Surviving Rage | Book 2

by Arellano, J. D.

  The bullets flying past them as they ran.

  One hitting him in his side.

  The explosion.

  Chuck being there one second, gone the next.

  The searing pain in his back as the pieces of shrapnel tore his flesh and dug into his body.

  Losing feeling in his legs…

  Looking downward, he tried to move his feet, quietly praying to Christ and God as he did.

  His feet moved.

  Encouraged, he tried to wiggle his toes. They moved, albeit slowly and stiffly.

  Breathing a sigh of relief, he silently thanked God for the miracle. Relieved at still having control of his legs, he allowed his mind to absorb the sensations that came from other parts of his body. His right side still burned, but felt like the wound had dried and was beginning to scab. His back was a mess of dull aching points, some that burned deep, some that were simply shallow sores.

  Turning his head towards the small woman again, he asked, “How did I get here?”

  “You float in river. My father see you, pull you out. Bring you here, my mother help you.” Though the woman’s words were ones that spoke of her parents’ compassion, her eyes and face remained hard and unyielding.

  “Thank you,” he replied before asking, “How long ago was that?”

  The woman held up two fingers. “Two day. Everyday I think Vee Cee come here, kill us because we help you. Every day I scared.”

  “I’m sorry. Just let me rest a bit longer and I’ll leave as soon as I can.” His mind reeled at the thought of being missing for two days. His platoon most likely thought he was dead or captured, and probably assumed the same about Chuck.

  No one knew his friend was dead, blown apart by a landmine.

  He had to get back.

  “Where are we, exactly?”

  “We near Xã Đông,” the woman replied, her face still stern.

  “Shit.” Realizing his language might be considered offensive to the young woman, he quickly added, “Sorry.”

  He was easily six to seven miles from De Dang, where he’d been sent to take out the Viet Cong officer. Any friendly forces would be looking for him miles from where he was. It would be a marathon hike, more than 20 miles, to Đồng Vắt, where the Army platoon he’d been assigned to support had set up camp after being sent forward from Qui Nhơn. He’d have to avoid the trails and roads that would make the hike easier and take the more challenging route through the jungle, where he could rely on the foliage and shadows to hide him from enemy forces. Without a doubt it would be a tough journey, climbing over, under, and through the bushes as he worked his way back to camp.

  To top it all off, his entire body hurt.

  Even so, what choice did he have other than to try?

  He was a Marine, and a Marine never quit.

  Struggling, he managed to sit up slowly, grunting and wincing as he moved.

  The small woman rushed over to his side, the stern mask on her face disappearing, swiftly replaced one of concern and compassion.

  “Easy. You mess up your bandages. Make you bleed again.”

  Glancing down towards his side, he saw long strips of white cloth wrapped around his midsection. Part of it was stained with dried blood, but the majority of it was clean. The mat below him, though, was deeply stained with the dark crimson color of dried blood.

  He looked from the stain to the small woman. “Sorry,” he offered.

  “Okay,” she replied, nodding.

  Realizing he was shirtless, it suddenly occurred to him that his lower body was uncovered underneath the thin sheet that was draped over him.

  “Uhhh...my pants?” he asked.

  The woman nodded again. “Okay, you wait.” She turned and walked out of the room through the opening at the back of the room that led outside. The sound of her feet descending a series of steps told him what he’d already suspected: the house was on stilts, which meant these were rice farmers. Monsoonal rains brought flooding, so the only way to ensure your things stayed (mostly) dry was to put distance between the floor of your home and the ground.

  The woman came back into the room, her short legs moving quickly as she crossed the space between them in minimal time, his wrinkled uniform in her arms. When she passed it to him, he realized it’d been washed and hung out to dry.

  “We hang in roof,” the woman said, easing his fears that his uniform would have acted like an American flag outside their home.

  “Thank you,” he said, smiling. Holding his uniform in his lap, he looked at the woman expectantly.

  Smirking, the woman said, “I see already,” before reaching up to grab the piece of fabric that hung from one of the ropes that crossed the room. She pulled across its length, separating the two of them before adding, “I get you food.” He heard her footsteps across the wooden floor of the space again before they faded away as she left the room.

  Moving slowly and carefully so as not to reopen the wound on his side, he got dressed, becoming more and more aware of all the places on his body that were still healing from the gunshot, the mine explosion and resultant shrapnel, and his uncontrolled tumble down the hill.

  He was in the middle of slowly lacing up his boots when he heard the woman return. An incredible aroma filled the room, making his stomach growl and mouth water. Standing up more quickly than he’d intended, he ignored the pain in his back and side as he pulled back the makeshift curtain.

  Across the room, the woman had set a steaming bowl of soup on a small table and placed a pair of chopsticks and a spoon next to it. She was in the process of dragging a small chair over to the table.

  Walking over quickly on stiff legs, he gently grabbed the chair from her. “Thank you,” he said, smiling at her in appreciation.

  The woman smiled slightly in return, then pointed towards the table. “You eat.”

  Not needing further encouragement, he set the chair at the table and quickly sat down. Leaning forward, he breathed in deeply, allowing the food’s fragrant aroma to flow into his nose.

  “This smells...amazing,” he said, looking at the young woman incredulously.

  “It Pho,” she replied, smiling more widely this time.

  Unable to focus on anything other than getting some of the delicious-smelling food into his stomach, the man grabbed the chopsticks and spoon and dug in, first grabbing some of the noodles, beef, and bean sprouts and setting them on the broth-filled spoon before bringing the spoon to his mouth.

  In less than a minute, five mouthfuls of the delicious soup had been consumed. Looking up at her in amazement, he said, “This is...incredible.”

  The young woman cocked her head in confusion. “What?”

  “Um, really, really good.”

  She smiled again, her eyes taking on a brighter, more accepting appearance. “My Mother make it. She know you would be hungry.”

  Pausing, he said, “Please tell her I said, ‘thank you,’” before digging in again. Within minutes, he was lifting the bowl to his mouth, draining what remained of the delicious broth.

  Sated and somewhat breathless from the nonstop effort he’d put into eating, he set the bowl back down and leaned back in his chair to catch his breath. After a second, he nodded his head, then looked at the woman, smiling again as he did. “Thank you so much.”

  “It okay,” the woman replied, watching him. She bounced her knee nervously as she sat there, her eyes occasionally darting towards the front of the home.

  She was worried.

  Nodding to himself this time, he slowly stood up. “Okay, I’m gonna get going.” He looked around the room. Reaching up, he felt the left breast pocket of his uniform top. His second most important item, his compass, was there. Breathing a sigh or relief, he raised his eyebrows as he asked, hopefully, “Any chance my rifle was still with me when your father pulled me from the river?”

  She shook her head. “No, but your knife there.” She pointed to a spot on the exposed frame of the wall. Walking to the wall, he grabbed it and gave
it a cursory glance. It wouldn’t be much help, since he doubted he’d be able to move very well should he be in a position where he needed to defend himself with it, but it’d be better than nothing. Sliding it into his pocket, he looked around for his hat momentarily, then remembered the tumble he’d taken down the hill. There was no way it had remained with him throughout that fall.

  So that was all he had left: his uniform and his knife.

  Sighing, he was looking down at the blade when he heard the sound of shuffling feet. Lifting his head, his eyes registered three other people in the room: a short, thin, tanned middle-aged man, a thin woman of similar age, and a young boy that was maybe six years old. The man smiled and nodded, his eyes bright and intense. The woman, who the shooter assumed was the man’s wife and the mother of both the young woman and the boy, simply watched him with a concerned look on her face. The boy held onto his mother, using her body as a shield as he stole glances at the tall white man who’d been brought into their home.

  “This my family,” the young woman said, gesturing towards the small group.

  The shooter nodded at her before looking at her parents and brother. Walking over to where they stood, he looked at them in turn, then nodded slightly. “Cảm ơn.”

  The man grinned widely, showing a mouthful of teeth. “Không có gì,” he replied, nodding, before he pointed at the shooter. “Tôi nghĩ rằng bạn đã chết.”

  Unable to fully decipher what the man had said, the shooter looked at the young woman.

  “He said he thought you were dead,” she explained.

  “I probably should have been,” he offered.

  The young woman translated his words to her parents, who both nodded.

  The older woman looked at him and shook her head as she spoke. “Bạn đã rất đau.”

  “You were very hurt,” her daughter explained.

  “Yeah, I know,” he replied, nodding.

  The man looked at him. “Bạn có chắc không? Bạn có thể ở lại lâu hơn.”

  His daughter stared at him, eyes pleading. “Bố cần phải ra đi…”

  The man stared back at her, raising his voice slightly as he spoke. “Hỏi anh ấy.”

  Sighing loudly, the young woman looked back at the shooter. “My father wants to know if you’re okay. He says you can stay longer if you need to.” As she spoke, her eyes conveyed what her words didn’t: she wanted him to leave, not because she had anything against him, but because he was putting the family in danger.

  Knowing this, he nodded. “Tôi không sao.” He pointed outside. “I need to get back to my unit.”

  As the young woman translated, her eyes conveyed relief. When her parents weren’t looking, she mouthed ‘thank you.’

  The shooter nodded, then took a deep breath for effect. “Okay, well, I’d better get going, he said. After the young woman translated, he smiled, looking at the family before adding, “Cảm ơn.”

  “Không có gì,” the couple replied, smiling.

  Turning to the young woman, he said, “Thank you again for the soup, and the water, and, well, everything.”

  The woman smiled back at him, her eyes brightening. “You are welcome,” she replied. “Be careful,” she added, her face suddenly getting serious. “My mother say your back may give you problem. She say you lucky not paralyze. She take out pieces on top, close to … skin, but cannot get pieces...inside.”

  Considering her words, he nodded before looking down at his legs. “I do feel lucky,” he said, curling first his right, then his left leg at the knee as he pulled his foot backwards. “Especially because your family saved me,” he finished.

  He began to turn away from the woman before he caught himself. Stopping, he looked back at her. “I’m sorry, I forgot to ask your name.”

  The young woman smiled. “It’s Loan.”

  Lowering his head, he said, “Thank you, Loan. I’ll never forget you or your family.”

  With that, he turned on his heel and stepped towards the door.

  The mother’s voice called out, “Chờ đợi.”

  Wait.

  Turning back towards the family, he saw the woman step forward, a small burlap bag in her hand.

  “Món ăn,” she explained, as she passed the bag to him.

  Food.

  Accepting the bag with a smile, he thanked the woman yet again, then turned and walked out of the small home, descending a small ramp from the house down to the surrounding fields. Pulling his compass from his pocket, he glanced at it to gather his bearings, then began heading roughly southeast. He followed a raised bank alongside the rice paddies until he reached the edge of the jungle. There, he turned and glanced back at the raised home the family lived in and found the four of them watching him.

  Raising a hand, he waved at them before stepping into the dense jungle.

  Knowing he had a long trek ahead of him, he began by simply putting one foot in front of the other.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

  San Jose, California

  Standing underneath the overpass for Highway 101, Antonio Silva was irritated. The tall, heavily muscled man seethed under the surface, frustrated that he was yet again being forced into a supporting role, watching as poor decisions were made, never asked for his opinion, never asked to contribute when plans were being made.

  At least when Leon was in charge, things made sense. Under his leadership Varrio Diablo had been in a near-constant state of growth, taking more and more of the city all the time, expanding their turf with ease as their numbers steadily increased.

  Simply put, they were building an army.

  More importantly, they’d made it clear that Varrio Diablo was in charge of this part of the Bay area.

  No one would stand in their way.

  But since the Scorpion ambushed Leon and took control of the gang, things had been going in the wrong direction. Instead of growing, their numbers had leveled off while their turf was decreasing in size. They were giving up valuable resources in exchange for a concentration of power. Sure, they were more secure, but they were rapidly depleting the food supply and doing little to replenish it.

  Given the chance, he would do things differently. Rule with a heavy hand, take what you want. That was his motto.

  But here he was, following the Scorpion’s orders, watching those pieces of shit take what had belonged to Varrio Diablo 24 hours prior.

  He glared in the direction of the men in the Black SUV on the street. In return, the driver of the SUV , a lean, muscled black man with cornrows, rolled down his window and put up a pair of fingers in a ‘Peace’ sign, smiling as he did so.

  “This is fucking bullshit,” Antonio said, shaking his head as the SUV drove away. He spat on the street, wishing he was putting the loogie in the driver’s face instead.

  A shorter, slightly less muscular man named Ernesto placed the back of his hand against the bigger man’s midsection, trying to keep him in check.

  “Easy, Esé, Scorpion’s orders. Everything east of the one oh one belongs to Skull Crusher now.” Bringing a joint up to his mouth, he took a long puff, then offered it to the other man. “Here. Take a hit.”

  “Nah, I’m good right now,” Silva replied, oblivious to the fact that someone was watching and listening to him. Reaching down into the back pocket of his sagging khaki pants, he pulled out a large folding knife and flicked it open in the routine fashion he’d mastered.

  Bringing it up, he began using it to clean bits of dirt and grime from under his nails. Grinning as he looked at his hands, he said, “Plus, I already gutted a couple of those pendejos in the liquor store over there.” He lifted his chin, indicating a location across the street.

  “Shit, homie, are you serious?”

  Silva smiled. “Hell yeah, dog. I was tryna get my drink and those fuckers was in there, tryna take all the good shit.”

  Ernesto looked at him, concern showing on his face, even after the hits from the joint. He shook his head. “I don’t kno
w if that was smart, Esé.”

  Silva scoffed. “Shit, whatever, homie. We can’t just give up everything.”

  “I know man, but the Scorpion…”

  “Can suck my dick,” the big man finished, looking over and grinning at him. Looking down at the joint, he added, “You know what, I will take a hit. Pass that shit.”

  Ernesto passed it to him, shaking his head once more.

  A lithe figure in the shadows slipped away, unnoticed.

  Leaning back in his chair, Antonio Silva brought the bottle of tequila up to his mouth and took a drink as he watched the Scorpion stand from her chair and move to the front of the room. His eyes narrowed to slits as he looked at the beautiful, dark-haired woman distrustfully.

  The group of people gathered in the briefing room of what had been the San Jose Police Headquarters were considered her ‘deputies’ - those she trusted the most and tasked to take on the toughest challenges, and neither he nor Ernesto had been part of the group prior to this evening.

  In total there were nine of them: six men, including Antonio and Ernesto, and three women, the most notable of which was the woman named Lizette, who they called “Bang” because of her skill with explosives. The woman sat at the front of the room, her chair angled in a way that allowed her to watch the people in the room as the Scorpion began to speak.

  “Alright,” she began, pacing the scuffed tiled floor in front of them. “We’ve got a few things to discuss. Reaching into her pocket, she withdrew a small vial, uncapped it, and brought it up in front of her. She used a pinky to scoop some of the white powder from within the vial, then brought it into her nostril and inhaled. She paused, savoring the feel of the drug entering her system, then capped the vial and stuffed it back into her pocket.

  “First of all, I’d like to say that things are going very well. I like the way we’ve pulled back in, consolidating our strength so that we can protect what’s ours. That’s good - it allows us to better control the people inside our territory, which is important.