Draining his cup, Sommer stood from his chair and walked over to the coffee maker to get more. Next to the small appliance, he saw Miller’s military radio sitting in its charger.
After filling his cup with coffee, he grabbed the radio and returned to the table. Setting on the table, he noticed the green light on the front, indicating the device was powered on. A low, steady static tone came from the radio as it sat there on the table. Annoyed, he was about to reach for it when Graham slid a plate piled high with eggs, bacon, and hash browns in front of him. The steam rising from the plate reminded him that it had been well over a week since he’d had a hot meal, and the intoxicating smell of freshly cooked bacon made his mouth water.
Forgetting about the radio, he dug into his food, shoveling fork after fork of eggs, potatoes, or both into his mouth, pausing occasionally to take a bit of a strip of bacon.
“How is it?” Graham asked, standing near the table.
Not wanting to stop, Sommer brought a hand up and raised his thumb.
“Glad you like it, boss. Like Trent said, maybe we could make this home base…”
With his mouth still full, Sommer mumbled, “Maybe…”
On the table, the radio crackled.
“San Francisco Protective Zone, come in….”
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
San Mateo, California
“Dang, girl, nicely done!” Samantha ‘The Scorpion’ Garcia said, walking around the burned out wreckage of the military Humvee. The heavy vehicle was on its side, put in that position by a tremendous blast from the IED Lizette had created.
Getting the Humvee to follow them down the small street had been easy; a couple of well-placed potshots on the hood and windshield had gotten the attention of the military men and women within, and with their sense of superiority, they’d taken the bait. The heavy vehicle’s engine roared as it swung around the corner, turning onto the small street and accelerating as the driver pursued the fleeing gang members. Halfway down the street, the IED laid hidden under a dark grey blanket in a pothole they’d dug themselves, so well camouflaged that the driver hadn’t seen it until it was too late. The Humvee’s brakes squealed loudly as they tried in vain to stop the five thousand pound vehicle, but their best efforts only did enough to stop the vehicle halfway over the explosive device.
Lizette, who’d been dubbed ‘Bang’ after the first time she’d shown off her handiwork, waited until the vehicle was directly over the device before sending the signal to the detonator using a garage door opener. The detonator ignited the device’s primary charge (she’d managed to find a stash of C4 in one of the gang houses they’d raided), causing it to explode, sending rapidly heating and expanding gases outward, resulting in a massive blast that traveled out from the pothole at over 1600 feet per second, lifting the Humvee six feet off the ground before it crashed to the ground on its side.
For the men and women inside the armored vehicle, the effects had been worse. The blast wave ruptured eardrums, slammed their brains back and forth inside their skulls, and perforated their organs by expanding the air molecules within them. Each of them died painful deaths, bleeding from every orifice on their body.
“Thanks,” Lizette said, smiling as she looked at the results of her handiwork. The one negative of the blast had been the damage done to some of the weapons the soldiers carried. Several rifles were bent and damaged, left unusable from the force of the explosion.
Fortunately, the handguns and body armor were salvageable, so The Scorpion had put her gang to work at gathering the usable items and placing them into the truck they’d parked further down the street.
The noxious fumes of burned paint, rubber, and plastic, along with the pungent odors given off by the recently deceased overpowered the normally pleasant morning air that was carried in from the ocean to the west, so both of the women had placed red bandanas over their mouths and noses.
Bending down, Samantha pulled a helmet off a dead female soldier and placed it on her head, not bothering to strap it in place.
“How do I look?” she asked.
“Hot,” Lizette replied, biting her lower lip. “Wear it later?”
Samantha smiled slyly in response. “Maybe. If you’re good.”
Lizette moved closer, decreasing the space between them to a few inches. “Oh, I can be real good….”
The Scorpion brought her hand up and gently pushed her lover away. “Not now, baby. Let’s stay focused.”
Lizette smiled wickedly and backed up, licking her lips as she did. The woman turned and walked away, moving her hips seductively.
The Scorpion shook her head in mock disgust, grinning slyly the whole time. Stepping around towards the front of the Humvee, she glanced toward the bodies of two young men in the front seats. Blood ran from their noses, mouths, eyes, and ears, running down and staining their uniforms. Looking at them, she wondered if they’d had to die, but knew in her heart that their surrender had been unlikely.
Leaning into the vehicle through the broken windshield, she grabbed a couple of 9mm magazine clips from the driver’s belt. In the awkward position she was in, she couldn't reach her pockets, so she stuffed them into her bra. Reaching upwards towards the man in the passenger seat, she strained to reach the holders on the man’s belt that held his spare magazines. No matter how she reached, the snap closures for the holders remained just out of reach. Twisting her body, she tried again.
No luck.
Lunging forward, she got more of her torso into the cab of the Humvee before she tried again.
Her fingers scraped the closure’s edge.
Straining even harder, she felt the waistband of her pants, which had gotten snagged on one of the windshield wiper arms, being pulled downward as she reached for the holders. Ignoring it, she extended herself even further.
Her fingers found the edge of the first holder and pulled it upward, unsnapping the closure. Assisted by gravity, the clip inside slid forward, allowing her to grab it with two fingers. She quickly stuffed the clip inside her bra, then reached for the remaining clip. Her fingers found the end of the magazine and pulled it forward. It slipped from her fingers and fell, landing on the driver’s corpse. Shaking her head, she reached for the clip.
Over her left shoulder, the Humvee’s radio squawked. There was nothing but static for the first few seconds, then, “San Francisco Protective Zone, come in….”
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
West of Lemoore Station, California
Burning, searing pain invaded his brain as Daniel tried to open his eyes.
“Damn!” he muttered, turning his head away from the light and squeezing his eyes shut tightly. The light streaming in through the window was minimal, filtered by the light yellow drapes with small blue flowers, but what made it through burned into his optical nerves like a hot poker.
He heard Serafina’s footsteps on the wood floor as she walked into the bedroom.
“Honey?”
“Unnhhh...yeah,” he replied, wincing while keeping his eyes firmly closed.
Serafina crouched next to him as she brought her hand up to gently grab his right arm. “How are you feeling?”
Still wincing, Daniel began to shake his head before the pounding intensified at the smallest movement. “Head hurts,” he said before bringing his left hand up to massage his temples softly.
“Unfortunately, we don’t have ice, but I can get you some Tylenol,” Serafina offered as she gently rubbed his other arm.
“Please.”
Turning and looking towards the doorway, where Ashley and Brenna watched and waited, Serafina asked, “Can one of you get your Dad the Tylenol and the other get a bottle of water?” The girls nodded and quickly left.
“Fuck, my head hurts. Can you close the shade?”
“Okay,” Serafina replied, rising from her position on the floor. She moved to the window and pulled the shade closed, plunging the room into near-darkness. “Is that better?” she asked.
Daniel bli
nked several times, then opened his eyes as little as possible as he tested the room’s lighting. With some effort, he managed to keep his eyes open. “Better,” he said, still wincing.
Ashley and Brenna returned, carrying a bottle of water and the plastic container of Tylenol. Serafina accepted both, passing the bottle of water to Daniel before opening the Tylenol container and dumping some out into her hand. At first, she kept only a pair in her hand but then she hesitated, asking, “Two? Or four?”
“Shit, give me eight,” Daniel replied, still holding his head with one hand while extending the other hand.
Serafina scoffed before dropping four in his hand.
Daniel brought his hand to his mouth and dropped the pills in, then tried to sit up so he could take a sip of water. The effort made the room spin, forcing him back down onto the couch, where a soft pillow cradled his head.
“Help,” he said, holding the water bottle out in front of Serafina.
Taking the water from him, she unscrewed the cap, then carefully brought the bottle to his lips as he carefully lifted his torso from the couch a few inches, just enough to allow the water to run down his throat. After a few gulps, he nodded. “Thanks.”
Walking over to where her father laid on the couch, Brenna asked, “Are you alright, Dad?”
Daniel nodded slightly. “Yeah, my head is killing me, though.”
The young girl’s brow furrowed, her eyes showing sadness as she looked at him. “Paul’s doing a little better.”
Surprised by her statement, Daniel was about to ask what had happened to the young man when he suddenly realized he had no idea who hit him and why.
He slowly turned his head until he could see his wife. “What exactly happened?”
Serafina glanced at Brenna and Ashley, who had joined them, before responding.
Looking into his eyes, Serafina said, “Joe hit you from behind. He also attacked Paul.”
Daniel’s eyes flashed with anger. “Son of a bitch…I was literally talking to him a few minutes before, and he was completely relaxed.” He looked up at Brenna. “Is Paul okay?”
The girl nodded. “Yeah, it seems like he is. His head hurts, too, but he’s sitting up and eating some crackers.”
“That’s good,” Daniel said, closing his eyes and setting his head back down on the pillow.
Serafina’s face took on a sorrowful look as she crouched down next to Daniel. “There’s more,” she began.
Hearing her somber tone, Daniel reopened his eyes and slowly turned his head so that he could look in her eyes. “What is it?”
“He...took Isabella.”
“What?!” Shocked, Daniel moved to sit up again, only to be stopped by the flood of pain that invaded his head, causing him to crash back down onto his pillow yet again.
“Easy, honey, I’m pretty sure you have a concussion.”
Holding his head, Daniel said, “You’re probably right.” He looked towards the far end of the room. “Shit, everything outside of about twenty feet is blurry.” Frustrated, he forced himself to deal with the pain as he worked his way onto his side so that he was facing Serafina and the girls. Grimacing throughout the effort, when he was finally in position, he relaxed slightly as he looked at his wife. “How did he take her?”
“He drugged her. He drugged Ashley and Brenna, too. Last night, when we all had hot cocoa, he must have slipped something into their cups. I found an open package of Ambien in the medicine cabinet.”
Daniel’s eyes grew wide as he turned to look towards the girls. “Are you okay, though? He didn’t hurt you, did he?”
Ashley and Brenna both nodded. “We’re okay,” Ashley replied. “Just worried about Isabella.”
Daniel nodded. “Me, too. I hope he isn’t planning on hurting her.”
Serafina reached out and rubbed his arm again, her brow furrowed in sorrow.
Leaning forward again, he asked, “More water?”
Serafina held the water bottle to his lips again, angling it so he could drink in small gulps.
Halfway through his third sip, Daniel held a finger up.
“Wait. Where’s Logan?”
“He went after them.”
Daniel laid his head back down for a moment before he replied. “Makes sense. Did he take the Prius he was driving?”
“No, that fucker Reilley did.” Serafina replied, shaking her head. “He didn’t want to leave us stranded, so he took the old truck that was out near the barn. It’s a beater, but it runs.”
“Hope it had gas,” Daniel said, before shifting around on the couch. His back was hurting from the lack of support the old sofa provided.
“It was about three-quarters full, so Logan wasn’t too worried about that. He hoped to catch up within the first hundred miles, if not sooner.”
“Yeah, that would be good. Can you help me sit up?”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. My back is hurting from this damn couch.”
“Alright,” Serafina said, standing and reaching for his arms. She pulled him upward, assisting as he got into a sitting position at the end of the couch.”
“Do you need anything, Dad?” Ashley asked.
“Coffee would be great,” Daniel replied, giving a half smile.
“Okay.” The teenager turned and headed for the kitchen.
Brenna remained where she was, looking at her father. “Anything else, Dad?”
“You know, I’d feel ridiculous wearing them inside, but I think my sunglasses might help with the brightness. Can you grab them from the car?”
“Sure.” Turning, the girl left the room.
Leaning his head back against the sofa, Daniel looked at his wife. “Sorry,” he began.
Serafina pulled back in surprise. “For what?”
“For everything. For letting him hurt Paul, for letting him take Isabella, shit, for letting him come with us in the first place.”
Serafina shook her head. “You did what seemed right at the time, rescuing him from those...things. None of us thought twice about it. When you see someone in danger, you help if you can. That’s what we did.” She looked towards the window, her eyes unfocused as she considered her next words. After a moment, she went on. “As for that son of a bitch attacking you two and taking Isabella, he had us fooled into thinking he was a good guy, and we - all of us - let our guard down.”
Daniel nodded, grimacing in pain as he did. Squinting against the light, he forced his eyes open so that he could look into Serafina’s eyes as he spoke. “We’re going to get her back,” he said, with an air of finality, indicating there was no other possible outcome in his mind.
Serafina nodded. “I know.”
Ashley walked back into the room, carrying a steaming cup of coffee and a small dish. “I added some powdered creamer, but they don’t have any Splenda, so I brought the sugar.” She set both items on the end table and stood up, looking down at her father.
“Thanks, Ash,” Daniel said, smiling.
Brenna’s voice came from the kitchen.
“Dad?”
“Yeah?”
She walked into the living room, carrying his sunglasses and the military radio they’d gotten near the Naval Air Station. “This thing is making a weird noise.”
Daniel reached out. “Let me see. It might be low on battery or something.”
Brenna handed it to him, then set his sunglasses on the end table.
Looking at the radio, Daniel saw the battery was still nearly fully charged. Turning it up, he waited and listened. There was nothing but static.
“Are you sure you heard something?” He asked, glancing at Brenna.
The radio squawked in his hand. A second later, a familiar voice came through the unit’s speaker.
“San Francisco Protective Zone, come in….”
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Central California
Joe Reilley didn’t care what people thought of him.
He hadn’t cared what Jim and Eddy, the men who’d
picked him up on the side of the road outside of Lancaster, thought of him. Not when he pushed Eddy off the top of the car when Jim wasn’t looking, essentially feeding him to the infected that surrounded them, and not when he’d fooled Jim into thinking he’d run with him when the man tried to escape.
Along those lines, he hadn’t cared what his girlfriend thought when he left her trapped in the townhome they’d been renting, surrounded by hordes of infected who were in the process of breaking in when he’d fled.
And he certainly didn’t give a shit what Daniel and the others thought about him taking the girl.
He was looking out for number one, plain and simple, and in the world they were living in, that was the only way to survive.
With society nearly completely decimated, and with it the norms that made life so damned tedious at times, he could focus on what was best for him.
His wants and needs.
No one else’s.
“Shut the hell up back there!” he shouted at the girl tied up in the back seat. Her muffled cries were annoying him, and he didn’t need the distraction while he was driving fast at night on a poorly lit road that was littered with abandoned vehicles.
Isabella would be worth a lot to the government, and he was going to make sure they paid. Not in money - that had little to no value given the state of the world - but in gold, something that would always have value.
He’d exchange the girl for enough gold to ensure that he’d be comfortable for the rest of his days, then head towards the hills, where he’d find a nice, big, empty home, one with solar power and its own well, away from everyone.
There he’d set himself up for the future. In his youth, he’d learned how to grow vegetables, so he’d plant a garden. Next, he’d find a truck and gather livestock from surrounding farms. Soon he’d have everything he’d need to live comfortably.
And he’d have his nest egg of gold to fall back on, should he need it when the country inevitably made a comeback.
He’d even have enough to hire protection, should things take a turn for the worse.
Surviving Rage | Book 2 Page 40
