The front end of the plane bounced skyward momentarily before gravity took hold again, bringing it back down violently, snapping the two wheels of the front landing gear like toothpicks under its weight.
From there on it was the nose of the aircraft digging a massive, twenty-three foot wide trench through the golf course, churning up grass, dirt, irrigation piping, and roots along the way.
The remaining right wing tore through several trees before the damage took its toll, folding its length backward before a massive Monterey Cypress ripped it away, breaking it apart and sending the pair of giant Pratt & Whitney turbofan engines tumbling away like twin wrecking balls, destroying everything in their path before losing momentum.
In the cockpit, Quinn and Knight were thrown about violently, testing the strength of their seat belt harnesses as the aircraft pitched side to side, forward and back, and every possible combination within.
At one point Quinn felt a jarring motion as his right shoulder was dislocated, causing him to lose his grip on his seat’s armrests. His arm flopped around uselessly, all the while doing irreparable damage to the tendons, muscles, and cartilage in its socket.
Knight fared worse, having the floor of the aircraft thrust upward suddenly, sending a shockwave through his extended right leg, shattering his kneecap, tearing the Anterior and Posterior Cruciate Ligaments, and nearly ripping the lower half of his leg from his body. The intensity of the pain caused him to lose consciousness immediately, leaving his limp body to ride out the remainder of the aircraft’s travel through the tree-lined length of the golf course.
He felt no pain as a broken branch came through the aircraft’s shattered windshield and penetrated his chest, killing him.
In the cargo area, Sergeant Mason was kept safe by the harness at his seat until one of the sample transport boxes needed for the transfer of Isabella’s blood to the CDC broke free from its ties. It flew across the open space of the cargo area, bouncing twice on the deck before smashing into the side of his head, knocking him unconscious.
Nearby, Reed watched in stunned awe as the young man was injured by the alloy metal case. Unable to help as the aircraft’s relentless momentum carried them forward, he was too distracted to notice Sergeant McGhee’s lifeless body as it flew across the cabin. It slammed into his lower left leg, breaking his tibia. Waves of pain and nauseousness flowed through him as he fought to reach down towards the broken appendage, irrationally thinking he could put it back together with his hands. A jarring bounce slammed his head back against the wall of the aircraft, the impact greater than the thin helmet could protect against.
Everything went black.
Eventually the aircraft stopped, its front end crumpled but intact as it rested against a line of trees. The windows of the cockpit were empty frames, their contents spilled upon Quinn and Knight. The left wing was actually the longer of the two now, with the right one nearly completely sheared off, and two massive holes lined its port side, one from the impact of the missile's steel rods, the other caused by a section of the port wing tearing through the plane’s exterior. Everything aft of the main cargo area was gone, left behind somewhere along the three-hundred yard trench created during the plane’s violent landing.
Two miles from where the aircraft came to rest, Steve Sommer frowned as he squinted in the direction of where it stopped. The explosion and subsequent rising fireball that he’d been expecting didn’t come.
Could there be survivors?
Holding up the Cuban cigar, he shook his head in disappointment before putting it back in his pocket.
It would have to wait.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED FOUR
East Palo Alto, California
Daniel’s feet were literally hot from the repeated strikes on the sidewalk as he ran. Ignoring it, he pressed on, looking at the buildings on either side of the road in hopes of finding something offering potential seclusion.
Just as they’d left the commercial area behind, they’d finally had good fortune come their way in the form of a multi-car pileup at the last major intersection before the road transitioned into the business district. Cars, trucks, a minivan, and a Jeep that looked eerily similar to Daniel’s Rubicon had smashed into each other, leaving little room for vehicles to pass. Buoyed by the good luck, the two of them dodged to the curb to get around the accident, barely slowing as they sought to increase the distance between themselves and their pursuers.
They were a few hundred yards from the wreckage when they heard the SUV screech to a halt. Seconds later, bullets flew in their direction, striking the pavement, pinging off cars, and breaking windows. Ducking instinctively, they moved closer to the curb, trying to keep vehicles between themselves and the shooters.
Daniel cursed to himself as he looked for somewhere to take cover. Finding somewhere to hide on either side of the road was out of the question. From where they were, the people shooting at them would see exactly where they went, then home in on their location.
Looking ahead, he saw exactly what they needed: the road curved away and to the left. If they hurried, they could get beyond the curve before their pursuers did, which would give them the opportunity to dodge into one of the office buildings and wait for the gang to pass by.
If all went well, they could give the gang the slip, then double back towards where they’d left Serafina and the girls.
As they rounded the curve, what they saw in their immediate vicinity wasn’t promising. What stood in the distance beyond was.
The area to either side of the road was lined with tall, barbed wire-topped fences, surrounding four-story cement buildings with dark, tinted windows. The top of each, several hundred yard-long building, was covered in an array of antennas and satellite dishes. The edge of each roof was lined with security cameras, and not the little ones that offered grainy images of shapes that were barely discernible as humans. These were the types that could read a car license plate number from a block away. Nothing would get by without being identified by the cameras.
‘Are these the data centers for Plus?’ Daniel wondered, thinking of the massive data storage/home assistant/email/app store/damn-near-everything company that had started out as a search engine. He’d heard their data centers were in the Bay Area, but assumed they were further from the city, where the cost of real estate was less expensive. Then again, the multi-billion dollar enterprise could easily afford the mortgage.
Even if they weren’t already tired from running six-plus miles at a breakneck pace, they’d struggle to get over the ten-foot high fences, though, so as promising as the interior of the property appeared, it was out of the question. The most likely outcome of any attempt to scale the fences would be them getting stuck on the barbed wire. Their pursuers would find them hanging atop the fence, ripe for the picking.
Or, more accurately, for execution.
What stood at the end of the street was much more promising.
A giant parking lot stretched in both directions. The stalls within the lot were covered, the roofs above them lined with solar panels.
Beyond the lot a half-mile long building glistened in the sunlight like a beacon of modern, technology-focused dominance. Where smaller companies struggled to pay the rent on brick and mortar buildings in quiet industrial parks, this one had purchased more than fifty waterfront acres.
Unlike the buildings surrounded by the barbed wire-topped fences, this one was easily identifiable, thanks to the massive blue and white sign that he and Paul recognized as the social media giant that had few peers, save possibly the one in China.
Even from where they were, still nearly a block and a half away, they could see the tree-lined nine acre park that rested atop the three story main building. Daniel had heard stories of the company’s workplace, ones about conference rooms with ball pits, indoor skateparks, and canopy covered hammocks on the roof, but he’d put the stories out of his mind. What happened there, happened there. Seeing it directly ahead of him was different. Suddenly it was real.<
br />
The opportunities to get lost inside the massive headquarters were nearly infinite.
A mile behind the pair, the sound of metal being torn apart sounded loudly as the SUV forced its way through the wreckage, its powerful eight cylinder engine growling as it pushed smaller vehicles aside.
“Hurry up!” the Scorpion yelled inside the vehicle, leaning forward to look towards where the two men had rounded the corner.
“I’m trying!” Clint responded, pressing down on the gas pedal. The SUV was pushing against the left front bumper of the lifted Jeep Rubicon, and the off-road vehicle’s thickly studded tires were fighting against the sideways movement, refusing to give ground. The heavy steel bumper was digging into the passenger side of the Mercedes, scraping through the pain and gouging the metal.
“Try harder!” the Scorpion replied. In a flash, her knife was in her hand, the point of blade pressed against the side of the man’s throat.
“Alright!” Clint yelled, slamming his foot down on the accelerator.
The SUV lunged forward, forcing its way past the Jeep. The Jeep’s metal bumper left a lasting reminder on the Mercedes, tearing through the side panel of the vehicle and ripping off the front right fender. As the SUV squeezed past, the passenger side mirror was ripped from the Mercedes by the Jeep’s front end. It fell to the ground as the vehicle pressed on.
“Go!” the Scorpion screamed. They had to catch the men who’d killed the only person she’d ever loved, the ones who’d torn a hole in her heart.
‘I’m going to fucking kill them,’ she said to herself, before adding, ‘but not before I make them beg for mercy.’
Reaching the front of the enormous building, Daniel and Paul saw something they’d hope they wouldn’t: broken windows and doors. On the ground near the front entrance, they spotted a number of protest signs, some covered in blood, others bent and torn. Looking down at them, Daniel saw the messages he’d seen in the images that had been plastered all over the media:
Stop Spreading Lies!
The Virus is a Hoax!
The Only Rage That Matters is Rage Over the Infringement of Our Rights!!
Around the country, small groups of extremists had refused to listen to the messages played over the emergency radio stations and TV news stations, insisting it was, as the sign suggested, a hoax. Others had pushed back angrily, calling the request for them to stay indoors an infringement on their First Amendment rights. They were a small, small minority, but their extreme views and ridiculous slogans made for great reporting, and the media lapped it up.
Until it was too late.
Looking off to the side of the main entrance, Daniel spotted what he’d expected. A broken video camera with the massive logo of the local news station emblazoned along the side. The power cords that led from a nearby van to the camera had been used to strangle its operator. The camera itself had been used to beat an Asian reporter to death.
Hearing the sound of the SUV accelerating towards their position, Daniel saw few options left. Shaking his head, he led Paul into the building, entering the three story high lobby area. The interior of the building was an extension of the bloodshed near the entrance. Bodies lay in nearly every direction, some on the marble covered floors, others left atop the fixtures that lined the entryway.
As if it were part of some abstract art exhibit, completely untouched by the extreme violence that had consumed everything else inside the space, a twelve-foot high rock waterfall still flowed peacefully, sending water down into a thirty-foot long Koi pond. The pond’s inhabitants, all over eighteen inches in length and clearly well-fed, swam back and forth, oblivious to the carnage that had taken place outside their domain.
Deftly stepping around the overturned furniture, potted plants, pooled blood, and countless corpses, Daniel broke right, darting past the dark security desk and up the stairs. Paul followed close behind, muttering “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.” Halfway up the staircase, Paul slipped and fell forward, smacking his knee against the hard surface of the stairs.
Skidding to a stop, Daniel rushed back and helped the young man to his feet. “Come on,” he said, pulling him forward.
Paul said nothing as he complied, grimacing in pain as he limped along, climbing the stairs one at a time, grateful for Daniel’s strong arm supporting him.
Reaching the top of the stairs, the two of them came face to face with close to a hundred of the infected.
A second later, tires skidded outside the entrance to the building, blocking their retreat.
They were trapped.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED FIVE
East Palo Alto, California
She’s gone.
‘NO!’ he yelled back at the pessimistic voice in his head as he redoubled his efforts. He pressed down on her chest, pushed air into her. Pressed on her chest, pushed air into her. Again. And again.
Nothing.
It’s too late, Logan.
Feeling helpless, he leaned down once more, determined to try at least one more cycle.
Water splattered his face.
Gurgling sounds came from Isabella as she coughed, then spit out more water. Logan quickly turned her onto her side, holding her as she coughed repeatedly, spitting saltwater out onto the gravel. He closed his eyes as relief flooded over him.
She was alive.
Finally she stopped coughing up water and simply laid there on her side, her chest heaving as she continued to pull air into her lungs.
Sensing she was getting her strength back, he gently let go of her and sat back for a second before collapsing to the ground, too tired to even think, unable to even acknowledge the feeling of the coarse gravel digging into his skin.
He laid back on the rough surface, his chest heaving as he tried to bring enough oxygen to fuel his muscles enough to even sit back up. In his rush to help Isabella, he’d neglected to take the time to catch his own breath.
Next to him, he heard the girl mumbling.
“What happened?”
Unable to sit up, he raised a single finger, signalling that she should wait. The girl was likely confused, a symptom of hypoxia, one of the effects of the near-drowning she endured.
Unlike what people saw in movies, the truth was that a near-drowning, especially one that involved physical struggle, was incredibly hard on the body. Aside from hypoxia, caused by an insufficient supply of oxygen for normal life functions, the effects of both Respiratory and Metabolic Acidosis would likely plague the girl for a while.
The former resulted from a person’s lungs being unable to remove enough carbon dioxide from the bloodstream, causing headaches, blurred vision, confusion, and anxiety. The latter, caused by a chemical imbalance in the body - such as too much carbon dioxide and not enough oxygen - would likely leave her feeling weak, tired, and nauseous.
Overall, the girl would be essentially helpless in the near-term, but with any luck, she’d recover and go on to live a normal life.
Of course, the world was anything but ‘normal’ anymore.
Having finally recovered enough to sit up, Logan made his way to a seated position, wincing as he felt the broken rib moving around in his midsection.
Looking at the young girl, he gave her a weak smile. “Some men threw a grenade at us. I tried to get you to the other side of the car you were up against, but the blast threw us over the side.”
“I remember the men kicking you, then shooting, then falling…” she shook her head slowly. “Nothing after that.”
“The impact with the water knocked you out,” he told her.
“So you swam all the way to shore while carrying me?” she asked incredulously. Looking out towards the bridge, she tried to place where they’d been when they were stopped by the men who shot Logan. It would be a long, long way to swim.
Logan shrugged weakly. “There wasn’t much of a choice. I couldn’t leave you there.”
Isabella scooted her thin body along the gravel so that she was sitting next to him, then leaned over and
hugged him. “Thank you,” she said weakly, fighting back tears.
Logan was caught off guard by the gesture and struggled to find the appropriate response to her sudden affection. He’d essentially cut off all emotional responses since the death of his fiancee nearly two weeks prior, and it had become something of a security blanket, shielding him from the possibility of disappointment, sadness, or pain.
This...felt different. Suddenly he felt something again.
He cared about her.
Over the last twenty-four hours, he’d been singularly focused on rescuing her from Joe, then on escaping from the men who’d pursued them across the bridge, and finally, getting her back to shore. Throughout it all, it’d been a mission, something he’d promised to do, something that had a defined outcome.
Bringing his right arm up, he wrapped around her gingerly, and held her. “It’s okay,” he said, knowing his words weren’t as important as his embrace. As she cried he held her there, close to him, trying to communicate that he was there for her.
She wasn’t just a mission.
When she finally finished, he gently moved her back and said, “I need you to help me with something.”
The girl nodded, reaching up to wipe tears from her eyes as she did.
Reaching down to his belt, he removed his knife from it’s secured sheath on his belt. It was the only weapon he had left, but hopefully he wouldn’t need it after he finished what he was about to do.
Surviving Rage | Book 2 Page 67
