Using the strength in his arms and back, he pulled the compartment door outward and slung it upward as he moved his body to the left quickly, reaching for his rifle as he pivoted to face back towards the open compartment.
The heavy body of a fat black man in light blue shirt and dark blue pants fell out of the compartment, slumping to the ground, his face scraping against the pavement.
“Oh shit…” Aaron said softly, looking down at the man. The smell of sweat, body odor, and urine emanated from the man, making Aaron blink repeatedly as he stared down at the figure on the ground.
The man’s voice was weak as a soft croaking sound coming from the back of his throat.
“Uhhh….”
Stepping to the man, Serrano head moved from left to right as he scanned the back of the man’s body for injuries. Seeing none, he brought his boot forward and nudged the man.
“Turn over,” he growled, keeping his rifle trained on the man’s large figure.
“Uhhh…”
“Hurry up before I put a bullet in your fucking head,” Serrano repeated, nudging the man again.
Still facedown on the hard surface of the road, the man’s hand came up weakly, then fell, smacking the pavement.
“Dammit.”
Jennifer’s dark-clothed form rushed past him, descending to her knees next to the man.
“What the? Get back!” Serrano barked.
Placing a hand on his back, she leaned down to look at the man’s face. His eyes were closed, his breathing shallow.
“Jennifer!” Phillip yelled, coming up behind and grabbing her arm.
She yanked it away, “Hold on.”
Bringing her hand down, she gently patted the dark, stubbled skin of the man’s face. His eyes fluttered briefly in response, then slowly opened halfway. She leaned in closer, gazing at the man’s pupils.
“Jennifer…”
“Help me turn him over.”
Her brother paused before reaching down to put his hands under the man, one under his waist, the other under his thigh. Looking at his sister, who clearly had the heavier part - the man’s upper body - he nudged her, then switched places with her. Together, the two of them gently turned the heavy man over, moving him into a position where he was resting on his back, facing the sky.
It was immediately clear he’d escaped attack. His shirt and pants were still whole, without rips or tears, and showed no stains other than those created by his sweat. The man’s lips were chapped and bleeding, his skin dry and hot, indicating severe dehydration.
“Water!” Jennifer shouted, extending her hand. Phillip ran to the truck and grabbed a bottle, returning seconds later. She gently brought it to his lips, giving the man the tiniest sip. Looking up at Serrano, she said.
“We need to move him to the shade.”
Serrano looked at the man, shaking his head. He guessed the man weighed at least three hundred and fifty pounds, maybe even three sixty. Shrugging, he said, “We can drag him.”
Jennifer considered this for a minute, then reached out and touched the man’s forehead. It was hot and dry. Nodding, she said, “Okay. Gently, though.”
Serrano looked at Aaron. Pointing towards the road, he told him to keep watch. As the man walked towards the center of the road, Serrano nodded at Phillip and slid his arms under one of the man’s armpits while the young man did the same on the other side of the man. Together, they slowly dragged the man around in a circle until they had him up against the bus. Anticipating her request, they leaned the man against the side of the bus, putting him in a half-sitting motion.
Jennifer came back over and brought the bottle of water to the man’s lips again. Barely coherent, the man opened his mouth reflexively, allowing her to pour a small amount of liquid onto his tongue. The man swallowed, then opened his mouth again. She repeated the motion, giving him another small amount. The man’s mouth opened yet again, but she waited, not wanting to overdo it.
“Can you check the bus for more water and a clean cloth, like a shirt or something? I want to wet it and place it on his head.”
“Okay.” Serrano turned away and climbed back into the bus. He found several half-filled bottles of water, but disregarded them immediately out of concern for infection. His gloved hands searched through numerous bags, tossing aside unwanted items until he found water. Making his way to the window the infected man had dove through, he passed the bottle down to Phillip before returning to continue his search. He found three more unopened bottles before suspending his search. Looking around, he decided to forgo the search for clean rags inside the bus.
Stepping down off the bus, he turned to the first storage compartment and opened it. Pulling out a suitcase, he quickly opened and pulled out a clean t-shirt that said “Disneyland - The Happiest Place On Earth.” Grimacing at the slogan’s current applicability, he passed it to the young woman.
Jennifer wet the t-shirt using the water Serrano gave her and draped it over the man’s head as she continued giving him small sips of water. After a while, the man began to respond to what was happening. Shortly after, he spoke.
“Where am I?”
Jennifer spoke to the man softly, holding the bottle of water in front of him. “You’re still on the freeway. We pulled you out of the luggage compartment.”
The man’s head lulled weakly as he considered her statement. “Things went crazy…”
“It’s alright, we’re here now. We’ll protect you.”
“They started attacking each other on the bus. Before I could do anything, they were all fighting. I saw a man rip an old woman’s throat apart.”
Jennifer and the others waited, listening to the man. It was clear he needed to share his story. He reached for the bottle.
Jennifer handed it to him, cautioning, “Small sips, or you’ll throw it all up.”
“Okay,” the man said, taking the bottle and drinking as directed. “I saw one coming towards me, so I swerved the bus, making the thing fall over. He…” The man looked away, bringing a hand to his face as the memories returned. “He attacked a young couple. He hit ‘em, an’ kicked ‘em, and bit ‘em. I couldn’t do nothin’.”
Serrano looked down at the man, his face set hard. “There was nothing you could do.”
The man nodded, looking at the ground in front of him. “I stopped the bus hard, making all of them fall down. I tried to get the people who hadn’t been attacked yet get off the bus, but it was just...too crazy. Hair was flying, blood was everywhere, clothes were bein’ ripped. So much screaming…
“I saw another one rushing towards, running like I was a mile away, not thirty feet. I was sure I was dead…
“Then he tripped on someone’s leg. He fell on tha’ floor, then looked back at the leg and started grabbing it and pulling it. Then he leaned forward and took a big ol’ bite outta it.
“I didn’t wait. I got out tha’ bus.”
Pausing, he gestured at all the wrecked cars and dead bodies on the freeway around them. “It was crazy out here, too. People was being pulled out cars an’ killed.”
He shook his head. “Then I decided to hide in the luggage compartment. Figured they couldn’t get in there.”
The bus driver looked away, embarrassed. “Didn’t know there wasn’t a safety latch. I couldn’t get out.” He looked back at Jennifer, his brown eyes moist with tears. “That was Sunday.”
Jennifer’s mouth fell open in shock. “Sunday? Are you sure?”
“Yes, definitely. We jus’ started a five night trip to Las Vegas. Always leave on Sunday. Hotels cheaper Sunday through Thursday.” He sipped the water again, then looked at Jennifer and Serran suspiciously, his eyes darting back and forth between them. “Wait, what day is it?”
Serrano looked at the man, his eyes unwavering. “Today’s Wednesday.”
The man considered this for a moment, then shook his head repeatedly. “Nah. No way. Ya’ll trippin’. Couldn’t a been three days. I mean, I was tired from the heat and lack of ventilation,
so I know I slept a lot…” He looked away, remembering the ordeal. “I’d wake up and listen, but I kept hearing the infected outside, attacking people. Sometimes they were right outside the compartment I was in, so I had to stay quiet. Then I’d fall asleep again. Still, though, ain’t no way I’s in there three damn days.”
Serrano came over and slowly squatted down next to him. Reaching over, he pulled back his sleeve and showed the man his watch. “See, Wednesday. Unless you think I have some reason to change it.”
The man’s eyes widened in realization of what he was considering. He looked down and spotted his own watch on his wrist. Bringing it up so he could see it, he stared at it for a long second, then dropped his hand back down.
“Holy shit…”
Serrano reached out and clasped the man’s shoulder. “Hey.” The man didn’t respond. “Hey!” When the man finally blinked and looked over at him, Serrano said, “You’re here now. You’re alive. That’s what matters.”
The man nodded, looking back down. “Damien.”
“What’s that?”
“Name’s Damien. Damien Wilkerson.”
“Nice to meet you, Damien. I’m Gabriel Serrano. You can call me Chili or Chief. This nice young lady is Jennifer. That’s her brother Phillip. Over there’s Aaron, and there’s also a man with us named Richard who’s Jennifer and Phillip’s grandfather.”
Looking around in bewilderment, Damien Wilkerson said, simply, “Nice to meet you.”
“Same, Damian. Sit tight, we’ll get you some food.”
Leaving Jennifer with the man, Serrano and the others looked into their available food and picked out a handful of items. It wasn’t much, but they had a long journey ahead of them, and there was no telling when or even if they’d have chances to restock.
Returning to him, Serrano extended an open packet of beef jerky.
The man’s eyes widened at the sight of it, but not for the reason Serrano would have assumed. He pointed towards the first luggage compartment. “Food.”
Reaching down, Serrano opened the compartment. Inside he found a big cardboard box, which he retrieved and set on the ground. Opening it, he paused in stunned silence.
The box was stuffed full of chips, cookies, nuts, granola bars, and beef jerky.
“Customers get hungry,” Damien offered, smiling broadly.
Serrano nodded, smiling as well. “Nice. What would you like, Damien?”
“Cookies, please. Blood sugar’s low.”
Serrano passed the man two packages of cookies, then grabbed himself a granola bar. He dragged the box over to the others, then sat down in the shade next to Damien. Looking at Phillip, he said, “Hey, Phil, how ‘bout you give your grandfather a break and let him come get a snack. I need you and Aaron to keep watch for a bit, then I’ll relieve you.”
Phillip was nodding along in agreement. “Sounds good.”
Once everyone had a chance to snack and Damien was sufficiently hydrated enough to regain his footing, the group gathered together by the truck. Now standing, the heavy black man looked even bigger than they’d thought he was. His stomach stuck out past his pants, hanging over his belt, and his arms remained perpetually as his side, kept there by the layers of fat on his body. His neck was huge, barely giving way to the hint of a chin before merging with the jowls on his face. He waddled side to side as he moved, struggling to keep his massive body in motion.
Looking at them, Damien grinned. “I know what you’re thinking, ‘Damn, that’s one fat ass dude!’”
The five of them stared at him in shock, unsure of how to respond. He laughed, shaking his head. “Don’t worry. I know I’m fat. Always been fat, ever since I was a little boy growin’ up in Louisiana.” Looking around at the evidence of death and destruction around them he nodded. “I’m guessin’ this is the perfect time to go on a diet, know what I’m saying?”
The group chuckled awkwardly in response, not sure how else to respond.
He looked off into the distance, then nodded once. Looking at the group, he smiled. “Well, I guess I’ll be gettin’ on. Thank you all so much for saving my life. I owe you everything.” With that, he nodded again and started slowly walking in his waddling fashion in the direction they’d come from, back towards the city.
Reaching out, Serrano grabbed the big man’s arm.
“Hold on. Where are you going?”
Damien shrugged. “Home, I guess.” He looked towards the skyline, which was barely visible through the thick layers of smoke. “Assuming it’s still there.”
Serrano looked at the others briefly, then made the call. “Negative.”
Damien’s head turned sharply. He looked at the Navy SEAL in surprise.
“What do you mean?”
Serrano extended his hand.
“You’re coming with us.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Oceanside, California
“Shit!” Sarah, yelled, pounding the steering wheel with her right hand as she let the car coast to a stop. “Shitshitshitshitshit!”
From the back seat, a soft voice chided her. “Mommy, that’s a bad word…”
“I’m sorry, Olivia, you’re right, sweetie.” Sarah Ferguson dropped her head, resting it on the steering wheel. Just when she thought they were in the clear.
Following the incident at the school, Sarah, Jason, and Olivia spent the next three and a half days holed up in the condo, hiding from the world while hoping things would turn around. By the end of the second day, Sarah finally accepted that John wasn’t coming home. There was no cure, at least not for him.
It was too late.
He was gone.
How would she tell the girls?
She made sure the kids stayed occupied, partly because it delayed the inevitable discussion about John and partly because it allowed her to monitor what was going on outside the safety of their condominium. She kept them on a steady diet of Disney movies and board games, and even gave them an additional hour each day to use their tablet computers, which they used to play various video games that she’d pre-approved.
On the TV in her and John’s bedroom, Sarah alternated between watching the local news and national news, hoping to see something, anything that would give her hope that they’d be saved. If they had to wait, they’d wait. As long as they could stay in their home, with the hope that at some point, things would return to normal.
As the days went by, Sarah began to realize that the decrease in the number of sirens she heard didn’t mean the number of emergencies was decreasing. It meant the number of people available to respond was decreasing.
Eventually, the sirens stopped, leaving only the sounds of people screaming, cars crashing, glass breaking, and fires burning. Some of the screams were those of victims. Some were the inhuman ones of the infected. Fortunately, none were close.
The local news stopped broadcasting during the morning of the third day. The sole remaining news anchor, a young man in his late twenties named Ryan Edwards who’d been looking worse and worse during the multi-hour broadcast, simply got up and walked off the set.
He never returned.
After thirty minutes, the picture of the empty set was replaced by a static graphic that said, ‘Please Stand By.’
After another thirty minutes, Sarah gave up on the channel and went back to the national news, where the CNN anchors had been changing regularly as one by one they succumbed to the virus. With a larger pool of anchors, they made it until sometime after midnight. Sarah, having put the children to bed hours before, had dozed off in bed, only to awake to the sound of static coming from their 50 inch smart TV. No ‘Please Stand By’ message, no ‘Currently Experiencing Technical Difficulties’ message.
Just static.
A sudden feeling of abandonment came over her as she rubbed her eyes and reached for the remote.
Flipping through the channels, she checked each of the major news networks, looking for the presence of something that would tell her the country hadn’t actually
collapsed. There had to be someone there. Having handfuls of people out sick was scary, realizing it was so bad that major news networks were unable to operate?
Terrifying.
When none of the major networks showed broadcasting on their channels, she kept pushing the button on the remote, irrationally thinking that perhaps the channel she thought correlated to the news network was different than the actual one. When she reached channel 87, the screen showed the set for a Chicago local news station. A middle-aged black man sat alone on the set, looking at the camera solemnly.
Sarah breathed a sigh of relief.
Her relief would be short-lived.
Looking at the camera, the man’s hands were visibly shaking as he held the piece of paper he read from.
“Well, folks, I’m all that’s left. Sharon, Mike, Susie, Brandon, Ally, and Spencer are out sick. They went home at some point over the last few days and haven’t come back. Our media crew is down to Terry, who’s currently locked in the bathroom.”
He stared hard into the camera as he went on.
“I locked him in there. He was beginning to turn, and I had to lock him in there to keep him from hurting others.”
The man reached down and rolled back his sleeve, exposing long, bloody scratches on his dark skin.
“But he got me.”
He looked down at the desk in front of him, not saying a word for nearly a minute. Finally, he reached over and a notepad of yellow lined paper and slid it in front of him. He took a deep breath, then looked back at the camera. When he spoke, his voice wavered.
“I won’t be coming home, Mikki. I’m sorry, my love, but I can’t risk it. I would never hurt you. I’m just sorry I can’t be there to protect you.
I love you with all my heart and soul, baby. I still remember how the first time we danced, it was to Babyface’s ‘Two Occasions.’ You wore that pink dress with the black tights underneath, and I was wearing my acid-washed jeans and my black Members Only jacket.”
As the man paused, Sarah found herself tearing up at the man’s descriptions. After a few seconds, he went on.
Surviving Rage | Book 2 Page 17
