Looking around, his eyes searched for clean cloth, something that hadn’t been splatter with blood, and possibly by extension, the virus. Quickly tiring, he decided to sit down until he saw something promising. At least while he sat, he could apply pressure to the wound.
Paul emerged from the pond, motioning for Daniel to remain where he was. The young man moved towards the area near the side of the waterfall that was closest to the windows. Bending down, he carefully picked up a backpack. After checking it for signs of blood, he nodded as he opened it and looked inside. Smiling, he pulled out a button up shirt with the company’s logo embroidered on the upper left side of the chest. Mindful of the noise level, he gently set the backpack down before rushing back to Daniel’s side.
Feeling woozy, Daniel passed Paul his knife and told him what to do. Paul cut threelong strips from the back of the shirt, folded two of them to essentially use as gauze, then put one on each side of the wound and secured them by tying the third piece of fabric around the wound. After that, he cut off each sleeve, then cut one long, wide piece from what remained of the shirt. He folded the big piece repeatedly and placed it against the wound in Daniel’s side, then bound it in place by tying the two sleeves around Daniel’s waist.
Stepping back he looked at Daniel, concerned. Turning his head, he looked around the lobby again. After a moment, his eyes found what he was looking for, and he quietly rushed away. When he returned, he had a bottle of water in his hand. Unscrewing the cap, he pushed it into Daniel’s hand.
“Drink some,” he insisted.
Daniel brought the bottle to his mouth and took a drink. It’s effect was incredible. Having not replenished any fluids during the hour or so they’d been running for their lives, his body was severely dehydrated, and though he’d barely had time to take stock of his wellness, his body was keeping track of its state. When the water entered his body, his muscles and organs reacted instantly, feeling a surge of newfound strength. He slowed himself, stopping after the third gulp, and passed the bottle back to Paul.
“Here, you need some, too,” he said.
“I’m okay,” Paul replied, shaking his head.
“Drink some,” Daniel insisted, “something tells me we won’t be casually walking back to where Sera and the girls are.”
Paul nodded, then took a small drink from the bottle before passing it back. “You need it more. You lost a lot of blood.”
Too tired to argue, Daniel took the bottle and drained it into his mouth. Feeling better, he rose to his feet, keeping one hand on the pond’s edge for balance. After a few seconds of lightheadedness, he nodded. “Okay, let’s get out of here.”
Looking back at him, Paul’s face was filled with disappointment.
“My bow,” he said, simply.
Daniel shook his head. “Yeah, that’s...unfortunate. It was one of a kind.”
“I feel like I let Janice down,” he said, shaking his head as he looked at the remaining piece of the bow, which he’d laid on one of the rocks at the pond’s edge, “she gave it to me to use and take care of, and…”
“Hey,” Daniel said, cutting him off. “She gave it to you for you to use. You did that, using it to protect yourself and others. What happened here isn’t your fault.”
Paul nodded, saying nothing.
Stretching slightly, wary of his bandages, Daniel took a deep breath and said, “Let’s go.”
With that, the two of them quietly exited the building, heading towards the two vehicles parked out front, hoping that one of the two would still have the keys inside it.
Back inside, at the top of the stairs, a hand twitched.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED SEVENTEEN
San Mateo, California
Reed was unable to focus as he looked at the blurred form of the man above him, but he was able to recognize the telltale shape of a pistol when the man drew it from behind his back.
‘Fight, dammit!’ his mind yelled, and to his credit, he tried, but his garbled brain waves were barely able to command his hands off the deck. They rose slightly then fell back down, slapping against the flooring, too weak to do anything more.
“Goddamn, man, you fuckin’ niggers are strong, I’ll give you that.” The man shook his head, as he pointed the gun at Reed’s forehead.
Then he was gone.
A crashing sound came from off to Reed’s right. Turning his head in that direction, he saw Sergeant Mason atop the man, his fists slamming down into the man’s face as he rained blows upon him.
Then, two gunshots.
Mason fell away from the man, clutching his midsection. He landed on the deck a few feet from where Reed lay. His eyes found Reed’s. They were filled with pain and fear as he lay there, breathing heavily as he tried to deal with the shock and pain of being shot.
“Goddammit!” The other man said, climbing to his feet. “You muthafuckas are pissing me the fuck off!” Turning to look at McGhee’s unmoving form, he yelled, “What about you, hunh? You wanna try somethin’ too?”
Stepping forward, he aimed his gun and fired a shot into the dead man’s body.
Turning back to Reed, he sneered. “Now then, where were wuh - ”
His body jerked, cutting him off in mid-sentence.
The man’s arms fell to his side as he looked down at his sternum, where the tip of a metal blade protruded from the center of his chest. Dropping the gun, he brought his hands up to where the blade poked out of his chest as his mind tried to decipher how it had gotten there. He staggered backwards two steps, blinking as his mind raced, then fell forward, crashing to the deck with a thump as his life left him.
Shaking his head in an effort to clear his vision, Reed blinked as he looked towards the sound of someone else climbing into the aircraft.
When his vision cleared, a ghost stood in front of him.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED EIGHTEEN
East Palo Alto, California
The Scorpion was dying. Of that, she was sure. Blood seeped steadily from her side, staining her shirt and pooling on the floor beneath her. Her scalp had been exposed where hair had been savagely torn from her head. Her right eye was swollen shut. Her nose was broken. Her midsection was filled with a dull, throbbing ache that told her she had internal bleeding. Coughing, she sent blood and several teeth onto the tiled floor in front of her.
But she wasn’t ready to give up.
With her consciousness fading in and out, she’d been ready to give up, to accept death in the way that she’d forced so many of her victims to in the past, when she’d suddenly been granted a stay of execution by the distraction from the second floor. The crazed man atop her cut short his assault, releasing his powerful grip from her neck as he rose from his position. Barely able to find focus, she felt his foot kick her shoulder as he turned and bounded down the stairs, heading towards the sound of the noise, leaving her to bleed out where she was.
Her initial inclination had been to simply lie there and let death come, to accept the sweet release from the pain that seemingly came from every part of her body. It would be so easy to give up.
To join Lizette in the afterlife.
Lizette, the love of her life.
No.
Not yet.
‘They must pay for what they did,’ she told herself, taking inventory of her faculties and assessing her injuries. Though her head and torso had taken an incredible amount of damage, enough to eventually kill her, her arms and legs felt intact, though they were bruised and battered. The exception were the fingers on her right hand, all of which had been broken when her hand had been twisted and pushed backwards as her rifle was ripped from her grasp.
Grunting softly, she forced herself to roll onto her right side, towards the steps, using her forearm to steady herself while keeping her damaged fingers immobile. Bringing her right leg up, she managed to get her foot under her. Pushing herself forward, she slid along the tile until she reached the edge of the staircase. Using her good hand, she reached up and grab
bed the railing, then pulled herself upward until she was on her feet.
She glanced at the prone forms of Clint and Mario. Both were undeniably dead, torn apart and ravaged at the hands of the infected. They’d been good men, true to the end. Their deaths were the fault of the men who’d led them here, she told herself.
Leaning against the railing, she closed her one good eye as she fought to hold off the waves of dizziness that threatened to return her to the floor. Seconds became minutes as she remained there, finding a peaceful place in her mind where she could block out the pain she felt.
A slamming sound outside the building’s entrance broke her concentration, bringing her back to the painful existence of the present. Squinting as she tried to focus using only her left eye, she was able to make out the limping, shuffling features of the two men they’d been after. They were backing away from the Mercedes-Benz SUV she’d arrived in, heading towards the black Toyota truck Jorge and his men had arrived in.
A swell of emotion bloomed inside the Scorpion’s chest as she watched the men. Inside that swell was something she was unfamiliar with: desperation.
They were getting away.
Her chance at revenge was slipping from her grasp. They’d likely survive, while she’d be left to die mourning the loss of the only person she’d ever loved. Left with the type of pain she’d never had to face, one that made her want to….cry?
Blinking back tears, she shook her head as she stared down at the men through one of the giant windows. If she could just get close enough to them, she could have the revenge she longed for. She could make them pay for what they’d done.
But first she had to stop them from escaping.
How?
An idea flashed in her mind. Turning to look back towards Mario, whose body was the closer of the two, she was relieved to see his AR-15 on the ground not far from where she stood. Hooking her right arm around the railing, she leaned down, ignoring the pain that screamed inside her midsection. She coughed again, sending blood onto the floor and the stock of the gun. Ignoring it, she reached down and grabbed the rifle. Lifting it, she set it against the railing, then popped out the magazine. There were a handful of rounds left.
Plenty for what she had in mind.
She pressed the magazine back into position, then verified the safety was still off, something unnecessary, given the circumstances, but she reasoned she only had one chance at what she was about to try. Wiping blood away from her forehead, lest it drip down into her, she checked to ensure the selector switch was in semi automatic mode, knowing that Mario’s rifle, like hers, had been illegally modified, allowing a fully automatic rate of fire.Taking her knife from her belt, she cut a piece of cloth from her blouse, then wedged the knife in the trigger guard, being careful not to put too much pressure on the trigger itself. Finally, she used the piece of cloth to tie the knife in place.
Wiping blood away again, she took a deep breath and looked down towards the main entrance to the building.
‘This better work,’ she said to herself, before once again hooking her right arm around the railing and using her left hand to hurl the AR-15 down towards the entrance. The rifle slowly rotated as it flew through the air, gaining speed as it fell from the third floor landing towards the lobby floor.
When it landed, the knife was yanked sideways, exerting pressure on the trigger. The AR-15 spat out bullets at 800 rounds per minute, sending hot metal into the glass front of the building, shattering its face and sending sheets of glass crashing to the floor.
Within seconds, the gun ran out of ammunition, leaving it to only click over and over as the knife remained pressed against the trigger.
“Come on,” the Scorpion said aloud, her voice dull and raspy as blood bubbled up again. As she waited for what she hoped would happen, she began working her way down the stairs.
Two seconds later, her battered face broke into a smile as she received confirmation that her plan had worked.
Screams of rage echoed through the building, followed by the thundering of footsteps as dozens and dozens of infected charged toward the source of the cacophony.
Stopping on the steps near the second floor landing, she shrunk back, making herself smaller as she froze and waited, smiling.
‘It’s working,’ she thought, grinning. Bringing her left hand up, she awkwardly stuffed her hand into the front pocket of her blouse and pulled out a small plastic bag filled with white powder. Bringing the bag up to her nose, she held it open and aligned with her left nostril with her thumb and forefinger, then brought up her damaged right hand and used the palm to close off her right nostril. She inhaled deeply, pulling the cocaine into her body. Pulling the bag away, she winced at the pain in her broken nose briefly before the pain rapidly faded.
Looking down, she saw half of the bag’s contents still remained.
‘One last ride,’ she said to herself before bringing the bag back up and repeating the process, this time pulling the drug into her right nostril. Filled with a surge of energy, she stuck her left index finger into her mouth, wet it, then wiped what was left in the bag with it and brought the finger into her mouth, savoring what remained of the cocaine.
Feet pounded on the tile, growing closer with every passing second.
Then the horde arrived, rushing into the lobby from both the first and second floor, fighting and clawing at one another as they sought to find the source of the noise. The clicking of the gun was drowned out by the screams and snarls of the enraged men and women, and the infected at the front of the pack passed right by it, heading out into the parking lot.
Towards the men who’d killed the love of her life.
Rising to her feet as the last of the mob passed by, she joined them, grateful that the drug had pushed the pain out of her mind. She might not catch the two men. She might not be the one to kill them, but at least she’d be there when it happened.
Even if all the infected did was slow the men down, if she could get close enough, she’d have her revenge.
They’d pay for what they’d done.
‘Soon, my love,’ she said, breaking into a run in an effort to keep up with infected around her. ‘We’ll be together again.’
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED NINETEEN
East Palo Alto, California
“Goddammit!” Sarah yelled, pressing down on the gas pedal even harder. The metal of the Jeep on their right and the Honda crossover vehicle on their left groaned loudly in protest, refusing to yield. Responding to the additional fuel, the big truck’s engine roared loudly before powering forward, dragging the two smaller vehicles with it for a few feet. Both the Jeep and the Honda remained with them as they moved forward, parts of their frames somehow stuck on the front of the armored truck.
“Hold on a second,” Serafina said, extending her hand towards the other woman.
Sarah took her foot off the gas momentarily, looking over.
“Back up and see if we can get these -” she pointed at the Jeep and the Crosstour - “off of us. Then get some speed and power through.”
“Might as well try it,” Sarah replied, nodding. Putting the truck in reverse, she slowly backed up, pulling away from the two vehicles. Each one remained attached to them for a few seconds, being dragged by the larger vehicle, but the sideways movement eventually broke them free, and the armored truck lurched backward, suddenly freed from the additional weight.
Sarah guided the truck straight back for about twenty feet, then brought it to a stop. Turning her head slightly, she called out to the passengers in the back. “Hold on!”
She heard numerous voices call out, “okay!” before she heard the old man’s voice.
“No problem!” he said, in his usual lighthearted voice. “I’ll just brace myself!”
Shaking her head, Sarah called out to Jennifer. “Jenn? You got him?”
The young woman’s voice sounded sarcastic as she replied. “Yeah, I’ve got him. Probably should just let him slide around back here, though.”
&
nbsp; “Alright, here we go!” She took her foot off the brake and slammed it down on the accelerator, giving the big truck all the gas she could at once as she pulled her left foot off the clutch. The engine roared even louder as the heavy truck lunged forward, powering them towards the two smaller vehicles in their path. The impact wasn’t nearly as powerful as either of them had anticipated, as the 7,000 pound truck tossed the two other vehicles aside like small toys.
What they hadn’t anticipated, though, was that the heavy duty metal brush guard at the front of the Jeep Rubicon, would be shorn off in the impact, and that the loose piece would tumble up underneath the armored truck, where the metal would puncture the thick rubber of the vehicle’s right front tire, creating a small hole that began to let the air inside escape.
Unaware of this, Sarah drove on, keeping the speed on as she guided them down the street, following it as it curved around and to the left. As the office buildings increased in number, she began to feel a thumping on the passenger side of the truck’s front end.
“Shit.” she muttered, shaking her head.
“Flat tire.” Serafina stated, aware of what the vibration indicated.
“Yeah.” Sarah replied, guiding the truck over to the right side of the road, next to a tall barbed wire fence. Beyond the fence was a large parking lot, then a four-story cement building with dark, tinted windows. Glancing to the left side of the road, she saw a similar fence surrounding a similar building. ‘Most be part of the same company,’ she said to herself as she slowed the vehicle, preparing to park it next to the curb.
“Wait,” Serafina said. The truck was lurching heavily now, as they forced the wheel to keep turning over on the empty shell of a tire.
“What? We’ve got a flat.”
Surviving Rage | Book 2 Page 74
