Juarez smiled. Colonel Walters had no idea he was a pawn. He hadn’t when the two had worked together at Fort Hood, when Juarez had made it a mission as the Executive Officer to hand down the harshest punishments to African-American soldiers in the command who’d dared to break one of the many rules he’d added to the previous Chain of Command’s list. Having the opportunity to hand down punishments that would effectively end the careers of those soldiers just felt right. It was his chance to even the playing field, to take away the advantages those soldiers received simply because of their race.
Of course, in order to avoid suspicion, he did have to punish soldiers of other races as well. The obvious choice were the Mexican-American soldiers. Sure, it felt weird to punish them, especially when a number of them reminded them of cousins and other relatives he’d seen at family gatherings in the past, but eventually, he got over it. If he was being honest, Mexican-Americans were treated favorably by a number of public and private entities as well. Heck, having the last name Juarez might have even helped him when he’d applied to Westpoint. Whether that was true or not, he wasn’t sure, but what he did remember quite vividly were all the instances in which White cadets had asked him which Nationality he’d marked on his application. Those questions grew into a source of embarrassment for him, and made him truly wonder if he’d gotten into the prestigious academy of his own accord or based on the fact that he was considered a ‘minority.’ Should he have marked a different box on his application? His last name was Juarez. He had grown up in a Mexican household and learned to speak fluent Spanish. He understood the culture and was hopelessly addicted to the food.
But he was also adopted.
DNA tests had shown him to White European ancestral ties, mostly from the northern part of Europe. There were no ties to the Mexican-Americans who stood in front of him at Executive Officer’s Inquiry.
So they got the hammer, too.
Hitting the button to reply, he typed a quick reply to Colonel Walters, waited for it to send, then powered down the laptop and returned it to its place behind the bookcase. He wasn’t worried about it being found. If it were, the device’s multi-layer security would make access nearly impossible, and if access was somehow obtained, the encryption program installed on the computer would prevent anyone from being able to see or read what he’d written.
Heck, by the time they even had the opportunity to try, he’d be long gone. His job in San Francisco was nearly complete.
‘So let’s get this done and get the hell out of here,’ he said to himself. Grabbing a piece of graphing paper from the stack he kept behind the bookcase, he methodically wrote down his next encrypted message. When he was done, he checked it twice for accuracy and for lack of patterns. Once he was satisfied, he quickly folded the piece of paper and stuffed it in his pocket.
Satisfied, he stepped out from behind the ventilation duct. As he did, something slipped from his lap and fluttered to the ground.
It was the picture of his ‘parents.’
He paused for a second as he looked down at the old photo. “Time to leave that part of my past behind,” he said softly, before walking back to the door. He listened at the door for a minute, then slowly opened it, stepped out, and closed it behind him. Turning to his right, he opened the door and walked out onto the roof.
Bringing out the cell phone he used to communicate with Sommer, he sent what would be the final message:
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74
After he pressed ‘send,’ he stood on the roof for a bit, looking out at the city and the bay, feeling content and happy with the progress made. Once he knew the girl and the other doctor were in hand, he’d use the motorcycle he’d stashed just outside the edge of the protective zone to get to Oklahoma City, where he’d once again be able to enjoy the control he’d have over the fate of Black and Mexican men and women under his charge. But this time, the numbers wouldn’t be in the double digits. They’d be in the thousands, and eventually in the hundreds of thousands, if not millions.
Feeling a warmth brought about by a deep seated content come over him, he sat down on one of the building’s exterior ventilation ducts and withdrew a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He lit one and took a short pull from it, enjoying the nicotine rush it brought.
‘This is almost too easy,’ he thought, blowing out the smoke before taking another drag.
He sat there, enjoying a midday warmth that was rarely felt in San Francisco, even in the high point of the summer. When he finished his cigarette, he dropped it on the finely crushed stone that covered the roof, noting the presence of other cigarette butts he’d left on previous occasions.
Taking a deep breath, he was in the middle of rising to his feet when he heard General Armstead’s voice booming over the building’s PA system.
“THIS IS GENERAL ARMSTEAD. LOCK DOWN THE BUILDING. I REPEAT, LOCK DOWN THE BUILDING. NO ONE IN, NO ONE OUT. NO EXCEPTIONS. VIOLATORS ARE TO BE TAKEN INTO CUSTODY BY ANY MEANS NECESSARY. THIS ORDER REMAINS IN PLACE UNTIL I PERSONALLY WITHDRAW IT.”
“What the hell?” Juarez asked the empty rooftop.
CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
Sayre, Oklahoma
Day 5
“Dammit,” Serrano swore, exhaling heavily as he shook his head. Bringing the radio’s microphone up to his mouth, he provided his answer. “Yeah, let’s go ahead and find somewhere to stop for an early lunch, over.”
Zhang’s voice came through the speaker. “Copy that, Chili, over.”
“Look for a park or some open area. I don’t feel like having to clear any buildings, over.”
“Copy, over.”
“Chili, out,” he finished, before placing the mic back in its holder. Making a fist, he lightly punched the Humvee’s dash before turning his head to look out the passenger window. “Who would’ve thought we’d run into such a clusterfuck out here in the middle of bumfuck nowhere?” he asked.
“Not me,” Phillip replied, adjusting his sunglasses with one hand as he moved the steering wheel with his other, guiding the vehicle around a pothole in the road.
“Me, either,” Aaron chimed in from the back seat. “I was kind of hoping we’d get to the P.Z. before lunch,” he said, looking at the Vietnamese boy next to him out of the side of his eye, “Turn this kid over whoever’s takin’ care of kids there.”
Long glared back at him for a moment, saying nothing before turning to look away. The boy hadn’t been thrilled about the decision to move him to a different vehicle in order to put some separation between him and Isabella, and he’d openly questioned why she hadn’t been the one that had to move to the inadequately cooled, less comfortable vehicle filled with sweaty men.
“Why I have to move? Why can’t she?” he asked, his face filled with
Serrano had taken on an almost gleeful look when he’d responded. “Because she’s more important than you are.”
The boy looked back at him, his face wearing the ever-present scowl that seemed to permanently reside there.
Serrano’s smile widened.
“Yeah, well, looking at the map, we’ve got about a hundred and twenty, hundred and thirty miles to go. It should take us three and a half to four hours, based on what we’ve been averaging every day prior to this one, but if shit’s like it was this morning, it could take much longer,” Serrano said, folding the map once more before stashing it on the dash near the windshield. “That shit was ridiculous.”
The ‘shit’ he was referring to was what remained in and around the town of Shamrock, Texas, which had been burned nearly to the ground. Nearly. Perhaps if it had, their travel through the area would have been easier. Instead, they’d spent nearly two and a half hours off the main highw
ay, where what remained of multiple cars, trucks, big rigs, and other vehicles had been burned down to metal frames. Though they never got close enough to verify it, the agreed upon theory was that one of the big rigs, which appeared to have been a fuel truck, had exploded on the highway overpass, collapsing the bridge and sending burning debris into the surrounding bushes and trees. From there, the fire had spread with ease, likely unchecked by a fire department that was too short-handed to adequately respond, thanks to the virus.
The flames had spread extensively, but not completely through the town, destroying some buildings while barely touching others. It was that lack of uniformity that made their attempts to pass through the area so challenging. They’d head down what appeared to be unaffected streets, only to find impassable road blocks in the form of fallen trees, damaged cars, or collapsed structures. From there they’d backtrack, looking for another route, only to be frustrated again.
In the end, they’d found a route completely out of town, heading south instead of east until they were clear of it. Once they’d reached the end of the incorporated area, they’d simply let the heavy duty military vehicles do what they did best: travel over rough, uneven terrain until they’d left the remnants of the town far enough behind that they could safely re-enter the highway.
But all that effort had eaten into their most precious resource: time. The two and a half hours spent working their way through the area had made it a certainty that they wouldn’t be arriving in the P.Z. midday after all. If they were lucky, they’d make it there before nightfall.
Whatever the case, after the morning’s challenges, they needed a break, if for no reason other than to stretch their legs and get some fresh air.
The light seemed brighter than he’d expected when Paul stepped out from the interior of the Stryker. After spending the last four days in the back of a Humvee, which, while far from comfortable, was at least well-ventilated, sitting inside the armored vehicle’s personnel compartment had made him like he’d been inside a tin can for the last three hours. He wondered how the others had managed to endure it so well over the last four days.
Extending and retracting each leg, he flexed the muscles, trying to help the blood flow as he looked around at the small grass-covered area. They were in front of all places, a mortuary, and if that didn’t seem fitting for what had been a nightmare of a year, he didn’t know what would.
“Doing alright, there, kid?” Logan asked at his side.
“Hunh? Oh, yeah.” he replied, nodding. “It’s just weird, being outside after being stuck inside that ‘thing’ for so many hours.”
Logan grinned. “Welcome to the Army,” he said, smacking the boy on the back as Isabella climbed down from the ICV. She still clutched the doll in her arm, something they’d all gotten used to over the last few days. The doll seemed almost like a part of the girl at this point.
Smiling at the two of them, the young girl came over to stand nearby before turning to look towards the other vehicles. As always, one the Marines (Aaron, this time) and one of the Soldiers (Rodriguez) remained on each of the mounted heavy machine guns, maintaining overwatch as the others relaxed.
Having verified the area was clear, Serrano approached the small group as Jonathan climbed down from the Stryker with Steight, whose leash and harness had been reattached. The dog wagged its tail happily as it stood next to the tall doctor, waiting patiently for the man to walk her around the area in typical fashion.
“Alright,” Serrano began, looking at the small group. “Gonna take thirty minutes here to stretch and eat an early lunch. Make sure you keep track of the time and before we load up, take a leak - ” glancing at Isabella, he winced. “Sorry, I mean, use the restroom, though there aren’t any available. You’ll have to be escorted over to one of the nearby bushes. One of the women can help with that” he said.
“Okay,” Isabella replied, nodding shyly. “I kind of have to go now, though.”
Serrano nodded, then turned and looked towards the Army soldiers. “Zhang! Can you come over here?”
The young woman did, trotting over with athleticism Serrano hadn’t seen in many soldiers. Unlike most soldiers he’d known, who jogged with a heavy, flat-footedness, the woman moved with the smoothness of someone who’d spent a significant amount of time playing sports. He made a note to inquire about it later.
“What’s going on, Chili?” she asked, looking up at him.
“Need you to take Izzie,” he said, glancing at the girl to make sure he got the nickname right, “to, uh, use the ladies’ room,” he finished, clearly uncomfortable. He was used to being on missions with nothing but other men, where when they had to take a leak, they said they had to take a leak.
Lisa grinned, enjoying the man’s discomfort. “Ladies room?”
“You know, she needs to go,” he replied, looking away, a scowl crossing his face.
“I have to pee.” Isabella stated, rescuing him.
“I know, sweetie,” Zhang replied, winking at the girl. “I was teasing him.”
“Just take her and be careful,” Serrano growled.
“Yes, Sir!” Zhang answered, popping a salute.
“You little - ”
Lisa stepped away quickly, pulling Isabella with her.
After watching them walk away for a second, Serrano turned away, still scowling. Seeing Paul and Logan grinning as they watched his obvious discomfort. “You Army fucks are a pain in the ass.”
Logan chuckled, shaking his head as well. “Take it easy, Chili. She’s just yanking your chain.” Holding up a tan-colored, sealed bag in each hand, he said, “Here. Have some lunch. We’ve got MREs or MREs.”
The man put up his hand in response, keeping the bags at bay. “No, thanks.” He patted his midsection, shaking his head. “I gotta watch my weight. If we were hiking or running, it’d be one thing, but we’re sitting in fuckin’ Humvees all day every day, and those things are like ten thousand calories.” He pulled a protein bar from his pocket. “This’ll tide me over. Hopefully when we get to OKC we’ll get a hot meal.”
“We fuckin’ better,” Logan replied.
Paul smiled, then slyly reached for the pouch in Logan’s left hand.
“What the?” Logan asked, frowning.
“I like the chili mac,” the young man replied.
Logan shrugged, looking down at the other pouch. “Oh well, Cheese Tortellini is pretty good, too.”
Serrano was about to head back over to the Humvee when he saw Paul flinch suddenly. Pausing, he watched as the teenager reached into his pocket and pulled out the cell phone.
“Did you get another one?” he asked.
Paul nodded, staring down at the screen. “I wonder what the hell they’re saying,” he said, before showing the phone’s screen to Serrano.
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74
Reading the message on the screen, Serrano felt that same cold tickle on the back of his neck. He looked up at Logan and Paul.
“I don’t know what it is, but I’ll tell you this: I don’t think it’s good. We’re almost there. Let’s stay sharp.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
San Francisco Protective Zone, California
Day 5
Cresting the top of the hill that stood between the residential areas and the main military complex, Daniel relaxed his foot on the accelerator, allowing the hybrid vehicle to use its forward motion to carry it downward until gravity took over. Next to him, Serafina gripped the handle above her seat tightly, her knuckles whitening from the pressure. “Slow down,” she warned, her voice edged with concern.
“We got to let them know!”
“Yes, but if we crash before we get there, we won’t be able to
!” she replied, raising her voice.
Realizing she was right (as usual), Daniel applied the brake firmly, slowing the car dramatically before pulling the steering wheel hard to the left as he made the next turn. Nevertheless, the tires still squealed in protest as they were forced to hold their grip on the asphalt under tremendous pressure.
“Daniel…” Serafina warned.
“I know, I know, I’m slowing down,” he relented, nodding.
On the sidewalk, a small group of people stopped to watch as the two of them zoomed by, the tires of the car bouncing up and down as they drove over rough patches and trolley tracks.
“Almost there,” Daniel announced.
“Okay,” Serafina replied, grabbing her purse, which she, at times, wondered why she bothered bringing. Aside from the badge the local military officials had provided, there was little of value inside the small bag. Still, leaving it behind seemed alien, like the decision would be yet another sign of accepting the possibility the things wouldn’t go back to normal.
Accepting that possible outcome wasn’t something she was ready to do, and she was hoping others refused as well. It might take a while, but believing that the world could come back from the brink, save itself, and recover, was a true motivator.
If their only goal was to simply survive, they’d have remained holed up in their cabin near Big Bear Lake. They’d fought off the threat of a power-hungry, egotistical Sheriff, saving not only themselves but the small city itself, and by now it seemed likely that the community there had healed and come together to help each other build a better existence and that of the future.
They could have, would have, and probably should have, stayed safe in their cabin.
Instead, they’d risked everything, literally everything to get Isabella to the San Francisco Protective Zone, fighting off challenge after challenge as they did, all for one reason: to try to help save America, and ultimately, the world.
Surviving Rage | Book 5 Page 34
