More snarling, then only Chad’s heaving breathing.
After a short while, he heard the sound of fading footsteps.
Only the slight sound of water running followed that.
He’d kept the connection active for a while, listening to it occasionally, calling his sister’s name, but no response came.
He’d rushed home after that, leaving work without bothering to tell his coworkers, only to find his grandfather crawling along the driveway, leaving a wide trail of blood in his wake.
Screeching to a stop near the middle of the two hundred yard paved drive, Darren jumped out of the car and rushed towards his grandfather, determined to help the man. Whatever had happened had been terrible, but if the man was still alive, there was a chance he could be saved.
Ten feet from the white-haired, thin-framed man, Darren stopped.
His grandfather’s face was drawn back in a rictus, a fixed grimace of anger and determination. Stepping to the side, Darren looked at the man, then followed the man’s gaze.
It was fixed on the end of the driveway.
Darren had assumed the man was crawling towards him, trying to get help, but that wasn’t the case.
The man was trying to leave.
“Grandpa?”
The man’s head swung to the side, violently, coming around to look towards the sound of Darren’s voice.
The man’s teeth snapped in his mouth as they came together in a biting motion, followed by a deep growl. As Darren watched, his grandfather maneuvered his body as he crawled, changing direction.
Towards him.
Backing away from the man, Darren brought his hands up.
“Easy Grandpa, calm down, okay?”
His grandfather barked a vicious, dry sound, spitting blood outward as he did, spraying the pavement in front of him. Darren stepped back further, feeling a sudden urge to stay clear of the man. Something wasn’t right.
Darren’s grandfather lunged forward, reaching for Darren’s leg.
He jumped backward, easily avoiding the man’s attempt to grab him.
The old man’s strength was completely expended by his final, desperate attempt to get to Darren. He slumped forward, his face smacking softly on the pavement as his body gave out and his bladder let go. Urine left the man’s body, flowing outward to mix with the trail of blood he’d left along the drive.
Darren stared down at the man, trying to process what he’d just seen. Slowly, he raised his head, bringing his gaze upward until it rested on the house.
“Oh no…”
He broke into a run, racing towards the massive oak front doors, which stood open at the top of the steps. The trail of blood led into the home. Flying up the steps without stepping on the wide swath of blood, he entered the home.
“Mom? Dad?”
Nothing.
Looking down, he saw the blood extended into the rear of the home, towards the kitchen, the sitting area, and the home office. Walking next to the trail of blood, he followed it along the marble tiled floor, into the office his parents shared.
His father’s body was in the corner of the room, next to an overturned lamp. His father’s Ed Brown Special Forces Carry 1911 pistol, the twin to the one Darren had been given when he’d received his commission in the Marines, lay near his outstretched hand. Darren’s eyes traveled up his father’s body until his gaze settled on the man’s throat. Long scratches ran across his neck at an angle, leaving exposed raw flesh along their length. Near the center, the scratches had severed some of the smaller veins, causing blood to seep out. Alone, they wouldn’t have been enough to kill the man. It was the missing part of his throat where his Adam’s apple would normally be that had ended his father’s life, allowing blood to flow from the wound freely, soaking the front of the man’s yellow silk tie and white-striped blue button-up shirt.
Backing out of the room, Darren turned in the hallway and headed towards the kitchen, following a trail of bloody footprints on the that led from there to the office.
“Mom?”
Feeling as if he were in a dream, Darren walked past overturned chairs near the dining table, carefully stepping around broken plates and glasses, and stepped around the edge of the kitchen counter.
His mother’s prone form lay face down on the floor on the opposite end of the kitchen, unmoving and surrounded by a pool of blood.
“Mom?” He slowly walked closer as his eyes registered the cast-iron skillet that lay on the floor near his mother. Its edge was covered in blood, hair, and bits of bone. When his eyes found the back of his mother’s head, he knew the bone was from her skull. The back of her head was obscenely caved in, leaving grey matter that he recognized as her brain exposed.
Looking away, Darren stumbled backwards until the back of his thighs met one of the chairs that surrounded the breakfast table. He dropped down into the chair as he felt his will break. Tears flowed from his eyes as he sobbed. Faced with the reality of suddenly being alone, he wondered how fate could be so unkind. He’d started the day with loving parents, a grandfather he loved and admired, a sister he adored, and a brother-in-law that had come to be a great friend.
Suddenly, he had nothing.
No one.
That had been a week ago.
Unable to face the scene at the front of the house and on the home’s first level, he’d gone upstairs to his room and fallen into bed, where he spent the remainder of the day and night before finally finding the strength to confront the necessity of removing the bodies and cleaning the house.
Though he didn’t understand what had made his grandfather go crazy, it didn’t take much to figure out that something similar had happened to his brother-in-law. Being that they were separated by such a large distance and hadn’t seen each other since Christmas, Darren reasoned that it was some kind of virus, so he donned latex gloves under dishwashing gloves before touching the bodies.
Using the wheelbarrow the maintenance crew kept in the shed, he carefully moved the bodies of his parents and grandfather to the backyard, setting them down between the two oak trees that were strategically separated to avoid blocking the view of the river from the house. Over the next four and a half hours, he dug graves for each of them, grateful for the moisture in the soil that kept it relatively soft.
By the time he was done, his hands were calloused and his back felt like he’d done a fifteen mile ‘hump’ with a fully loaded pack, something he hadn’t done since his Active Duty days in the Marines.
Determined to finish what he’d started - to return the house to some level of respectability - he started at the front driveway, where he used the hose to wash away the dried blood. When the blood was mostly gone, he poured a trail of laundry detergent along the length of the stain, then used a push broom to scrub it into the pavers before rinsing all of it away.
After a short break, where he did little more that sit on the steps and sip water from the hose (he knew he wouldn’t be able to use the kitchen until he cleaned up every trace of his mother’s blood), he moved inside, where he used straight bleach to clean the tiles throughout the entryway, sitting area, office, and kitchen. Once the floors were clean, he soaked a sponge in bleach, then moved slowly from the front door to the office, then to the kitchen, finding every splatter of blood he could, wiping them away methodically.
By six-thirty in the evening he was finally done. Exhausted, hungry and thirsty, he slunk to the kitchen and opened the fridge. He grabbed a soda, then closed the refrigerator, knowing he was too tired to cook anything. Opening the freezer, he found himself face to face with his grandfather’s favorite guilty pleasure: chicken nuggets. With tears forming in his eyes, he removed the package and took it to the counter, where he struggled to keep his emotions in check while pouring a dozen of the pieces onto a cookie sheet.
After sliding the cookie sheet into the rapidly warming oven, he chugged his soda, belched loudly, then returned to the fridge.
‘You need more than a soda, Darren.’
> Grabbing a beer, he made his way to the sitting area and plopped down on the couch. He sipped his beer while looking through the windows at the river, wondering what life would be like from there on.
After some time, he replaced the empty beer bottle with a fresh one then turned on the flat screen TV. The news of the outbreak came fast and hard, making him realize hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of people were being faced with the same harsh reality he faced.
Realizing he’d completely forgotten about his work, he returned to his car and grabbed his cell phone. Though it was nearly dead, it still had a small bit of power, so he plugged it in and called his office.
Nothing.
He called his boss’s personal cell phone number.
Nothing.
He tried several coworkers before giving up on reaching anyone from his job.
Sitting back in the chair, he felt stunned by how rapidly things had happened. He’d understood the virus’s fatality rate, and the behavioural changes caused by it, but nothing he’d heard had indicated the world was crumbling around him.
Looking back at his phone, he decided to call the Marine Corps Recruiting Office where he worked on his duty weekends.
Nothing.
Scrolling down through his contacts, he found the number for Master Sergeant Polanski, the Senior NCO that reported to him.
The call went straight to voicemail.
Remembering the tactical radios they kept at home for use during their duty weekend training exercises, he made his way up to his room and retrieved it from its charger. Turning it on, he checked each channel they normally used. He was met by nothing but static.
He was alone.
Exhaling, he looked away from the gravesites and allowed his eyes to travel to the river. He watched as the water moved by, uncaring of the tragedy that had befallen the human race.
The earth would prevail.
Even if the race of man ended, the earth would live on.
Looking towards the shallow, protected spot in the river where he and his sister Jackie had played as children, he wondered if she’d been given a proper burial.
‘Probably not,’ he said to himself, closing his eyes as he shook his head slowly, feeling more sadness take over him.
Behind him, the door creaked.
“How ya doin’, Captain?” A distantly familiar voice asked.
Turning around, Darren Miller felt his eyes widen in shock as he faced the man who’d entered his bedroom.
It couldn’t be.
If there was a God, it couldn’t be.
His mouth suddenly became dry as he choked out his words, shocked at what he was seeing.
Or rather, who.
“You’re supposed to be dead.”
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
San Jose, California
The big SUV moved slowly as it approached the large, modern home that sat atop the hill. Surrounded by walls that maintained a two hundred yard perimeter around the property, the home was mostly dark, lit only in sporadic locations by small lamps that provided light to those inside. The landscaping lights that normally would have provided an additional element of security were dark, and the gate that extended across the driveway had been secured with a chain and padlock, both providing evidence that power to the home was non-existent.
Which also meant that the security system would also be non-operational.
Inside, a figure moved near one of the windows at the back of the home, disappearing after passing through the lighted area. It was the third person they’d seen over the last thirty minutes, but even if there were twice that number inside the home, it wouldn’t worry Leon or his gang. They were strapped and ready to deal with any trouble they encountered. Over the last few days, they’d been 100% successful at taking what they wanted when they wanted it. Those who tried to fight back were quickly taken out by his gang’s superior firepower.
Though it wasn’t necessary at this point, Leon had come to prefer being out with the gang, conquering new areas over being back on his home turf, trying to relax in his home.
It wasn’t that his home was small or uncomfortable by any means (upgrading his home had been one of his first priorities), it was that when he was there he was constantly confronted with the issues the residents of his territory were bringing to him almost constantly.
Not enough food.
Not enough water.
No access to medicine.
No way to bathe regularly.
No electricity.
The list went on and on. Everyone needed something, and they wanted him to solve every problem they encountered. It was enough to drive a man crazy. He’d offered them protection, and he’d provided it. Why did he have to deal with all the other bullshit? It was like they couldn’t do shit for themselves.
The home in front of him would provide the perfect separation from all of them. He’d use it like a castle. If people wanted something, they’d have to climb the hill, request entry from his guards, and then present their case to him in the home’s exterior courtyard. Even better, he’d only entertain requests at certain times each day - if he felt like it.
If not, fuck ‘em.
“Whaddaya think, Leon?”
Leon glanced at Julio, who crouched next to him in the bushes as they watched the home. The man’s face was covered in several days worth of hair growth, giving him the beginning of what would be a full beard. The man had gotten leaner over the last week and a half due to their reduced access to food, but he hadn’t complained once. Instead, he remained by Leon’s side, a trusted advisor and confidant.
“I think we take it.”
Without a word, Julio looked past Leon to where Miguel and Sam were. He nodded and made a motion with his hand, pointing towards the gate.
Miguel and Sam remained crouched as they made their way to the gate, moving quickly and quietly as they left the bushes and crossed the pavers that comprised the home’s driveway, making their way to the gate.
Bringing up a pair of bolt cutters, Miguel waited until Sam was holding the chain that kept the gate closed before he cut it, ensuring the loose ends wouldn’t bang against the frame of the gate. Though not completely necessary due to the overwhelming force the gang would bring, the element of surprise was still nice to have. If they could take the home without firing a shot, that would be a good thing. Saving ammunition was important. It wasn’t like more was being produced.
Together, the two of them opened one gate’s panels, then moved through the opening and positioned themselves on either side before Miguel motioned for Leon and the others to advance.
Rising from their positions in the bushes, Leon and the rest of his crew crept up the drive until they were at the gate. Counting Miguel and Sam, there were ten of them in total, giving them a better than three-to-one advantage over the people inside the home.
‘This will be even easier than I thought,’ Leon thought, grinning slightly in the darkness.
He pointed at Clinton, Oscar, and Tony, then pointed towards the left side of the home, indicating that they should go around that side towards the back. Next, he sent Tyrone, Gilberto, and Lizette around the right side.
Leon settled on one knee, relaxing. They’d wait a couple of minutes, allowing the two groups to get into position, before advancing on the front of the home.
Looking beyond the home, towards the mountains to the west that created a barrier between Pacific Ocean and Mountain View, he smiled. The home’s location was perfect. From there, he’d had an almost king-like position, looking over his subjects that lived in the city below. As he thought about it, he decided he’d created a no-occupancy zone where the base of the hill met the nearby residential area. The members of his crew would be allowed to live on the hill - below him, of course - but aside from them, no one would be allowed to live within one, no, two miles of the hill.
It would be perfect.
Glancing back towards Julio, he realized the man was watching him, as were Miguel and S
am. They were waiting for the order to proceed.
He nodded.
The four of them stayed low as they made their way to the front of the home, climbing the circular steps that led to the double doors at the entrance. Positioning themselves on either side of the doors, Leon motioned for Sam to open the doors. Sam tried the door’s handle, but, as expected, it was locked. Using proper tools and deft fingers, Sam picked the lock, turning and smiling at Leon when the mechanism emitted the satisfying clicking sound of the lock being disengaged.
Grasping the handle, Sam opened the door and stepped through, moving off to the side to allow Leon and Julio to enter. The two men walked through the door, keeping their guns at the ready as they entered the home’s dark interior. The lights they’d seen from their position in the bushes had been toward the home’s rear, so they moved through the entryway quickly, advancing down the Spanish tiled floor that led in that direction.
Their boots made no sound as they walked carefully towards the home’s bedrooms, moving slowly as they looked left and right towards the doors on either side of the hallway. They paused at each, opening the doors slightly to peer inside, finding each of them empty.
‘They’re probably staying close together for safety,’ Leon thought, smiling. Having them all together would only make things easier.
At the end of the hall, another set of double doors greeted them. Holding his AK-47 up with his right hand, he reached out and grasped the handle of the door with his left, testing the knob. It turned easily in his hand.
Nodding at Julio, he threw the door open and entered the room, followed immediately by the other man.
The room was completely dark, with only the filtered moonlight coming in through the sheer curtains that covered the windows. In the center of the room were three chairs. In each chair, a figure sat.
“The fuck?” Leon said aloud.
Brilliant white light shone directly at them from chairs. With their eyes fully adjusted to the darkness of the night, the effect was stunning. Blinded, they stumbled backwards as they turned their heads away, trying to escape the intensity of the light. From all around them, the sounds of weapons being drawn told Leon they’d walked into a trap.
Surviving Rage | Book 2 Page 37
