With everything outboard of the dead engine on the left side of the aircraft gone, Quinn was unable to keep the aircraft from pulling hard to the left, taking them west, away from the bay.
Looking in that direction, he saw a chance at survival.
If they could stay airborne long enough.
Back in the cargo area, Reed and Mason could do little more than hold on with everything they had as the aircraft banked hard twice before being rocked by the explosion.
Tearing his eyes away from Sergeant McGhee’s, Reed focused on where Steight was inside her carrier. The dog was crouched low, her nails locked against the bottom of the metal box as she tried to maintain her position.
He heard Mason’s voice through the speaker as he shouted above the roar of the outside air flowing through the aircraft.
“Keep holding on, Doc! We’re going down!”
Reed tried to comprehend the man’s words as he struggled to deal with the reality of the aircraft being struck by a missile over an American city.
How could this happen?
Who would want to do such a thing?
And why?
Just over four miles away from where the aircraft began its barely controlled descent towards the ground, Steve Sommer pulled the cigar from his pocket, looked at it, and smiled.
CHAPTER NINETY-EIGHT
San Francisco Bay, California
Seeing the water below them, Logan knew that they only had a few seconds before they’d hit the water. His extensive training had also taught him that proper form at the moment of impact would be the difference between a safe landing and serious injury. Pulling his knees upward he arched his back, bringing his body upright. Taking advantage of their momentary weightlessness, he slid Isabella’s body around so that it was vertical and in line with his own.
A split second later, his boots crashed through the surface of the water, sending a shockwave up his body. Though he’d managed to get into the proper position prior to impact, the added weight of Isabella magnified the force at which they struck. The effect was jarring, stunning him momentarily, but the coldness of the water alerted his senses, clearing his head instantly.
Suddenly focused, he realized that he and Isabella were rapidly descending into the depths of the Bay, leaving the surface and the life sustaining oxygen behind. Terrified, the girl was still clinging to him tightly, pressing her face into his chest as they sank.
Logan patted her on the back, trying to communicate that she needed to hold onto him. As he took his arms off of her, he wasn’t sure if she understood, or if she was holding on out of sheer terror. Either way, she wasn’t going anywhere he wasn’t. Kicking his legs in powerful thrusts, he began slowing their descent as he brought his arms out and began forcing them downward, creating upward thrust.
They were nearly twelve feet below the surface when they finally started making upward progress, and looking towards the surface, he was dismayed at how far away it appeared. The impact had forced most of the air from his lungs, and the pressure in his chest was already building.
He needed air.
Now.
Kicking his legs with all the strength he could muster, he continued to bring his arms above his head, then thrust them downward, swimming towards the surface. The pressure moved up from his chest, rising through his throat and towards his mouth, trying to force him to breathe in the water. Instead, he exhaled through his nose, sending every remaining bit of used oxygen out of his body.
He pushed.
Swam.
Kicked.
And broke through the surface of the water, exploding upward as he pulled air into his lungs with massive gulps. His lungs ached at the stress they’d been forced to endure, and he tried his best to soothe them with more and more oxygen.
When Isabella’s arms slipped from his neck, he assumed she’d relaxed enough to begin swimming on her own.
When she began to slip beneath the lapping waves, he realized something was wrong. Reaching out quickly, he grabbed her arm and pulled her to him.
“Izzie!” He yelled, trying to wake her. Her head lolled loosely on her neck. She was unconscious, either because of the impact or because she’d been without oxygen too long.
While he’d been through extensive training with the military and had spent plenty of time freediving off the coast of Hawaii, the young girl likely had never been forced to withstand the pressure of such depth before, and almost certainly had never needed to hold her breath that long.
She needed CPR immediately, and the shore was at least a half mile away.
Pulling her to him, he did the only thing he could do: swim, as hard as he could, as fast as his muscles would take him.
Ignoring the pain in his left shoulder, he held her body tightly against his as he used his right arm to stroke, pushing water past.
Ignoring the pain that came from his right calf, he kicked, churning his legs through the seawater, driving them forward.
Ignoring the pain in his ribs, one of which was likely cracked, he pulled in what oxygen he could, fueling his muscles so they could do the work he needed them to.
At some point he heard an aircraft pass overhead, but he paid it no mind. He needed to stay focused on the task at hand. If he hesitated, if he paused, his body’s natural tendency to rest would take them both below the water’s surface. Once they were sinking, he doubted he’d be able to find the strength to fight back to the surface.
Somewhere nearby he heard two near-simultaneous whooshes, a series of pops, then a pair of explosions, one loud, the other even louder.
Off to his right, just north from where he swam, debris began to rain down, splashing into the water.
He shut all of it out. He couldn’t begin to let whatever was happening distract him from his efforts. With fatigue setting in rapidly, he began to slow in the water, his right arm coming down more slowly with each stroke. Straining, he kicked harder, ignoring the deep ache in his calf as he tried to make up for his rapidly weakening arm.
He pushed on, his movements robotic as he refused to quit. Occasionally he glanced at Isabella, but he saw no signs of movement. Distressed, he forced himself to give more, digging deep into his energy reserves. Finding something there, his arm came down harder, his legs kicked harder, and he surged ahead.
Looking up, he saw the shore was finally beginning to take shape: large rocks in front of a grey square concrete building. Encouraged, he pushed even harder.
Suddenly, his boot hit a rock.
Eyes widening, he pushed forward anyway, until both boots were hitting the ground beneath the water. Lunging forward, he rose from the bay, his soaked clothes spilling water all around him as he climbed up onto the rocks. His body screamed for him to stop and rest, but he knew there wasn’t time. Bringing his right arm up from underneath, he cradled Isabella in his arms once again as he climbed over the rocks, nearly slipping twice before reaching a gravelled area behind the natural rock barrier at the shore. Gently laying her down, he tried to wake her once again, then knelt down and listened for her breathing.
Nothing.
He immediately began CPR, ignoring the pain in his shoulder once more, shutting out the pain in his ribs as he bent over the girl’s body, pressing down on her chest repeatedly, then using his own breath to force air into her lungs as he pinched her nose. He repeated the process over and over, willing her to breathe, but she simply didn’t respond.
It’s no use, Logan.
She’s gone.
CHAPTER NINETY-NINE
Redwood City, California
Sweat poured off Serrano’s face as his feet pounded the pavement of Veteran’s Boulevard in perfectly timed repetitions. His rifle bounced lightly on his back, strapped down next to his backpack/hydration pack, which he took one mouthful of water from each time five minutes passed, as indicated by a buzzing sensation that emanated from the watch on his wrist.
He had a lot of distance to cover, and very little time to spare. There was no time for
breaks, so he had to watch his pace, ensuring he covered the distance needed without overexerting himself.
Efficiency was everything.
A double buzz from his watch told him it was time for a bite of his protein bar, so he pulled it from his chest pocket, peeled back the wrapper, and took one. Continuing to run, he chewed it between breaths as he continued pushing himself forward, refusing to slow his pace.
Climbing a small rise, he found himself nearly level with the nearby Highway 101 off to his right. As he glanced in that direction, he could see the tops of the towers that supported the main cables on the San Mateo-Hayward Bridge.
Something appeared off, but he couldn’t see enough of the bridge to ascertain what it was. Unwilling to ignore the feeling in his gut, he turned right instead of left on Whipple Avenue, heading east, towards the bay.
He crossed under the highway, giving a wide berth to the abandoned cars underneath, then came out barely a block from the western edge of Inner Bair Island. Looking to the north, he realized the homes that composed a small waterfront community were in between him and the bridge, blocking his view. Cursing, he looked at his watch.
‘You’ve got one minute, Chili,’ he told himself, before turning and bounding up the onramp to the 101. When he reached the top, he stopped in awe of what he saw.
Three of the spans of the bridge were gone, leaving a massive opening where the bridge had once extended across the water of the bay.
‘Holy shit,’ he said, moving to the side of the road and resting his hand against the cement wall at its edge.
Now what do I do?
The low rumble of an approaching aircraft came from somewhere behind him. Before he’d even finished turning around, his experienced ears had already determined that it was a military plane.
Looking towards the horizon to the south, he saw a large grey shape heading in his direction. No longer needing to rush towards a bridge that was no longer passable, he decided to watch the aircraft’s approach.
To him, its presence was a good sign, an indication that reinforcements, provisions, or both were arriving.
‘Most likely food and medicine,’ he thought, reasoning that although there wasn’t a vaccine for the virus yet, the Protective Zone, filled with tens of thousands of people, would need continual replenishments of food and water, along with medicine and other medical supplies for any number of ailments.
The big grey aircraft took shape as it approached, revealing itself as a C-17 Globemaster, an aircraft Logan knew well, having been transported to various points around the globe by the massive, long-range planes. The Air Force maintained and operated the planes, and the presence of this one was a good sign. It told him that the military was still operational, still capable of dispatching supporting forces to places in need of assistance.
The plane was nearly abreast of his position when the first missile flew by his position, screaming as it raced towards the military aircraft, leaving a trail of smoke in its wake. He watched in shock as the C-17 fired flares and maneuvered perfectly, avoiding the first missile before banking again to head north once more.
The second missile, which he’d been too distracted to notice, slammed into the aircraft, tearing a hole in its side and ripping one of the engines and a section of the port wing from its frame.
Within seconds, the aircraft was headed for the ground, angling away from the bay, heading northwest as smoke billowed from its frame. It dropped periodically, travelling hundreds of feet downward vertically as it threatened to simply fall from the sky.
Though the aircraft was badly damaged and destined for a hard landing in its very near future, Serrano saw the nose of the aircraft continually attempt to rise as the pilot fought to maintain control.
Quickly checking his surroundings once more, Serrano crossed the highway, watching the aircraft as it made its barely controlled descent towards the earth. Feeling helpless, he shook his head slowly, watching and waiting for the plane to collide with the buildings it was rapidly descended towards.
The crash would be catastrophic, both to those in the aircraft and to anyone on the ground near the point of impact. The plane’s fuel tanks would likely be punctured in the crash, resulting in a massive fireball that would kill anyone in the immediate vicinity and send flames and smoke into the sky.
The aircraft disappeared from view, dropping below his line of sight as it descended on the other side of a small rise.
‘Any second now…’ he thought, waiting for the explosion.
As he waited, his eyes sought out the location the missiles had been fired from.
He couldn’t help the people in the aircraft, but he could get vengeance for them.
His eyes immediately settled on a tall, modern-looking building with a glass exterior that he figured was probably home to medical offices. With it’s height and unobstructed view of the flight path, it would offer the perfect vantage point for such an attack. He estimated it to be about close to three miles from his position, a distance he could cover in just over twenty minutes at full speed, which would be justified under these circumstances.
Tightening the straps on his pack a little more, he was about to start running towards the glass-covered building when he realized he hadn’t heard the massive explosion he’d anticipated.
Was it possible that the aircraft had managed to land in a way that gave the passengers a chance at survival?
Maybe he could help them after all.
He brought his watch up and checked the compass heading he’d seen the aircraft traveling before he’d lost sight of it. Taking another sip from his hydration pack, he nodded to himself at his decision, then started off in the direction he’d seen the plane heading.
Help first, then find the bastard that shot them down.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED
East Palo Alto, California
‘Jesus Christ, my legs are tired,’ Daniel said to himself as he ran, forcing himself to continue.
Twenty minutes ago, they’d been running at full speed to ensure they stayed ahead of the horde of infected humans that pursued them. To falter then, which he nearly had, would have led to a violent, painful death. Even worse was the risk of being turned into one of those things.
While there was no longer the threat of being turned, the gang that was after them was angry, violent, and heavily armed, and to think that their capture wouldn’t lead to a slow, painful death, was not only naive, but foolish. Daniel had heard pain in the voice of the woman who’d screamed. She cared about the woman Paul had shot, and the placement of his arrow was, without a doubt, fatal.
She would be out for blood.
He’d assumed there would be somewhere to hide within a short distance, but everywhere they looked, the storefronts that lined the streets were little more than broken glass and damaged or missing doors, their interiors empty husks of what they once were. Fire had consumed a number of establishments as well, leaving them little more than charred, blackened shells of what they once were, ready to collapse at first touch.
Somewhere behind them, a powerful engine roared as a driver accelerated through the empty streets.
‘Faster, Daniel. You’ve got to get off the street,’ he told himself. The prospect of a confrontation was out of the question. Paul’s accuracy with a bow and arrow was impressive, but little match for someone armed with the semi-automatic weapons Daniel had seen in the possession of the gang members. As for himself, his blurred vision made him essentially worthless in a shootout. Give him the chance to hit a big target, one that was both tall and wide, and he’d probably hit it.
Maybe.
Feeling desperation setting in, he struggled to focus on the signs for the businesses that lined either side of the road. Most he was able to recognize from memory: Burger King,Shell, Subway, Autozone, Walmart, and Target. He’d briefly considered the latter two as possible hiding spots, but quickly rejected the idea. While they were large establishments with plenty of places to hide, each had carried the o
ne thing people had become desperate for: food. The fervent need for food would have driven masses of people to the stores. If even one of them was infected....
Erasing the thought from his mind, he pushed on, seeing the overpass for Highway 101 ahead. Towering above the highway, was a trademark giant blue sign with yellow letters he instantly recognized.
IKEA
If ever there was a perfect place to hide, an IKEA would be it. The place itself was a maze under normal circumstances. What food was there was in the cafeteria, and there wouldn’t be enough of it to bring in that many people.
Feeling a surge of confidence, he ran harder, refusing to acknowledge the tiredness he felt in his legs.
“Did I do the right thing?” Paul asked unexpectedly.
“Yeah,” Daniel replied, remaining focused on running.
“Maybe I could have aimed lower, or something.”
How is this guy having a conversation while we’re running for our lives?
“Not now,” Daniel said, ignoring him.
“What?”
“Not….now.”
Willing to put it aside for now, Paul stared ahead as he ran beside Daniel with the annoying ease of a young person, easily keeping pace with him.
They remained towards the middle of the road as they ran, avoiding the cars and trucks that introduced the risk of someone or something attacking them. Crossing under the highway overpass, they were keenly aware of the fact that the SUV that was pursuing them was getting closer with every second.
Fortunately, IKEA would offer plenty of places to hide.
Except that it wasn’t there.
Coming out from under the highway, Daniel’s eyes constantly darted to the right, searching for the opportunity to enter the parking lot that would lead to the big box store. What he saw beyond the parking lot removed the store as an option. The familiar blue cement facade with giant yellow block letters was charred black, with long streaks of soot ascending its height.
Surviving Rage | Book 2 Page 65
