Surviving Rage | Book 5

by Arellano, J. D.

  “Whatever,” the boy replied, looking away.

  Logan glared at him for a moment, then shook his head before moving his gaze to Reed. “Don’t suppose I could convince you to let us leave this kid here,” he said, half-seriously.

  Reed winked at him.

  “I could be convinced to consider it.”

  Long turned to look at the doctor, his mouth hanging open.

  “Alright, looks good,” Nicholson proclaimed as they stepped out of the last room they needed. Though they weren’t finished, they now knew the rooms they needed were safe and relatively clean (at least to whatever cleanliness standards the fifty-plus year old Stagecoach Inn kept). Their next efforts would be to clear the remaining rooms for peace of mind, but first he needed to let Serrano know the place was acceptable for them to spend the night in.

  Using his radio, he communicated the information to Serrano, then left Zhang and Rodriguez to begin clearing the remaining rooms as he went back to the Humvee. After starting the engine, he watched as the Armored Personnel Carrier made a wide arc in the parking lot, swinging around until it was directly in front of the third and fourth rooms with about fifteen feet of space between the building’s front and the driver’s side of the vehicle. He followed in a similar arc and parked on the outside of the APC, with the back half of the Humvee covering the front half of the Stryker. Serrano drove the second Humvee around and parked behind Nicholson’s vehicle, effectively shielding the Stryker. Isabella and Logan would be in the third room, while Reed and Serrano would be in the fourth. The remaining rooms would be filled by those who’d been sent to protect them, and two-person teams rotating at three-hour intervals would keep watch while ensuring one of the .50 caliber guns was manned at all times.

  Stepping out of his vehicle, he met with Serrano and told him what they’d found: two vending machines, still well stocked, one with sodas, the other with chips, cookies, and candy. Nothing of much nutritional value, but things that will still bring smiles to the group.

  “Good stuff,” Serrano said upon hearing of the haul. “Like you said, not necessarily ‘good’ for us, but a nice break from the MREs and a chance to enjoy something from the past.”

  Logan grinned as he approached. “You say that like it’s from a long time ago.”

  “It’s not,” Serrano replied, shaking his head, “but something tells me sodas and candy bars will be highly valued soon. I don’t see them being produced again anytime soon.”

  “Fair point,” Logan said, nodding.

  Nicholson looked down at the can of Coke he held. “Damn. Makes me wonder if I should drink this or save it.”

  Serrano smacked him on the shoulder lightly, “Drink it. You only live once.”

  “So, ‘YOLO,’ Sir?” Nicholson asked, grinning.

  Serrano glared at him. “You ever say that to me again I’ll make sure you understand how short life can be.” Shaking his head, he grinned. “Fuckin’ ‘YOLO.’ Who the fuck came up with that shit, anyway?”

  “I think it was the evolution of ‘check this shit out,’” Logan answered, smiling. “At least, that’s what one of the nurses told me when she stitched up my leg after I got injured on my last deployment.”

  “Shrapnel?” Serrano asked.

  “Yeah. Cool scar, though.”

  “Yeah. Got a few myself,” the SEAL replied. Turning to look back at Nicholson, he said, “Good job clearing the place.”

  “Thanks, Chili.” He said. Raising his chin in the direction of two approaching figures, he added, “Looks like Zhang and Rodriguez finished the rest of the place.”

  As the two approached, they each nodded to Chili and Logan, the two senior ranking individuals present, before they spoke to Nicholson.

  “All clear, Staff Sergeant,” Zhang said.

  “Anything of interest?”

  “Not much,” Rodriguez said, “found a few dead people here and there. Stunk to high heaven. In one of the rooms, we couldn’t tell if the couple there had been fighting or fu- I mean, having sex, but they were both dead.”

  “Let’s hope the latter,” Nicholson replied, cocking his head to the side. “If you gotta go…” Turning to two other men, he said, “All clear, then.”

  “Great,” Serrano said. “After today, I’m beat. Tell you what, work with Dennard and Singletary to set up a watch rotation. I’m gonna get the others situated.”

  “Will do,” Nicholson replied. He led the two other soldiers over to where the Marines stood.

  Looking back at Logan, Serrano asked, “What’s going on? Something on your mind?”

  “That Long kid. He’s trouble.”

  “How so?”

  Logan told the SEAL about the incident in the parking lot. “It’s been that way for the last two days.” Holding up his gloved hand, he made a fist. “I just wanna smack the shit out of him.”

  Serrano grinned. “Old school style.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Yeah, well, I don’t think we can do that, no matter how much he might deserve it. Keep in mind, he just lost his parents.”

  “What do you think has been holding me back?”

  Serrano nodded. “Alright, well, how about we move him to a different vehicle for the last day?”

  Logan nodded. Bringing his hand up, he rubbed the growth on his face. He needed a shave in the worst way. “That could work.”

  “Yeah, not ideal, but we’re almost there. Tell you what, we’ll put him with me and the Marines. Move that Jenkins kid over to the Stryker. He probably would prefer to ride with you and the girl anyway.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “Good,” Serrano finished, nodding. “Now that that’s settled, let’s go check out the rooms. Once we get settled in and have some chow, I got a little something we can enjoy as an early celebration.”

  “What’s that?”

  Reaching into the pocket on his trousers, Serrano withdrew a flask. Holding it up, he said, “Top shelf Macallan.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  Oklahoma City Protective Zone, Oklahoma

  Day 4

  “Read this,” the soldier said, shoving the piece of paper at the family before moving on.

  Frowning, Benjamin Peterson accepted it, then looked at the soldier’s back as he walked away. Benjamin and his wife scooted forward in the slow-moving food distribution line, keeping their four preteen children close to them as they did.

  Grabbing the paper with a hand on either side, he held it out in front of him so that his wife could see it as well.

  UPDATE TO FOOD RATIONING

  Due to recent terrorist attacks on the OKC Food Distribution Centers, all rations are being reduced by ONE-HALF until further notice. Food rations will be distributed as follows:

  Single Person½ Daily Ration

  Couple1 Daily Ration

  Families of Three or Less1 ½ Daily Rations

  Families of Four or More2 Daily rations

  Note: Extended family members (i.e. grandparents, in-laws, etc.) will be treated as single persons.

  Thank you for understanding.

  Colonel Sam Walters

  Commanding Officer, OKC Protective Zone

  “Wait, what?” his wife asked, blinking hard as she looked down and read the paper again. “So we only get 2 daily rations for the two of us?”

  Benjamin nodded slowly. “I think so,” he replied.

  “But how is that enough?”

  “I don’t know, Sharon.”

  “What are we going to do?”

  “I don’t know, Sharon.”

  “What do you know, Ben?” his wife asked, angrily.

  “I know we don’t have much choice in the matter,” he snapped, turning to glare at her. Near her hip, their daughter Shelley shrunk back in fear. Feeling like crap, he softened his face immediately, then gave the five year-old a smile. Sighing, he reached up and put his arm around his wife’s shoulders. “Sorry, honey. I wish I had answers, but I don’t know what to do. Maybe we can ask for extra? If not
, I can eat a little less,” he suggested, before chuckling, “We both know I could stand to lose a few pounds.”

  Exhaling heavily, Sharon Peterson smiled in response, then leaned into her husband. “I can skip a meal or two, too. Maybe I can get back to what I weighed in college.”

  Shaking his head, Benjamin rubbed her shoulders. “Nonsense. You’re gorgeous. Ain’t that right kids?”

  “Mommy’s super pretty!” Shelley replied.

  “Yeah she is,” their nine year-old son Donald replied, nodding in agreement.

  “Beautiful mommy!” Donald’s three-year old brother Sebastian added carefully.

  Smiling widely, Benjamin looked past Shelley, expecting to see their eldest child, twelve year-old Shiloh, there. She wasn’t there.

  Frowning, he looked at Shelley and asked, “Where’s Shiloh?”

  Shelley shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  Stopping in his tracks, he turned to look around them. Next to him, Sharon did the same.

  “Shiloh?” he called out.

  “SHILOH????” Sharon screamed.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  Near Webbers Falls, Oklahoma

  Day 4

  Sitting in the back of the Humvee, Lisa Bowman watched as the countryside went by. Though she’d never had a desire to live in the South, she couldn’t deny that the area was beautiful: aside from the Shumard Oaks, the Black Walnut and Dogwood trees created lush green forested areas, while the yellow flowers of Black-Eyed Susans and violet flowers of Blue-Eyed Grass created colorful palettes in the open fields. It was all so peaceful, and it made her wonder if the world would ever return to a time in which its beauty could be appreciated again.

  ‘Of course it will,’ she told herself as she watched a trio of dogs bounce happily across the open field, ‘but humans might not be the ones appreciating it.’ Sighing heavily, she leaned back further against the thin cushion of her seat.

  “You alright, Doc?” Corporal Healey asked from the seat next to her.

  Lisa nodded. “Yeah, thanks Michelle. Just feeling a little down.”

  The Marine nodded as well. “I understand,” she replied, looking out the window. The Humvee shook slightly as its tires passed over debris. “Same here. It’s like, ‘will things ever get back to normal?’”

  Lisa smiled sadly. “Is ‘back to normal’ really what we want?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Taking a deep breath, the blonde doctor locked eyes with the Marine. “I mean, we’re constantly in conflict. No offense, but the military has been actively fighting in the Middle East since I was in high school, and though I don’t like to admit it, that was a while ago.”

  She shook her head. “And now they’re in Africa? Where does it stop?”

  Healey shrugged. “Hey, I just follow orders.”

  “I know,” Lisa replied, nodding. “It’s certainly not your fault, and I hope you don’t think I was trying to blame the military. I understand the structure in place. The Department of Defense carries out the orders of the President.”

  Her shoulders slumped as she sighed, “But this ‘War on Terror’ was started three Presidents ago, and at the time when people pushed back on its expansion, the general argument was that if you didn’t support going after the terrorists - no matter how far we had to go, how long we had to stay committed, or how many men and women had to die - you didn’t love our country.

  “It was as if there were only two choices: support a war we didn’t understand, or leave the country.

  “And now, thanks to the last President, we learned that even within our country, we have deep, divisive issues that aren’t getting better. Issues that tear at our sense of community, our sense of oneness. Whereas before we saw each other as Americans first, we’ve begun to first check to see if the other person has similar political ideals before we accept them. As it turns out, some people view equality as a threat to their way of life, whether it’s related to race, gender, sexual orientation, or religious beliefs.

  “We’ve lost sight of what Patriotism is, what ‘being an American’ means. It isn’t just blindly following what the current administration is, whether they’re associated with the political party you support or not. It’s being willing to say ‘this is wrong’ when something doesn’t align to values this country was founded on, the reasons we feel pride in being citizens of the United States: freedom of speech, freedom of religion, all men are created equal, all of that…”

  Corporal Healey grimaced in response to the woman’s description, mostly because it seemed pretty accurate.

  “I just don’t get it,” Bowman said, shaking her head before looking away to gaze out the window once more. “You and me, and Doctor Chang, and everyone else involved are risking our lives to get to Oklahoma City. Once we get there, Andrew, myself, and Doctor Reed will get to work right away trying to develop a vaccine. A young girl’s essentially allowing herself to become a test subject as we try to figure out how to attack this thing. I have little doubt that we’ll work long, long days and nights in the process, and hopefully we’ll be able to find a cure while there’s still a chance of survival.

  “But will it matter? In the end, will we come together? Will we forgive and forget our past grievances, real or perceived, or will we go back to feeling comfortable finding reasons to hate one another?”

  Feeling Healey’s eyes on her, Lisa felt her face redden. Smiling, she shook her head. “Sorry for getting up on my soapbox.”

  Michelle gave her a thumbs up. “It’s all good, doc.” Gesturing towards the other Marines in the Humvee, including Tomlinson up in the turret seat, she added, “it gets a bit boring talking to these meatheads. Half the time they’re talking about women they hooked up with back before this all started.”

  “Seriously?”

  The Marine nodded. “Yeah. If you believe half of it, I’ve got oceanfront property in Arizona I’d love to sell you.”

  Lisa laughed, then pointed at the young woman. “That’s a good one.”

  Healey smiled. After a moment, her face turned serious. Looking at Lisa, she said, “In all seriousness, I understand your point. Things...could definitely be better.” She hesitated for a moment, and Bowman thought she saw wetness in the woman’s eyes, but the woman quickly blinked before turning to look out the window herself. “But we’ll make it,” she said, with an air of finality.

  “I know,” Lisa replied, nodding.

  Healey turned to look at her once more. When her eyes met Lisa’s, an intense fire burned within them. “We’ve got to. This is America.”

  As the day stretched into night, Lisa found herself dozing off more and more frequently. As the sun descended in the early evening sky, the inside of the Humvee seemed to remain hot and stuffy, even with all of the vehicle’s windows open. That heat, combined with the constant drone of the heavy vehicle’s big tires on the surface of the interstate, made the perfect recipe for a sleeping spell.

  At one point, she watched as Corporal Healey pulled an energy gel pack from her pocket, tore off the top, and sucked down its contents. After four days on the road, Lisa knew the Marines preferred to stay away from the energy packets and other caffeine supplements when they needed to stay awake. The initial burst of energy was great, but the subsequent crash was tough to deal with when you were already tired.

  This day was different, though. They were ‘pushing through,’ determined on reaching the OKC Protective Zone that night, even though it meant nighttime travel, something they’d avoided thus far due to safety concerns.

  Lisa tried to remain awake, but it was no use. Grabbing the folded up t-shirt she kept handy for this purpose, she set it against the window (which she’d finally been able to close, thanks to blessedly cool air that flowed in through the front windows), then placed her head against it. Within minutes, she was asleep.

  Sometime later, she felt herself being gently shook. Opening her eyes, she squinted, surprised by the brightness coming through the vehicle’s windshield.
Bending her neck to the left, she tried to work out some of the kinks that had formed as she leaned over to look between the seats in an effort to see what lay ahead.

  About a half-mile ahead, massive, high-powered spotlights were pointed in the direction of the two Humvees, making it impossible to see anything near them. Blinking, she muttered, “Jesus Christ, that’s bright.”

  “And effective,” Healey replied. “They can see us clearly, we can’t see shit. We don’t know if there are a hundred guns pointed at us, or people holding squirt guns.”

  Lisa forced a smile, still squinting as she tried to block out the intense light.

  “Don’t worry,” Healey added. “Milligan’s hailing them on the radio to let them know it’s us.”

  “OKC Protective Zone, this is Team Echo, over,” Milligan said into the radio.

  As she listened, Lisa heard a voice come through the speaker. “Team Echo, this is OKC Protective Zone. Read you Lima Charlie. Standing by for confirmation, over.”

  “Copy OKC. Confirmation is as follows,” Milligan began.

  Turning to Healey, Bowman smiled. “We made it.”

  Pulling into the parking lot in front of a large, brick building, the two teams were met by a group of military men and women. A dark haired man in a tight fitting uniform stood at the front of the group, smiling and nodding as the team began to climb out of the armored vehicles. As soon as he located the two doctors, he stepped forward.

  “Doctor Chang! Doctor Bowman! So glad you made it here safely!” he began, extending his hand towards Andrew. After shaking each of their hands, he smiled broadly.

  “I’m Colonel Walters,” he added, smiling widely. “Welcome to the Oklahoma City Protective Zone.”