What made matters worse was the fact that the smoke trapped heat and increased humidity, leaving them hot, sweaty, and thirsty. Sweat ran down the exposed parts of their faces in rivulets, carving its way through the grime and soot that covered their exposed skin before soaking their balaclavas and the collars of the long sleeve shirts they wore. The saving grace was that the gloves they wore, issued by the Marine Corps, had moisture wicking built in, ensuring their hands would be able to hold their weapons securely as they fought to remain inside the bed of the truck.
“Shit!” Aaron winced as his right elbow slammed into the sidewall of the truck bed, making him lose his grip. He felt himself start to slide towards the back of the truck when a hand grabbed his shoulder, stopping him. Looking over, he saw Damien looking at him.
“Thanks.”
“No problem,” the man said, smiling. “I make a good anchor.”
Aaron chuckled at the statement, shaking his head. The man’s self-deprecating humor was a constant source of amusement.
Looking towards the front of the truck, he saw that Serrano was guiding the vehicle back up onto the road. Reaching over, he grabbed the top edge of the truck bed and leaned into it, preparing for the coming jolt. Seconds later the truck bounced repeatedly as first the left front tire, then the front right tire, climbed over the edge of the pavement and back onto the road.
Feeling the vehicle slow, Aaron stole another look towards the road ahead. They were getting close to where the I-405 would meet the I-5, and the number of disabled cars on the road was increasing. Being in a denser part of the city, they had fewer opportunities to drive off the shoulder.
Wishing he had the map with him, he turned back, trusting that Jennifer was handling navigation duties well. Resuming his lookout duties, he watched as the scenery slowly slid by. It was more of the same. Cars, trucks, and SUVs discarded in mass, left behind by their owners as they either went on the assault or were forced to try, usually in vain, to defend themselves. Some of the cars had been destroyed, burned to a crisp after a wreck resulted in ruptured fuel lines, which sent pressurized fuel onto the hot surface of the vehicle’s engine, while others looked simply...forgotten. They sat there on the paved surface of the interstate, monolithic reminders of a time when people managed to peacefully coexist (for the most part).
“Gonna have to stop,” Serrano said a short time later. Angling the truck towards the side of the road, he made his way between a pair of stalled passenger cars and onto the shoulder. A large cinder block wall stood next to the freeway, barring any further deviation. On the bright side, it cast a long shadow, giving them a reprieve from the smoke-filtered sun that seemed to burn their skin even though they couldn’t see the sky.
When Serrano turned off the engine, Aaron and Phillip stood up from their spots and looked down at Damien. They extended their hands, offering to help him up.
He waved them off.
“No thanks, guys. I appreciate it, but even if ya’ll manage to help my fat ass up, what then? It’s not like I can jump down from the truck bed.” He shook his head. “I’m gonna have to do the ‘fat guy slide.’” He reached out and braced himself with his hands as he slid his butt forward. Extending his legs in front of him, he dug in his heels, braced himself with his hands and slid forward again. Realizing the two Marines were watching him, he paused, looking up at each of them in turn. “Go ahead. You don’t have to sit here and watch me.” He resumed scooting his butt towards the truck gate, straining as he did. “Besides, I need one of you to open that.”
Aaron jumped out of the truck and walked to the back of it, where he pulled the handle and lowered the truck gate, nodding at Damien as he did so.
Serrano came around to the back of the truck and looked at the three of them.
“Alright, looks like we’re gonna have to hoof it.”
Aaron nodded in understanding, while Phillip said, “Alright,” and headed towards the cab of the truck.
“Really?” Damien asked, reaching the truck gate’s edge. He looked at the ground, checking to make sure nothing was below his feet then began to move forward to dismount. Aaron reached out and clasped the man’s meaty forearm, steadying him as he dropped down, landing heavily with a huff.
“Yeah,” Serrano said, walking back out towards the center of the road. Checking behind himself quickly, he turned and pointed in the direction they’d been heading. “Road’s completely blocked.”
Richard, Jennifer, and Phillip joined Aaron and Damien at the back of the truck. Moving to the truck gate, Jennifer unfolded the map and held one end of it down. Phillip held the other end as he began studying it.
Returning to where they were, Serrano pointed at the map, indicating a place on the map near a large green area labeled ‘Eden Memorial Park.’
“We’re here. The junction is about three miles away. I’m thinking we make our way there, then continue onto the five north. We may have to walk three to five miles from there until the road opens enough for us to pick a new vehicle and drive.”
Four of them nodded in agreement, while Damien paused, his mouth hanging open. After a long pause, he asked, “So we’re like, gonna walk six, maybe nine miles?”
Serrano nodded, grinning. “Might as well call it ten.”
Damien looked down at the ground, shaking his head. “I know I said it was a good time for me to start losing weight, but I didn’t mean right now, right now.”
Serrano chuckled, reaching out and setting his hand on the man’s wide expanse of a shoulder. “It’s alright, man, we’ll go at your pace.”
Damien snorted. “Hunh! Remember you said that.”
Serrano smiled and returned his focus to the others. “Alright, pack it up, take everything we can, but not so much that you’ll wear out quickly. Keep your hands free so you can handle your weapon should the need arise.” He turned to Richard. “You alright carrying some stuff?”
Richard drew in a deep breath, furrowing his forehead as he regarded Serrano. “Chili, if you weren’t a SEAL, I’d challenge you to a push-up contest. I’ll be fine.”
Ten minutes later, the six of them started their trek towards the far side of the dormant traffic jam. Serrano took the lead, moving slow and steady, aware of the fact that Damien’s pace was a slow walk at best. He wanted to push harder, but his concern over the man’s endurance outweighed the desire to make haste.
Holding his rifle at the ready, he admitted to himself that even if the big man wasn’t with them, they wouldn’t be going much faster. The seemingly endless mass of abandoned vehicles presented hundreds of potential hiding spots that could be used for an ambush, and with bodies, blood, and car engine fluids covering most of the pavement, he had to closely watch where he stepped, which slowed him down further.
Stepping over the prone body of a woman, Serrano paused near the front bumper of an overturned eighteen-wheeler. While he waited for the others to catch up, he reached up and wiped his brow with his sleeve.
‘This is some crazy shit,’ he thought to himself, as he once again considered the absurdity of the fact that he was operating within the United States, his gun at the ready as he prepared to engage hostiles. He’d been deployed all over Asia, the Middle East, Africa, and South America, but never in his wildest dreams did he think he’d be operating within the borders of his own country. ‘A mission is a mission, Gabriel,’ he told himself. ‘Get the job done. Account for your people. Leave no man behind.’ Considering his words, his mind took him to the dark place where he’d been keeping the memories of his teammates.
Ones that had died under his leadership.
Dash.
Spider.
J.J.
Skee.
The mission they’d undertaken, escorting Doctor Reed to Doctor Roberts’ home and lab in an effort to find either the doctor or any information related to the outbreak of the virus, had gone south in a hurry, as they’d been woefully unprepared for the ferocity and relentless nature of the infected, and he considered t
he loss of four men his personal failure. He’d led his team through dozens of missions prior to that one, and aside from a few minor injuries, they’d always returned together.
Until last week.
He wouldn’t let it happen again.
Standing in the shade created by the overturned big rig, Serrano let the team cool off for a few minutes, but insisted they remain quiet. There was no telling if any of the infected were close, and if they were, he wanted to do what he could to keep from alerting them to his group’s presence.
Taking a final sip from his water bottle, he tucked it back into the side pocket of his backpack and moved forward, checking behind the semi before continuing on. He worked his way past a handful of vehicles before he stopped suddenly, raising a fist at shoulder height. Freezing in place, the group waited as Serrano strained to listen.
A snarling, growling sound came from somewhere ahead.
He pointed at Aaron, then at himself, then forward, indicating the man would accompany him, then he pointed at Phillip and gave him a palm down signal, followed by a quick motion towards the others, communicating that the man should remain behind and provide protection for the group.
Nodding to Aaron, he took the lead, crouching slightly as he moved forward, placing each foot on the ground quietly as he closed in on the noise ahead. Looking towards where the sound was coming from, he saw the rear end of a Ford minivan jutting up in the air, forced upward by a Nissan 350Z, which had slid underneath it from behind. Both vehicles were covered in blood and broken glass. The driver’s side door of the Nissan was open, revealing the dead body of the driver within the vehicle.
The sound was coming from the area behind the wreck.
Slowing, he crouched down further before moving towards the back of the Nissan’s low body, intent on keeping the two of them between the threat and his group. At the back of the vehicle he paused, then peered around the corner.
Seven infected people were on the ground, clawing at a victim. Their arms lashed out, ripping flesh from the bones of the person, who was too far gone to be recognizable. The only indication as to what the figure had once been was the high heel shoe that still remained on one foot.
To Serrano’s horror, as the infected ripped away pieces of flesh from the person’s body, they brought it to their mouths, devouring it hungrily. A few leaned down and gorged directly on the body of the fallen, feasting on flesh.
‘This is new...’ he thought, pulling back. Looking over at Aaron, he held up his left hand, extending three fingers while holding his ring finger with his thumb.
Seven.
He extended his arm and motioned with his palm, pressing it downward.
Remain low.
Checking his weapon quickly, he flicked the safety off and nodded at Aaron. Pivoting to his left, Serrano stepped out and away from the car, leaving room for the other man to join him. Wasting no time, Serrano fired twice before the creatures noticed him. Two fell, victims of shots to the head before the others rose. As Serrano was retargeting, Aaron’s gun cracked, sending what was once a middle-aged woman flying backwards. Serrano’s squeezed the trigger twice in succession, sending another two - Hispanic man and an Arab woman - to their graves before Aaron could line up another target. Each man took down one more, eliminating the threat in less than fifteen seconds.
Lowering his gun, Chief Serrano looked over at the Marine. “Not bad.”
Aaron scoffed. “Yeah. I got two and you took out five. Not sure you even needed me.”
“It’s always good to have a partner when you’re in a fight. You did well.”
Aaron nodded, then jutted his chin upward in the direction of the dead bodies. “Did you see what they were doing?”
“Yeah.”
“I didn’t think they ate people?”
“They didn’t. At least not before now.”
“Should we tell the others?”
Serrano shrugged. “Sure. Not sure if it makes a difference, though, honestly. Either way, they’re a threat that we need to be aware of and deal with effectively. We see ‘em, we kill ‘em, unless there’s a chance to sneak by while avoiding detection.”
Aaron nodded. As usual, the man had considered all the options and covered all the angles.
“Let’s check ‘em,” the SEAL said, moving towards the grouping of bodies.
Aaron followed him, watching as the man moved quietly in a seemingly effortless manner, his feet finding spots on the ground that were free of debris without the man ever looking downward. His movements were smooth, like perfectly oiled machinery performing a routine task for the hundredth time.
When they reached the bodies of the infected people they’d dropped with their bullets, Serrano studied each one for nearly a minute before moving on to the next. Only one required a second shot; one of the ones Aaron had targeted. Satisfied, he turned and made his way back around the front edge of the van, out into the center of the road. Motioning with his hand, he told the others to come to where they were.
Turning and looking forward, in the direction they’d be heading, his brow furrowed above his wraparound sunglasses. Nodding in that direction, he said, “That looks like a trap.”
Aaron’s eyes widened as he strode over to where the other man stood and looked forward. At first glance, he had no idea what Serrano was talking about. There were vehicles of all sizes and shapes everywhere on the road, all seemingly abandoned, silently gathering dust and soot in the afternoon sun. Looking closer, he noticed what Serrano was referring to. About a quarter mile ahead of them, shortly after the point where the 405 freeway joined the 5, he saw a bus, much like the one they’d rescued Damien from, on its side. It was blocking the better part of the right three lanes. Close to the front end of the bus, in the center of the paved area was an ambulance, which had been impacted on the driver side and spun around so that its front end was pointed towards the left shoulder of the road. With its front bumper crumpled against the wall that divided the two sides of the freeway, it left little room between its rear bumper and the front of the bus, about seven feet at the most. On the ground between the two vehicles was a chrome-plated bumper, laying on its side.
Anyone approaching would be slowed by the bumper and caught between the two vehicles. If it wasn’t a trap, it was only a matter of time before someone made it one.
As the others caught up with them, Serrano brought a finger to his lips, then pointed ahead. Phillip’s eyes found the trap quickly, and he nodded in understanding, but the others looked perplexed. Bringing the group off to the side, he lowered his voice.
“There’s a trap up there, where the bus and ambulance force everyone into a small space with little visibility.”
Richard nodded, trusting the SEAL’s awareness and experience, while Jennifer and Damien looked confused.
“What do you mean? It’s just another wreck.” Jennifer asked, raising an eyebrow in skepticism.
“There’s a chance I could be wrong, but if I am, it would be one hell of a coincidence.”
Jennifer considered his statement for a few seconds, then asked, “So what do you propose?”
Serrano turned his head and looked at the small space between the pair of large vehicles. He thought for a long moment, then nodded his head. “Alright, here’s the plan: I’ll head through by myself.” He looked at the older man. “Richard, you’ll be overwatch, of course.”
The man nodded, pulling his gun off his shoulder and clearing the chamber before sliding a new magazine into place.
Serrano turned to Aaron. “I need you to work your way around the edge of the bus,” he pointed towards the end of the bus that was closest to the wall along the shoulder of the road. “Take up point near the edge there. Stay low, stay out of sight until absolutely necessary. If things go sideways, I’ll need to know you’re to my right. I’ll work left.”
He turned to Phillip. “You’ll be counted on to provide protection for Jennifer and Damien.”
Jennifer spoke up quickly, liftin
g her handgun to show it to the man. “Excuse me? I can take care of myself.”
Damien chuckled softly. “Good, then you can take care of me. I ain’t never even held a gun, let alone fire one.”
Serrano nodded. “Alright. Phillip, work into position with Aaron.”
Phillip held up a finger, causing the SEAL to pause. “Shouldn’t I work on the other side?”
Serrano shook his head. “No. I need to know which way I can move without being caught in the crossfire. If you guys are on both sides of me, I could end up trapped.”
Phillip nodded, then grabbed his rifle. “Makes sense. Of course.”
Serrano looked around once more. “Alright, I’ll head out first. I won’t make a lot of noise - that would be suspicious, but I won’t try to be that quiet, either. If someone’s on the other side of the bus and ambulance, that should gain their attention, which will allow you two to get into position. When you see me dry my hand on my pant leg, you’ll know to get ready.”
The two men nodded in understanding.
Saying nothing more, Serrano untucked the left side of his uniform blouse, slid the right strap of his backpack off so that he was carrying the pack solely on his left shoulder, then began walking, adding a pronounced limp to his step.
He shuffled forward down the road, saying nothing but dragging his left leg slightly, creating a scraping sound as he moved. When he got near the opening between the two large vehicles, he let his left foot bang into the discarded bumper.
“Dammit,” he muttered, shaking his head as he kept his head pointed towards the ground. Under the brim of his hat, his eyes moved quickly, looking at everything beyond the two vehicles as it came into view. As he suspected, there was a group of men standing off to either side of the opening, keeping out of view. Serrano counted eight in all, each wearing the loose fitting clothes of gang members: baggy jackets, pants that were barely held up by belts, resting well below their asses, and loose, un-tied high top sneakers.
Surviving Rage | Book 2 Page 19
