Satisfied with his efforts, he looked out at the bridge, then over at the Scorpion before he spoke.
“Just outta curiosity and stuff, why are we doing this again?”
“Part of the deal,” the Scorpion replied, her eyes finally finding the lean form of Lizette as she wove between the vehicles on the bridge, headed back to where they waited.
“Yeah, okay. But why’d Skull Crusher want dis?”
Turning her head to look at him, she smiled. “The Bay Bridge is already out. Bang said something about a truck carrying liquid nitrogen. Remember that night last week when we thought there was an earthquake?”
“Yeah.”
The Scorpion brought her hands up as if she were holding a small ball, then moved them outward. “Big ass explosion. Happened right near one of the support towers, took it out.” Laughing, she looked back out towards the bay, which seemed to be looking more and more blue with each passing day as the amount of pollutants being put in the water had been reduced to something close to zero.
After a moment, she went on. “That bridge is missing about a mile of its length. Once this bridge is out, anyone coming from the east will be forced south, towards Fremont and Milpitas - his territory.” As she finished, she nodded. “Anyone coming from the south will be ours.”
The three of them watched as Lizette deftly used a rope to descend from the bridge to the top of a tractor trailer, then moved to the edge of the truck and jumped down, landing atop the roof of a taxi. Leaping down from there, she trotted over to where they stood. As lean and fit as she was, the acrobatic efforts hadn’t even winded her.
“Done?” The Scorpion asked.
“Yep,” she replied, biting her lower lip as she smiled back at the woman. “This is going to be a big one.” Reaching down, she unbuttoned the pocket on her cargo pants and withdrew a modified cell phone. Passing it to the Scorpion, she said, “Here. You do it.”
The Scorpion smiled. “Really?”
“Yes. I did it for you.”
Taking the modified phone in her hands, the Scorpion turned and faced the bridge. “What button do I press?”
Lizette leaned in, putting her arm around the Scorpion’s waist. She pointed. “That one, then press send.”
The Scorpion did so.
A mile away, the bridge erupted. The massive explosion sent cars and trucks flying as it ripped apart a span of the bridge. Chunks of concrete and sections of twisted metal flew skyward. In an outward flowing wave, the windows of the vehicles imploded, sending bits of glass to the surface of the bridge. The Scorpion and those with her felt the force of the explosion in their chests as the blast wave struck them, even from that distance, pushing them back slightly. A massive cloud flowed outward from the site of the explosion as the fragments of the bridge rained down, splashing into the water.
“Damn!!” Clint exclaimed, pulling his headphones from his head, his face filled with joyful awe.
“Shit, homegirl, that was tight!” Manny said, laughing as he watched the sections of bridge around the focal point of the explosion begin to collapse into the bay.
Pulling Lizette to her, the Scorpion looked into her eyes. “Nice job, baby.”
They kissed passionately, much to the pleasure of the two men, who watched slyly out of the corners of their eyes, knowing that staring openly would only put them on the Scorpion’s bad side.
When they finished, the Scorpion nodded.
“Alright. Tomorrow we take out the Dumbarton bridge.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
Central California
Sitting in the passenger seat of the Prius, Daniel gazed out the window, watching the farmlands of Central California go by. Frustrated, he sighed heavily, not realizing it was his fifth time doing so in the last ten minutes.
Keeping her eyes on the road ahead, Serafina said, “Alright, we get it. You’re frustrated.”
Turning to look at her, Daniel’s face showed confusion before he realized what she meant. “What? Oh yeah...sorry.”
Reaching out with her right hand, Serafina rubbed his shoulder. “It’s not your fault.”
Daniel nodded, looking at the folded map in his hands. “I know,” he began, before turning to look out the window again. “It’s bad enough I can’t help with the driving, but if I can’t see clearly beyond twenty yards, how will I be able to shoot?”
“You’ll manage,” she responded, glancing over at him. While she was trying to comfort him, she quietly hoped his vision would clear up. If the threats they’d face during the remainder of their drive to San Francisco were anything like those they’d already faced, it’d be better to fight them from a distance.
“I can help drive, too,” Ashley offered.
“Thanks, Ash, I’m doing okay for now, but I’ll let you know if I need a break” her stepmother replied, looking in the rearview and catching the teenager’s eye.
Daniel turned towards the back, where Brenna was sandwiched between Ashley and Paul. “You’ll definitely get a turn driving. We have to keep moving if we want to have any chance of catching up to them.”
“Okay,” his daughter replied, nodding. “I kind of miss driving anyway.”
“Yeah, well, this isn’t as fun as what you’re used to.”
“I know.”
Daniel smiled at the girl reassuringly. “I’m sure you’ll handle it just fine. On a more serious note, with me unable to shoot well, if we run into conflict, it might be on you to help Auntie deal with anyone - or anything - that comes looking for trouble.”
Ashley nodded, then pointed at the small compartment on the rear door. “It’s loaded with the safety on.”
“Great job,” Daniel said, smiling. He reminded himself that he needed to stay positive for the family’s sake. If things got tough, they’d need to believe they’d survive.
And it was still on him to take the lead in defending the family. If he had to empty a clip into the fuzzy shape of an oncoming attacker, he would. If they kept coming, he’d use a knife.
Or a boot.
Or his fists.
“I can help, too,” Brenna added, smiling as she held the bow that rested against her thigh. Ever since being taught to shoot by Janet, their neighbor in Big Bear, she habitually kept the beautifully carved bow and soft leather quiver close at hand.
Paul spoke up as well. “Same here.” From his spot in the seat behind Serafina, he reached down, picked up his bow slightly, then nodded. “Especially if we find that fat jerk.”
Daniel smiled. The young man had grown and matured over the last two weeks, reaching a point where he understood that protecting yourself and the ones you cared about was one of life’s necessities. Whereas before he’d stand back, watch, and hope violence wouldn’t come his way, now he kept himself ready to respond if it did. In the world they lived in, it was the only way to survive.
Stay watchful.
Be prepared to fight.
Always.
Turning back to face the road again, Daniel found himself thinking about Isabella. Much like Paul had, the small, thin, dark skinned girl with her long black hair and dark eyes had quickly become part of their family. He reasoned their rapid acceptance into the family was characteristic of the situation they all faced, basically an amplification of something he’d found true in the past.
When faced with tough challenges, people either came together or struggled by themselves.
During multiple points in his Navy career, he’d worked for tyrants, people who screamed and yelled and put down unyielding edicts that required nothing less than full compliance. They treated the officers and enlisted service members as little more than workers, people who were there only to do as ordered and not expected to provide feedback or suggestions.
What he’d realized after the fact was that the friendships he’d made were some of the strongest and most enduring of all those he’d made during his career. The bond they’d formed while faced with a common ‘enemy’ (in title only), was strong for one primar
y reason: it had to be. They needed to lean on each other, to support each other, and to help each other when possible. They vented to each other, joked with one another, and teased one another, but through it all, they stuck together.
Similar to those situations, but in a much more intensified way, mankind was faced with a challenge unlike anything they’d ever faced. While there had been plagues in the past, none of those introduced something as horrible and terrifying as the transformation that occurred in people infected by the Rage virus. It was enough to make those around them wonder whether or not there truly was hope for the human race.
But in the midst of all the chaos, by and large, people were coming together, finding strength both in numbers and in each other. Some came together for good, others for evil. Eventually, the two sides would clash.
It was inevitable.
History had shown it to be in man’s nature to seek out conflict.
Sure, the smartest thing for people to do right now was to come together in the interest of the common good, to help each other survive this nightmare, but instead, there were those that saw something different.
They saw opportunity.
The opportunity to take what they normally couldn’t have, to do things society would never accept them doing, to act in ways that were detrimental to the very survival of their world.
So there would be conflicts, just like the one he and his family had been part of in Big Bear, and while his family and those that fought with him had emerged victorious at the end of the battle, Daniel had no illusions about the fact that they very easily could have lost that fight. It took everything they had, plus a lot of luck, along with the help of strangers - including Logan - for them to prevail.
But they had, and in the end, he had to believe good would win.
From everything he’d seen, people like Joe Reilley, people who were solely focused on themselves, were the exception, and they likely wouldn’t last long.
He certainly wouldn’t last long if Logan got his hands on him.
Serafina’s voice brought him back to the present. “Sign ahead.”
Looking out the windshield again, he saw a green shape on the right side of the road, its face still too blurry for him to read at its distance.
“What does it say?” he asked.
“It’s for the thirty-three north,” his wife replied.
Daniel held the map up so he could find their location. “Okay, it looks like we’ve got about...forty miles until we reach the one fifty-two.”
“Sounds good.”
The plan she’d agreed on with Logan was that they’d take the 152, while he’d continue on and take the 130. They both saw it as unlikely that Joe would drive all the way up to the 580 before heading towards San Francisco, since that route would take him through more congested metropolitan areas.
“Forty miles to the one fifty-two, so what, about one thirty, one forty to San Fran?” She asked, pulling the wheel to the left to avoid the burned out husk of a car on the right side of the road.
“Yeah, that looks right,” Daniel replied, looking at the map. “Somewhere around there.”
“Kay,” she glanced at the fuel gage, then added. “We’ll probably need to get more gas at some point. This car is really good at conserving fuel, but we’re at just under half a tank, and I’d feel more comfortable if we didn’t have to worry about it.”
“Makes sense,” Daniel replied, nodding. “Maybe when we get close to the one fifty-two, we’ll look for a car to get gas from. Take the opportunity to use the bathroom, too?”
Serafina scoffed. “Use the bathroom? You mean, ‘pee behind a bush?’”
Daniel shook his head. “Yeah, well, okay, fine. Take a piss, then.”
“Don’t be gross, Dad,” Brenna cautioned from the back seat.
Looking back at her, Daniel smiled. “Sorry.” His eyes settled on the doll she was holding in her lap.
“What’s that?”
Brenna held it up. “President Martinez. I know Isabella will want it.”
“Her hero, hunh?”
“Definitely.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
Mount Weather Emergency Operations Center, Virginia
Conscious of the odor that came from him, Jonathan Reed wiped his brow again, using the white towel Sergeant Mason had given him. The briefing room was warm, in part because of the number of people gathered within the small space and in part because of the lack of air conditioning. Power consumption was being closely tracked, and air conditioning was only provided for spaces with critical equipment and/or perishable items. Likewise, refrigerator use had been curtailed, so he knew the can of Coke Zero that was sitting in front of the President’s spot at the head of the table would be room temperature at best.
Popping open the top of his water bottle, he took another drink, still trying to replenish the fluids he’d lost during his morning room in the stifling heat. He still had the bottle at his lips when the President walked into the briefing room.
Pulling the bottle away from his mouth quickly, he stood up from his chair. Standing at attention, he looked straight ahead, his eyes fixing on the wrinkled button up shirt of the man across from him. Like everyone else, his clothes bore the signs of minimal care. They were clean, but not pressed or starched. Minimal power use meant minimal power use. Irons and steamers were non-essential items, and therefore unauthorized.
Feeling the man’s eyes on his, Reed looked up and nodded. He understood.
“Seats, please,” President Martinez said as she took hers. Instead of opening her ever-present iPAD, she set a yellow notepad in front of her, then clicked open her pen. The iPAD was not a necessity, and she insisted on following the same rules she’d put in place for everyone else.
With her pen poised above the paper, she looked around the room. The screens that had previously shown images of the CDC, the Pentagon, and NORAD were dark, not because there weren’t survivors there, each location was still holding strong, but because the VTC capabilities relied on Internet connectivity that was no longer available. Information was passed solely via voice communications, and decisions and orders made by the President would be sent to the remote locations separately after the meeting concluded.
To her right, Secretary of State Alan Roberson sat, looking, as most did, weary. Amazingly, the man still wore a tie with his button up shirt and dark blue slacks, though his shirt wasn’t as crisply ironed as was typical. He’d confessed to her that he kept the next day’s shirt hanging from the back wall of the shower in his quarters, allowing the steam to remove the wrinkles from the fabric while either he or his wife washed themselves.
Seeing her looking over, he smiled and nodded.
“Good morning, Madam President.”
“Morning Alan. Let’s hope it’s a good one.”
“From what I’ve heard, I believe it will be,” he replied. His eyes showed something she hadn’t seen much of over the last two weeks: hope.
“Well, let’s find out.” Looking over to a man in uniform seated next to the Secretary of State, the President lifted her chin slightly. “Colonel, what do you have?”
“Madam President, this morning at eleven seventeen a.m. local time, eight seventeen Pacific, a man, presumably in California, called the San Francisco Protective Zone claiming to have a girl who’s immune to the Rage virus with him.”
The President leaned forward, her eyes locking onto the man’s face as she spoke. “That is good news, Colonel.”
“Agreed, Madam President, but I should caution you and everyone else, this is only someone saying they have a girl with them who’s immune. We have no way of knowing whether or not it’s true.”
“It’s better than nothing, Colonel.”
“Yes, Ma’am, but there’s a catch.”
President Martinez cocked her head to the side as she regarded the man. “A catch? How so?”
Colonel Williamson grimaced and shook his head as he responded. “The man’s holding her for
ransom.”
Collectively, the people in the room gasped. The hope for survival, the hope for the future was being used as a bargaining chip?
Taking a deep breath, the President regained her composure. “How much money does he want?”
“Not money, Madam President. He’s demanding one hundred pounds of gold.”
Shocked again, President Martinez sat forward, staring at the man intensely. “Gold? Are you serious?” Realizing she was shooting the messenger, she put her hands up in surrender. “I’m sorry, Colonel. That was uncalled for. I apologize.”
Colonel Williamson smiled slightly. “No need to apologize, Madam President. My reaction was much worse when I heard the news.”
Sitting back in her chair, the President nodded as her mind worked. Within seconds, she had a plan in mind, but she wanted to consider the inputs of those in the room before she spoke. Looking over at the Secretary of State, she asked, “Alan, what do you think?”
Alan Roberson sat forward in his chair and smoothed his tie absentmindedly as he answered. “Two things, Madam President. One, we have to assume he’s telling the truth about having someone immune. Thinking he’s lying or wrong about it leaves us open to the risk of losing a vital opportunity.”
“Agree,” the President replied, nodding.
“Two, we can’t let him hold this country’s future hostage and get away with it.”
Jessica Martinez smiled. Alan had always had a fiery streak to him, one that quickly became evident when he was exposed to injustice. It was something she admired in him, and something that served as a continual reminder of how lucky she was to have him supporting her presidency.
“Absolutely not,” she answered, shaking her head. Looking past the SecState, her gaze settled on Colonel Williamson. “Thoughts, Colonel?”
The man frowned slightly as he looked down at the table, then said, “I’m out of my element on the part regarding how to handle the girl.” He glanced across the table and nodded his head in Jonathan’s direction. “We’ll bring in Colonel Reed, here, on that part.” Looking back at the President, he added, “The second part, the ‘not letting him get away with this B.S.’ - excuse my language Madam President - that part I can take care of.”
Surviving Rage | Book 2 Page 44