered at the time. ‘A week, maybe two?’
More importantly, aside from the Protective Zones, how many other cities were currently suffering a similar fate?
The off ramp from the 58 was rough, and the stiff, rugged suspension of the Humvee made the ride a jarring one. Nearing the intersection at the bottom of the ramp, Nicholson slowed and looked for any signs of life. As expected, he saw none. Whoever lived in the area prior to the outbreak was either hiding or, more likely, dead.
Smaller towns like this one, especially those in the less farmable areas, relied on steady, recurring inflows of supplies to feed their residents. With those shipments no longer coming, food would quickly run out. Sure, some of the town’s residents might have been smart enough to stock up at the first sign of trouble, but even that would run out within a couple of weeks. Inevitably, the residents would be left with the unenviable task of traveling somewhere else for supplies, and the nearest source of food would be Bakersfield, an area that was filled with both violent criminals and Rage-infected humans.
Guiding the Humvee to the right, Nicholson pulled off to the side and watched in the mirror as Staff Sergeant Mason, the team’s lone Air Force member, stopped the Stryker ICV behind them. The second Humvee pulled past the Infantry Carrier and pulled up alongside Nicholson. Without bothering to use the radio or lower the window to speak, Serrano gave him a series of hand signals that indicated he would lead and that Nicholson and the others should fall in behind the ICV to provide protection from the rear. Serrano pointed up towards the roof of the Humvee as well, where SSGT Dennard was manning their .50 Cal gun.
“Rod, get up on the Fifty,” he ordered.
“Hooah, Staff Sergeant,” Specialist Rodriguez responded, before working his way up into the turret area.
The small town remained quiet as the convoy continued to the end of the first block, then turned and headed left, towards a long tan building with a green stripe.
As the last vehicle in the convoy, Nicholson drove at a reserved pace to ensure that he and the others were able to watch for anyone taking notice of them or deciding to follow. Snorting under his breath, he wondered if anyone would be stupid enough to try anything. The two .50 cals alone would make it a very, very bad day for anyone or anything that decided to mess with them. If that wasn’t sufficient, they’d have to deal with a Navy SEAL, two pissed off Marines, and a slew of combat-ready Army soldiers. Not good odds for anyone looking for an easy target.
Turning i
nto the parking lot, Nicholson looked more closely at the building. Long, with a steepled middle section, the building was still mostly intact, though the pair of glass double doors marked the front of the building had both been smashed, leaving a carpet of broken bits of glass on the cement. Above the entrance the large red placard with white letters was positioned beside a series of black ones. Together, the sign read: TSC Tractor Supply Co.
Nicholson saw that Serrano’s Humvee stopped halfway through the parking lot, parking at an angle so that it was mostly pointing towards the street they’d turned off of. The ICV had been positioned next to the Humvee on the side away from the store. Understanding what the SEAL would want, Nicholson brought the vehicle around and parked on the other side of the Stryker, effectively sandwiching it between the two Humvees.
“Rod, cover us,” NIcholson said, turning off the engine.
“Hooah.”
Pulling his M-16 from its mount, Nicholson looked over at first Zhang, then Simmons. “Let’s go see what Chili’s orders are,” he said, before opening the door and jumping down onto the pavement. Moving past the ICV with the women trailing behind him, he looked up and saw Mason sitting behind the wheel. Nicholson nodded at the man before approaching the small circle of people that had gathered around the SEAL.
Serrano’s eyes settled on Nicholson, Zhang and Simmons for a brief moment before he began issuing orders.
“Alright, we’ll keep Dennard and, what’s his name, Rodriguez? stay on the fifties. They’ve got a clear view of the street, so they should have no problem dealing with anyone approaching.” Looking up at Dennard, Chili pointed at the big sign on the edge of the parking lot. “Anyone comes looking for trouble, put two rounds in that sign. That’ll help them decide if this is really how they want to die today and give myself and the others a heads up that we’ve got company.”
“Ooh Rah, Warrant,” Dennard replied, nodding.
Surviving Rage | Book 5 Page 9
