Surviving Rage | Book 2

by Arellano, J. D.

  Rushing back to Parker’s side, he knelt down as he looked him over. His left eye was badly bruised, as were his lips. Some of his hair had been torn out, leaving bloody patches of scalp revealed. Worst of all were the scratches on his neck, which looked to be deeper than those he’d suffered on his arm, and where his own scratches had been caused by Rosie’s sharp nails, these had been formed through sheer tearing of flesh.

  “Uhhhh….” his friend moaned, moving his head slightly.

  Screams sound from somewhere close by.

  “Shit! Come on, man, we’ve got to get back inside!”

  Pulling his friend into a seated position, he threw the man’s arm over his shoulder, then grabbed his hand to hold the arm in place and rose into a standing position. Parker moaned in pain as Timothy dragged him back to the building. Once inside the building, he took a moment to catch his breath, leaning against the wall as he continued to support his friend’s weight. Looking up at the stairs, he swallowed.

  ‘This is going to be tough,’ he said to himself.

  He began climbing the steps, one by one, lifting Parker at each riser. He begged his friend to help him, and to his credit, the man tried, but he’d clearly sustained a concussion, and his steps were both short and low, causing his feet to catch on the edge of the steps rather than clear them. The two of them almost fell three times before Parker stopped asking for help, realizing that he should be happy enough at the fact that his friend was at least helping to support his own weight.

  When they returned to the apartment, Timothy hesitated, pausing at the sight of the open door. Had he left it open? Even worse, was someone inside?

  Another moan from Parker broke his paralysis and he rushed into their small rental, dragging his friend to the couch, where he deposited him unceremoniously, glad that the couch, though old, was still well cushioned. Turning back to the door, he quickly closed it, then rushed to the kitchen, where he grabbed their new ‘biggest’ knife, and held it as he checked their bedrooms and the shared bathroom for intruders. Finding none, he returned to the kitchen, where he used Parker’s method for treating the wounds. He cleaned each, then pressed a cloth against the wounds. He obviously couldn’t tie the towel around his friend’s neck, so he held it in place while he leaned his friend to the side, allowing the back of the couch and a pillow to hold the towel in place. Lastly, he went back to the kitchen and filled a used plastic grocery bag with what ice he could get from the two trays in their freezer, then returned to the couch and gently held it against his friend’s left eye.

  Holding it there, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes, suddenly feeling exhausted as his adrenaline dissipated. He could hear more and more screaming outside on the street in front of their apartment building, but none of it seemed to be specifically getting closer to their apartment. It was, however, apparent that the virus had taken over their neighborhood.

  “Unhhh…”

  “Take it easy, man.”

  “Wha happen?”

  “Fuckin’ mailman attacked you, bro.”

  “Rodney? He...cool, though.”

  “I don’t know. Shit’s fuckin’ crazy, man.”

  “Am I gonna die?”

  Looking his friend over once more, Timothy was confident that none of the injuries were life threatening.

  “No way, dude. You just need to take it easy.”

  Parker said nothing for a while, then asked, “Am I gonna turn into one of those things?”

  Timothy’s mind worked as he tried to find the right answer. He had no idea why he hadn’t turned, so he had no way of knowing whether or not his friend would.

  Unless…

  “No way, man.”

  Parker’s right eye opened and stared at him. When he spoke, he sounded like he was talking with his mouth full of mashed potatoes. “You sure? I don’t want to die, man, and I don’t want to become one of them.”

  “Don’t worry, man, I know what to do.”

  “What?”

  “This, man.” He held up the syringe and the bag of heroin. “It’s like, the reason I didn’t turn into one, man.”

  Parker’s bruised mouth curled into a smile. “Cool…”

  “Yeah, man. Now just rest for a minute and I’ll take care of you.”

  “Okay...” He closed his eyes.

  Remembering how his friend had done it, Timothy quickly heated the drug, then filled the syringe with the liquid. Setting the spoon aside, he held the syringe upright, depressing the plunger as he expelled the air. Looking back at the spoon, he saw there was still more there. ‘Maybe a little more, just to be sure.’

  A little more turned out to be too much.

  Parker died while Timothy was in the shower, washing away the blood and filth that had accumulated on his body over the last two days.

  When he returned to the living room to find his friend’s body, he’d shook the man violently, calling out his name as he tried to wake him. When it became clear that he wasn’t coming back, Timothy broke down in tears, falling to the floor as grief overwhelmed him.

  “I’m sorry, man, I’m so sorry,” he said over and over, as he cried, rocking himself back and forth on the cheap, stained carpet.

  After some time, he got up and stumbled to the kitchen, where he chugged the last two beers in the fridge. The buzz helped dull the pain a bit, so he returned to the couch and lit up a joint.

  Turning the TV back on, he watched the devastation that was taking place throughout the country, smoking more and more marijuana as he eventually became numb to the scenes of death and destruction.

  At some point the picture went away completely and grey static filled the screen.

  He didn’t care. It was just noise, anyway.

  “I miss you, bro,” he said to his friend, his words barely audible over the white noise emanating from the television. The weed was helping with the sorrow, as it allowed him to drift away into the memories they’d made over the fifteen years of friendship they’d shared, but it did little to block out the guilt he felt.

  Looking down at the still healing grooves on his arm, he shook his head. It wasn’t fair. Why hadn’t the heroin worked on Parker? It’d helped him. It’s not like he was immune or something…

  You killed your friend, Timothy.

  ‘No man, it was an accident…’

  First you killed Rosie, then you killed Rodney, and now you killed Parker.

  ‘I was trying to help!’

  Grabbing the bag of heroin and the syringe, he fixed himself his second and last dose of the deadly drug.

  The picture on the television changed to one of colored bars.

  “This is the Emergency Broadcast System with an urgent announcement. If you or someone you know is immune to the Rage Virus, please make your way to one of the protective zones immediately. Your help is needed as soon as possible. Protective zones had been set up in San Francisco, Oklahoma City, Indianapolis, and Boston…”

  CHAPTER TEN

  The United States of America was dying.

  The country that was home to over 300 million people was on its last legs as it struggled to survive. The virus showed no discrimination as it decimated the population, turning people into killing machines regardless of who they were prior to the infection. Old, young, tall, short, heavy, thin, fit, out of shape, physical attributes and/or wellness didn’t matter. Ethnicity and race made no difference either as the virus consumed the people. Wealth did make a slight difference, since the poorest, living in cramped spaces and in close proximity to one another, were infected much more rapidly than those who had the opportunity to isolate effectively, but eventually the virus ran through the entire range of the country’s classes, saving the wealthy for last, finding its way into their homes via housekeepers, repair technicians, grocery delivery people, and the like.

  Those who managed to hide, to stay clear of the Rage-filled infected that sought to destroy anything and everything in their path, watched as the country that held so many hopes and
dreams for its inhabitants began to die a slow, painful death. Some cities, like Los Angeles, had burned to the ground, the fires unchecked as they raged, consuming everything in their path. Other cities simply went dark as power grids failed, leaving the remaining residents isolated, cold, and hungry. Cities seemed to shrink as people moved closer and closer to the city centers in an attempt to pool resources and establish defenses.

  Smaller cities and towns in more remote locations were taken back by nature slowly as first the grass, then shrubs, then bushes began to spread into areas they’d previously been kept back from. In time, nature would win the battle for the land.

  It always did.

  For decades, mankind had abused the planet constantly, sending pollution into the rivers and skies, trash into the lakes and oceans, and numerous gases into the atmosphere without remorse, always assuming the planet would find a way to adapt and survive. Those who protested the abuse were labeled as alarmist or deemed as Anti-American, supposedly wishing that the country would fail over a ‘few oil spills’ or a ‘little bit of methane gas’, but rational people saw what had been happening.

  The Earth was losing the battle.

  Maybe the virus was Mother Nature’s way of fighting back.

  Part III

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Mount Weather Emergency Operations Center, Virginia

  “I can’t stand this,” the tall blonde woman stated, rising from her chair. Resuming the pacing that seemed to occupy so much of her time, she twirled a loose strand of her hair around her finger as she thought about how hamstrung they were.

  So close and yet so far.

  All of their efforts, all of their analysis, all of their work had brought them so close to solving the problem, and yet they were stuck now, waiting for something - actually, someone - to be brought to them.

  “Neither can I.” Doctor Chang added, sitting back on the thick leather couch and resting his head on the plush cushions. Reaching up, he removed his glasses, before pinching the bridge of his nose. Staring at the computer screen for the last three hours had made his eyes tired, as well as his neck, shoulders, and upper back. Maybe he needed to pace as well.

  Rising from his chair, he looked over at Doctor Bowman, watching for a second as the woman’s long legs moved her back and forth across the length of the room.

  “Wanna go for a walk?” He asked, pointing towards the door.

  The statuesque woman paused, chewing her lip as she thought. Her eyes moved towards her desk, where mounds of paper were stacked next to multiple notebooks that were filled with her handwritten notes.

  “Come on, Lisa. Fresh air’s one of the few pleasures we can still enjoy,” Andrew reasoned, smiling slightly. Fresh fruits and vegetables had run out three days ago, and while three days wasn’t very long, it seemed like they’d been eating canned vegetables for ages. The remaining meats available were from the deep freezers that occupied the back portions of the base Dining Facility, and though the cooks that worked there were good at the craft, the meat was occasionally tough and usually flavorless.

  Nodding, she relented. “Okay, you make a good point.” Removing her access card from the computer, she slid it into the holder around her neck. “Besides, Jon can’t be the only one of us getting exercise.”

  “Also a great point.” Chang replied, grabbing his access card as well. He walked over to the mini fridge in the corner and withdrew two of the pre-filled reusable water bottles. Passing one to her, he opened the door to the lab, gesturing for her to exit first.

  She smiled as she walked past. “Thanks, and I said you made a good point. I - ” she said, jabbing her thumb towards her chest, “made a great point. Jon spends at least four hours exercising each day. I don’t know how he does it.”

  Chang looked down at his stomach, which had started decreasing in size, thanks to the time he’d been spending on the treadmill in his room. “Well, I’m sure he’s in great shape.”

  Lisa smiled at him as she turned away, leading them down the hall. “Yes, yes he is. VERY good shape.”

  “Are we sure there’s nothing else we can do while we wait?” Lisa asked, wiping a light sheen of sweat away from her forehead with the back of her hand. The day was hot and humid, and the dark clouds off to the south looked like they'd bring rain, which would be a blessing. Rain could be captured and filtered to help accommodate the base residents, providing some level of relief to the closely monitored water usage. Scheduled shower days had become the norm, and the lack of easy access to running water was proving to be a difficult thing for people to get used to.

  Looking around as he spoke, he hoped rain would also help bring some green back to the brownish landscape of the military base.

  “Fairly certain. If we only had to deal with responding to the introduction of Doctor Roberts’ drug, we could simply make sure everyone received new doses of standard vaccines, but we now need to figure out how to develop something that can fight off the new mutation of the virus.”

  Lisa shook her head, looking at the dark asphalt beneath their feet. “And we don’t know how to synthesize a cure without understanding how the blood can properly react to fight off the introduction of the newly mutated virus.”

  “Precisely. We need to see how the blood of an immune person reacts.”

  Lisa exhaled loudly, her frustration clear in the sound. “Shit,” she said, looking off into the distance. Across the large field of brown grass, a mother and father played frisbee with their two children.

  It was the most normal thing she’d seen in weeks.

  “Hey,” Andrew began, following her gaze before smiling at the sight of the family, “we have accomplished a few things. Most importantly, when we verified that the blood of the unvaccinated reacted with Doctor Roberts’ drug the way we’d anticipated, we developed a method for producing a sample virus, one which we can use to test the vaccines we develop in the future.”

  “We’ll still need blood samples from the newly infected. Those who have the mutated version of the virus.”

  “True, but the blood of someone immune will be able to fight that as well, and we’ll likely have a ninety to ninety-five percent solution based on that.”

  Realizing she’d been staring at the family, Doctor Bowman hastily turned her head, not wanting to alarm them. “So we wait.” She said with an air of finality.

  “Yes,” Doctor Chang replied. “We wait.” He looked in the direction of the quarantine area. “Hopefully not for too much longer.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  San Jose, California

  The white Cadillac Escalade maneuvered through the wrecked cars that lined the sides of the streets as it made its way north through the city. The windows were tinted pitch black, making it impossible to see how many people rode inside the big SUV. Behind the vehicle was a large black Chevy Suburban, similar in size and with similarly dark windows.

  Slowing as it approached the intersection, the windows on the Escalade descended, revealing tattooed men with guns in the front and rear seats of the vehicle. The four men looked in either direction, their eyes scanning for signs of people. Their objective was those people who hadn’t been infected, but they’d gladly deal with any of the infected they came across, should the need arise.

  After several long moments, the man in the front passenger seat slumped back in his seat, frustrated. Reaching up, he pulled his Oakland Raiders hat down until the bill was aligned with his eyebrows.

  Tired and bored, Hector “León” Guitierrez brought a joint to his lips and inhaled deeply. Moving the joint away, he held the smoke in for several long seconds, then exhaled, blowing a large cloud of smoke out the window.

  ‘How long until another caravan comes this way?’ He wondered, thinking about how they’d overtaken the last group of survivors trying to get to San Francisco. It’d been a bloodbath, and when it was over they’d killed twelve and taken five hostages, all young women. The men had fought valiantly, trying to protect their group, but they�
��d been no match for the superior firepower and numbers of Hector’s gang.

  Taking another puff from his joint, he looked towards the high rises that were clustered near the downtown area. He and his crew would soon run through them, taking what they want and killing those who got in their way.

  Killing was nothing new for him or any member of the Varrio Diablo, which had been one of the most dominant gangs in San Jose, California, for well over ten years. In fact, taking a life was the most important part of the initiation process. What better way to be sure that a new member was a) not hard enough, b) not a member of a rival gang, or c) not a cop, than to have the person kill a member of one of the other gangs that threatened their turf? Hector and his men would only go as far as to lend a weapon and provide the ride, but wouldn’t interfere. If they were successful, cool. If not, they usually died during the attempt, and if they didn’t, they were hunted down by the other gang within a few days. It was a tough initiation, but it had proven to be highly effective. He’d done it, his brother had done it, and both of his cousins had done it. Javier Dominguez, aka Serpiente (snake), the leader of their gang until he’d been killed in a hit at a taco shop two years ago, had done it as well, and had actually killed three members of the West Side Familia, their biggest rival gang.

  When Serpiente died, there’d been little doubt amongst the members of Varrio Diablo about who would take his place. Standing five ten and a hundred and seventy five pounds, he was far from the tallest or most muscular, but Hector had been Javier’s right-hand man for the last five years, and his penchant for violence and his strategic decision making had made him the obvious choice.