“You’ve made my life better in every way, Mikki, and I can’t imagine living without you. I want to be with you more than anything, but I know I can’t.
“Not anymore.”
Locking eyes with the camera again, he continued.
“I love you, Mikki. Please promise me you’ll always remember that.”
He stared at the desk in front of him again, then reached up and wiped his eyes. He kept his hand there, pinching the bridge of his nose as he took a few deep breaths. After he did, he nodded, then reached under his desk.
“Please look away now, Mikki. I don’t want you to see this.”
The realization of what he intended to do hit Sarah a half-second before the man pulled a gun out from under the desk, stuck the end of it in his mouth, and pulled the trigger. Sarah was unable to look away in time. The explosion of blood on the screen would haunt her dreams for days.
Had John done the same?
Tears burst forth from her eyes as she looked away, grabbing the remote and pointing it blindly at the television as she pressed the power button.
In the silent darkness that fell over the room, she lay on her side and wept, clutching John’s pillow to her chest, inhaling his scent as she mourned her loss.
Little sleep came after that, no matter how hard she tried. Laying in bed, she thought through all of her options. They were relatively safe in the condo, but for how long? They had food in the refrigerator, but that would run out in the next day or two, maybe three if she stretched it. Sooner or later, she’d have to go out to find more. Is that something she was capable of doing by herself? What about the children? Would she leave them there, alone in the condo? Would she take them with her? What if she left them behind and she didn’t make it back?
Should they leave the city? If they did, where would they go? They could head east, but driving through the likes of Vista, San Marcos, and Escondido seemed counterproductive.
Head north? Towards L.A.?
Holy crap.
What about North, then East, towards the mountains? They could skirt the city limits of Los Angeles and head towards the less populated areas to the east.
‘Dumbass,’ she thought, chiding herself.
‘Camp Pendleton.’
The massive Marine Corps base was only three and a half miles away. Surely the military base would provide safety, secure from the madness of the outside world.
Rising from the bed, she glanced at the clock. It was 4:21 a.m. She made it a goal to be out of the condo by seven a.m. From there, no matter what the traffic and road conditions were, they’d be on the base by eight.
Grabbing a backpack, she stuffed several changes of clothes inside, then moved to the closet, where they kept their suitcases. Pulling a small one from inside one of the larger ones, she opened it and set it on her bed. She snuck into the kids’ room and opened their dresser. She pulled out five full changes of clothes for each of them, then all the underwear and socks they had. She had no idea how long they’d be on the base, but having what she’d chosen would provide enough changes for each of them to last a long time.
She went to her bathroom and cleaned up, washing her face, brushing her hair and teeth, and applying lotion to her face. She grabbed the toiletries she thought she’d need then stuffed those in the suitcase as well.
Two hours after getting out of bed, she got the children out of bed, ignoring their protests, had each of them clean up, then packed their toiletries while they ate the pancakes she’d made.
By now the pile of things they’d be taking with them had grown and included a duffle bag filled with their favorite stuffed animals and blankets, as well as a few games and their tablets. On a whim, she set a pack of bottled water next to the pile, thinking that no matter what the situation was on the base, having extra water was never a bad thing. Following that up, she packed an unopened 24-pack of chips, knowing that when Jason wanted Doritos, he WANTED Doritos, and nothing else would do.
By 6:45, the children were dressed and standing by the front door with the shoes on. Sarah checked outside to make sure there was no one in the immediate area before opening the door, then had the kids wait inside while she loaded everything into the back of the SUV.
Outside she was struck by the strange lack of normal buzz that represented everyday urban life. The stillness seemed alien, as if she were the one out of place, existing in a world she no longer recognized.
In less than ten minutes, she had both their meager supplies and the children loaded into the vehicle. Soon they were on their way, weaving through the random assortment of vehicles that had been left on the road.
When they reached Camp Pendleton, she realized her plan had been both shortsighted and foolhardy.
Arriving at the gate, she was greeted by large, metal barricades, barring her entry. There were no guards present, no one to plead her case to, no one to reason with. Stunned by the complete dismissal, Sarah sat there, staring at the main entrance to the base as the engine of the SUV idled in the early morning Southern California sunlight. Aside from the three-foot tall barricades, spikes stood up from the road, threatening to shred tires before the driver’s vehicle got through the entrance.
Not that it would make a difference, though. A large, thick-metal grating draped downward from the top of the overhead structure, barring entry to the base, even to those trying to gain access by foot.
It was a dead end.
Unable to process the undeniable failure of her plan, Sarah leaned forward and rested her head on the steering wheel of the vehicle, breathing deeply as she struggled to keep her emotions in check.
“Mommy?”
It was Jason.
“Yes, honey?” she responded, still resting her head on the steering wheel.
“What are we doing?”
Realizing the boy was right, that they needed to keep moving to avoid becoming a target, Sarah responded, “Just taking a quick break.” She couldn’t let the children know that her plan had quickly turned out to be poorly conceived at best.
She was the adult.
The voice of reason.
The one they looked to when they needed the world to make sense.
Keep going, Sarah.
Sitting straight up in her seat, Sarah took a quick breath before shifting the vehicle back into Drive and moving forward. Maneuvering the Pathfinder between the abandoned vehicles whose owners had tried their luck on foot, she made her way back to the freeway entrance.
She re-entered the freeway, heading north in a daze, almost unaware of where they were going. She knew that going back to their condo was not only moving backwards in a physical sense, but moving backwards in a holistic sense as well.
They needed to move forward.
Driving northbound on the freeway, she saw a wrecked military Humvee on the side of the road. Working her way over to it, she stopped the vehicle several yards behind it. After telling the children to stay put, she hopped out of the SUV and slowly made her way to the Humvee. The driver’s bloody, broken body hung from the armored vehicle, held in place by a seat belt.
Creeping forward, she looked into the cabin of the vehicle. The man in the passenger seat was dead as well. Both men had been killed by the infected, as evidenced by the gaping wounds they’d suffered, wounds that were inexplicable otherwise.
She had to assume that the men who’d been in charge of the vehicle were both capable at handling weapons and trained in combat.
And yet, there they were.
Dead.
Which led to the question: How could she hope to survive?
If armed men and women, who’d been trained to fight, trained to handle automatic weapons couldn’t withstand an attack by the infected, how could she?
Unable to answer her own questions, she held her breath to block out the smell of death and quickly looked over the bodies of the men.There was a pistol resting in the holster on the belt of the man in the passenger seat. With the driver hanging from the vehicle in front of h
er, she was unable to reach the gun. Glancing back to make sure the girls were still in the SUV, she climbed up onto the lip of the Humvee’s cabin, reached in and pushed the button to release the seat belt. The driver’s body fell forward, then swung towards her for a second, scaring the crap out of her, before flopping to the ground. A groan of gas being released emanated from the man as his body hit the ground, followed by a wave of disgusting odor, bringing tears to her eyes. Still holding her breath, she leaned into the Humvee, reached over the driver’s seat, and unclasped the button that held the gun in the holster. Withdrawing it, it occurred to her that there was probably additional ammunition on the man’s belt, so she pushed the man’s body to the side to gain access to his belt. She was pulling the spare magazines from the pockets on the belt when the radio crackled to life, nearly making her jump out of her skin.
“This is the Emergency Broadcast System with an urgent message for citizens of the United States. Protective zones have been established in San Francisco, Oklahoma City, Indianapolis, and Boston. Citizens are advised to proceed to the protective zones immediately. The government will not be working to secure other cities until a much later date. All entrants will be subject to a four day quarantine in the outer tent city, during which time they will be provided protection, food, water, and temporary shelter. After required quarantine, entrants will be allowed into the city and provided with more permanent accommodations.”
Nodding, Sarah felt relieved at hearing the government’s message. Until this moment, it had seemed like the local, state, and federal government had gone completely silent. Hearing the radio broadcast told her that they still existed. If the federal government still existed, there was hope. Hope that they’d find a cure, put a stop to the violence, and somehow give people a chance to return to a somewhat normal life.
As the radio repeated the message, she listened to it intently, determined not to miss anything.
The protective zones.
If she could get to one, she and the girls would be safe.
San Francisco was far, and with the roads in the condition they were in, it would take several days, if not more, but it was attainable. She’d get there, one way or another.
Taking a deep breath, she pulled back from inside the Humvee and looked down at the ground, wanting to be sure she wouldn’t step on the driver’s body when she hopped down from the vehicle. Looking at the man, something caught her eye. Stepping down to the pavement, she knelt down and opened a large pocket on the front of the man’s uniform, carefully avoiding the man’s gaping wounds and dried blood. Reaching into the pocket, she found a radio. Withdrawing it, she turned the knob on top, powering on the device. After a few seconds, she heard the telltale sound of the Emergency Broadcast System. The message came through on the radio.
Rising from the man’s body, she turned off the radio and looked around. Still no one in sight. Moving to the back of the armored vehicle, she opened the rear compartment. What she found inside made her gasp.
A cardboard box, filled with MREs.
Maybe there was a God after all.
Wasting no time, she stuffed the gun in the waistband of her pants, shoved the spare ammunition in her pockets, and set the radio on top of the box. Lifting the box from the back of the Humvee, she turned and carried to her SUV, looking around cautiously as she did. The freeway was quiet, devoid of life or any signs of activity save a few birds. In the distance ahead she saw a crow picking at a motionless body.
Shaking her head, she carried the box to the back of her vehicle, set it down, then went back to the driver’s seat, reached in, and hit the button to release the lift gate. Once the box of MREs was inside, she closed it, got back behind the wheel, and put the SUV in gear.
They made it to the outskirts of Los Angeles that day. Seeing the massive plumes of smoke rising in every direction, she knew cutting through the city was a bad idea. Using every bit of patience she had, she drove the SUV east, working her way around the major portions of the metropolitan area, lamenting the time lost as she did.
The kids were understandably restless, and there were only so many times that she could listen to the single CD with kids’ songs (the streaming service they had gotten so accustomed to using wasn’t available). She tried coming up with games for them, but it seemed like most of the time she was telling them to look away from some terrible sight; torn and battered bodies on the road, horrific car accidents, charred vehicles with their burned occupants still inside.
When Jason and Olivia asked about their father, Sarah lied to them, telling them he would meet them in San Francisco. With the challenges they were facing, dealing with their shock and sorrow would simply be too much for her, so she reluctantly took the easy way out, hating herself the whole time for lying to them.
They slept beneath underpasses or in between clusters of other cars and trucks, preferring to blend in as much as possible with the destruction around them. She was grateful that she’d brought the clothes and blankets that she had, and when they slept at night, she actually managed to make the back cargo area relatively comfortable for them. It required a lot of rearranging to make it so, and then a lot of work putting things back in place in the morning, but sleeping with her arms around her children, who represented all she had left in the world, made her feel a little better about the situation.
She’d anticipated being able to leave Los Angeles behind by the end of the day, but looking at the road ahead, she felt her heart sink in her chest.
The road was completely blocked.
After heading east, making their way all the way out to Pomona, she’d slowly started working her way back towards the 5 freeway, knowing it was the best route to get them to San Francisco, and the one she was most familiar with. Driving westward on the 210 highway, she’d been forced to detour early, taking the 118 highway to reach the 5 due to a collapsed bridge, but taking it in stride, feeling confident that the worst of the blocked roadways and abandoned cars would soon be behind them.
Now, having reached the 5, she found the area nearest the merge with the Northbound lanes of the 405 freeway to be little more than a massive parking lot. There would be no maneuvering around the mess and no working their way through it.
It was, at least for the silver SUV she’d grown to love, the end of the road.
Desperate and determined, she slowly worked the Nissan forward, covering what little ground she could before sighing and putting the vehicle in park. Looking ahead, she realized there was little more than the usual space between cars for the next mile and a half or so.
At the distant edge of what she could see, a bus was overturned on the road, blocking most of the right side of the road. An ambulance had crashed nearby, smashing into the center divide. The two vehicles alone blocked enough of the freeway to make driving past an impossibility.
“Okay girls, we’re going to walk for a little while. Get your seatbelts off and make sure your shoelaces are tied. Jason, check Olivia’s, please.”
“Okay, Mommy,” her son replied, smiling. The little guy took pride in taking care of his little sister.
Sarah reluctantly got out of the SUV, grabbing the pistol from the passenger seat and sliding it into the waistband of her pants. She grabbed the radio and extra magazines and carried them to the back of the vehicle, where she stuffed them into her backpack. She filled the pack with spare under garments, a jacket, toiletries, three bottles of water, and all the MREs she could fit. Next, she rearranged each of the girls’ small backpacks, removing a few of the less popular toys and filling the space with MREs. She decided each of them would carry one bottle of water, which they would sip sparingly, conserving it until they had the opportunity to get more or refill their bottles.
Together, the three of them slowly walked down the right shoulder of the freeway, keeping as far from the cars as possible to avoid getting boxed in, should any infected burst forth from one of the wrecked vehicles.
With two young girls in tow, she took it slowly, ca
reful to avoid overexerting them in the stifling afternoon heat. Looking down at Jason and Olivia, she saw that sweat had formed on their brows and was running down the sides of their faces. Stopping them, she used her hands to move Jason’s hair back away from his face, then took one of the spare hair ties she’d packed in her backpack to put Olivia’s hair in a ponytail. Her actions weren’t much, but she hoped they’d be enough to provide at least some reprieve from the heat.
When they reached the place where the bus laid on its side, she looked back towards the center of the road, making sure there was nothing or no one coming up from behind them as she worked her way to the middle of the road.
“Come on, kids,” she said, stepping past the end of the bus, intent on getting through the blocked part of the road so that they could find another vehicle and get back to driving. She looked back, first at Olivia, then Jason, smiling as she did. When her eyes found her son’s, she saw fear on the young boy’s face.
At that moment, she heard a voice in front of her.
“Hey, pretty momma, whatchoo doing?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Granada Hills, California
Sitting in the bed of the big truck, Aaron and Phillip flanked Damien against the forward part of the truck bed, leaning their backs against the window of the cab as they scanned the area behind them while Serrano maneuvered the big truck along the I-405 freeway. Every once in a while, he’d lean his head out the window and yell a warning before taking the truck off the paved road, causing them to hold on for dear life as the truck bounced on its springs violently. Each venture off-road was stressful, as it required them to keep a tight grip on the side rail of the truck bed, something that was difficult to do while holding a loaded semi-automatic rifle.
They’d been driving for three hours since they’d picked up the bus driver, and though they were slowly working their way out of the city, the air quality didn’t seem to be improving much. Both Aaron and Phillip wore their balaclavas over their mouths and noses in an attempt to filter the soot-filled air, while Damien clutched a t-shirt over the lower half of his face. The thick layer of smoke that lingered above the city showed no signs of leaving soon, keeping the urban areas they traversed through in a perpetual state of dusk.
Surviving Rage | Book 2 Page 18
