The two women spent the next few minutes sharing their journeys, which revolved mostly around making their way to San Francisco, before becoming focused on locating and rescuing Isabella. When Sarah got to the part about the young Latina threatening to blow up the truck with the five of them in it, she paused.
“I thought we were dead for sure. When she ignored our willingness to cooperate and headed back to where the rest of the gang was waiting, I knew we’d never have a chance to get far enough away before she detonated the explosives.” Looking into the cargo area of the truck, she added, “And there was no way we’d leave Richard behind.”
“I understand,” Serafina replied, nodding. “But then someone shot her with an arrow, right?”
Sarah stared back at her, stunned. “How did you know that?”
“We found a feather on the ground near where the woman must have fallen.” Serafina’s eyes locked onto the other woman’s. “I’m guessing she was injured pretty badly.”
Sarah scoffed, then shook her head. “She’s dead.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, I’m like ninety-nine percent sure. This other woman that was with her was holding her and crying, then screamed loudly when the younger one stopped responding.”
“Damn.”
“Then they loaded up the young woman’s body and left in a hurry. In all the rush, they forgot about us.”
Serafina nodded, then asked, “Did you see who shot the arrow?”
“Yeah, but not that well. I do know there were two of them.” She described the two men she saw. When Serafina heard the description, she felt confident it was Daniel and Paul.
“Did you see which way they went?”
Sarah pointed. “Yeah, to the east, towards the bay.”
“And the people who threatened you?”
“The same way.”
“Shit,” Serafina said, shaking her head.
“We gotta go help them, Auntie,” Brenna said, her eyes wide with concern.
“I know,” her stepmother replied, shaking her head, “But we’ll never catch up with them before that gang does.”
“Maybe we can find another car,” Ashley said, pointing towards the lowrider.
“Or,” Sarah said, smiling. She jutted her thumb towards the armored truck. “Maybe we see if this beast starts up.”
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED NINE
East Palo Alto, California
Dreams came and went through Logan’s mind as he rode the soft, soothing waves of unconsciousness, the ones that shielded him from the pain that existed when he was awake and cognizant of the deep gouge in his leg. Floating through the clouds that carried him past the faces of those that brought him joy in his life, he latched onto their images, longing for a chance to stay with them, to enjoy the happiness they shared together one more time.
His mother, smiling as she passed him the spoon she’d used to put globs of cookie dough on the baking sheet….
His father, uncharacteristically hugging him after the football game in which he’d grabbed the game-winning interception…
His older brother, beaming with pride as he introduced Logan to his friends as a ‘Combat Veteran’ who’d earned a Purple Heart and a Soldier’s Medal...
Wendy, looking deep into his eyes as she told him she loved him for the first time...
Isabella, wrapping him in her thin arms and holding him for all she was worth….
Isabella…
Forcing his eyes open, he allowed the pain that radiated from his lower leg to grab hold of him once more, waking him instantly with its intensity. Above him, the blue skies were dotted with sparse clouds that passed by slowly, riding the air currents as they floated by, thousands of feet above where he laid.
Grimacing, he forced himself up into a seated position, his eyes seeking out and finding his tightly wrapped leg. Isabella had done well, wrapping a total of four pieces of cloth around the wound: the first three positioned at the bottom, middle, and top, respectively, the last one, which was wider than the rest, laid over the top of the first three, holding them in place.
Looking at the thick, folded square that was pressed against the wound, he saw that his blood had seeped through the square, darkening most of the fabric.
‘But not all,’ he thought to himself. That told him the bleeding had stopped, which was a good sign. He still had to deal with the possibility of infection, but if he could get Isabella to the Protective Zone later that afternoon, he felt confident that the medical personnel there would be able to provide him with antibiotics.
Turning his head, his eyes found Isabella staring at him, expectantly.
“How long was I out?” he asked, shaking his head in an effort to clear the cobwebs.
“Not long,” she replied. “Maybe fifteen, twenty minutes?”
“Really?” he asked, surprised. It had felt like hours.
“Uh hunh,” she said, nodding. “I wrapped your leg, then went to look around.”
Turning to look at her, he asked, “You did what?”
Sensing she’d said something wrong, she lowered her voice slightly before responding. “I went to, you know, look around…”
Logan’s face hardened as he looked at the girl. “You can’t do that. You need to stay close.”
“I know, I just - ”
“Nope,” he said, cutting her off. “No excuses. You go out there, I can’t protect you.”
“You were asleep anyway,” she protested.
In response, Logan said nothing, choosing instead to glare at the young girl. He’d come too far, endured too much, to have the girl wander off and get herself hurt or possibly even killed.
Looking away, Isabella reached over, grabbed a plastic Coca Cola bottle, and thrust it towards him, mumbling, “Here.”
Accepting it from her, he realized it was filled with water.
Thank God.
Feeling like he hadn’t had something to drink in days, Logan grabbed the bottle without hesitation. He unscrewed the cap, brought it to his lips, and took a small drink, resisting the urge to down the entire bottle in one long drink.
As if reading his mind, she said, “You can drink it all. I’ll just refill it.”
He hesitated, wanting to ask where she’d refill the bottle, but his thirst was overpowering. He brought the bottle to his lips and took a long drink, draining half of the twenty ounce bottle, before pulling it away and taking a deep breath. He waited, wanting to be sure he wouldn’t overdo it and risk spitting up what he’d consumed. After a minute, he drained the rest and passed the bottle back to the girl.
“Thank you,” he said, closing his eyes for a second as he savored the feeling of having his thirst quenched.
‘I should use some water to clean my wound,’ he thought. Turning to Isabella, he opened his mouth to ask for more so that he could do so.
Anticipating his question again, she said, “I washed your leg before putting the bandages on there.”
Logan smiled as he looked at the girl. “Thank you again.”
“No problem. There’s a water faucet on the side of that building,” she said, pointing at the square, grey, concrete structure that was nearby. “I found the bottle on the ground, so I rinsed it as best I could, then filled it up and used it to rinse your leg before wrapping it.” Shuddering, she added, “It looks gross, by the way.”
“I know,” he replied, closing his eyes as he nodded.
“See, Graham, I told you it was them,” a voice said from nearby.
Shutting rest out of his mind, Logan rolled to his side and was about to rise to his feet when he saw the barrels of two guns pointed at him.
“Not a fuckin’ move.” Graham said, sneering at him.
Logan froze.
Nodding towards Trent, he said, “You were right. These fuckers are like damned roaches. Hard to fucking kill.”
The thick-bodied man nodded happily. “You’ll tell the boss I found them?”
“You betcha,” Graham said, still watc
hing Logan and Isabella. Raising his chin, he said, “Get up.” A half-second later, he added, “Slowly.”
Logan struggled to rise, accepting Isabella’s help as she steadied him. His calf screamed in protest the moment he extended his right leg, trying to push himself up, and he nearly fell before he felt her hands reach out to grab his upper arm. Though she was small and thin, she was strong, and her assistance kept him from falling on his ass.
Balancing himself while keeping the majority of his weight on his left leg, Logan brought up his hands. “Look, just let her go.”
“Fuck that. She’s the one we want.”
Playing dumb, Logan said, “I don’t understand.”
“Yeah, right.” Trent replied, shaking his head. “You think we’re dumb or somethin’?”
Logan’s eyes took in the chubby man. His squat, flabby frame was only accentuated by the loose-fitting sleeveless t-shirt he wore. He held his gun awkwardly, like he was still getting used to it. Normally, that would present an opportunity for Logan to exploit, but in his current condition - unarmed and barely able to stay on his feet - he could do little more than stare back at the man.
Looking over at the other man, Logan found laser-focused eyes locked on him. The man recognized Logan for what he was: a military man trained to fight. As he realized that Logan was too injured and too tired to put up much of one, a sinister smile spread across his face.
“My friend here asked you a question,” Graham growled, keeping his gun trained on Logan.
Logan shook his head. “No. I don’t think you guys are dumb at all. I just don’t know why you want her,” he replied, nodding towards Isabella. “She’s just a kid.”
As if on cue, Isabella began to cry. “Please don’t hurt us…”
“Shut up!” Graham yelled, pointing his gun at her.
“Izzie, stop, please,” Logan said, stepping slightly sideways, towards her.
Graham’s gun swung back over to settle on him. “Where the fuck you think you’re going.”
“I was just - ”
Bang!
A bullet whizzed by Logan’s head, pinging off a rock before splashing in the blue-green water of the bay.
“Move again, you’re dead.” Graham said, never taking his eyes off Logan.
“Fuck this!” Trent yelled, stepping forward. “Let’s just kill these fuckers now! We can’t risk having her NDA or whatever spread all over the place as part of some fuckin’ vaccine or somethin’!”
‘NDA?’ Logan wondered, feeling bewildered.
DNA.
‘Spread through a vaccine, though?’
Seriously, what the fuck?
“Hold on - ” Graham said, turning slightly towards the chubby man and bringing his hand up.
The chubby man shook his head. “No way, man. Steve wants her dead. That’s the whole reason we’re here.”
Graham realized he’d been following his instincts, stopping Trent before he did anything, because chances were that whatever he did would be the wrong thing, but in this case, the man was right.
“Good point,” he said, smiling and nodding. “Tell you what,” he told the other man, “you kill the girl, I’ll take care of this fucker.”
Looking back at Logan, he brought his gun up and pointed it at Logan’s head.
Logan barely noticed. He was more concerned about the chubby man. He was going to kill Isabella.
There would be no negotiating.
No pleading.
No mercy.
Unarmed and injured, Logan did the only thing he could to protect her. He turned and wrapped her in his arms, facing away from the men, shielding her with his body as he waited for the bullets that would end his life.
Shots rang out, shattering the relative quiet surrounding them, scaring the seagulls and Great Blue Herons that had been hiding in the reeds nearby.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED TEN
San Mateo, California
Darkness.
Pain.
Darkness. Heavy and unyielding.
Pain. Spreading through his body.
‘Come on, Jonathan. You have to check on A.J. and the others,’ Reed’s mind told him, forcing him into consciousness once more. Grimacing with pain as he forced his eyes open, he swallowed down the nausea caused by the broken bone in his left leg, which was sticking out of a tear in the pant leg of his flight suit. Turning his head to look at the injury, he found himself face to face with the recently deceased Sergeant McGhee, who still laid at his feet, resting against his legs. The big man’s lifeless gaze stared back at him, trying to communicate all the things the man had left unfinished in his life.
Swallowing, Reed turned to look at Mason in his seat two spots to Reed’s left. A huge lump protruded on the right side of the man’s head. The lump was actually a good thing. It told Reed that the likelihood of an internal injury to the man’s brain was low. If there wasn’t any visible swelling after an impact of that magnitude, it would have indicated the opposite; that the injury had been internalized, presenting the risk of damage to the brain. Either way, remaining unconscious wasn’t a good thing.
Plus, he needed the man to help him splint his leg before he could assist both Mason and the other remaining crew members that had survived the crash.
If there were any.
Reed’s voice was a frog-like croak when he spoke.
“A.J…”
The young Air Force Staff Sergeant didn’t respond.
Extending his arm, Reed nudged the man’s shoulder.
Nothing.
‘Shit,’ he thought.
Unbuckling his harness, he extricated his arms from it, pushing it out of the way. Once his upper body was free, he reached for the man again, extending even further as he tried to grasp the fabric of the man’s uniform. It wasn’t until that moment that he noticed that the lower half of his left arm was drenched in blood. Looking for the source of the blood, he found a playing card-sized piece of twisted metal embedded in the top of his forearm. Fixating on the injury for a moment, his extended hand, which was wet with blood, slipped off the other man’s shoulder, throwing him off-balance. With his legs still pinned by Sergeant McGhee’s weight, he fell sideways, striking the thin padding of the seat before falling to the deck of the aircraft. As he fell, the broken bone in his leg sawed against the muscles, ripping through them and sending fresh waves of pain through him. Lying on his stomach on the deck, with his broken leg twisted and held in place by McGhee’s body, he felt his consciousness fading rapidly. At some point, the piece of metal had been torn from his arm. Blood flowing freely from the open wound, spreading rapidly on the floor. Instinctively, he pulled the arm towards him and laid on top of it, applying pressure to the wound as darkness took over once more.
A whining sound wormed its way through the darkness of his mind, forcing itself into his consciousness.
He tried to block it out.
Rest would help.
Rest would heal.
The whining continued in short, demanding bursts that occasionally rose in pitch at the end.
‘Wait...’ he thought to himself. ‘I know that sound...Steight!’
Feeling both incredibly relieved and guilty as hell for not checking on the dog sooner, he forced his eyes open once more. Looking to his right, he saw the dog standing inside her crate, tail hanging low behind her as she stared at him with concerned eyes. The crate she was in was slightly bent from where something had collided with it, but otherwise it was intact, and because it was, the dog appeared to be fine. She whined again, looking at him with soulful eyes.
“I’m okay, girl,” he lied, forcing a smile.
She didn’t buy it, emitting another whine as she stared at him.
“Steight, it’s okay,” he repeated, extending his hand, palm down, towards her in an effort to get her to settle. “Just give me a minute.”
How long had he been out? Looking back up a Mason, he heard the man’s soft breathing as he remained fastened in his seat. From this
angle, he could see a dark stain surrounding a tear on the left side of the man’s uniform.
Shit.
There was no way he could reach it from where he lay.
He’d have to free his leg from where it was trapped - without causing himself more pain, which would threaten to send him back into unconsciousness. His friend, and possibly Quinn and Knight, needed his help.
‘Alright,’ he thought, lying face down on the deck. ‘How are we going to do this?’ Looking back over his shoulder, he saw that Sergeant McGhee’s right shoulder and upper back were resting atop his left boot, holding it firmly in place. However, as he moved his right leg, he found himself able to slide his foot free. Taking a deep breath, he grabbed hold of one of the tie downs in the deck with each hand so that he could immobilize himself. The last thing he wanted, was to pull against his broken leg.
Placing his right leg against McGhee’s left shoulder, he began to push. Feeling guilty about using his boot to essentially shove aside his dead friend, he said, “Sorry about this, big guy.” He strained at first as he tried to move the man’s 260 pounds of dead weight, but eventually, all of the physical training he’d done to prepare for the mission paid off. The man’s form slid along the deck, briefly catching against a broken piece of floor tiles before freeing Reed’s foot.
With his leg finally free, Reed found himself faced with a new dilemma: how to turn over. He couldn’t do much of anything in the position he was in, so there was no avoiding it. The question was, how? After some thought, he realized that bringing the right side of his body over his left leg was much more preferable than lifting his broken left leg into the air and swinging it over his body. Using his right arm, he grabbed a different tie down and pulled himself to the right, then used the toe of his boot and the strength of his core to slowly slide his body and left leg in that direction. Sweat poured from his forehead as he exerted himself, and the sound of him repeatedly grunting between heavy breaths filled the open space of the cabin. At one point, he made eye contact with Steight, who watched him through concerned eyes as she rested her chin on her front paws. Forcing a smile, he grunted as he said, “It’s okay, girl.”
Surviving Rage | Book 2 Page 70
