Surviving Rage | Book 1

by Arellano, J. D.

  Serafina’s hand held his chin in place, preventing the natural recoil of his neck, forcing his skull to take the brunt of the impact. The man’s eyes fluttered before rolling back in his head as his consciousness left him, his legs going limp under his weight. Serafina smoothly slid aside as he collapsed, falling forward, crashing to the ground hard, knocking out several of his front teeth as his face met the tiled floor of the store. Blood seeped from the back of his head where the can had split his scalp, mingling with that coming from his mouth and nose.

  Serafina sprung into action, pointing as she spoke. “Brenna, you and Isabella take some of those bags and grab all the cookies, crackers, and nuts you can, as well as water to drink on the way back. Ashley, come with me.” Brenna and the young Mexican girl grabbed reusable shopping bags and rushed down the snack aisle, where Brenna told the girl to put the packages of cookies and crackers on the bottom, then the nuts, and finally the chips.

  Serafina and Ashley rushed back to the first aid aisle, where they’d left the first bag, which was partially filled, grabbing two more reusable shopping bags as they went. Not even bothering to pick and choose, Serafina used her arm to scoop ointments, creams, and bottles of peroxide and rubbing alcohol into one of the bags, topping it with cotton balls and gauze. Ashley threw boxes of ibuprofen, acetaminophen, and aspirin in her bag, followed by band aids, medical tape, and an assortment of sports braces.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Serafina saw Brenna rushing down another aisle, stopping and filling her bag quickly. Glancing towards the front of the store, she saw the Mexican girl was pulling her torn shirt off, revealing a dirty white tank top underneath before sliding on one of the t-shirts that were made to target tourists that hung from a nearby rack.

  As she finished filling the first bag they’d grabbed with an assortment of cold and flu medicines, followed by bottles of cough syrup and bags of cough drops, she called out to the girls, “Alright, time to go!”

  The four of them met at the front of the store, weighed down by the bags they’d loaded. Serafina stole a quick glance at the man on the floor, relieved to see he was still motionless. Setting her bags on the floor near the entrance, she told the girls to wait while she checked to make sure there was no one lying in wait out front.

  Leaning forward slowly, she peered around the corner, gradually seeing more and more of the parking lot. When she was at last able to see the lot in its entirety, verifying it was empty, she looked back and nodded to the girls. Picking up her bags, she led the group out of the store, walking quickly along the front of the store and around to the side of the building where the Jeep waited.

  Opening the tailgate, she threw her bags in hurriedly, then rushed to get back into the vehicle, starting it while Ashley helped the others load their bags before closing the gate and jumping into the passenger seat. With the four of them loaded up, Serafina pulled out of the parking spot, driving over the curb and onto the side street behind the store. Turning right, she followed the road up to where it met Moonridge. Looking both ways quickly, she drove across the road, climbed the curb, and re-entered the long, paved waterway they’d taken on their way to the store.

  Once they were down in the lower part of the paved waterway, she gave the Jeep more gas, putting aside the requirement for stealth in exchange for increasing distance between them and the man in the store, whose friends were likely to come looking for him at any minute.

  They’d escaped, but they’d also made their presence known.

  CHAPTER FIFTY NINE

  “Damn, that’s good.”

  Holding the bottle up in front of his face, the thin, long-haired man stared at it in admiration.

  “No matter how many times I drink Jack Daniels Black, that first sip is always the best.” He brought the bottle up to his mouth, leaning his head back as he drank, his greasy black hair dangling behind him.

  Sheriff Halwell grinned, taking a swig from his own bottle of JD Black. He’d always been more of a Jim Beam guy, but he could appreciate Jack Daniels, too. The brown liquid burned his throat slightly as it went down, warming his chest. Bringing the bottle down, he held it in his hand as he surveyed the store. ‘Not much else besides booze,’ he thought, looking at the shelves, which were predominantly filled with hard alcohol and cheap wine. Over near the register, there were a few small bags of peanuts, along with a handful of snack-sized bags of chips, but that was about it. The dark and quiet refrigerators showed mostly beer through the glass exteriors, which were now spotted with black mold around the corners. ‘Oh well,’ he thought, taking another drink from the bottle. ‘Not every place will be a win.’

  Turning to Ricky and the two other men, he raised his bottle. “Great job today, guys.”

  The three men smiled, raising their bottles as well before taking a drink. One of the men, a brown-haired, big bodied man named Clive grinned widely, showing multiple missing teeth among his remaining collection of brown ones. “Fuckin’ killed a bunch of ‘em today, boss!”

  “Yes you did, Clive. That was some good shooting.” Halwell turned away, rolling his eyes. The truth was that Clive was a HORRIBLE shot, a fact that was routinely covered up by his use of the modified AR-15 that allowed him to shoot in full automatic mode. He used more bullets than anyone else and had less kills than anyone else, which was why Halwell had to limit the man’s participation in these hunting expeditions.

  Next to the fat man, Ricky was already halfway through his bottle, his eyes taking on the glassy look they had most days. The man’s drinking was starting to become a problem, but it was one Halwell didn’t have time to deal with at the moment. Maybe he’d have Kyle talk to him.

  ‘Speaking of Kyle…’ Halwell looked at his watch. His right-hand man had been gone nearly fifteen minutes.

  He pointed his bottle towards the long-haired man, who was busy admiring the selection of bourbon on one of the shelves. “Jerry, go check on Kyle, will ya?”

  Shoulders slumping, the man nodded, looking disappointed. “Alright.” He squinted as he looked towards the door and the bright light of the afternoon sun. Grabbing a pair of sunglasses off a rack, he tore the tag off and slid them onto his face before stepping through the doors, his feet crunching the broken glass.

  Halwell walked to the counter and lifted the top, opening a path to the cashier’s area. Lowering himself into the cashier’s chair, he reached into his pocket and withdrew a cigar. He bit off the end, stuck it in his mouth, then lit it, using his favorite zippo lighter, one that he’d stolen from his father. On the side of it was a Presidential seal that memorialized a meeting between the previous president and the leader of a communist country. Though the meeting had never accomplished anything, at least it showed he’d been willing to meet with him. Halwell held it up, admiring it before stuffing it back in his pocket. He sat back, closing his eyes as he enjoyed his cigar. On the other side of the store, the two other men went on and on about their shooting, reliving each kill they’d made as they continued drinking their whiskey.

  Sheriff Halwell was jolted out of his relaxation by the sound of Jerry rushing back into the store. Opening his eyes, Halwell looked over at the man. The man rested his hand on the counter as he struggled to catch his breath, his eyes wide with fear.

  The man gulped in air between each word. “Got...to...come…Kyle…hurt...”

  Halwell lunged forward in his seat and stood up. Throwing the counter top back, he stormed towards the door, unaware and uncaring of the fact that the piece of wood slammed onto Jerry’s hand, smashing his fingers. The man cried out, pulling his hand away and clutching it to his chest as he winced in pain.

  Outside, Halwell looked over at the drugstore across the wide intersection. “Ricky, keys!” He demanded, not wanting to walk the distance.

  Ricky appeared behind Halwell, slurring his words as he replied. “Kyle’s got ‘em.”

  Suddenly angry at the man for being drunk, the Sheriff turned and glared at him, his eyes burning holes into the man. Even
in his drunken stupor, Ricky knew he was on thin ice and took a step back, looking over at the store to avoid making eye contact.

  “Fine. Let’s go.” Halwell said, tossing his cigar to the ground. He marched across the wide street, the three men following closely behind. Sweat began to form on his brow and down the center of his back as the afternoon sun beat down on him, unrelenting in its intensity.

  Halwell’s head moved back and forth as he walked across the parking lot, looking for signs of danger or clues as to what or who had attacked his longtime friend. The man hanging out of the wrecked truck was surely no threat, and the car near the front of the store looked as if it were about to sprout roots, having been there so long.

  ‘What was it, then?’ He wondered, frowning as he approached the door. At the entryway, he stood to the side, pointing to the three others. “Clear it.”

  The men rushed into the store without hesitation, Ricky slipping slightly on the loose glass as he did. Within seconds, Clive’s voice called out, “All clear, boss!”

  Stepping into the dim light of the store, Halwell took a moment to let his eyes adjust before walking to where the three men stood around Kyle’s prone form, staring down at him.

  Feeling the anger rise up within him, Halwell asked, “Well, is he alive?”

  The men looked at each other stupidly, reminding him of the three stooges. “Uhhh….” Jerry began.

  “FUCKING CHECK!!!” Halwell roared, reaching out and smacking the man in the back of the head, knocking him forward. The man dropped to one knee, reaching down and feeling for a pulse on Kyle’s neck. It was there, but weak. Breathing a sigh of relief, Jerry looked up at the Sheriff, nodding.

  “He’s alive, boss.”

  Halwell nodded. “Good, turn him over. Ricky, go get some bandages.”

  Jerry and Clive gently turned Kyle over onto his back, gasping when they saw the mess his nose and mouth had become.

  Halwell evaluated the man, his eyes searching the body for other signs of injury. Seeing none, it was apparent Kyle hadn’t been attacked by one of the infected. Had he been, there would have been much more damage, and his friend would almost certainly be dead.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ricky approaching slowly. Turning his head, he saw the drunk man standing there, avoiding eye contact once again.

  Fresh out of patience, Halwell barked at the man. “What is it?”

  “There ain’t none, boss.”

  Halwell stepped forward, towering over the man. “The fuck do you mean?”

  “Bandages, boss. There ain’t none. Someone must’ve taken them all.”

  “Bullshit.” Halwell stormed forward, brushing past Ricky roughly. He walked to the end of the aisle and cut over to the aisle labeled ‘First Aid.’ When he got to the place on the shelves where bandages and wraps should have been, he found the section empty save a few packages of small Dora the Explorer Band-Aids.

  Ricky’s voice came from behind him. “See boss, I was tellin’ the truth.”

  “Shut up.” Halwell stared at the empty shelves, thinking. Clearly someone had come and raided those specific things. Who were they? He looked around the store as his mind worked on the challenge of both helping his friend and gathering clues about who had been there.

  He began moving through the store, gathering what he needed. He grabbed a roll of athletic tape and a roll of the cushioned pre-wrap that was designed to protect the skin. Seeing nothing else to soak up the blood and stop the bleeding, he reluctantly made his way to the feminine hygiene section, intent on grabbing a package of maxi-pads. When he got there, he found the section to be nearly cleaned out as well, causing him to pause. ‘Women? Women, Kyle? You got taken out by fuckin’ women?’ Shaking his head he grabbed one of the remaining boxes of maxi-pads and headed back to the front of the store, grabbing a bottle of water along the way.

  When he reached where the others stood, Ricky having rejoined them, he thrust the bottle of water, packages of tape, and box of maxi-pads at Clive. “Clean him up and use this to stop the bleeding.” He turned to Jerry. “Grab the keys from his pocket and go get the truck so we can take him back to the lodge. That black woman is a nurse. She can help him.”

  Ricky looked at Halwell expectantly. “What do you want me to do, boss?”

  Halwell glared at the man. “Shut the fuck up and stay out of the way.”

  The man turned away, mumbling, “I’ll go keep watch outside.”

  “Fine.” Halwell said shortly. “Don’t piss yourself while you’re out there.”

  Ricky followed Jerry through the doors, leaving Halwell alone with Clive, who was using the water to was h away the blood from Kyle’s face.

  “Um, Boss?” The fat man asked meekly.

  “What is it?”

  “I think the tape will stick better if I can dry the area first.”

  Halwell nodded reluctantly, still angry but seeing the man’s point. “Hold on.” Looking around, his eyes settled on a rack of t-shirts. He walked to the rack and grabbed the first shirt, and tossed it to Jerry. “Here.” When he stepped forward, he felt something against his foot. Looking down, he saw a dirty black shirt lying there. He reached down and picked it up, reeling slightly at the smell coming from the fabric, then held it up in front of him, reading the words on the front.

  Maroon 5

  Why did that seem familiar?

  CHAPTER SIXTY

  Unvaccinated

  Doctor Reed looked at the note, perplexed. Did Roberts have a vaccine that he’d been unable to give his subjects in time? Were they supposed to receive a vaccine before the treatment? Did the note even apply to the situation?

  Across the room, Serrano stepped away from the window, looking over at Orlosky. “Alright, big guy, take your position.” Skee rose from the couch, looking mostly recovered from the exertion, shouldered his rifle, and led the way out into the hallway, turning left. Serrano followed him out, breaking right as he exited the room.

  Taking a deep breath, Jonathan decided he’d have time to figure out what Roberts meant later, if he meant anything at all. He folded the post it note and stuffed in the pocket on the arm of his uniform blouse. “J.J., you ready to get started?”

  “Definitely. The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can head back.”

  “Yep. Okay, clear off part of the couch. When I give you a file, I want you to take a picture of the back, then each page inside, then the front of the file.”

  J.J. cocked his head, looking at Reed. “Won’t that be backwards?”

  “Not on the memory card. When we look at it on the computer, we’ll read from left to right. The file cover will be first.”

  “Got it.”

  Jonathan grabbed the bottle of whiskey on the desk and carefully set it in the trash can. Looking at the 90+ patient files on the desk and adjoining table, there simply wouldn’t be time to copy all of them. He pulled open the file cabinet drawer on the desk. There were a number of hanging files within, each labeled. The thickest file was the one labeled, ROGENEX. He grabbed it and handed it to JJ. “Every page. Don’t miss anything, ok?”

  “You got it, Doc.” J.J. kneeled on the carpet in front of the couch and began placing the pieces of paper on it, taking pictures of each side before setting them aside.

  With that in progress, Jonathan looked back at the file cabinet. There were a number of other interesting topics listed on the labels, but none that pertained to the Rage Virus. Looking at the dry erase board on the wall, he saw a massive list of names, broken into five columns of twenty. A number of names on the board had asterisks next to their names. Counting the asterisks, he came to a total of sixteen, the same number Jonathan, Lisa, and Andrew had come up with for patient zeroes.

  ‘Now we’re getting somewhere,’ he thought, nodding to himself, feeling the surge of confidence from the fact that their data aligned with Roberts's data. Looking back at the stacks of files on the desk, he noticed that each of them had a red ‘X’ on the cover. He read thre
e of the names: Allen, Liguria, Scanlan. Looking to the board, he found the names and noticed each had an asterisk next to the name. ‘Alright, now I see your system,’ he said to himself, moving to the table. A stack of files there had red X’s on them, so he grabbed the stack and moved it to the desk, clearing a space for it.

  Jefferson’s voice broke the silence. “Twenty-five minutes, Doc. I’ll update you every five.”

  Shaking his head, Reed replied, “Thanks.” ‘Shit. Not enough time,’ he thought, looking at the stacks. Something caught his eye on one of the files, a splash of color. Reaching for it, he read the name. Harris, Raylene . A pink post-it note stuck out from one of the pages. Opening the file to that page, he glanced over it. Nothing was annotated; no markings, no highlights, nothing. ‘Shit!’ He thought.

  “J.J., this one next, please.” He passed the file to the young man.

  J.J. stood up and grabbed it from him. “Gotcha. Almost done with this one.”

  Jonathan looked back at the desk and saw a pink post-it protruding from another file. He grabbed it. Elliot, Brandon . Like the Harris file, it had no annotations on the page, only the pink post-it, serving as a flag. He threw the file open on the desk and began taking snapshots of the pages, working quickly from back to front. When he was done with the file, he stepped over to set the file on the nearby table. When he felt his foot kick something under the desk, he looked down. There was a gun there on the floor, and next to it another file, lying face down on the carpet, left open to a page. He had a suspicion as to what page it would be open to.

  “Twenty minutes.” Jefferson’s voice called out.

  Reaching down, Jonathan grabbed the file. Scanlan, Geoff . As he thought, the file was open to the same page. It was a detailed blood analysis, showing all substances in the body, from naturally occurring, to foreign substances, to trace amounts of medications. Like the other files, it had no markings. He set it down and took snapshots of the file quickly. He searched through the remaining files that matched the names of the infected, looking for additional post-its, but found none. Grabbing a blank piece of paper from the printer on the table, he wrote the three names on it, then folded it and put in the arm pocket where he’d put Doctor Roberts's cryptic note.