“But then you’d never get to feel the pain that you made me feel, and you know what? That wouldn’t be right. It wouldn’t be fair, would it?” she asked, her eyes blazing with building fury.
She shook her head. “No, that wouldn’t be fair at all. I fucking loved the woman you killed. She was my everything, and you took her away!”
Unable to control herself, she pulled the trigger again.
Pain flared in Daniel’s left thigh as a chunk of muscle was torn away by the hot metal of the bullet that ripped through his leg. Squeezing his eyes shut as he gritted his teeth, he struggled to hold his tongue as he dealt with the sudden rush of pain that stormed his body.
“Go ahead, hold it in for now,” the woman said in her cocky, undeterred voice. Brimming with unchecked confidence, she clearly felt zero concern and saw no threat in the injured men on the landing twenty feet below her.
“Eventually, you’ll break.”
Lowering the gun, she smiled. She had the two men right where she wanted them: injured, pinned down, and ripe for the picking.
“I promise,” she added.
Daniel’s vision flowed back and forth like a semi-opaque wall, seeming to rush towards him, then back away, as he stared up at the figures above him. He had no idea if what he had in mind would work.
He just knew it was their only chance at survival.
And he’d only get one chance.
“Wait,” he managed, bringing his left hand upwards towards them slowly, showing his open palm. He could only hope that their eyes would focus on it as his right hand took hold of the pistol’s grip.
Enjoying the man’s plight, the Scorpion chuckled. Shaking her head as if she were talking to a small child, she chided him. “What, you’ve got something you want to say?”
“Just this,” he replied, shifting suddenly. He brought a gun up and fired it before she could react.
‘Oh fuck!’ her mind screamed as she saw the flash at the end of the gun he pointed at her. She’d underestimated him. He’d fooled her into thinking he was helpless, and got the drop on her.
It took her mind several seconds to realize she hadn’t been hit by the bullet.
She smiled as she looked down at the man once more.
“You’ll pay for tha - ”
The one-inch thick tempered glass walls that surrounded the food court were strong. Compressed to over 10,000 psi, each piece was designed to support hundreds of pounds and withstand most impacts without breaking.
The glass behind where the Scorpion stood had already been weakened by the bullets from Clint’s rifle.
With his blurred vision, Daniel knew he had little chance of getting a killshot on a figure thirty feet away. Hitting a ten foot high, eight foot wide piece of glass wasn’t as challenging.
The bullet from his gun hit the glass, sending one last shockwave through its surface.
It crumbled.
When the Scorpion heard the sound of breaking glass behind her, she knew she’d made a mistake. Before any of them could turn to face their attackers, they were swarmed over.
A tough, trained fighter, it’d been years since she’d endured pain at the hands of another.
This was simply overwhelming.
Blows collided with her face and body, knocking the wind out of her and blurring her vision. Hands tore hair from her head and flesh from her body. Fabric tore as the hands of the crazed humans tried to rip her apart. Using every skill she had, she fought back, finding her knife and using it to slash her attackers.
A fist slammed into the side of her head, stunning her. She slashed out blindly in that direction, then felt hot blood splash her hand and arm. Something collided with her right eye socket, shattering the bone. Pain radiated from the area as she thrust the knife in the direction of the assault. More blood on her hand.
She felt her head pulled forward by her hair, then felt it being slammed downward.
Her vision blurred as dizziness took hold.
Watching the melee above them, Daniel knew he needed to get them out of there. He also knew that with his wounded side and thigh, he’d be unable to carry Paul’s limp form. He needed the young man to wake up.
Above him, gunfire sounded sporadically as the gang members desperately tried to fight back against the infected. Body after body fell as bullets found their mark, but for every one that fell, two more took its place.
Pointing his pistol at the glass next to Paul’s head, he waited until he heard one of the semi-automatic weapons fire, then pulled the trigger three times. The glass wall of the staircase exploded outwards, showering everything below.
He slid his body forward, then reached over and grabbed Paul by his shirt and belt. Straining as he tried to ensure his efforts wouldn’t stretch against the torn part of his midsection, he tossed the teenager over the edge of the landing, hoping he’d remembered the layout of the lobby correctly.
Either way, he’d find out in a second.
Grabbing the edge with both hands, he took a deep breath, then used all of his remaining strength to pull himself forward and over the edge.
A second later, he was falling.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED TWELVE
East Palo Alto, California
‘So this is how it ends, Logan said to himself when he heard the gunfire.
A lifetime of hard work, dedication, and devotion to his country, his family, and to those he cared about, would end at the hands of ignorant racists. Men who’d rather see their fellow Americans die than to consider the thought of a young Mexican girl’s blood being used to form a cure.
He’d done everything he could to save her, rescuing her from Reilley, from the men who’d chased them from the salt ponds onto the bridge, from the grenade, and from drowning in the bay, and yet, in the end, none of it would make a difference.
He closed his eyes and pulled her close to him, hugging her one last time, feeling his heart swell with unexpected affection for her. At least she’d feel some comfort in her last moments.
The impacts never came.
There was no searing, ripping pain that accompanied hot metal tearing through a person’s body. No feeling of being punched with the heavy thud of bullets hammering the body.
Instead, crumpling sounds followed as heavy objects hit the ground.
Then, silence.
Slowly, cautiously, Logan turned his head and looked back at where the men had stood. Both of them were on the ground, dead.
A pair of muscular men, both with telltale Marine Corps ‘high and tight’ haircuts (though clearly in desperate need of a trim) emerged from the bushes and walked towards where he and Isabella stood.
When they got close enough, the one on the right, the thicker of the two, a black man with an easygoing smile, raised his hand and lifted his chin.
“You two alright?”
Logan nodded slightly.
“No!” Isabella replied. “He’s hurt!”
The men rushed over to their side. The second man grabbed Logan’s elbow and quickly guided him to one of the nearby rocks, sitting him down. He smiled at Logan reassuringly.
“Don’t worry, we gotcha.”
“Thanks,” Logan replied, wincing as he moved. “Who are you guys, anyway?”
Pulling open a water bottle, the dark haired man started cleaning Logan’s shoulder as he spoke. “Sergeant Phillip Singletary, United States Marine Corps,” he said, remaining focused on the wound. “If you prefer, you can call me Phil,” he added. Jabbing his thumb towards the Black man, he said, “That there is Sergeant Dennard.”
The black man smiled and nodded. “Aaron,” he offered, before looking over at Isabella. “Are you her?”
Isabella looked back at him, confused. “Who?”
“The girl who’s immune,” he replied.
“I - ”
“How do we know we can trust you?” Logan asked, still in pain. Sergeant Singletary finished cleaning his shoulder, then lifted his button up shirt up and used a knife to cut away
a piece of the t-shirt he wore underneath. As he brought the fabric up to Logan’s shoulder, he smiled again.
“‘Cause that’s our mission. We’re here to get you to safety.”
Looking over from where he stood nearby, Aaron added, “And Marines never quit on a mission.”
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED THIRTEEN
East Palo Alto, California
“Holy shit,” Sarah said under her breath as the eight cylinder engine of the heavy duty armored truck sputtered and came to life. She’d been skeptical of the small charger’s ability to give the truck’s battery enough electricity to turn the engine’s starter. It had, after all, been designed to recharge much smaller batteries. Nevertheless, somehow it provided enough electrical current to recharge the truck’s battery, and when she turned the key in the ignition, the truck’s starter slowly wound up before providing just enough motion to generate the needed combustion inside the engine. The engine coughed twice, then came to life with a mighty roar, shaking the entire vehicle.
“How long have you been charging it?” Serafina asked from the passenger seat. Jennifer sat between them staring in awe at the sight of the engine’s rpm indicator on the dash.
“Not nearly long enough,” Sarah replied, shaking her head. “This must be our lucky day,” she added, thinking about how close they’d come to being blown sky high by the woman who held the detonator to the explosives she’d planted.
“I sure hope so,” Serafina said, looking anxious. “So, which way’d they go?” she asked.
Putting the truck in gear, Sarah simply replied, “To the left.” As the truck lurched forward, she called out, “Hold on back there!” She drove to the intersection and turned left, following the path the two men had taken.
As they drove, they were constantly worried that Daniel and Paul had taken a side street or some other detour that took them in a different direction than the one they’d followed, but between Serafina, who felt confident about predicting her husband’s tendencies, and Sarah, who felt an internal homing mechanism that guided her towards the people who had intended to hurt her children, they decided to do the only thing that made sense: they used their guts.
The fact that they were in alignment made them feel even more confident.
Even so, as they drove on, they found themselves looking for confirmation, for something that would vindicate their beliefs, lending them temporary faith as they continued to follow their instincts.
That vindication came shortly after they crossed under the 101. Looking to the right, they saw the burned out husk that represented what remained of the IKEA store. To the left they saw a series of small businesses, none of which would be appealing to people trying to hide from those who wanted to see them dead. Too much bloodshed at each, too many dead bodies, too much risk.
“Bringing the big truck to a stop, Sarah looked over and asked, “Thoughts?”
Serafine looked at the IKEA for a long moment before turning away and shaking her head. “I would have bet money they’d be there…” Looking at what stood nearby, she shook her head again. “Nothing around here. All of these places were homes to violence. No way Daniel would want to hide out in a place where the infected had left a lot of bloodshed. Too dangerous.”
“I’m thinking they continued on that way” Sarah said, pointing east, “if they could get beyond that pileup,” she said, pointing toward the multiple cars that had collided with each other, “they’d be able to leave the gang in the dust.”
“Agreed,” Serafina replied, looking towards the mass of cars. Whatever caused the pile up must have been dramatic. There were at least ten cars in the tangled mess of metal. “But if they went that way, where did the gang go?”
“Hmmm…” Sarah replied, holding her right foot a few inches above the gas pedal as her left foot remained pressed down on the clutch. “Any chance they could squeeze by?”
“I don’t think so, but maybe we should take a look.”
“Okay.” Lowering her foot down on the gas pedal slowly, she simultaneously began releasing the pressure on the clutch, allowing the big truck to lurch forward. She was starting to get the hang of driving the monstrosity of a vehicle.
‘A stick is a stick,’ she told herself, smiling slightly. Driving the truck down the street, she continued to scan both sides of the road for threats, expecting either the infected or the gang that was chasing Daniel and Paul to come charging at them at any second. Protected by the heavy armor that surrounded the truck, she wasn’t too worried about the infected, but she had no idea what the gang might try if they had a second chance.
As they approached the wreckage, Serafina pointed off to one side. “That looks like something.”
Sarah guided the armored truck over to the spot the other woman had indicated and slowed to a stop. Putting the truck in neutral, she asked, “Wanna get out and take a look?”
Serafina nodded. “Yeah. There’s not enough room to squeeze by in this thing without forcing the other vehicles out of the way, and that will make a lot of noise. Let’s make sure we’re not doing that for nothing.”
“Hopefully we can find something that confirms they went this way..”
“Exactly.”
Leaning back, Sarah spoke through the slot in the back of the cabin and told the others what they were doing. “We’re gonna check things out real quick. Hang tight, okay?”
The two women got out of the truck, each carrying their handgun at their side as they approached the opening. It was clear from the tire marks on the asphalt that a lot of force had been used to move the vehicles - including a big, off-road capable jeep - sideways. The torque required to do that would be tremendous.
“Damn,” Serafina said aloud, shaking her head as she stared down at the tire marks on the street.
“I know.”
“What kind of vehicle were they driving?”
“Some fancy SUV,” Sarah said, cocking her head. “It was hard to tell, looking through the slot, but I could tell it was expensive.”
Looking down towards the Jeep’s big, knobby tires, Serafina frowned, then crouched down and reached underneath the vehicle. When she stood back up, she held a vehicle’s side mirror. The molded plastic back was painted white.
“Looks like the type of thing that would be torn off if you were trying to force a vehicle through a small space,” she said. Bringing the mirror closer to her face, she examined it for a moment, then smiled as she passed it to Sarah.
Looking down at it, the other woman read the small lettering that had been etched into the lower part of the mirror.
OBJECTS IN THE MIRROR ARE CLOSER THAN THEY APPEAR
MERCEDES-BENZ, USA 2019
Nodding, she smiled as she looked back at the other woman. “Looks like this is the way to go.” Turning back to admire the heavy duty armored truck, she grinned.
“Let’s see what this thing can do.”
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED FOURTEEN
San Mateo, California
Driving across the grass fields of the golf course, Steve Sommer’s eyes darted left and right as he followed the long path of destruction caused by the aircraft. He moved the wheel deftly as the car’s wide tires kicked up dirt and grass, guiding the vehicle around the fallen branches and unearthed rocks that dotted the path they followed. As powerful as the Mustang was, it was still just a car, vulnerable to the things all cars were.
With the aircraft’s fiery descent being visible for miles, he knew the military would have watched it and marked its point of impact. It wouldn’t be long before they sent someone to look for survivors, and when they showed up, he and Hank needed to be long gone. A firefight wasn’t one they could win. There were only two of them, and after the attack on the plane, there was little doubt that the military would show up in force.
The only question was how long it would take for that force to arrive. Clearly they hadn’t anticipated the threat to the aircraft, so the forces on the ground would be unprepared to respond. They’d need to put toget
her a tactical team, then find the necessary emergency responders to render care to the injured survivors. Both would take a while.
That meant he and Hank had time, but he wasn’t taking chances. What they had to do wouldn’t take long. They’d check the plane, kill any survivors, then get the hell out of there.
“Ha! There’s the tail!” Hank said, pointing.
“Getting closer,” Sommer replied, staying focused. The debris left in the wake of the aircraft was increasing in size and volume now, and he was forced to slow as he maneuvered around the pieces of twisted metal and chunks of composite material that littered the path.
Finally, the beast of an aircraft became visible. Though it was still several hundred yards away, Sommer could see its hulking frame resting between the trees at the far end of the golf course. Off to their right, two smaller paths, marked by churned up earth and flattened trees, led to the aircraft’s starboard engines.
Getting closer, he could see what remained of the aircraft at the end of the long trench it had created. The gaping hole at the rear of the aircraft, where the tail section had been ripped away, was partially covered by a fallen Monterey Cypress. The nose section was nearly buried in the pile of dirt and grass it had forced upward. The port side of the aircraft was marked by two massive holes, one a gaping circular opening caused by the missile impact, the other a horizontal, four foot tall, twenty foot long slash that led from just aft of the port wing to where the tail had been torn away.
Sommer guided the car towards the aircraft, looking towards the trees to the left of it until he found what he needed: a shadowed area underneath a canopy that had been created by the thick, windswept branches of a Monterey Cypress. He drove to it, spun the car around, and backed into the shadows, putting the tree’s wide trunk between the car and the aircraft.
Surviving Rage | Book 2 Page 72
