Surviving Rage | Book 1

by Arellano, J. D.

  The team continued on, reaching West Pico Boulevard, struck by the strangeness of the fact that in the country’s second largest city, the sound of their boots striking the pavement was the loudest noise in earshot.

  In the distance, they heard a large, powerful engine revving as it drove away from them, reminding them that, no matter how it felt at times, they weren’t alone. There were still people around, still alive after the outbreak of the rage virus.

  Gunshots in the distance served as a reminder that they were anything but safe, though for Reed, surrounded by five Navy SEALs, he sure as hell felt like he was.

  Voices remained silent as they walked slowly but steadily towards their objective, preferring caution and vigilance over speed. On several occasions, Serrano brought the team to a halt, finding a spot in the shadows, either behind a large vehicle, in the shade of a large tree, or under the overhang in front of a building entrance. He’d send a pair of SEALs forward to scout out the area, identifying and evaluating the source of his concern before returning to inform Serrano of what they’d found.

  On two occasions it had been the wind, blowing doors or windows against their frames. Another time it had been a stray dog, hungrily tearing into a bag of trash, sending cans flying as its jaws tore through the plastic. Showing compassion Reed would have never seen coming, Skee opened one of his protein bars, removing the wrapper and tossing it aside. He threw the bar in front of the dog, who quickly gobbled it up before scurrying away into the shadows.

  Progress was slow as they worked their way down South Beverly Glen Boulevard, heading for Santa Monica Boulevard, but no one minded. Safety was the plan and the key to their success.

  It was just after seven-thirty in the morning when they reached Santa Monica Boulevard, and with the sun in the sky being totally occluded by the continually increasing amount of smoke, the heat was quickly becoming oppressive.

  Reed felt himself sweating through the inner lay of his clothing, rapidly wetting the camouflage uniform he wore on top of it. Carrying the extra twenty plus pounds of gear, weapons, and body armor, was draining, though none of the SEALs seemed phased by it. The helmet, while made of lightweight Kevlar, trapped heat that escaped from his head, causing sweat to form in his hair and on his brow. Long rivulets of sweat ran down his face, dripping from his chin onto the front of his uniform blouse, adding to the growing dark stain.

  Glancing back at the team, Serrano’s eyes landed on Reed. Signaling to the others, he broke left, heading for an empty shoe store with broken windows. He pointed to Skee and JJ, pointing towards the store and making hand signals that they readily understood. The two disappeared into the store, rifles held at shoulder height as they entered. Within minutes, the two returned, nodding, their rifles held upright with the barrels pointing skyward. Serrano nodded and made his way into the store, motioning for Reed and the others to follow.

  Stepping into the cool, dark interior of the store, Reed watched as Serrano pointed to Spider and Dash, giving instructions with his complex set of hand gestures. The two stayed near the front of the store, finding a spot to watch the outside world while remaining mostly out of sight.

  Reed followed Chili, Skee, and JJ further into the store, arriving at the rear of the store, where seats were positioned for shoppers to use while trying on shoes or sandals. Collapsing into a seat, Reed wondered how long the others would need to recover after the brutal march through the sweltering heat. Reed knew he was in good shape, running all those miles on the treadmill and working out every morning. Surely the others would be as gassed as he was.

  Looking around, he was dismayed to see the men standing, looking around casually as they waited for Reed to rest. They quietly ate protein bars and washed them down with water, gesturing to each other with their cryptic hand gestures.

  They showed zero signs of physical fatigue.

  Feeling slightly demoralized, Reed dropped his head, focused on catching his breath and resting his muscles.

  Footsteps approached. Looking up, he saw Serrano looking down at him. ‘Five minutes,’ Serrano mouthed. He pointed at Reed’s canteen. ‘Drink.’

  Reed nodded, glancing at his watch. He pulled his canteen from his waist, removed the cap, and took a long swallow. Moving the canteen away from his mouth, he took a deep breath. As he went to bring the container back to his mouth, a hand grabbed his wrist, stopping him.

  It was Orlosky, looking at him with steady, unwavering eyes. He shook his head back and forth. ‘Conserve.’ He mouthed.

  Reed nodded, feeling like the untrained civilian he was, no matter what shape his was in. He capped the container and returned it to the belt around his waist. Leaning forward, he hung his head, closing his eyes so he could focus his mind and slow his breathing. After two minutes, he stood, nodding at Serrano.

  The team moved on, continuing along Santa Monica Boulevard for a quarter mile, sticking to the sidewalks as they moved, remaining in the straight line they’d used previously.

  As they neared Thayer Avenue, Serrano stopped again, cocking his head. Suddenly, he motioned rapidly, moving them into crouching positions behind a moving truck that was sitting partially on the sidewalk, blocking them from the sight of the street.

  A blue, quietly humming compact car approached from the direction they were heading, its tires crunching gravel more loudly than the noise emanating from the engine. It was a hybrid vehicle, cruising down the streets using battery power alone, rendering it nearly silent.

  As it approached, J.J. fell to his stomach, crawling forward until he was able to see the car and its occupants from under the front end of the truck, using the large gap created by the vehicle’s front end being perched on the sidewalk while the rest of the vehicle remained on the street. He brought his rifle up into a shooting position, resting his elbows on the sidewalk as he looked through the gun’s sight.

  At the rear of the group, Dash slipped over to where a parked Volvo hatchback sat near a mailbox, taking up position position behind the mailbox, blocked from view by the Volvo. Like J.J., he brought his gun up, readying it as the car approached.

  Inside the car, a white man in his early 40s with a receding hairline clenched the steering wheel tightly as he slowly maneuvered the vehicle around the burned husks of abandoned cars and trucks. The man’s face was dripping with sweat as he focused on his efforts, carefully avoiding piles of twisted metal and broken glass. In the passenger seat, a thin white woman was pointing at various things she saw in the road, helping him avoid them. Behind the two, in the back seat, were two young children: a boy and a girl, sitting low in the seats to hide from sight. Their faces were pale with fear as they held blankets up in front of them, their heads moving back and forth rapidly as they looked for danger.

  J.J. turned back to look at Serrano briefly, shaking his head and motioning downward with his hand, indicating they should stand down.

  Serrano paused, putting his hand out with his palm showing. He wanted them to stop from relaxing their posture. Looking back at J.J. he pointed to his ear, then pointed up the street in the direction the car had come from.

  Within seconds, the sound of a loud engine was heard coming from up the street, revving loudly as it approached.

  A large black van sped towards them, kicking up dust and debris as it powered down the street, its heavy duty suspension rocking as it drove over the trash and broken car parts that littered the street.

  The woman in the car screamed, turning to the man and yelling at him to speed up. The car lurched forward, its engine kicking into gear as it accelerated. The man spun the wheel to drive around a truck that was partially blocking the road, trying to speed up, but limited by the presence of so many wrecked vehicles. His eyes bulged, as they alternated between looking ahead and looking in the rearview mirror.

  The blue car was parallel with the SEAL team when a roaring engine brought their attention to the other end of the street, past where Dash was positioned. A big, silver truck came around the corner, turnin
g towards the car and accelerating. In the truck bed, men with guns held on as the driver sped down the street, closing in on the little car.

  The car stopped suddenly, as the couple stared in disbelief at the truck approaching.

  They were trapped.

  Sitting next to Serrano, Reed hear him mutter ‘Shit!’ under his breath.

  The two larger vehicles sped forward, closing the space between them and the car. Within seconds, they came to a screeching halt on either side of the car, the tires squealing as rubber was left behind on the road underneath.

  From the van, five men emerged, all Hispanic and covered in tattoos. All of him were heavily armed, save one, who had had a pair of large, silver-plated pistols strapped to his belt. They walked forward, stopping ten feet from the car, forming a semicircle with the pistol-strapped man in the middle.

  On the other side of the car, six men piled out of the truck, each carrying semi-automatic weapons. They formed another semi-circle, this one in front of the car.

  Behind the car, the man with the pistols called out, “Come on out, Ése.” He said, looping his thumbs in his belt like an old-time cowboy. The men around him wore grins, cocky as they stood there, holding their weapons loosely.

  The driver of the car stepped out, bringing his hands up. In a plaid shirt and khaki slacks, he was visibly shaking as he stopped in front of the group. Looking at the man with the hand guns, he pleaded with him.

  “Sir, please don’t hurt my family.”

  The man laughed, throwing his head back. The others joined in, laughing raucously. The man was still chuckling as he stepped forward, approaching the man. Stopping in front of him, he reached up and put his hand on the side of the man’s face, smacking it lightly as he spoke.

  “Relax, homie, we’re just seeing how you’re doing. You doing alright?”

  The man, still shaking, nodded slightly.

  “You sure?”

  “Ye-ye-yeah.”

  The Hispanic man stepped back, gesturing around them. “I don’t know, homie. You say you’re alright, but you looking like you’re gonna piss your pants. You gonna piss your pants, Ése?”

  The white man stared at the ground, avoiding eye contact. “No,” he said softly, barely audible.

  The Hispanic man lunged forward, bringing one of his guns up as he did, pressing it against the side of the man’s head. “You sure?” He asked, pulling back the hammer.

  The front of the man’s slacks darkened as his bladder let go, sending urine down his legs. It pooled on the street around him, sending the groups of tormentors on both sides of the family into a fit of laughter.

  The passenger door of the little car burst open as the woman emerged. Her face was filled with anger as she stormed around the car, closing in on the man with the handguns.

  “Jeanie, no…” The man protested, putting his hands up.

  The look on his face was one of a man who’s been defeated, having been humiliated in front of his wife and children. The woman blew past him, stomping loudly, her light blue sundress clinging tightly to her sweat covered body.

  “How dare you?!” She asked the man, placing her hands on her hips. “We’re just passing through! We’re not looking for trouble. Just let us be!”

  The smile on the Mexican man’s face vanished as his eyes narrowed. He brazenly looked the woman up and down, evaluating her. “Hey, baby, calm down, alright?” The man slid towards her, bringing his body nearly up against hers, causing her eyes to widen in fear. He looked down at her chest, then back up at her face. “Maybe we can work something out.” His hand slipped around and grabbed a handful of her butt, squeezing it tightly. The woman gasped in shock, pulling away from the man. Her finger came up as she pointed at the grinning, tattooed covered man.

  “Don’t touch me!!”

  Behind the truck, Serrano shook his head and looked at his watch. It was 9:47. They had a mission to do, but this situation had to be addressed.

  For one thing, it was about to get really ugly, and he’d be damned if he’d let those children witness their mother being assaulted.

  For another, these assholes were in their way.

  He gave a hand gesture to gather the attention of his crew as the woman continued screaming at the Mexican man while he groped her. Serrano pointed at Dash, Skee, and Spider, then at the six men on the east side of the car. He motioned to himself, then at JJ, and pointed towards the five men to the west. He held up two fingers: two shots. Skee and Spider nodded, while J.J. and Dash gave a thumbs up while continuing to watch the scene in front of them.

  Chili pointed at Reed and put his hand out, palm downward, indicating he should stay low. Reed nodded, accepting the direction, though he desperately wanted to be part of dealing justice to these thugs.

  Serrano keyed something into his watch and Reed felt the watch on his arm buzz. Looking down at it, he saw a timer counting down from 30. Glancing over at Skee’s wrist, he saw the same countdown taking place. Apparently the watches were synced and Serrano was able to put them all on the same timer.

  Rip! The top of the woman’s dress was torn away, revealing her white bra underneath as the men laughed, hooted, and hollered in approval. One of the men stood over the husband, who was face down on the ground, his arms spread wide.

  When the countdown reached ten, the watch on Reed’s arm began emitting a short buzz every second so that it wouldn’t require watching.

  3…..

  2…..

  1…..

  A double buzz signified zero, and in that second Reed heard five simultaneous pops, followed a split second later by another round, then one single pop.

  He heard a series of thuds as bodies hit the ground, then all was quiet.

  The woman’s screaming resonated in the sudden silence created by the Navy SEALs.

  Rising from their positions, the SEAL team emerged from behind the truck like ghosts, striding forward silently, their eyes still scanning the area intently, ready to engage the next threat. Gravel crunched under their tactical boots as they gathered near the family’s car.

  The children looked up at the men in their camouflage uniforms, armor, and helmets, holding weapons at their shoulders, barrels pointing skyward.

  Skee waved at them, trying to put them at ease.

  It didn’t work.

  The woman stared in awe at the team as she helped her husband up off the ground, her eyes never leaving the team, except to watch as Doctor Reed broke away from the group and approached the two of them. “Are you okay?”

  The man looked away, still embarrassed by everything that had happened. He grunted and nodded, his hands coming down in a futile effort, trying to cover the wetness on the front of his pants.

  Jonathan turned to the woman. “Ma’am?”

  She nodded, crossing her arms in front of her in an attempt to cover herself. “Who are you people?” She asked, still in shock.

  Reed motioned towards where the team stood near the car. Skee was still trying to get a smile from the young girl in the car. “They’re SEAL Team Eight.

  “I’m just a doctor, along for the ride.” He stuck out his hand. “Jonathan Reed.”

  The woman took it, shaking it as she looked up at him. “I’m Sally Jessop. This is my husband Rick.”

  The man stepped over towards Reed. He brought up his hand, thought better of it, then simply nodded instead. “Thanks,” he said, looking past Jonathan at the group of men near his family’s car.

  Smiling in understanding, Jonathan followed his gaze. Looking at the warriors standing there, he marveled at the complete calmness they showed, as well as the knife’s edge readiness they still maintained as their eyes continued moving, constantly identifying and evaluating every possible threat they found.

  Turning back to the couple, he added, “Today was your lucky day.” He put his arm out, indicating that they should follow alongside him. When they began walking, he guided them back to the car, looking at the shops along the side of the street.
>
  Reaching the point where the team stood, he broke away, headed for his objective. In an instant, JJ was next to him.

  “Not cool, Doc. Where you going?”

  “Just want to grab something.” He pointed ahead at a store. “It should be right in there.”

  “Still not cool. We stay together.

  “If you intend to step away from the group, ask Chili first. Then he’ll assign one of us to go with you.”

  “Even when I take a piss?” Reed asked, jokingly.

  J.J. stared at him, unfazed seriousness on his face. “Yes.”

  Reaching the store, Reed and J.J. found the front door hanging off its hinges, leaning to the right inside the threshold of the store. The storefront windows had been reduced to piles of jagged glass on the pavement in front of the store. Above the windows, a sign read:

  Sally’s Gifts, Souvenirs, and More!

  J.J. put his hand out, holding Reed back. “Money says there ain’t nobody inside, not with all the racket out here, but I’ll check just in case.”

  Bringing his gun up to a ready position, he stepped into the store, leaving Jonathan on the pavement. Looking back over his shoulder, he saw Serrano and Skee talking with the family while Dash and Spinelli stood on either end, keeping guard.

  After a few minutes J.J. returned, nodding. “We’re good, Doc. Grab what you need.”

  “Okay, thanks.”

  J.J. followed him as Jonathan made his way over to a table stacked high with t-shirts. Grabbing two of the medium sized ones, he turned away, ready to head back. Seeing a pile of beach towels, he grabbed one, rolling the t-shirts inside of it and tucking it under his arm. J.J. reached out and touched Reed’s arm.

  “I’m gonna grab us something, too, come on.” He marched to the back of the store with Reed close behind. Seeing reusable shopping bags hanging from a rack, he grabbed one, popping it open when he reached the coolers at the back of the store. Opening one of the cooler doors, he found the drinks inside to be just a bit cooler than room temperature, but he decided it would be fine. He grabbed ten Gatorades of various flavors and threw them in the bag before looking around again and seeing stacks of water bottles in 24 packs. “Doc, do you mind? I need to keep a hand on my rifle.”