Surviving Rage | Book 2

by Arellano, J. D.

  “Okay, well, still, I’ll try to do better.”

  “Okay.”

  “Alright, anyway, everyone, dinner’s ready! Come n’ get it!”

  One by one, the group made their way to the kitchen, where they received a hard, plastic plate filled with white rice, topped with red beans and spam. Jennifer took a plate out to Phillip, who sat on the small steps at the rear entrance to the house, and to Aaron, who sat on the steps out front.

  When Serrano, who’d gone last out of habit, sat down and brought the first spoonful of food to his mouth, he’d wanted to set his plate aside and attempt to wrap the big man in an embrace.

  The food was magical; filled with flavor, both intense and somehow at the same time subtle. The Spam, which he’d always turned his nose up at, filled the void of the expected sausage, providing a saltiness and flavorful deliciousness that seeped into the beans.

  In short, it was delicious.

  Under their circumstances, it approached decadence.

  The sudden silence of the living room and adjoining dining area was the truest indication of the level of satisfaction the group found in the food.

  Until little Olivia expressed it perfectly.

  “Mommy, this is yummy!”

  At that point, each and every one of them chimed in, complimenting Damien on his cooking.

  The big man held up his hands. “Hey, I had help.”

  Hearing his words, Sarah shook her head vehemently. “I was basically responsible for the rice.” She pointed at her plate. “This was all you.”

  Damien shrugged, looking down at his plate, which had easily twice that of everyone else. “Oh, alright,” he said between bites, “no one’s gonna believe someone with a narrow behind like yours is experienced at making Southern food anyway.” As he took another giant bite, Serrano realized the man was using the serving spoon to shovel food in his mouth. “If you were,” he added, “your booty would be bigger. A whole lot bigger.”

  Sarah looked away, blushing.

  Olivia giggled as she leaned towards her mother. “Mommy, he said booty.”

  The group broke into laughter at that, with each of them enjoying the moment of levity in the midst of what had been an incredibly stressful time.

  As he chuckled, Serrano’s eyes wandered to Sarah’s hips as he considered what Damien had said. He hadn’t noticed before, but the woman did appear to be very fit.

  Looking up he found Sarah’s eyes on his. She glared at him intensely then looked back down at her plate and resumed eating.

  ‘Fucking A, Gabriel,’ Serrano said, shaking his head. Frustrated with himself, he stood up and took his plate out to the back steps, where he sat down next to Phillip to finish his meal.

  Near the side of the house, a man named Chadwick Beaumont waited for night to fall. It wasn’t far off, and when it came, he’d continue to wait until the group inside the home went to sleep before making his move. They’d likely have someone watching the front and back of the house, which would probably have been effective, had he not already been in position.

  When he’d heard the sputtering van approaching, he’d hid deep in the overgrown bushes in front of the home across the street. From his vantage point he’d watched the group of people exit the van and gather in a small circle. After the two military looking men went into the home and returned, the group had filed into the home. Watching the group, he was a little concerned about the military men (he counted three now, the third being a man who looked exhausted) but once he set his eyes on the fit blonde woman who led a pair of children into the small home, he knew he had to have her.

  He waited patiently, knowing they’d likely set up some kind of lookout, and sure enough, not long after the group closed the door to the home, the young black man returned to the front porch and sat down in the shadow behind the bicycle that rested against the porch railing. Beaumont assumed there was someone watching the back entrance to the home, but he wasn’t worried. If the good looking blonde had kids, they’d likely put the three of them in the master bedroom. Since he’d already broken into multiple homes in the neighborhood, he knew the locks on the windows were easily defeated.

  When he saw the front door open, he made his move, staying behind the bushes as he moved up the street. He watched as the young dark haired woman brought the black man a plate of food, taking note of the way they stared at each other as they spoke. There was something going on there, but it didn’t affect him, so he didn’t care. Once far enough up the street, where he was out of view of the man, he crossed the street, then remained in the yards of the homes next to the one they occupied as he worked his way back towards the house. Finally, he arrived at the edge of the neighboring house, where he sat down amongst the dirt and weeds and patiently waited.

  The anticipation was intoxicating.

  Once inside, the woman would be his. The military men with her did concern him, but once he had a blade pressed against her throat, they’d have no choice but to back off and let him take her.

  When the plague that had come out of nowhere wiped out the majority of the population, including law enforcement, it made his life easy. No longer did he have to travel to other cities, wear hairpieces and different clothes, and use a fake name when he found his victims. No longer did he have to listen to the stories the women told and feign interest, as if anyone cared what they had to say. No longer did he have to pretend to be the nice guy, the one who listened to them, offered to buy them sodas first before they lowered their guard and asked for a drink, which he would happily go to the bar to get, adding in a little something ‘extra’ before delivering it to them.

  Jonathan Wilburn.

  Cary Simmons.

  Peter Jasper.

  Steven Williamson.

  His previous aliases were now a thing of the past. With no one to stop him, he’d skipped the act, attacking countless women without hesitation, forcing himself upon them, showing them who got to say ‘no’ for a change.

  Not that he didn’t hear their ‘no’s’.

  He just didn’t care.

  Now, only one person got to say ‘no.’

  ‘Spoiler alert,’ he said to himself, smiling deviously as he thought of the attractive blonde woman. ‘It won’t be you.’

  Sitting on the side of the adjacent home, he leaned his head back and rested it against the wall of the house. Carefully keeping his excitement in check, he willed himself to relax.

  Soon.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Mount Weather Emergency Operations Center, Virginia

  “All this waiting is killing me.” Lisa Bowman said, stirring her cup of tea as she tried to read the novel she’d borrowed from the base library.

  “I know. Me, too.” Jonathan Reed looked up from his knife and smiled at her before setting the whetting stone aside. He’d spent what seemed like hours sharpening the edge of the blade, wetting the stone slightly before running the edge of the knife along the stone. He felt confident the blade could catch a tomato in the air and glide through it cleanly, cutting it in two without spilling a drop of juice. When he touched its edge with his thumb, it scraped his skin slightly, the keen edge threatening to penetrate the surface of the skin if even the slightest bit of pressure was applied.

  Lisa smiled at him before reaching out and taking his hand in her own. “What a crazy way for us to meet.”

  Jonathan smiled back at her as their eyes met. Leaning forward, he planted a soft kiss on her lips, then one on each cheek before finishing with one on her forehead. “I’m definitely glad we met, but I do wish it could have been under more pleasant circumstances.”

  Lisa shook her head. “Probably wouldn’t have worked out the same.”

  Jonathan cocked his head to the side. “Why do you say that?”

  “‘Cause I thought you were a jerk when we first met.”

  He recoiled slightly, his eyes widening. “Seriously?”

  Lisa nodded. “Yeah. You seemed so… overly confident, like you thought
you were better than everyone else.”

  “I don’t.”

  “I know that now, but originally… it was a bit overbearing. I wanted nothing to do with you. If we hadn’t been forced to work together, I would have never gotten to know the real you.”

  “I see,” Jonathan replied, looking away. After the challenges he’d face growing up, plus those he faced in medical school and during residency, he’d grown defensive. No one thought he’d make it. Not only that, many of those who didn’t were vocal in their skepticism. No way this tall, awkward black kid from the poor part of town could become a doctor.

  Not a chance in hell.

  Surrounded by all that negativity, he grew a hard exterior that hid the kindness of his heart.

  When he succeeded in his lifelong goals, he felt vindicated. He’d achieved what they said he couldn’t. Not only had he made it, but he’d done exceptionally well, graduating at the top of his class, excelling throughout his residency, performing top-notch research that was published and widely respected, and getting hired at the one of the largest hospitals in the country.

  It all seemed admirable, but when he tactfully informed his doubters of his success (and yes, he was tactful. His mother wouldn’t tolerate anything else.), instead of being happy for him, they were first indifferent, then later resentful. They lobbied suggestions like diversity preference, skewed grading systems designed to help black people, or worse, that he cheated his way through college, medical school, and the MCATS. It was enough to make a person crazy, and after a while, it made him doubt himself.

  Had he been lucky?

  Had he been a diversity preference candidate?

  As impossible as it was - they all took the same tests, including the MCATs, and he simply scored better than anyone else, from the first test to the last test - he started to believe the doubters, and over time he felt a need to bolster his own pride with self-congratulatory behavior. He held his head a little higher, made sure people knew he was highly intelligent, wore the best clothes, and drove the best cars.

  Now, sitting next to the beautiful, intelligent Doctor Bowman, he thought about it retrospectively for the first time.

  First, he’d been humbled by working next to both her and their collective hero, Doctor Chang. No matter how smart either of them felt, Andrew’s way of seeing their analysis before they could even explain it, then work through the next series of steps that would either prove or disprove their hypotheses without even taking notes was incredible. He did everything they did on the computer in his mind and in half the time. It was nothing short of awe inspiring.

  Then he’d been humbled by the incredible men of SEAL Team Eight, who’d taken on challenges average people would run from. They’d literally stared death in the face and fought it tooth and nail without hesitation. They’d stepped in to help the innocent, saving them from certain death, making quick work of those who’d threatened a family, all the while staying focused on their mission. In the end, each and every one of them had laid down their life to ensure Reed successfully completed his mission, because they knew the world needed what Reed found.

  With all that he’d experienced over the last two and a half weeks, he realized his priorities had been wrong.

  It wasn’t about him.

  It was about the greater good, and what he could do to help.

  “What are you thinking?” Lisa asked, looking over at him, her soft, warm eyes finding his. For a moment he paused as he admired the beautiful woman he was lucky enough to have next to him.

  After a pause, he nodded. “I was thinking that you were right. I was a jerk.”

  The blonde woman shook her head, then looked down as she reached over and rubbed his arm. “You were just misunderstood. Fortunately, I had the opportunity to get to know you better.”

  Reed shrugged. “I feel like my eyes were opened by…” he gestured widely with his hand, “all of this.”

  Lisa smiled. “At first, you know what I really enjoyed?”

  “What’s that?”

  She chuckled, looking mischievous. “Watching Andrew shoot down each and every one of your hypotheses.”

  He laughed in response, shaking his head. Seeing him laugh, she allowed herself to laugh more.

  “It was like I was in Pre-Med all over again, getting schooled by the teacher!” Jonathan said, laughing.

  “He never even needs to write things down! It’s ridiculous.”

  The two laughed together, leaning into each other. After a few minutes, Bowman asked, “Where is he, anyway?”

  Jonathan pointed off into the distance, where she could see a small figure next to a four legged one. “Walking Steight. Now that we’re in a pause until we find someone who’s immune, he’s trying to get some exercise. Steight’s a sweet dog, so of course she likes him.”

  “He is a really nice guy.”

  “Definitely.”

  Across the base, Andrew Chang walked quickly, forcing himself out of his comfort zone as he maintained a pace that tested him. He’d never been into running. When his colleagues suggested he take it up, he leaned on medical evidence that supported the argument that it was tough on one’s joints, intentionally ignoring the fact that it was good for one’s heart, muscles, cardiovascular system, and metabolism.

  Steight trotted next to him dutifully, looking up at him occasionally, hoping that he would break into a run. Refusing to do so, he did the next best thing: he let go of the leash and said, “Go on, girl!”

  The lean, muscular German Shepherd would sprint ahead, its muscles easily propelling its body in long, effortless leaps as it covered dozens of yards in seconds. When it got some distance away it would slow and turn, pausing to look back at Andrew. A simple ‘kck, kck’ would bring her trotting back to his side, tail wagging happily as she fell into place next to him.

  Looking down at the dog, he found her eyes looking up at him longingly. Smiling, he gave her the command she was waiting for, then watched as she bounded away happily.

  ‘If only we could all find that kind of joyful, carefree happiness again,’ he thought, shaking his head. He didn’t need to look towards the base’s tall fences, which protected them from the danger and chaos of the outside world to know what was out there was barely a shell of what they’d known before the outbreak of the Rage virus.

  The pragmatist within him told him the world could someday be the same.

  Just not any time soon.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  San Jose, California

  Watching the large two story home burn, Hector “Leon” Guitterez smiled. He and his crew had enjoyed themselves when they were inside, but there was still work to do. They were expanding their territory rapidly, taking more and more of the city as he enlisted additional men and women almost daily. Occasionally, they were met with some resistance, whether from armed civilians who wanted to protect themselves and what was theirs, or from small groupings of law enforcement officials who strove to restore law and order.

  Whatever form the resistance came in, it was insufficient. He and his crew were simply an overwhelming force. Each time it was over quickly as his gang used their superior firepower to send waves of bullets towards the opposition. Men, women, and children died in their wake, but it didn’t bother him. They were given the opportunity to surrender. If they didn’t take it, the deaths of the innocent were on them.

  That morning he’d made it clear that he wanted to begin expanding into Milpitas. Each new area provided new resources: food, water, medicine, and weapons. As his gang grew, they needed more of everything, and though he couldn’t let them know it, he was starting to worry that maybe he’d bit off more than he could chew. Resources were running low, and people were getting restless. The gang’s muscle was always fed and cared for first as a matter of principle, but those around them - the women, children, and elderly - had to take what was left. Most of the time that wasn’t much, and with hungry, thirsty, and/or sick people around his fighters, stress was high. To make matters
worse, he’d started off with an edict that specified if people surrendered, they’d be allowed into his gang’s territory. As his gang became more powerful, more people were surrendering, which meant more mouths to feed.

  Simply put, they were growing too fast.

  He routinely assured them that things were going as planned, that they just needed to trust him, and they nodded as they listened, seeming to go along with his direction, but he wondered how long it would last.

  Soon, someone would want to challenge him.

  Who would it be?

  He looked around at the tight-knit group of men and women that accompanied him, people who’d been handpicked by him for their fighting skills and for their loyalty.

  Julio had been by his side for nearly seven years. Taller and more heavily muscled than Leon, the man was a great shot and a brutal fighter, but he was a born follower. He’d been following Leon since they were teenagers, and if he’d ever had an issue with it, he’d passed up at least a dozen opportunities to kill him.

  No, definitely not Leon.

  Miguel? The short, lean, muscled man’s narrow face and beady eyes made him seem sneaky, no matter how readily he went along with Leon’s direction.

  He’d have to be watched.

  Tyrone. One of two black men in his inner circle, the big muscular man was proficient with both handguns and rifles, and when it came to fighting, he was nothing short of devastating. He was also dumb as a box of rocks.

  Nothing to worry about there.

  Lizette, an attractive Mexican woman with a lean figure and shoulder length dark hair, who’d been kicked out of the Army for being a lesbian, had show a penchant for creating IEDs.

  From what he could tell, as long as she was allowed to blow shit up on occasion, she was happy to follow his lead.

  He looked at the rest of his crew: Gilberto, Tony, Sam, Clinton, and Oscar. None of them had shown the slightest indication that they had any desire to lead. They followed his orders without question, carrying them out with brutal efficiency.