Surviving Rage | Book 2

by Arellano, J. D.

  The man smiled, his warm eyes gazing at Daniel. “We are all God’s creatures. God prefers that we love and respect all.”

  Daniel nodded in agreement. “I miss ours.”

  “Are they okay?”

  “Yes. They’re in good hands, being cared for by new friends we made before we started our journey north.”

  “They sound like good people.”

  “They are. Without them, we might not be here.”

  “Why are they not?”

  “They chose to remain back in the town we helped make safe.”

  “I see.” The priest paused, taking a drink of his coffee. Bored with Daniel’s leg, Romeo hopped up onto the table and sat next to the man’s cup. Rolando reached up and scratched the cat’s head, causing it to close its eyes. It purred instantly, signalling its contentment with his owner’s actions. “Why did you not stay?”

  Daniel swallowed his coffee before getting up to refill his cup. “Do you mind?”

  “Please, no need to ask. Help yourself. What it is here does not belong to me. It belongs to all.”

  “Thank you.” Daniel fixed himself a second cup and sat back down, distracting the cat momentarily. It looked at him through barely open eyes that conveyed a mild resentment at the distraction. “The young girl,” he began.

  “Isabella.”

  He nodded. “She’s immune to the virus.”

  “Yes, she told me.”

  “She did?”

  “Daniel, she is Catholic. I am a priest. I am simply here to listen. When people ask me to provide answers to questions about life and the world around us, I try my best to explain.” His eyes softened in sadness as he looked down at his cup. “She is upset and confused about her situation. She does not understand why God would allow her father to kill her mother, only to spare her.”

  Daniel shook his head, looking down at his coffee. “Because she’s incredibly lucky.” His comment was met with silence. When he looked up at the priest, the man’s eyes held his.

  “You know how I would describe it, my son, and it has nothing to do with luck. She has been blessed by God.”

  Though a variety of responses questioning the wisdom of believing in a God who let a virus spread like wildfire, causing brothers to kill brothers, mothers to kill their children, children to kill their parents, decimating the population of the earth, swirled in his head, Daniel decided to let it go. At this point, people needed to believe in something, and if it helped them find the strength to go on and hope for the future, so be it.

  Smiling, he took another sip of coffee before reaching out to scratch the side of the cat’s neck. It opened its eyes in surprise, then closed them and purred in response.

  “Cheating on our cats already?” Serafina asked, smiling as she entered the room. Looking over at Father Rolando, she said, “Oh my God, you made coffee.” Realizing what she said, she added, “Oh. Sorry about that.”

  Both men chuckled before the priest replied. “You two make a good couple.” Pointing to the cabinet, he provided the same instructions he’d provided Daniel.

  “Couldn’t sleep either, honey?”

  Pouring her coffee, she said, “No. Partly uncomfortable - sorry, Father - partly anxious. We’ve got a ways to go.”

  “Is anyone else up?”

  “Only Joe. He’s near the front, right out there, reading one of the Bibles.”

  Daniel cocked his head in surprise. “Hunh. I didn’t realize he was religious.”

  The priest interjected. “One does not need to be, as you say, ‘religious’ to accept God into one’s heart.” Rising to his feet, the man set his coffee cup on the counter. “Perhaps I will go see if he would enjoy my counsel.” With that, he left the two of them alone in the small kitchen.

  Serafina sat down across from Daniel, reaching out to rub the lower part of the cat’s back, just above his tail. Romeo stood instantly, arching his back in enjoyment. She scratched it a few times, then patted it twice before stopping. The cat stood there for a few seconds, waiting for her to resume her efforts. When she didn’t, the cat hopped down off the table and trotted out of the room.

  “I think you upset someone.” Daniel said, smiling.

  Serafina shrugged. “Meh.” Sipping her coffee again, she smiled at her husband.

  Enjoying the silence, the two of them sat back in their chairs and relaxed. It would be another long day on the road, and what they’d encounter along the way was anyone’s guess.

  Closing the back of the Prius, Daniel looked at Serafina, who stood next to the Priest. The man had been nice enough to share water and food with them, replenishing their supplies for the journey ahead.

  “Are you sure we can’t convince you to come with us?” Serafina asked.

  “No, my dear. My place is here. Someone else will need a place to stay. Maybe for a night, maybe for longer. Either way, I must be here to help.”

  Logan stepped over and extended his hand. “Thank you, Father.” He shook the priest’s hand before turning and walking away.

  Joe nodded at the priest as well. “Thank you, Father.”.

  Father Rolando smiled. “Of course, Joe.” Reaching into his robes, he withdrew a Bible and passed it to the man. “Please, take it.”

  Joe shook his head slightly, bringing up his hands. “I couldn’t, Father.”

  “Please, I insist. I believe what you are looking for is there within. If you give it a chance, you might be surprised.”

  The man accepted it hesitantly, nodding before following Logan to the other Prius.

  Daniel extended his hand. “Seriously, Father, thank you for everything.” He paused. “Especially the coffee.”

  The priest smiled, looking at both of them. “No thanks needed. You’re good people, and as I said, God’s children. It is my duty to help, but it is also my pleasure. I’ve enjoyed the company.” He looked over towards the fence, where Romeo had retaken his position, watching them from afar. “Romeo is a good cat, but not a great conversationalist.”

  The three of them laughed as they looked over at the cat. In response, Romeo’s eyes squinted slightly, suggesting he knew he was the butt of the joke.

  “Alright, Father. We’d better get on the road.” Daniel said, pointing at the car with his thumb. “As the old song says, ‘We’ve got a long way to go, and a short time to get there.’”

  Serafina looked sideways at her husband. “Dork. Thank you, Father.”

  The man nodded.

  As the two of them turned to walk away, The man reached out and grabbed Serafina’s arm, stopping them. When they looked at him, his eyes were filled with concern. Speaking in a grave tone, he said, “Please watch over Isabella. She is important, and I feel that danger will find her when it is least expected.”

  Daniel nodded. “We will, Father.”

  Serafina echoed his sentiment. “Don’t worry, Father. We’ll watch after her.”

  “Thank you.”

  The two of them walked to their car and got in. Starting the car, Daniel glanced in the rearview mirror and saw Father Rolando watching them. Daniel pulled the car forward and turned the wheel. He extended his arm through the open window and waved at the priest before exiting the parking lot and heading for the highway with Logan and the others following closely behind.

  When the two cars were gone, Romeo jumped down from the fence, trotted over to the priest, and rubbed against his leg.

  “I know, Romeo. I miss them already, too.” With that, Father Rolando turned and went back inside, closing and locking the door behind him.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Outside of Bakersfield, California

  The gun boomed loudly in his hands, sending a spray of metal slugs towards the target. The black man fell to the ground for the second time. This time he didn’t move.

  “Fucker almost got away!” Graham said, shaking his head.

  Looking down at the bodies of the black man’s wife and three small children, Sommer shook his head, then shrugged. “He
should’ve just accepted it. Not like we’d let him get away.”

  “Yeah, but you know how they are. Always thinking they’re so fast and strong. Might’ve been good for picking cotton, but it ain’t gonna help ‘em outrun a bullet.”

  Sommer nodded in agreement. The family had been significant. Their deaths had put Sommer’s group total kill number over three hundred, with the man marking number three hundred and two. New targets were getting harder to find, either because they’d killed everyone worth targeting in the area they’d focused on, or because word of Sommer and his men had gotten around, sending the people they targeted deeper underground.

  ‘Won’t be any underground railroad here,’ he thought, turning and spitting on the woman’s body.

  “Where’re Hank and Randall?” he asked.

  “Think they’re checking the other campers.”

  Sommer nodded, looking around. They were in a small RV camping area, which had twelve spots for people to hook up their campers. Seven of them were in use, but until they checked the last one, their fifth, they hadn’t found anyone.

  Aside from the big vehicles, the area was largely empty. None of the fire rings had been used recently, nor had the park-provided barbecue grills. Sommer’s eyes traveled smoothly from his right to his left as he surveyed the area. The forest provided a lot of spots to hide, but he and his men didn’t have time to go hiking through the woods in search of targets. Through the trees, he could see the lake glimmering in the afternoon sun. A trio of fishing poles stood mounted in the mud of the shore. Each of them bent near the top, indicating a catch.

  Frowning, he looked back down at the bodies in front of him. Aside from the man and his wife, there was a girl of about five and a pair of what appeared to be fraternal twins.

  He turned and looked back at the fishing poles.

  Hank and Randall approached, their botts crunching loudly on the rock and dirt of the camping area. “Nothing else in either of the two campers, boss,” Hank said.

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah. Checked ‘em thoroughly.”

  “Hunh.” Something didn’t make sense. Looking around again, Sommer’s eyes settled on a small cinder block building. The roof was dark shingles, the blocks painted a beige color. A brown painted sign with engraved lettering that had been painted yellow read:

  RESTROOMS.

  “Come on,” he said, walking towards the small building. He pointed towards the women’s room. “Check that,” he ordered before entering the men’s side, followed by Graham. If his suspicions were correct, Hank and Randall would find nothing. Not him, though.

  Stepping into the space, he paused, listening. Even without power, the room was still fairly well lit, thanks to decorative cinder blocks that allowed light in, which were mounted high on the exterior walls.

  On the wall directly in front of him were a pair of urinals, which were next to a pair of stalls. Mounted on the wall to the right were two metal sinks, two soap dispensers, and two air dryers. Moving towards the first stall, he kicked it open with his boots.

  Nothing but a surprisingly clean toilet.

  ‘They must have been cleaning it themselves and using water from the lake,’ he thought to himself before stepping over to the next stall.

  Pulling his foot back, he kicked open the next stall.

  HIs eyes locked with another’s, ones bulging with fear.

  Sommer had time to look down at the gun the boy held just before it roared in the small, confined space.

  When he saw the flash of the gun not five feet from his face, he thought of his time in Afghanistan.

  It was where his entire world changed.

  At first, he’d believed in the mission. He’d bought into it, taking the lessons he and his fellow Marines had been taught about the religion of Islam to heart. The way the Muslim Chaplain, a heavy set middle-aged white man with glasses and a receding hairline, had presented it, it sounded respectable.

  It sounded relatable.

  Love of God. Respect for God’s creatures. Blessing one another, wishing them well. Counting each day of life on earth as a gift.

  He’d bought it all.

  Looking at the brown-skinned men, women and children in the villages his assigned patrols took him through, he’d seen people struggling for survival. He’d seen the fear and sadness in their eyes as they were surrounded by near-constant war. He’d seen the way they regarded the American and other Allied troops with respect and acceptance, all the while noting how they relaxed once he and his peers moved on.

  It was when he watched them from a distance, seeing them in their element, that he saw something he’d never expected to see.

  He saw happiness.

  In the middle of destroyed buildings, damaged homes, and non-existent infrastructure, surrounded by massive craters caused by artillery rounds and the constant presence of armed military who marched through their towns and villages, he saw mothers holding hands with their daughters. He saw young boys talking rapidly as they looked up at their fathers in admiration. He saw children playing with old, worn, soccer balls on rock-strewn fields, uncaring of the strange and unpredictable bounces the ball took on the uneven surface.

  Taking all of this in, he felt something he’d never expected.

  He felt compassion.

  He wanted them to have peace. To have safety and comfort, free from aggression. To be able to enjoy normal childhoods, normal existences as the children grew into adults and adults aged gracefully as God intended.

  Until the girl tried to kill him.

  He’d been sent to lead a squad through a previously bombed out part of a village that had been identified as one Al Qaeda frequented, receiving food and water from the villagers before retreating into the mountains again.

  If the intelligence provided to them had been more detailed, he’d have known the villagers were forced to provide these things, that they and their families had been threatened with death if they didn’t comply or tried to leave.

  Maybe he would have seen things differently, had he known these things.

  After a six hour hike, he and his squad arrived in the village. Met by the sight of dead bodies and the smell of burning flesh, they’d surveyed the village from its outer edges before he gave out assignments. Each man would clear two of the small, shelled out homes before regrouping at the far end of the village. They’d provide their required reports to base, have some chow, then head back.

  Walking through the village, he’d watched a small, scrawny dog nudge a dead man with its nose, trying to get the man to wake up from his indefinite sleep. Grimacing, he felt bad for the both of them.

  When he reached the first home, a small structure made of mud and wood, he paused and took a breath, steeling himself as he mentally prepared for the possibility of close quarters combat. He brought his finger to the trigger of his weapon and applied the slightest bit of pressure, knowing that a millisecond of time could be the difference between life and death.

  Entering the space, he found the roof had collapsed in the corner, burying what looked like an old woman and two small children. Thin, spindly arms and legs protruded from the rubble, unmoving.

  Shaking his head, he climbed over loose rocks and broken wooden beams, reaching the rear of the structure. Within the ruins he saw the telltale muted colors of old Afghani blankets, indicating this was the sleeping area for the family. Looking closer, his eyes settled on the dead eyes of an elderly man. The man’s legs were unnaturally elevated well above his head, his torso buried under the debris.

  Breathing through his nose, he turned and headed back the way he came, climbing over the rocks and pieces of wood in his path. He nearly lost his footing twice, causing him to curse as he struggled to keep his balance.

  Emerging from the small home, he paused to catch his breath. Relaxing his finger from its tightly maintained position on the trigger of his MP-4, he let his arm fall to his side and shook it, keeping the muscles of his arm from cramping. Looking to his l
eft, he saw Lance Corporal Stephenson step out from one of the homes. The man raised his hand and gave a thumbs up. Nodding in response, he turned and walked towards the next home, bringing his finger back to its trained position..

  Like the first structure, this one was made from mud, rock, and wood. Its roof had been caved in as well, creating a large pile of debris in the home’s front room. Unlike the other home, though, he saw no signs of people buried in what remained of the roof. Climbing carefully over the rock and mud, he stepped towards the small room at the rear of the structure.

  Rocks came out from under him, dropping him onto his back, causing his finger to tighten on the trigger of his rifle, sending a handful of rounds skyward.

  “Shit!”

  His body slid downward in the rubble, sending rocks and debris toward a small, three foot hole at the back of the home that had been created by the collapse of the roof. Struggling to right himself, he rolled to his right, releasing his grip on the trigger of his gun as he came to a stop directly in front of the hole.

  Inside the hole, two wide eyes stared back at him.

  A gun cracked, sending a bullet towards him.

  He felt its heat as it passed by his head, smacking into a nearby rock and sending chips of it into the back of his neck and the side of his face.

  Realizing how close he’d come to death, he shouted, “Fuck!!” and struggled to bring his gun in front of him.

  The gun popped again. Impossibly, the bullet missed him once more, this time smacking into the barrel of his rifle, richoteting away harmlessly.

  Desperate, he grabbed a rock and threw it into the hole, hearing it smack against something soft.

  A muffled cry came from the hole.

  Filled with adrenaline and the instinct to survive, he lunged forward into the hole, his hands reaching out in front of him. When his fingers came in contact with the hot metal of a gun barrel, he pushed past and found the gun’s grip.

  It cracked once more, sending a round through his backpack, puncturing his Camelbak and sending water spraying from its bladder.