Surviving Rage | Book 2

by Arellano, J. D.

  “Yeah,” Logan said. He turned his head towards Joe briefly before starting towards the Humvee. “Let’s go.”

  Daniel left the two behind as he carried the box to the car. Arriving back at the vehicle, he found Paul standing there, holding the wooden staff he favored in his right hand, leaning on it as he watched Daniel approach.

  “Need some help?”

  “Nah, just open the back so I can set it down.”

  The teenager moved towards the back of the Prius and opened the hatchback, lifting it until it was locked in place. Daniel lowered the box into the cargo area, then stepped back. Looking at the young man, he asked, “Hungry?”

  Paul shook his head. “No, thanks.”

  Looking towards where Logan and Paul were, Daniel asked, “How is it, riding with them?”

  Paul shrugged. “Okay, I guess. As you know, Logan doesn’t talk much. Joe’s nice enough, but it seems…”

  Daniel looked at the younger man. “Forced?”

  Paul nodded. “Yeah. Exactly.”

  “Seems like he was getting along with Isabella.”

  “Back when we stopped earlier? Yeah, I saw that, too. He hasn’t said anything about her, though.”

  Looking towards the wrecked Humvee, Daniel saw the pair approaching. Joe was carrying two objects in his hands. Seeing Daniel looking in their direction, he raised them up. An antenna protruded from one end of each device.

  “I guess they found radios.”

  As the two men approached, Logan looked west, in the direction they’d be headed, while Joe held the radios up again, a proud grin on his face.

  “These will come in handy for sure!”

  Daniel nodded and smiled, appeasing the man. “Most definitely,” he conceded, though after visiting the Naval Air Station, he felt a strong desire to avoid drawing attention to their group. Based simply on the fact that there were people in the immediate area with military grade, fully automatic weapons, it certainly seemed like stealth was their best course of action.

  Looking back at the box he’d stuffed into the back of the Prius that Logan was driving, he decided the stop hadn’t been a total waste of time.

  “Alright,” he began, looking west, towards the setting sun. “Let’s get back on the road. I wanna put some distance between us and the base before we stop for the night.”

  Logan nodded as he made his way towards the driver’s seat. “Right behind you,” he said, nodding sharply.

  Paul smiled as well, offering an extended fist. Daniel stuck his own out to meet it, touching knuckles. The two smiled before Paul turned and headed for the backseat, wooden staff in hand.

  Looking towards Joe, he saw the man had already gotten into the passenger seat of the car.

  ‘Alright then,’ he thought, as he walked to where Serafina and the others waited.

  Getting into the car, he shook his head. ‘That guy sure is awkward,’ he thought to himself as he pressed the ignition button, starting the car's electric-powered engine.

  Pulling the small car back onto the highway, he continued heading west. Soon they’d have to stop for the night, and finding somewhere to stop was something they had to do during daylight hours, so he pressed down on the accelerator, wanting to put distance between them and the base. Whoever had taken the weapons of the fallen Sailors could be close by, so it seemed safe to reason that the farther they went, the less the chance of a run-in with them.

  Threats were everywhere, and they were barely over halfway to their destination.

  In less than eight hours, everything would change.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  North Bakersfield, California

  Looking at the gun pointed at his face, Trent McConnell relented. He tossed his gun aside before reaching in his pocket and withdrawing the keys to the massive SUV he’d taken from the Ford Dealership. Though he hated to part ways with the big, heavily modified Ford Excursion with massive, 40-inch tires and a 4 inch lift, he saw no choice.

  Besides, the damn thing had required the gas from three smaller vehicles to fill its tank.

  Tossing the keys to the ground in front of the black man, he said, “Here you go.”

  The man smirked, talking to the other members of his gang while looking at Trent. “This mothafucka. Driving ‘round in that big SUV all by himself.” The five men with him laughed in response.

  “Muss be tryna compensate fo’ somethin’,” one of the men said, slapping his knee.

  Feeling his blood boil inside him, he willed himself to stay cool. Even with his now-discarded weapon, there was no way to win this fight. The lie found his tongue easily, as they always had.

  “I was hoping to help others.” He offered.

  The leader of the group shrugged. “Yeah, right.”

  “No, seriously. I thought I could take this big ol’ thing and drive to San Francisco, helping people along the way. It’s got enough room, and with that suspension and those tires, it could leave the road whenever necessary to get around the wrecks and shit.”

  Stepping closer, the black man’s face got serious as he stared into Trent’s eyes. The man’s voice took on a hard, direct tone as he spoke. “I don’t believe you, bruh. You ain’t out here tryin’ to help no one.”

  Sensing danger, Trent McConnell raised his hands up to his waist slowly. “Look, I don’t want trouble, here. If you don’t believe me, okay. I gave you my gun, I gave you the keys to the SUV. Honestly, I don’t have anything else left to give.”

  The man in front of him reached up and rubbed his chin slowly as he looked at Trent, his eyes looking up and down Trent’s body.

  When they paused on his left arm, Trent knew he was in trouble.

  The man’s eyes came back up and met Trent’s before he spoke again in the same hard tone. “So you say you’re out here trying to help people, right?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  The man spread his arms wide, questioningly. “So where the fuck are they? Why you out here by yourself?”

  Feeling his ruse unraveling, Trent struggled for an excuse. “I...had to take a lot of back roads. Haven’t seen any people.”

  “Back roads?” The black man asked, his eyes burning holes into him.

  “Uh, yeah. There was, um, you know, car wrecks and stuff on the freeway.”

  “Really? Where, exactly?”

  “Uh, you know, the Five. It’s the reason I’m over here on the Ninety-nine.”

  The man’s gun fired, sending a bullet into the air near Trent’s left ear, making him recoil in fear and surprise.

  “I said, EXACTLY WHERE.”

  “Okay, okay, sorry. It was back near Lake Hughes. Just north of there.”

  The man’s eyes stayed locked on him. “What else you see back there.”

  “Fire. The whole damn mountain was on fire.” He’d seen the fire in the distance as he’d traveled west from Lancaster, where he’d stolen the big SUV after putting a bullet in the head of the man who’d given him a ride to the dealership at the edge of town. “Then the fires back there..” he added, using his thumb to point over his shoulder towards the fires in the downtown area behind them.

  The black man looked at him for a minute, then looked back at his crew. “Ya’ll believe him?”

  “Nah, dog,” the man who’d spoken before said, shaking his head.

  “No fuckin’ way, Mack.” Another man said, shaking his head as well.

  “And why is that?” Mack asked, looking at the second man.

  Keeping his thumbs tucked in the belt loops of his baggy pants, the man raised his head, pointing his chin towards Trent’s left side. “Look at dat tattoo.”

  ‘Dammit,’ Trent thought.

  The man they’d called Mack tilted his head to the right, looking towards the upper part of Trent’s arm. “Pull up yo’ sleeve.”

  Closing his eyes and taking a breath, Trent reached up with his right hand and lifted the sleeve of his shirt, revealing his tattoo in totality.

  “I got it when I was y
ounger…” he began.

  “Shut the fuck up.”

  Moving to his side, the black man stared at his arm, examining the tattoo. Having chosen the design barely a year ago, Trent knew exactly what the man saw.

  A Confederate flag in the background.

  A cross in the foreground.

  The words, ‘Don’t Erase My Heritage’ underneath.

  Returning to his spot in front of Trent, the man looked at Trent with his hard, dark eyes again. “Your heritage, hunh? What heritage is that, exactly?”

  “I...it’s my ancestor’s legacy. They fought and died on the battlefield.”

  “Oh yeah? And what exactly were they fighting for?”

  “To, uh, not have the Federal government interfere with their lives.”

  The man in front of him smiled, sensing the game Trent was playing. “Okay,” he leaned in with his body, “and how, exactly was the government trying to ‘interfere with their lives’?”

  Trent swallowed before beginning. “They - “

  The other man pointed the gun at his face. “I said, exactly. Don’t fuck with me.”

  “They wanted to take away the labor my ancestors depended on to work their farms.”

  The other man’s finger squeezed the trigger, firing the gun again.

  Trent flinched, squeezing his eyes shut as he waited for the burst of pain that would end his life.

  Nothing came.

  He heard a snorting sound. “Hunh. And wasn’t that a law signed into effect by the President of the United States?”

  Knowing his leeway was gone, Trent answered softly, “Yes.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Yes.”

  “So you believe parts of the country can rise up when they see fit and take up arms against the government?”

  “Uh, no.”

  “Oh, so only when it comes to freeing black people do you think it’s okay, is that it?”

  “No!, My people, we just…”

  “Your people? The fuck you mean by that?”

  “I…”

  “You know what I call what your ancestors did?”

  Trent felt sweat running down his body from multiple places as he looked back at the man. He swallowed again. ‘Um…. No…”

  “I call it treason.”

  He fired the gun a third time. This time the bullet caught Trent in the upper left part of his chest. The force of the impact sent him flying backwards. He landed hard on the concrete surface of the sidewalk, his head bouncing against it, knocking him unconscious.

  When he awoke several minutes later, pain wracked his body, pulsating from where the bullet had passed through his body. His chest and back felt wet. Looking over at his shirt, he found it soaked with blood.

  Instinct told him he needed to stop the bleeding.

  Rolling to his left, he painfully made his way to his knees, bringing his hand up to apply pressure to the wound. Looking to his right, he saw a bus stop bench nearby. He forced himself to his feet and made his way to the bench, where he sat down heavily, his big body jiggling as he did so.

  ‘Fuck, that hurts,’ he thought to himself, grimacing through the pain. Closing his eyes, he gritted his teeth as he tilted his head skyward.

  ‘Fucking niggers.’

  The sound of a rumbling engine interrupted his thoughts. Opening his eyes, he brought his head down and looked towards the sound of the noise. A black Ford Mustang approached, its engine growling deeply as it begged to be given more gas.

  The car came to a stop in front of the bench. The window lowered, revealing a bearded man with a smooth shaven head.

  Steve Sommer leaned out the car door.

  “You alright there, brother?”

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Near Pismo Beach, California

  Eventually, a sense of normalcy sets in, no matter what a person is faced with. The difficult becomes normal, the challenging becomes routine. Minds adjust over time, allowing people to react more appropriately to the things that aren’t normal.

  After nearly two weeks of living in a constant state of readiness, expecting an attack from anywhere, it was only natural for the men in the truck to let their guard slip.

  Serrano would struggle to identify what he could have done differently, though ultimately it wasn’t his fault.

  “Damn, my ass hurts,” Phillip said, shifting around in his seat.

  “Language, Phil,” his grandfather warned.

  Changing their plans, they’d stopped about forty miles south of Santa Maria, in the small town of Los Alamos, where they’d had lunch and refueled the truck. Serrano had clearly been frustrated by the change, but after four hours of slow driving, punctuated by repeated backtracking to circumvent areas of the highway that were completely blocked, they’d all been tired, hungry and cranky.

  After the much-needed break, they’d continued on, spending the next three and a half hours in their respective vehicles, determined to make it to San Luis Obispo before dark.

  In all, they’d been driving well over nine hours, covering a distance that was previously covered in just over two hours.

  Everyone was frustrated.

  “Sorry, grandpa.” Looking towards the coast, Phillip marveled at the vastness of the Pacific Ocean. Maybe when all this was over, he could take a boat out for a sail. He’d never sailed, but figured he’d get one with an engine so he could fall back on that should the whole sailing thing be too hard. Either way, being on the ocean, fishing and enjoying the sea air would be a well-deserved treat.

  Smiling, he turned and looked ahead again, making sure the road was still clear. Serrano and the others were a few hundred yards ahead, weaving around the random vehicles that had been abandoned on the road. The man was good at identifying spots that would be too small for the truck to get through, and he’d successfully led them around the obstacles numerous times that day.

  ‘Glad he’s on our side,’ he thought to himself, looking briefly over at his grandfather. The man’s face grimaced as he shifted in his seat. He was in pain, and Phillip knew why.

  “Your back tightening up again?”

  “Yeah,” the old man replied, shaking his head, “damn thing won’t give me a break.”

  “Sorry, grandpa.”

  From the back seat, Phillip’s sister asked, “Want some more Tylenol?”

  The old man shook his head. “No, thanks. Don’t want to take too much of those. It’s bad for the stomach.”

  “Shoot,” Damien began, looking towards the man, “you know what you need? Some of that Tiger Balm stuff they sell at the Asian stores. I use that stuff on my knees when they’re really aching, and it’s amazing.”

  Richard smiled as he reached into his pocket. When he withdrew his hand he was holding a small vial of green liquid. “I’ll be using this tonight.”

  Damien laughed his deep, rumbling laugh. “Of course you got some!”

  The group laughed as well, smiling as they tried to make the best of their situation.

  Reading a sign up ahead that Serrano and the others had just passed, Phillip asked, “Pismo Beach, isn’t that where the big golf tournament is?”

  Richard nodded, then turned in his seat and pointed south and further west, towards where Highway One was. “Yes, but it’s back down that way - ”

  The truck was suddenly rocked sideways by a hard impact on its right side. Another impact rocked it again before multiple smaller impacts were felt as bodies plowed into the truck. Loud, strident screams filtered in through the windows as the infected announced their presence.

  “Shit!” Phillip exclaimed as he struggled to maintain control of the vehicle as body after body slammed into the side of the truck as the mob of infected swarmed it. Fingers clawed at the truck, etching long trails in the black paint and making terrible, high-pitched scraping sounds. Arms and hands reaching desperately towards the interior of the truck, desperate to gain access.

  Without warning, the front passenger window shattered inward, showering R
ichard with glass as he leaned away from the outstretched hands of the infected, his own hands reaching for the glove compartment as he did.

  Pressing down on the accelerator, Phillip felt the old truck lurch forward, struggling to deal with the added weight of the multiple bodies as the infected hung onto the side of the truck and climbed into the truck’s bed.

  “Go!” Jennifer screamed from the backseat as she rolled her window up the short distance required to close it, catching an infected man’s fingers in the gap. The thing screamed in rage before bringing its fist forward and slamming it into the side of the truck. Bones snapped as the fist hit the metal of the truck’s side, enraging the man further. With one hand flopping around uselessly at his side, he leaned forward, bringing his angered face within inches of the window. Snarling, the man pulled his head back, preparing to use it to smash through the glass. Realizing what he was about to do, Jennifer opened the window, releasing his hand. With his weight shifted backwards and nothing to hold on to, the man fell away, hitting the ground and tumbling several times before coming to a stop. Prone on the ground, he was quickly trampled by the infected as they chased after the truck.

  Phillip turned the wheel hard to the left as he accelerated, trying to swing the truck away from the horde. Next to him, his grandfather pulled a revolver from the glove compartment, switched it to his left hand so he could fire across his body as he leaned away from the hands of the infected that looked to maul him, and fired. The back of a crazed woman’s head exploded as the bullet impacted her face at close-range, sending blood and bone back into the faces of the infected behind her, giving them an even more sinister look.

  Swinging the wheel back to the right, Phillip was able to shake loose a few more people as the distance between the vehicle and the mob of infected began to grow. Turning the wheel back, he drove forward, feeling the truck bounce as the rear tires of the vehicle ran over the bodies that fell underneath, crushing and killing the creatures that had fallen beneath it.