Surviving Rage | Book 5

by Arellano, J. D.

  Wham!

  Walters’s head bounced off the bars once more before Jeremiah released him entirely. He reeled backwards and fell to the hard concrete floor of the cell with a heavy thump. Blood began to flow from his head, running down through the short, buzz cut hair along the sides of his head until it pooled on the floor.

  Jeremiah stepped back from the cell. Looking down at his dress shirt and slacks, he checked for anything out of place. As always, his appearance was flawless.

  ‘This is all so fucking easy,’ he thought to himself. Smiling, he began to sing as he walked down the hallway and through the door.

  “‘Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound

  That saved a wretch like me

  I once was lost but now am found

  Was blind, but now, I see…’”

  -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  Outside of Sayre, Oklahoma

  Day 6

  Sitting on the boulder at the edge of the river, Gabriel Serrano looked out over the rushing water and halfheartedly wished he could just walk into its powerful, unrelenting flow and let it take him away; let it decide his fate once and for all.

  It was in moments like these that life felt just...so....exhausting.

  He briefly wondered how things had gone so bad so quickly, but simultaneously knew that was exactly how tactical situations changed. You hit the enemy fast, hard, and with decisive force when they didn’t see it coming. As a SEAL, they didn’t bring massive numbers or heavy ordnance, but they brought a fighting skill that was unparalleled and, at times more importantly, superior planning.

  The forces that had struck them may or may not have had similar fighting capability (they’d never had a real chance to engage), but they’d had both the element of surprise, and overwhelming firepower. A goddamn Apache helicopter? Only the U.S. Military could have launched and operated that aircraft in this part of the country, and he’d be damned if he’d suspected that they’d have to be concerned about attacks from their fellow servicemembers.

  Whatever the case, whatever the cause, the end result was the same.

  Isabella had been taken.

  Doctor Reed and Logan were missing.

  Mason, Nicholson, Simmons, and Rodriguez had all died during the initial assault on the bridge.

  Thinking of the men in his vehicle, he closed his eyes as he forced himself to relive how he failed to keep them safe.

  Two days prior....

  The water rushed in, hitting them from all directions as the Humvee sank rapidly, its heavy front end pulling them towards the bottom. In the driver’s seat, Serrano struggled to shake away the cobwebs that seemed to pull against every thought that moved inside his head, slowing the thinking process there. Words were hard to find, as was a course of action.

  But the splashing water against his face helped him break free of the fugue.

  As did the choking sensation he experienced with the first mouthful of river water.

  Sputtering, he shook his head, ignoring the pain as he fought to clear his head.

  Brownish-gray water all around.

  The unmistakable feeling of sinking.

  The air around them rapidly decreasing as the water level rose, forcing it out.

  Shit! Move, Gabriel! Now!

  Operating in something that could only be called autopilot, his hand moved to his belt, where he found and opened the clasp for his knife’s sheath. As his hand withdrew the weapon, he looked over at Phillip. The man was slumped over in his seat, blood oozing from a wound on his head.

  Flicking the knife open, Serrano brought it up and sawed through the fabric of his seatbelt, cutting himself free not bothering to check and see if he could release the belt’s clasp manually. Somewhere deep inside his brain he knew that either (a) the belt’s locking mechanism could have become jammed during the impact, or (b) in the moment of adrenaline-filled excitement, he’d pull too hard, causing the belt’s interlock to engage, and there was no time to waste.

  WIth his belt cleared, he crawled up and onto his seat to look towards the others.

  “Phil! Aaron! Let’s go! Grab the kid and let’s get out!”

  Looking at the Marine next to him, he saw blood pouring down Singletary’s face. The water splashing occasionally washed it away, revealing a long gash along the side of the man’s head. His eyes were closed, and his body swayed back and forth with the movement of the water.

  A voice came from his right.

  “Stuck…”

  Looking towards the backseat, which was slightly above him, he saw Aaron struggling to remove his seatbelt, tugging at it desperately with repeated, quick motions that appeared to be somewhat automatic. The man was clearly concussed, and acting on instinct, but his motions were preventing the belt from releasing.

  Serrano glanced towards Phillip once, then lunged towards the backseat, going for the easy save. He pressed his hand into the Marine’s chest, holding him in place, then brought the knife towards the man’s torso.

  Instinctively, Aaron swatted at Serrano’s hand, trying to defend himself.

  “Stop! I’ll cut you free!” Serrano yelled, pressing harder. He brought the knife’s blade under the seat belt and pulled towards himself hard, severing the nylon material. “One more!” he yelled, before inserting the knife near the Marine’s waist and cutting away the lap restraint.

  Reaching across the man’s body, Serrano pressed away the broken remains of the safety glass in the window, then pushed the Marine towards it, helping him work his way up and free of the sinking vehicle.

  As Dennard’s feet cleared the Humvee, it struck the river bottom, knocking Serrano onto his stomach atop the drivetrain that ran down the length of the vehicle’s interior, submerging him completely.

  The world turned a dull brownish color as he flailed around underwater, his hands slipping out from under him as he tried to fight his way back to the small pocket of air inside the cabin.

  Knowing that time was running out, he splashed around, clearing the water enough so that he could see the small Vietnamese boy in the back seat. The helmet he’d been wearing, which was too large for him, sat askew on his head, hiding his face from view. His head was still above the waterline, but wouldn’t be for long. The boy’s lack of movement, combined with the fact that there were no significant injuries to be seen, told Serrano the boy was likely unconscious, not dead.

  “Save...him…”

  Turning towards the front seat, he saw Phillip’s glazed eyes looking at him. The blood on the side of his head still flowed, but it seemed insufficient to be the sole reason for the darkening of the water around him.

  “Let me get you out first!” Serrano said, diving back under the water’s surface. Submerged again, he moved to the man’s waist so that he could cut the seatbelt. As he went to brace himself against the seat, he felt something jagged rip along the back of his hand. He pulled his hand back, then looked closer at the offending object. A jagged piece of metal protruded from the middle of Phillip’s left leg.

  Fuck.

  ‘Okay, take a breath, then get back down and help him off the metal,’ he told himself.

  Pushing upward, he was surprised to find barely two inches of air left in the cabin at the front of the vehicle.

  Time was running out.

  A hand grabbed his arm, making him flinch suddenly. He was pulled towards the Marine, who forced himself far enough up in his seat to bring his mouth above the water’s limit.

  “Save the kid…”

  The Marine’s strength left him, and he sank back down.

  Knowing he could only save one of them, Serrano followed the Marine’s wishes, leaving behind a young man that had become his friend to save a stranger who had viewed him with disgust. He cut the boy’s seat belt, grabbed him, and pushed him out the shattered window. Pausing one last time, he dove below the surface and looked at Phillip once more. The man wasn’t moving,
and the flow of blood was rapidly creating a cloud around him.

  ‘See you on the other side, brother,’ he said in his mind, before reaching up and freeing his rifle from it’s harness and carrying it with him to the surface.

  He found Long floating on the surface, stuck on a branch. Grabbing the boy, he dragged him to the shore, then tracked down Dennard, who’d made his way there already, albeit further down the river. The Marine had crawled out of the river before collapsing to the ground and passing out from pain and exhaustion.

  Bringing the boy to Dennard seemed like the easier choice, so he did that, carrying him in his arms. Setting him on the ground near the Marine, Serrano collapsed and lay there on the dirt, ignoring the rocks and random sticks that pressed against his back and staring up at the sky as he tried to regain his strength. He stayed there in that position for longer than he intended, resting for somewhere around twenty minutes as he tried to deal with both his exhaustion and his grief before the operator and him took over once more.

  There are still supplies inside the Humvee.

  And weapons.

  He was in the process of forcing himself back up, into a seated position, when there was an explosion somewhere up on the bridge. He looked towards the bridge as another explosion erupted, closer this time, almost directly above where the Humvee had sank.

  Movement in the air caught his eye, and he watched as two figures fell from the bridge. As they hit the river’s surface, he knew his work wasn’t done.

  Probably some of ours. Maybe alive. Gotta help them.

  Looking towards the sky, his eyes widened in shock as he watched the helicopter make a wide arc of a turn, then begin descending towards where his vehicle was. Missiles ripped free from the helicopter’s launcher. They struck the river’s an instant later, and though the water slowed their momentum, their terminal velocity before impact was close to one thousand miles per hour.

  The dual, near-simultaneous explosions sent parts of the Humvee, rocks, wood, and dirt airborne, lifted by the dual plumes of water. As Serrano dove for cover, he realized Phillip’s remains were among the debris thrown skyward by the strike. It was a disrespectful end for a fellow warfighter.

  The helicopter immediately broke away, its pilot seemingly satisfied by the strike.

  Serrano struggled to his feet and walked to the river’s edge on wobbly legs, trying to remember why he’d wanted to get there. A figure floated towards him, several yards away from the river’s edge and moving rapidly.

  Move. Now.

  He dove in and swam, using powerful strokes to intercept the figure. When his hand came in contact with the person’s uniform, he grabbed hold of it, spun his body in the water, and kicked, dragging it towards the water’s edge. Reaching the shore, he pulled the figure out of the water, taking a moment to realize it was Zhang before looking back towards the river. The second figure was approaching, moving slower than Zhang had been, thanks to the wooden branch that was intertwined with their uniform blouse. As luck would have it, the figure was also closer to the shore. Serrano walked into the river until he was waist-deep, then grabbed hold of the branch and used it to pull the person onto the shore.

  It was Jenkins.

  Looking around, he found a small copse of trees nearby and decided it would be the best place for them to hide while they recovered. Moving each of them to the area, he checked each of them for vital signs and felt relieved to find that they were all still alive. After walking around the thicket of trees to make sure they were sufficiently hidden from sight, he returned and sat down amongst them. Though he desperately needed to rest, he took off his uniform top, then under shirt. He wrung out the latter as best as he could, then took apart his rifle and began cleaning it, doing what he could to remove the water from the internal areas.

  Finally, after fifteen minutes, much longer than it should have taken, he was done. Putting his dirty undershirt back on, he hung his blouse on a nearby branch and laid down. Within minutes, he was asleep.

  Looking out on the river, he took a bite of the protein bar from one of the MREs that had showered down with the rest of the debris after the blast as he performed a mental inventory.

  Himself, Dennard, Zhang, and Jenkins. A SEAL, a skilled Marine, a junior Army soldier who had limited combat experience, and a boot (recruit).

  For weapons, they had his rifle, handgun, and knife, plus Aaron’s knife and Paul’s 9 mm.

  ‘How the hell are we going to rescue the doctor and the girl?’ He wondered.

  Shaking his head, he chided himself.

  How was irrelevant.

  The four of them were alive.

  The mission was still the mission.

  They’d have to find a way.

  Author’s Note

  Thank you for reading! I truly appreciate you taking the time to read my work. My journey as an author has been a long, windy road. After writing extensively in high school, I was forced to set it aside after I joined the Navy. Though I tried to make time for it, and though I worked through a few ideas that may later be revisited, the time requirement associated with writing (including the associated research required to make the material realistic), was too great to manage as my military career demanded the majority of my attention.

  In 2019, I was reading a bit of fiction that I’d purchased via the Kindle Store, and as I was reading it, I said to myself, “you know, I should try to write my own novel.” A week later, I was in Big Bear, California, running a Spartan Race, and that location became the core idea behind the family’s challenge in Surviving Rage Books One and Two.

  From there, the rest has just been a fun journey. Book Six will be the final chapter in what has been an incredible, joyous journey for me, but it’s far from the final chapter in my writing. I’ve learned and grown as I’ve written this series, developing what I believe is my own style, drawing inspiration from some of my favorite authors - Stephen King, Robert Ludlum, James Rollins, and a new addition, John Marrs - and, more importantly, embracing a part of myself that had been neglected for decades.

  I hope you will join on this journey, but even if the book you just read was the only piece of my work you ever read, my underlying message remains the same:

  THANK YOU.

  J.D.

  If you have a minute to spare, please leave a review!

  Feel free to contact me via email for comments or questions: jdarellano.author@gmail.com

  Visit my Author Page to view all my work: https://www.amazon.com/J-D-Arellano/e/B08FMVDCBW/ref=dp_byline_cont_pop_ebooks_1?ref_=d6k_applink_bb_dls