Surviving Rage | Book 2

by Arellano, J. D.

  Head and neck aching, Chadwick Beaumont struggled to open his eyes. At first, they refused to cooperate as his mind told him to keep resting, to allow his body to recover from the force of the impact he’d endured. A different part of his mind told him he needed to open his eyes to see where he was, what kind of threat he was faced with, and how he could fight back.

  Blinking, his eyes revealed the interior of a garage, cluttered with old tools, camping items, bicycles, and landscaping equipment. The spot that would normally be occupied by a car was empty, leaving an open space in the center of the small garage.

  The three military men stood in front of him, flanking the blonde woman.

  The Hispanic-looking man stared at him. “Well, now, what the fuck are we supposed to do with you?”

  Serrano watched the man struggle against the ropes that bound him and smiled. He had plenty of experience tying knots in the ropes he used to bind prisoners. There was no way the man was going to free himself. If the man pulled too hard, it would simply tighten the bind.

  After several moments of futility, the man gave up.

  “Well?” Serrano asked.

  Looking up at him through semi-glazed eyes, the man asked, “Well, what?”

  Serrano stepped over in front of the man and squatted down. Pulling out the long blade he kept strapped to his thigh, he held it up. Reaching into the pocket on the other leg of his pants, he withdrew the man’s knife. Bringing it up to compare it with his own, Serrano grinned.

  “Mine’s bigger.”

  The man stared back at him through eyes filled with barely contained rage. “Untie me.”

  Serrano laughed. “Yeah, right. In what universe would you think that we’d let you go after you threatened our friend here?”

  The man sneered. “You’re not the police. You’re military. You have no authority here. Let me go.”

  Serrano was about to reply when he felt someone brush by him.

  It was Sarah. A loud slap echoed inside the garage as the man’s head was rocked to the side by the force of her blow.

  ‘She must work out,’ Serrano said to himself, smiling. Lowering one knee to the ground, he scooted himself off to the side, out of her way.

  “Who the hell do you think you are?”

  The man scoffed and looked away.

  Tossing the man’s knife aside, Serrano pointed the blade of his own knife downward and pressed it through the fabric of the man’s sneakers until he felt it reach the top of the man’s foot. The man’s head turned as he stared down at his foot, his eyes bulging in his head.

  “I suggest you answer the lady,” Serrano growled.

  Looking up at Sarah with contempt, the man asked, “What was your question?”

  Eyes filled with fury, Sarah repeated her question, then added, “You know what? It doesn’t matter. Whoever you think you are, you’re just a little piece of shit. As a matter of fact, I’ll bet I could kick your ass.”

  Chadwick Beaumont scoffed. “Yeah, right, bitch.”

  Serrano leaned forward a bit, pressing the blade downward, piercing the skin. “The foot consists of dozens of small bones, connected with an equal amount of ligaments and tendons. If you want to keep all of yours intact, I suggest you watch how you speak to the lady.”

  “Owww! Alright!”

  Stepping back, Sarah said, “Untie him.”

  Serrano and Beaumont looked at her in shock. “What?” Serrano asked.

  “You heard me.” Leaning down, she brought her face close to Beaumont’s. “I’m gonna kick your ass myself.”

  Standing up, Serrano gently grabbed her arm and pulled her over to where Aaron and Phillip stood. Leaning closer to her, he was about to speak when she cut him off with her hand.

  “Yes, I’m sure. I’ve got this. Trust me.”

  Serrano stared into her eyes, noting the anger there. After a few seconds he nodded. “Okay. Aaron, stay here. Phillip hang out by the other door. We don’t want this guy trying to run.”

  The two men nodded and moved into position while Serrano retrieved the man’s knife, folding it closed before stashing it in his pocket again.

  “Alright, tough guy,” he began as he moved behind the man to untie the ropes that held him in place, “it’s you and her, one on one.”

  Bewildered at the sudden change of circumstances, Beaumont asked, “What the hell is going on here?”

  Serrano leaned closer, bringing his mouth near the man’s ear. “You two are gonna fight. She says she can kick your ass.” Laughing, he added, “I think that would be awesome to watch.”

  Bringing his arms in front of him, the man rubbed his wrists where the ropes had been tightly wound. “This is ridiculous. I’m not gonna fight a woman.”

  His head snapped back from the force of Sarah’s punch. He tasted blood.

  “Yes, you are,” the blonde woman said. “I held back on that one. Don’t think I’ll do that again. Now, get up.”

  Beaumont rose to his feet slowly, bringing his hands up as he looked back at the woman. “What’s in it for me?”

  Serrano walked over to a spot near the garage door and leaned against the wall casually. “I don’t think you have a choice here, tough guy. Fight back, or just take your ass whoopin’.”

  Beaumont sneered as he brought up his fists. “Fine. I’m sure you guys are gonna jump in and help her though, once I start to kick her - ”

  Sarah’s right foot connected with the center of his chest, knocking him backwards.

  “Enough talking, bitch,” she said, bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet.

  ‘Bitch? She called me a bitch?’ He asked himself incredulously. ‘I’ll show her who’s the bitch!’ Lunging forward, he threw a roundhouse punch at the woman.

  His fist found nothing but air in the second before hers hit him squarely in the space directly below his armpit, sending waves of pain through his torso.

  ‘What the fuck?’ He wondered. Shaking his head, he moved his arm in tight circles as he tried to work through the tightness he suddenly felt in his side. Keeping his fists up, he advanced slowly on the woman, closing the gap between them. Looking in her eyes, he saw the thing he hated to see most in women.

  Confidence.

  He jabbed with his left fist, barely grazing her shoulder. He swung forward with his right, intent on smashing the woman’s face.

  Whack!

  Whack!

  Two strikes hit his face, one on his nose, drawing blood, the second under his eye, instantly swelling the cheek.

  Dazed he staggered backwards before catching himself.

  ‘How could this be happening?’

  Roaring, he threw himself forward as he tried to tackle the woman. Again he found nothing but air. His forward momentum carried him into the wall. Pushing off it, he turned around.

  The woman’s booted foot caught him in the crotch, doubling him over as waves of pain radiated outward from his balls.

  Whack!

  A fist struck his nose again, breaking it this time. Blood flowed outward in waves, coating his mouth and chin before falling to the floor.

  Unable to help himself, he raised his hands in defeat.

  “Stop….”

  The woman’s feet stopped in front of him. “How many other women have you attacked?”

  Chadwick Beaumont shook his head in response.

  Slap!

  The hand hit him again, open this time.

  “None!” He pleaded. “I swear!”

  The Mexican man’s voice came from across the room. “So the first time you try to rape a woman was when you found one accompanied by two Marines and a Navy SEAL? Bullshit.”

  “I…”

  Slap!

  “How many other women?”

  “None!”

  Slap!

  Feeling helpless, and for the first time in his life, powerless, he felt himself begin to cry. ‘It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.’ In the corner of his eye, he saw the hand pull back again. “Okay! Please sto
p!”

  The hand hesitated.

  Shaking his head, he felt tears fall from his eyes, joining the pool of blood at his feet. His balls ached, making him feel woozy. His vision swam from the repeated blows to his head. He staggered as he pulled himself upright again, keeping his hands up in front of him. The fight in him was gone.

  “I…” Turning his head, he looked around the room. The SEAL pushed himself off the wall and stepped forward. Beaumont kept his hands up, then used one to point at the chair. “Can I sit? I feel dizzy.”

  The SEAL nodded.

  Hunched over, he moved to the chair, then slowly lowered himself onto it, careful not to allow pressure against his wounded balls. Once seated, he kept one hand down at this crotch, cupping his injured testicles, while he brought the other up to his face, where it found his broken nose. He felt more tears flow as he was forced to consider the defeat he’d been dealt at the hands of a woman.

  As if on cue, the woman stepped forward. Her voice was low and filled with tense anger. “Answers.”

  Shaking his head again, he pleaded. “Look, I’m...sick, okay? I need help.”

  The woman’s right leg moved back, coiled and ready to strike. She repeated herself. “How. Many.”

  Desperate, he repeated his lie. “Please! I need a doctor or something. I don’t want to hurt people, but I can’t help myself. I feel bad everytime, and I wish I could change, but I can’t.” He looked up at her, his eyes filled with sorrow and remorse, emotions he’d never felt, but had learned to fake. He’d used his acting skills as early as when he was a Senior in High School, after he’d raped Becky Worley after drama class one late afternoon. When approached by his heavy-handed father, he’d somehow found the right combination of faked emotions and carefully chosen words to convey that he’d let his emotions get the best of him out of a desire to be a man, just like him. His father nodded in his short, curt way and left the room without a word.

  Discussions took place.

  Likely outcomes were considered.

  Future employment opportunities were presented.

  Money changed hands.

  Chadwick Beaumont moved on.

  Looking at the woman, he didn’t bother trying to wipe away the tears or blood that ran down his face as he pleaded.

  She remained unmoved. “I’m not going to ask again.”

  A hand came up and grasped her shoulder slightly, making her flinch. It was the SEAL. His hard eyes glinted as he stared at Beaumont. “Sarah, I think it’s my turn.” Moving forward, he crouched in front of Beaumont and again put the knife atop his foot. “Remember what I said before about the foot?” He pressed down, hard, allowing the knife to penetrate the fabric of the shoe and puncture the skin. The blade instantly touched bone, scraping a bit of it away before stopping, somehow avoiding the surrounding tendons and ligaments.

  Beaumont screamed.

  Serrano waited.

  When the screaming stopped, he calmly asked, “Are you going to answer the question?”

  “I...I…”

  The blade moved ever so slightly, sending fresh waves of pain through him.

  “Okay!” He screamed.

  The pressure on his foot stopped. “Alright. The question was, how many women have you attacked?”

  Swallowing hard, Beaumont’s voice was soft and raspy when he responded. “.....”

  The pressure returned. “Speak up.”

  “Ahhh!!! Okay….Twenty three.”

  The room went completely silent.

  No one breathed. No words were spoken for several long moments before Serrano’s voice asked, “You raped them all?”

  “Yeh...yes. I told you, I need help.”

  “What else did you do? Did you hurt them in other ways, too?”

  Beaumont nodded.

  “You beat them?”

  He nodded again.

  Serrano waited a long moment before asking his next question.

  “Did you kill them?”

  Beaumont didn’t respond at first, but when the pressure on his foot returned, he blurted out, “Not all of them!”

  The woman’s voice returned. “You motherfucker…”

  Serrano remained focused. “How many have you killed?”

  “I don’t know…”

  More pressure. More pain.

  “Ahhhh!!! Okay, okay... “ Sniveling as he sobbed incoherently, Chadwick Beaumont managed to utter, “Seventeen….”

  The knife withdrew from his foot as the SEAL stood and stepped aside.

  The woman’s foot flashed forward, finding the spot under his chin that sent his head backwards violently for the second time in less than an hour.

  Everything went dark.

  Again.

  Sometime later, Chadwick Beaumont awoke to the feeling of sun on his face.

  Blinking, he once again struggled to open his eyes. When he finally did, he found himself sitting on the driveway of the small home, once again tied to the chair. The people were nowhere to be seen.

  Looking around the small street, he saw three of the infected creatures shambling along the street about sixty yards away.

  Realizing his predicament, he strained against his bonds. Feeling a looseness in the ropes that bound him, he quickly managed to loosen one hand, then another. Reaching down, he quickly untied his legs, then rose from the chair.

  Another rope was tied to his leg, bound tightly with a complex series of knots. His fingers fumbled against the rope, trying to find a way to undo the knots as he felt the creatures getting closer. It was impossible. If it was possible, there wasn’t time.

  Pulling against the rope with his leg, he yanked backwards hard. At the edge of the open garage, a series of metal shelves fell forward, pulled by the rope. The shelves crashed to the ground loudly, sending tools and camping gear in all directions.

  Hearing the loud noise, the infected creatures screamed in unison and broke into a run, racing towards him at full speed.

  Rushing to the shelves, Beaumont tried to untie the knot there. It was no use. The knot was similarly made, a puzzling serpentine shape where the rope seemed to have no end.

  Footsteps were closing fast.

  Looking around, his eyes searched for something he could use to defend himself. A long wrench sat close by. He reached for it.

  Three bodies slammed into him, sending him sideways, away from the tool.

  Fittingly, the three infected who killed Chadwick Beaumont were all women.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Edison, California

  It was still dark when Daniel felt himself no longer able to sleep. Unsurprisingly, the hard surface of the church’s floor had been hard on his back, and if he didn’t get up and move around, it would only get worse.

  Carefully sliding his arm out from under Serafina’s neck, he extricated himself from the spooning position she frequently insisted on. Sliding sideways, he waited until he was completely clear from her before sitting up. Feeling a yawn coming on, he stifled it with one hand before grabbing his rifle, handgun, and boots. Moving away from where the group slept in the middle of the floor, he chose a spot on one of the empty pews and quietly laced up his boots. Leaving his Glock on the bench he stood and held the rifle high over his head, using its weight to help him stretch out his back and shoulders.

  ‘Damn, that feels good,’ he thought as his eyes settled on a small light coming from the rear part of the church, near where the priest’s quarters were, behind the dais. Looking more closely, he realized it was coming from the small kitchen that was across the hall from the bathroom, where they’d each taken turns cleaning themselves using water warmed on the small two-burner stove.

  He grabbed his handgun before slinging his rifle over his shoulder and heading towards the dim light near the back of the building. When he got closer, he smelled the wonderful aroma of hot coffee.

  How could it be possible? As far as he knew, power had been out throughout most of the state for at least a week.

  Rou
nding the corner, he entered the room and found Father Rolando sitting in a small wooden chair, sipping a cup of coffee as he read from a tattered old text. In the corner of the room was a stack of bottled water and a series of reusable bags filled canned food, some of which had been provided the night before during their dinner. Hearing Daniel approach, he looked up and smiled.

  “Couldn’t sleep?”

  Daniel shook his head, gazing over at the stovetop style coffee pot that sat atop the stove.

  Following his gaze, the priest said, “It was in the storage shed, next to the camping gear. I’d completely forgotten about it. Must be a sign of old age. Some of our younger priests take our congregation’s family members on camping trips from time to time. We were gifted a lot of gear by local sporting goods companies.” The man’s eyes stared off into space as he thought about what he said, considering the fact that there’d be no more camping trips any time soon, most likely not in his lifetime..

  “It smells amazing.”

  Father Rolando snapped out of his reverie. “Ah! What am I thinking?” He gestured towards the cabinets. “There are cups there, please help yourself. There’s sugar and powdered creamer next to the cups, should you desire it.”

  “Thank you.” Grabbing a cup, Daniel poured himself coffee, then added a bit of sugar and powdered creamer. Bringing the cup to his lips, he inhaled, taking in the fragrance of the hot liquid. “Oh my God, this smells amazing.” Realizing what he said, Daniel put his hand up. “Sorry about that, Father.”

  The man only raised his cup and smiled.

  Sitting back down at the table, Daniel closed his eyes as he took a sip. The hot coffee warmed his chest and awakened his senses. Feeling something against his leg, he looked down to find Romeo, who was sniffing his leg.

  “He likes you.” Father Rolando said, looking down at the cat.

  “He probably smells my cats somewhere underneath all the dirt and grime I’ve accumulated over the last few days.”

  The priest looked up at him. “You have multiple cats?”

  Daniel shook his head. “We have too many.”

  “And how many is that?”

  “Three. We had one, then added a pair of brothers. Tripled our cat population in one visit to the animal shelter.”