His first decision? New initiations would be required to kill no less than two members of the West Side Familia gang. It provided Varrio Diablo with a cheap supply of henchmen, as well as some level of deniability.
His decision had proven highly effective. West Side Familia numbers had been cut by over a third by the time they decided to take the fight to Varrio Diablo, and while their forces were being decimated, the Diablo’s were growing. The result of the battle was a decimation of the WSF, culminating with Hector staring down their leader as he pulled the trigger, sending a bullet through the man’s eye and into his brain.
Hector had said the right things, and completed the act without hesitation, but in truth the man had done him a favor by killing Javier. The man had lacked ambition. He’d been more than happy to rule their ten square block area, never feeling the need to expand their turf. With new members coming in, the opportunity was there to increase their footprint, to reach into new areas and take what was there, but Javier had been too fat and lazy to seize what was there for the taking. Sitting around, surrounded by young women and an endless supply of booze, weed, and cocaine, the man had been all too satisfied to maintain the status quo.
Where was the fun in that?
More importantly, where was the STRENGTH in that?
Hector’s long-held belief was that an empire was either growing or dying. There was no in between. Stagnation bred complacency. Complacency introduced vulnerability. Vulnerability made you a target.
Under Hector’s leadership, they’d grown their turf to encompass over twenty square blocks, doubling their footprint in the city, and during that time, they’d killed off or absorbed three smaller gangs. He left them little choice. Join and prove allegiance (through initiation), or die. That was it.
But he wanted more.
With the spread of the Rage Virus, the police force had been effectively shut down, leaving nothing in their way. While other gangs had approached the situation with unbridled enthusiasm, Hector had made them do the unthinkable.
He’d made them wait.
He instituted a quarantine for their members, requiring them to remain in their homes unless they were on patrol. Armed patrols cruised their turf, day and night, 24/7, looking for the infected and killing them without hesitation. No one came in, no one went out.
Failure to comply with his orders meant death, plain and simple.
After a week, he’d gathered his gang in the park that was near the center of their territory. Stepping up onto a picnic table, he’d looked at the men and women who lived under his rule.
“Alright, check this out homies. This damn virus killed a lot of people out there, right?”
The people around him nodded and vocalized their agreement.
Taking a puff of his joint, he asked, “But we still here, right?”
Again his crew agreed with him.
“And we here ‘cause of me. I’m the one that set up the quarantine. I’m the one that keep you inside, where you’re safe, know what I’m sayin’?
“But now it’s time for us to get ours, right? We goin’ out there, and we gon’ take what we want.”
“Yeah!” The people cheered, raising their bottles of beer in agreement as they nodded and pumped their fists.
He pointed off towards the center of the city. “The police ain’t even around no more. They gave up. Ain’t nothing and nobody gon’ stand in our way.
“The infected people out there ain’t nuttin’ to worry ‘bout, neither.” He pulled his silver plated pistol from the waistband of his pants and pretended to aim it at something in front of him. “You shoot ‘em, they die. Bang!
“Just don’t let ‘em sneak up on you, and you’ll be aight. That’s why I’m making a three person rule: No one goes out with less than two people. You stick together, you watch out for threats, and you do your job, aight?”
People eagerly nodded in agreement excitedly. His desire to grow their gang and expand their turf had become infectious. They wanted more.
And now it was time to get it.
“Aight, Julio’s gon’ divide you up into teams, and we gon’ start taking the West Side. I want at least three blocks in each direction every day, got it?” He didn’t wait for their response. They knew the deal.
“We get the West Side, then we decide what we want next.”
“You coming with us, León?” Someone asked enthusiastically.
Hector didn’t mind the question. He knew they gravitated towards him and simply wanted him to be there.
“Nah, ese. Me and a couple homies gonna take care of some shit.”
Which brought him to the present.
Looking down at the list of addresses, he checked the street name on the sign. “Left here,” he said, smiling.
The driver turned the wheel, guiding the Escalade down the street. The black Suburban followed them.
Hector grinned. Of the three homes they’d visited, they’d only had to kill one family so far. At the other two they’d found the occupants already dead, killed by one or more of the infected. Even though it was likely that the number of occupants who’d survived was small, it was important that they visited each one. They had to be thorough if they wanted to be successful in the long run.
Impressing his people yet again, it had been his idea to hit the local police station, to take out any resistance and to add to their stockpile of weapons. It was a bold decision, one of high risk and high reward.
They’d pulled it off without much trouble, overwhelming the three remaining police officers in the station in minutes, killing them in a barrage of gunfire that shattered windows, chewed up furniture, and shredded bodies. The police officers’ bulletproof vests hadn’t helped much as they’d taken rounds to their legs, necks, and heads.
It was a resounding success, and one that gave them more firepower and more protection. The station’s riot gear had been gathered and taken back to their turf, where he’d decide how it would be used. Bulletproof vests and helmets had been distributed amongst the men (and two women) that rode with him, making them feel even more unstoppable.
But it was his next move that surprised everyone.
Using a password hacking tool one of his men had obtained through intimidation and force, he hacked into the police chief’s computer. Searching through the computer’s files, he quickly located what he was looking for: a personnel roster.
One that listed home addresses for each member of the force.
Three down and eleven to go, including the chief’s home, which he’d decided to save for last.
From there, they’d expand into the next district.
‘Grow or die,’ he thought to himself, taking another puff of his joint.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
North Los Angeles, California
Chief Petty Officer Gabriel “Chili” Serrano grimaced as he stepped up onto the short wall that bordered the parking lot of the industrial building. His body was still sore from the battle he’d been in just over a week ago, the one that left him unconscious and comatose for three days. His physical injuries were slowly healing, but the emotional scars caused by the loss of his team would take much longer to heal, if they ever would. To call them teammates would be more than insufficient or inaccurate. They were men he’d fought beside, facing death over and over. They were men he’d saved, and men who’d saved him. They’d bled together, they’d learned to fight as one, defeating the enemy time and time again.
They were family.
And they were dead.
Behind Serrano, four people followed: a young woman, a white man in his mid-twenties, an older white man, and a black man that was also in his twenties.
The older white man was Richard Singletary, a Marine Corps Vet that had served as a sniper in Vietnam. Lean and tall, the old man’s face was surprisingly smooth for someone in his early seventies. Dressed in a flannel shirt, blue jeans, and hiking boots, the old man followed behind his granddaughter, Jennifer Singletary.
&nbs
p; Similar to what she wore when Chili first saw her, she was dressed in black jeans, a black t-shirt with a heavy metal band logo on it (this one Metallica), and black combat boots. Her dark hair was short, stopping at her shoulders, and her skin was both flawless and pale. Pretty and a little too thin for her five foot five inch frame, she carried herself with a confidence that was uncommon in twenty-one year olds.
Her age surprised Chili, as he had thought her to be a teenager when he’d first seen her, but he later realized his assumption was partly due to her manner of dress and lack of makeup, along with his own perceptions: any woman under the age of 25 looked like a kid to him.
Prior to the outbreak of the virus, she’d been powering her way through college, taking a course load that would see her graduate with a degree in microbiology after only three and a half years in school.
The young white man was her brother, Richard’s grandson Phillip. At twenty-three, he was a Sergeant in the Marine Corps, and had been stationed at Twenty-Nine Palms prior to the outbreak. Like his grandfather, he was tall and lean at six-two and two hundred pounds, and like his grandfather, he was dark haired and had a friendly smile that put others at ease.
The young black man, Sergeant Aaron Dennard, was a platoon leader member in his Company at Twenty-Nine Palms, and one of Phillip’s closest friends. At six foot and two hundred twenty pounds, he was heavier and stronger than Phillip, but easily kept pace with the fastest men in the company, including Phillip, when they were out on their long distance runs. Over the last two years, what had started as a friendly rivalry between the two men had turned into a solid friendship, which had only gotten stronger during their last deployment to Afghanistan.
A week and a half ago, Aaron had accompanied Phillip on a trip to Los Angeles to visit Phillip’s family when things went south in a hurry. Two days prior to their rescue of Serrano, Jennifer, Phillip, and Aaron had gone to the store to load up on groceries as they prepared to ‘shelter in place’ and wait things out. When the trio returned, they arrived just as the sibling’s mother attacked their father on the front lawn of their childhood home, killing him in the process.
Without consideration for the horrible thing she’d done, the woman turned away from their father’s dead body and charged at their elderly neighbor, taking him to the ground and beating him with a savage fury they’d never seen from the small woman. At that moment, they’d known she was lost.
When flames burst forth from the window of their home, they knew they were lost as well.
Sitting in an idling car, unable to go home, they considered their options. Aaron called their supervisor, Staff Sergeant Whitley, who answered on the third ring.
‘Hello?’ Aaron could hear the sound of gunfire in the background, accompanied by the sounds of glass breaking, loud banging, and distant screams.
‘Staff Sergeant Whitley? This is Sergeant Dennard.’
‘Fuck me, Dennard, where are you?’
‘In L.A., Staff Sergeant. We just saw - ‘
‘Someone kill someone else with their bare hands? Yeah, no shit. That’s happening all over here…’ A loud crash echoed in the phone, sounding closer than before.
Stunned, Dennard paused before asking, ‘What do you mean? Like, in town?’
‘Shit, I wish. On base, man. Shit’s bad. Captain killed the Gunnery Sergeant.’
‘Fuck!’
‘Yeah. Then he turned on the Major.’
‘Damn! Where are you now?’
‘Holed up in the barracks. Can’t get out.’ Another crash sounded. ‘Fuck!’ The man exclaimed.
Dennard paused, unsure of what to say.
‘Stay away, Dennard.’
‘What?’
‘Stay away. Don’t come back.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The fuck do you think I mean? Look, I look out for my Marines, no matter what. Stay away and stay safe. Nothing you can do here.’
‘But - ’
‘But nothing. I’ll take the heat if things return to normal. Stay away, you hear me?’ There was another crashing sound on the other end of the phone, this one loud enough to tell Aaron it was in Whitley’s immediate vicinity. ‘Oh shit…’
‘What is it?’
The line went dead.
With that option eliminated, the three of them felt lost. After sitting there for several long minutes, the siblings suggested going to their grandfather’s apartment in Century City. Seeing no better option, Aaron readily agreed.
Phillip pulled his phone and called the man. After verifying he was home, safe, and hadn’t been infected, they made their way across town, using roads that were uncharacteristically uncrowded.
At multiple times along the way, they saw the infected attacking the innocent, killing them without hesitation before moving on, looking for their next victim. Reaching across to open the glove compartment, Phillip withdrew his handgun, surprising his sister, who had no idea a loaded gun was in the car.
“Are you serious?”
“Of course,” he said, keeping his eyes on the road, “And yes, it’s registered.”
Jennifer stared at him in awe, suddenly realizing that her brother was trained to fight. Everything about him being in the Marines had seemed so... far away, so detached, so story-like. It was suddenly so real.
From the backseat, Aaron’s voice said, “Uh, since we’re sharing…” He held up his Sig Sauer handgun.
Jennifer’s widened. Her heart raced in her chest as she considered the ramifications of being in the car with two armed men.
As quickly as she’d felt a surge of anxiousness come over her, it was gone.
Being in a car with two armed Marines was actually a pretty good place to be.
Richard Singletary had taken them in, doing what he could to make them comfortable in the small apartment he’d occupied since their grandmother Linda had passed away five years prior.
They’d remained there, hiding from the crazy world outside the walls of the 1800 square foot apartment, certain all was lost until the moment Phillip had seen men descending from the sky one morning while he stood watch on the balcony of the home. Watching the men parachute through the smoke filled sky, landing with skilled ease on the grounds of the Hillcrest Country Club, he felt a surge of confidence. The government wasn’t sitting around, doing nothing. They were trying to fix it. How, he didn’t know, but the sudden appearance of the soldiers filled him with hope.
He’d watched as the men disappeared down South Beverly Glen Boulevard, wondering where they were going. The men moved with purpose, indicating they had a clear objective in mind.
When his Grandfather emerged from his bedroom, he told him what he’d seen.
“UCLA.” The man said simply, sipping from his coffee cup.
“Really? Why would they go there?”
His grandfather shook his head, looking out from the balcony in the direction the men had traveled. “Major medical research laboratory there. Hopefully they’ll find what they’re looking for.”
Phillip nodded, looking on. To the north fires burned out of control. To the east and west, it was the same. Though the fires were still miles from them, they showed no signs of burning out. Instead, they marched steadily through the city, consuming everything in their path.
The old man’s thought echoed his. “We’ll have to leave soon.”
It was early evening when they heard a commotion coming from the street below. Rushing to the balcony, the four of them looked down and watched as three soldiers and a dog ran down the middle of the street at full speed. A mass of infected pursued them, snarling and growling as they chased the group. The men were maintaining distance on the mass, but one slip, one fall, and they’d be done for.
The unmistakable sound of an Osprey drew their attention to the left. Looking in that direction, they saw the twin rotor aircraft descending towards the grass area of the county club.
“They’re not gonna make it.” Richard said. Turning away, he disappeared into his b
edroom. When he rejoined them on the balcony, he had a backpack over his shoulder and was carrying three weapons: a high-powered bolt action long-range rifle, a shotgun, and an AR-15. He passed the AR-15 to his grandson and the shotgun to Aaron.
Jennifer, who’d never been closer to a gun than she’d been in the car when Phillip withdrew his sidearm from the glove compartment, reluctantly took Phillip’s gun and agreed to stay in the apartment.
Nodding, Richard looked to the two young Marines.
“Let’s go.”
He led them down to the second story outdoor pavilion that looked across West Pico Boulevard towards the grounds of the country club. The plan had been to pick off the infected from the backside as they pursued the group of soldiers, but when one man had collapsed to the ground and died, another decided to make a stand, motioning for the third to continue on.
It was the sign of a leader, someone willing to sacrifice his life for that of the mission and his fellow soldiers.
“We’re not gonna let him die.” Richard said flatly. Setting down the backpack, he opened the top.
“Damn.” Aaron said when he saw the bag’s contents.
“Holy shit.” Phillip echoed.
“Don’t tell the government,” Richard replied, grinning. Reaching into the bag, he withdrew several magazines, a box of shotgun shells, and the items that had elicited the awed responses from the men: grenades.
“These,” he handed one of the black cylinders to each of the men, “are stun grenades. These,” he passed two other grenades to the men, “are standard. Obviously a last resort. I’ll stay here and provide covering fire. Go get him.”
The two younger men descended to the street, where they’d engaged the horde of infected from behind, taking them down in droves. Together, the two men approached from the left rear side of the mass, forming a wall that forced the infected aside. Bodies fell as they repeatedly squeezed the triggers of their weapons, sending hot metal into the crazed things that were fighting each other to get to the soldier.
Surviving Rage | Book 2 Page 10
