“Really?” Serafina asked, looking over at her husband.
“Yeah, I just...never thought that much about it, I guess. It’s a private school, so there was never any chance someone like me could afford to go there.”
“There are scholarships…”
Daniel laughed. “Yeah, I was not going to qualify for one of those.”
Serafina shook her head, laughing partly out of amusement and partly out of a need to break up the stress. The drive that morning had been anything but easy, starting with their sighting of the big truck leading the way for a crane on the 280 Freeway.
Luck had been with them at that moment, as their position at the time kept them out of view from the drivers of the small convoy, which had been just over a mile away, using the connector that took them from the southbound side of the 85 onto the 280 North. As the convoy was curving away from them, they’d been able to slip onto an offramp, leaving the 85 North altogether.
From where they stopped, they were able to watch as the group of vehicles stopped on the median between the north and southbound lanes of the 280. A man got out of the big truck and began pointing demonstratively towards vehicles, then towards each side of the freeway.
Taking his cue, the crane operator began picking up vehicles with its big, clawlike attachment and stacking them in a line across the lanes of the freeway.
Seeing their way was blocked, Daniel and Serafina quickly consulted the map before heading out, eager to get away while the men working on the blockade were distracted.
They settled on using the Foothill Expressway, which would take them on a route that was essentially parallel to the one the 280 took. As it turned out, though, the Expressway had been a popular choice for drivers desperate to flee the city, and they’d spent a lot of time doubling back and taking side streets to maintain the northerly progress they were intent on making.
It was just after nine a.m. when they reached Page Mill Road, which would take them through, as Serafina pointed out, the Census-Designated Place aptly named ‘Stanford, California.’
“Why didn’t we come here during our college tours?” Brenna asked, looking off towards the campus of the highly respected university. “This place looks really nice.”
“Because it’s a private school, and really expensive.” Daniel replied, shaking his head.
“Scholarships are always avail - ” Serafina began, before stopping herself. The university, the acceptance process, heck, the college experience itself, might all be a thing of the past. At least, for the time being, that was.
Daniel glanced at his wife, giving an understanding smile. He looked towards the back seat, anxious to try to reassure his daughters. “Hey, things could - ”
Bang!
The car rocked wildly on its suspension, jarring the family as the front left tire dropped into a massive pothole. The rim of the wheel came down hard against the rubber of the tire, slicing a deep groove in the material, flattening it instantly.
A loud thumping sound immediately came from the front end of the car as the vehicle lurched forward unevenly, the steel rim on the driver’s side bouncing off the pavement as they drove forward.
“Shit!” Serafina exclaimed, gripping the steering wheel hard in his hands.
Removing her foot from the gas pedal as part of a practiced response, she allowed the car to coast slowly as she guided it instinctively towards the right side of the road. Catching herself, she hesitated before realizing that the position she was headed towards, several yards behind a minivan, was actually a decent spot to stop.
“What happened?” Daniel asked.
“Pothole. I didn’t see it in the shadows.”
“Alright,” Daniel said, nodding. “I’ll just change the tire.”
“You know how to do that, right?”
“No problem,” Daniel replied. “Piece of cake.”
As she stopped the car along the curb, Daniel looked at her. “Back me up?”
“Duh,” Serafina replied. Nothing had changed, and he still couldn’t see beyond at most ten yards. She exited the car as Daniel did, looking in every direction as she brought her handgun up, ready to engage an enemy in sight.
Daniel moved to the back of the car, where he lifted the hatchback. Swearing silently, he pulled the boxes from the cargo area and set them on the sidewalk. Once they were out of the way, he reached down and pulled back the thin, stiff carpet on the floor of the cargo area.
And swore out loud.
“What the fuck?”
Looking back at her husband, Serafina asked, “What is it?”
Holding the piece of carpet upright, Daniel said, “There’s no spare.”
“What? How can that be?”
“I don’t know. It’s not there!”
“Shit!” Struggling to believe what she’d heard, she made her way to the back of the vehicle, where she looked towards the cargo area of the Prius. The space reserved for the small, donut-like spare tire was empty.
Stepping out of the car, Ashley came over to join them. Looking into the empty space, she asked, “What are we going to do?”
Her words reminded them both of the one constant truth: they had to keep moving.
Daniel let go of the carpet, letting it fall back into place. Stepping past Serafina and Ashley, he stepped out into the road and looked in the direction they were heading.
“We grab our stuff and start walking,” he said. Turning back to them, he nodded encouragingly. “We’ll find another car.”
The five of them grabbed their weapons and stuffed whatever they’d removed back into their packs, working quickly and quietly as they prepared to head out on foot. Looking over at Daniel, Serafina saw that he’d paused and was looking down at the Glock-19 he favored.
“What’s up?” she asked.
“I wish I still had my AR-15,” he said, shaking his head.
“You’ve still got the Savage 10,” she offered.
“It doesn’t do me much good with my fucked up vision,” he replied. While the weapon would put a big hole in anyone it sent a round into, the Savage Model 10 was specifically designed for long-range shooting, and its four round capacity meant it would be depleted rapidly in an encounter with more than a few enemies.
“Hey,” she said, “we’ll figure it out. We’ve done it so far.”
Nodding, he said, “You’re right.” Grabbing the map, he held it up. “I’ll handle this. It’s the least I can do.”
Serafina smiled. “Let me guess, ‘trust you, you’re a Navigator?’” The saying was an old joke between them, one that he’d used to embarrass himself early during their relationship.
“Exactly.”
The five of them worked their way down the street, staying on the sidewalk as much as possible in case they needed to take cover quickly. Frustratingly, the area had less vehicles than other parts of the city they’d been through, and those that were there were either wrecked or unwilling to start.
As they crossed El Camino Real, Daniel folded the map and stuffed it in his pocket. Though the name of the large street had changed from Page Mill Road to the Oregon Expressway, they’d continue on it, heading mostly north as they closed in on the 101. Feeling the warmth of the morning sun beating down on him, he grabbed his bottle of water and took a quick swig from it as he looked at the buildings up ahead. Though most of them were relatively newer, modern style buildings with big windows and sleek lines, few of them stood higher than four stories.
Except one.
Tall with glass mirrored for privacy, what appeared to be a luxury condo building towered above those around it like a sentinel watching over its charge.
Even from several blocks away, it seemed almost foreboding in nature, though it had clearly been designed to be aesthetically pleasing. Unable to keep his eyes off the building, he continued examining its features as they continued down the wide street.
An increasing number of cars dotted the street as they travelled north, towards the 101 highway, bu
t many of them had been involved in accidents and were visibly damaged. Of those that hadn’t been in accidents, none would start, most likely due to the fact that their interior dome lights, left on by open doors, had drained the car’s battery.
Serafina’s eyes moved constantly as she led the group down the expressway, remaining in a constant state of readiness as she watched for danger. The wind by lightly, pushing leaves and bits of paper down the street, along with the occasional empty plastic bottle or paper bag.
Distracted momentarily by a plastic bottle tumbling down the center of the street, her brow furrowed at the sight of movement ahead. Extending her hand with her palm facing down, she slowed the group as they approached the wide expanse of the driveway that led to the modern condominium highrise that dominated the area.
Running down the driveway with its tail between its legs, a thin, scruffy dog came to a brief stop at the sight of them. Disregarding them, the dog turned back towards the highrise and barked loudly.
“The fuck?” Serafina asked aloud.
Screams answered her, loud and numerous.The group froze for a split second in realization of what they’d heard, then immediately turned and followed as Daniel said, “Run!!!”
Glass shattered at the front of the building as dozens and dozens of infected rushed out, flowing outward like water released by a failed dam. The mindless, angry mob flooded into the courtyard, storming across its length as they chased after the dog, determined to silence its offensive bark.
The dog’s speed was no match for them, though, as it bounded away, flying past Daniel and the others, its feet barely seeming to touch the ground as it ran.
To the horde of infected, it didn’t matter that the dog got away.
They had new targets.
Their feet pounded the pavement, echoing on the empty streets as they pursued the family, determined to capture and kill them.
Daniel’s backpack bounced side to side on his back as he ran, looking for somewhere for them to take refuge. Though he was the fastest of the group, he wanted to rush ahead, find somewhere safe for them, and quickly clear it, but he also still couldn’t see beyond twenty yards, so he stayed abreast of his wife, pointing at various places and waiting for her to confirm its suitability.
“There?” he asked, pointing at a coffee shop.
“No, windows broken.” Serafina replied.
After a short while, he risked a look back. The mob was within a hundred yards of them and closing quickly.
“There?”
“No! The door is damaged!!”
“There?” He asked, pointing across the street at a bank.
“Yes, that might work!”
Cutting to his left, he crossed the street, speeding ahead of them. Reaching the front of the bank, he saw the prone form of a security guard lying in the doorway. Removing his backpack, he tossed on the ground in the path of the door, then used both hands to pull the guard out of the way, then ripped the man’s keys away from the holder on his belt. The door swung closed but stopped on his backpack. As he grabbed its edge, he heard a scraping sound on the pavement behind him, then a thump, accompanied by Ashley’s voice calling out in pain.
Turning quickly, he saw Paul helping Ashley off the ground, pulling her backpack off of her and placing his arm under her shoulder, helping her to her feet.
Daniel ushered Serafina inside, telling her to clear the place. Brenna caught up quickly, breathing heavily, as Paul helped Ashley across the parking lot and to the door. They rushed past Daniel and into the building, both breathing heavily. He followed them inside, pulling the door closed behind him and using the manual latch on its inside to secure it. Pulling up the keys, he tried several before finding the one that engaged the deadbolt.
Looking out the window, he watched as the mass of infected rushed across the parking lot, fighting each other as they sought to get to Daniel and his family. Some tripped and fell, only to be trampled by the countless others behind them.
One of the infected accelerated in front of the pack and leapt forward, slamming into the glass front of the bank. The glass reverberated loudly, shaking in its frame with the impact. Brenna cried out in surprise and fear at the impact, then gathered herself and pulled her bow from her back, bringing it in front of her. She notched an arrow and kept the bow in her hand, fierce determination showing on her face.
Another infected person slammed into the window, shaking it as well.
Then another.
And another.
The reinforced glass front of the bank held strong, taking the impacts, but Daniel began to wonder how long it would do so. Fists banged on the windows, hard impacts that had to be breaking the hands of those that lashed out. Feet kicked at the lower parts of the glass, hammering it again and again.
Would this place turn into their tomb?
Ignoring the mass at the front of the store, he looked over at where Ashley sat on the floor, her leg stretched out in front of her. Serafina crouched next to her, holding the leg and gently squeezing the injured area, testing it.
“How bad is it?” Daniel asked.
Serafina shook her head. “Not broken, but it’s badly sprained. It’ll begin swelling soon.”
Glancing at the windows, he asked, “Can you walk, Ash?”
Fighting back tears, his daughter nodded, “I think so.” Seeing the pain on her face, it was clear she was telling him what he wanted to her.
Behind him, one of the windows made a cracking sound.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-THREE
The Salt Ponds, South San Francisco Bay
In 1894, Cargill Inc. began mining salt in the wetlands of South San Francisco Bay. Separated by roads barely wide enough for the large trucks used to haul the product from one area to the next, the ponds are designed to allow the movement of water from one pond to the next, allowing the salinity to increase as the fresh water evaporates.
Characterized by vibrant colors ranging from blue-green to orange, red, and even reddish-purple, depending on the season and the level of salinity, the Cargill-owned salt ponds are capable of producing up to 500,000 pounds of sea salt each year and cover more than 12,000 acres.
It was the perfect place to lose the bastards chasing him, Reilley reasoned. Slamming on the brakes, he grabbed his gun and jumped out of the car. Racing around to the other side of the vehicle, he threw open the door and pulled Isabella out by her legs.
The girl’s eyes widened in fear when he withdrew a knife from his pocket, but he ignored her. Squatting, he slashed through the bonds around her ankles and tossed them aside before grabbing her by the elbow and pulling her with him as he dashed into the wetlands that led to the salt ponds.
Traipsing through low-lying bushes and weeds, he ran through the muddy earth of the wetlands, looking ahead towards the salt ponds. Basically dragging the girl through the mud, he was climbing a small ridge that led to the southernmost salt ponds when a gunshot made him throw the both of them to the ground. He landed face down in the mud a split second before the girl did, and the impact of her body on the wet ground sent muddy water splashing into his face.
Growling, he let go of her elbow. Holding the gun in his left hand, he pointed it at her as he untied the bonds on her wrists.
“Crawl,” he ordered.
Nodding as tears cut through the layer of grime on her face, the thin girl began crawling forward, her long black hair dragging in the mud as she made her way over the ridge.
“Stay next to me or I’ll kill you myself,” he told her as bullets whizzed over ahead.
Her continued sobbing was the only response she gave as she dragged herself through the mud as quickly as she could.
Shouting sounds came from behind them, along with the sound of boots splashing in the mud as their pursuers chased after them.
Reaching the other side of the ridge, Reilley made his way into a crouching position and pulled the girl upward.
“Stay low,” he ordered as he grabbed her elbow. They made their way
to the bottom of the small hill, where the salt ponds stretched out ahead of them their vibrant colors seeming to glow in the mid-morning sun.
Rising from his crouched position, he broke into a run, pulling Isabella along with him as he raced along the compacted dirt road.
The shouting voices sounded closer, echoing through the quiet of the wetlands as the men chased after them. Glancing back, he saw that they hadn’t yet crossed over the ridge, but realized that when they did, there was nothing between his position and where they’d be.
They’d have a clear shot.
Pushing himself and the girl even harder, he turned right at the first intersecting road. The mounds of refined salt were several hundred yards away still, but if he could reach them…
Gunfire sounded before bullets splashed in the brine-filled liquid of the pond between the two of them and the shooters. Plumes of water made their way across the pond as the men tried to adjust their aim to compensate for the distance.
Turning left along the next intersecting road, he and Isabella charged on, desperately trying to put more distance between them and the men. The girl’s strength was fading quickly, and his wasn’t far behind, but fear is a tremendous motivator. They pushed on, gulping air as their legs propelled them forward.
More gunfire.
Isabella screamed as she fell forward, dragging him down with her.
Landing on the ground near her, he watched as she rolled onto her back, revealing a half-dollar sized wound near her right shoulder where the bullet had exited her body. Unable to keep it together, she sobbed loudly, her face a mask of pain and terror.
The guns of the men behind them erupted again.
Dirt and rock showered their bodies as the bullets impacted the road near them. One bullet whizzed by Reilley’s head, close enough for him to feel the heat of it.
‘Fuck this,’ he thought. Rolling over, he brought the AR-15 up and pulled the trigger, sending bullets in the direction of the men. Surprised, they dove for cover, one of them sliding down into a pond as the bullets ripped through the air above them.
That would buy them a few seconds.
Surviving Rage | Book 2 Page 57
