Surviving Rage | Book 2

by Arellano, J. D.

  “Sorry about this, buddy,” he muttered before slowly reaching into the opening with the tweezers, feeling around for something hard. Mason grunted as Reed reached further and further into the hole. Finally the tweezers came in contact with the bullet. Blood flowed rapidly from the wound, welling up until it poured out of the man, running down his side. Wasting no time, Jonathan closed his eyes and concentrated as he opened the tweezers and grasped the bullet. Backing out of the hole slowly, he extracted the piece of metal from Mason’s body and tossed it aside.

  Tearing open the packet of QuikClot, he spread some on the wound, added gauze on top, then used medical tape to hold the bandage in place. He repeated the entire process on the other bullet wound, all the while worried about the amount of blood his friend was losing.

  When he was done, he felt even more exhausted from the stress of the situation. Knowing he had no choice other than to keep working, he allowed himself one small drink from the bottle of water. Keeping it above his mouth, he poured a small amount onto his tongue, savored it for a second, swallowed, and pushed on. He lifted his legs and spun around on the composite surface of the deck, then scooted over to where Serrano was.

  He quickly washed away the blood from the knife wound, applied QuikClot, bandages, then medical tape over the injured site. Using more water, he rinsed the tweezers, wishing that he had something more to clean it before inserting into the man, but there was nothing.

  Moving down, he examined the bullet hole in Serrano’s abdomen, which had managed to sneak in under the lower edge of his bulletproof vest.

  He cleaned the blood away, then slipped the tweezers into the hole. Unlike Mason, Serrano made no sound, nor did he give any indication that he felt pain, as Reed searched around for the bullet. Worried, Reed looked up at the man’s face. The man was still breathing, which was a relief.

  “You’re a tough son of a bitch,” Reed said aloud, looking back down at the wound.

  “Thanks.”

  Reed jumped at the sound of the man’s voice, causing the tweezers to move inside the hole.

  “Alright, now that hurt,” Serrano said as he continued to stare at the ceiling from where he laid on the deck.

  “Sorry,” Reed replied. “I thought you were out.”

  “Nope. Been awake the whole time,” Serrano said. “Conserving my energy.”

  “Okay, well, sorry about this,” Reed offered.

  Serrano scoffed. “You think this is the first time I’ve had a bullet extracted in the field?”

  “Damn,” Reed replied, leaning over the wound. He closed his eyes as he felt around inside the man’s abdomen with the tweezers. “Seriously?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” Serrano replied. “Been shot more than a few times. Let’s just say I’ve been known to frighten children at pool parties.”

  Pulling the bullet from the wound, Reed smiled. “Got it,” he said, satisfied.

  “Thanks, Doc,” Serrano said, still staring at the ceiling. “Tell you what, just pass me the water and the gauze and I’ll fix up the side of my head.”

  Looking over at him, Reed realized he’d forgotten about the terrible wound caused by the second man’s knife. It had scraped away a layer of skin, taking the hair with it.

  “I know,” Serrano said. “Sexy as fuck, ain’t it?”

  “I - ”

  “Don’t worry. I keep my hair short anyway. Besides, chicks dig scars.”

  Reed shook his head as he scooted himself over to where Serrano’s head rested. “Alright, well, this will just take a second.” Working quickly, he rinsed the wound, applied antibiotic ointment on it, applied gauze, then carefully wrapped the man’s head, leaving openings for his eyes, nose, and mouth.

  “I look like a damn mummy,” Serrano said, resting his head again.

  “I thought you were conserving your energy?” Reed asked.

  “Touche, Doc. You should do the same.”

  Saying nothing, Reed slowly sat back onto his butt. Before he realized what had happened, he was lying on the deck. Seconds later, he was out.

  CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED TWENTY-EIGHT

  East Palo Alto, California

  When the Scorpion saw the little Mexican girl rushing down towards the minivan, she knew her chance at revenge had arrived. Slipping out from under the heavy body atop her, she made her way into a crouched position, ignoring the blood running down her neck from where her chin had been torn open by the curb. Still fueled by the heavy dose of cocaine that she’d taken, her legs found strength she didn’t think she had (and probably shouldn’t have had) and she burst forth from her position on the curb and grabbed the little girl by the arm. Pulling the girl’s body in front of her own, she wrapped her right arm around the girl’s neck, keeping her left arm free as she backed away from the minivan, dragging the girl with her.

  Spitting out a mucus-filled wad of blood and another tooth, she fixed her one working eye on the men she’d come for.

  “Don’t fucking move, pendejos.”

  Daniel’s mouth fell open in shock as his eyes registered the sight of the woman holding Isabella. How was she not dead? He’d seen her fall under the rush of the infected that had burst forth from the food court, taking her to the floor almost instantly. She and the men with her were in the process of being savagely beaten when he and Paul had gone over the edge of the stairway and into the pond.

  Though she was clearly alive and holding Isabella, her condition made the mystery even more confounding. Patches of hair were missing from her head. Her right eye was completely swollen shut. Her nose sat at an awkward angle on her face. Her mouth was a bloody mess. The fingers on her right hand flopped around uselessly. As he watched, she coughed up blood, indicating she had severe internal injuries. How was she even standing?

  When she raised her left hand to show them what she held, his heart sank.

  The Scorpion knew her time was short, and yet, she felt happy. Triumphant in the knowledge that she would avenge the death of her soulmate, she drew her bloody mouth into what she thought was a cocky grin as she choked out what she knew would be some of her last words. “One…” she coughed, sending bloody mucus onto the pavement, “...move, and I press…(cough, more blood) the button on this... fucking (cough) phone.” She paused as she struggled to suck in air through her blood-filled mouth. She spat out more blood, took a breath, and finished. “Then we all go bye-bye.”

  Though she was weak from the loss of blood, she felt a surge of adrenaline blooming within her suddenly. Was it the virus, finally taking over her body, or was it the realization that she’d finally have the revenge she’d so desperately sought?

  “Let me go!” The young girl yelled, squirming in her arms.

  “Shut up, you little piece of shit,” she snarled, tightening her grip on the girl’s neck.

  Forcing a toothless, bloody mouthed smile, she looked at the two in front of her.

  Daniel put up his hands in front of him, trying to calm the bloodied woman. “Take it easy, okay?”

  “Don’t tell me to take it easy!” the woman spat, sending blood onto the pavement in front of her.

  Daniel brought his hands a little higher. “I’m sorry. Look, why don’t you let us help you? We can take you with us to the protective - ”

  “Shut the fuck up,” she replied, tightening her grip on Isabella, whose eyes were wide with fear. The poor girl had been through more trauma than any person should ever have to, and here she was, faced with death yet again.

  “We both... (cough) ... know I’m… (heavy cough, still more blood) ... dying,” the woman continued, “and I wouldn’t want to live like...this.” Swallowing what he assumed was a mouthful of blood, she paused, then forced another disturbing smile. “The only thing that remains to be seen is how many of you I take with me.”

  Daniel’s eyes registered the small square packets in the vest she wore. ‘Explosives’ he thought. He knew very little about explosives except for the fact that it didn’t take much material to put a big h
ole in the ground and kill anyone close by. He needed to get Isabella and Paul away from the woman.

  “Okay, listen,’ he began, “why don’t you let the girl go? She hasn’t done anything to you. It’s me you want.”

  The woman shook her head. “Not just you,” she replied, nodding towards Paul, “that fuck, too. He’s the one who killed my Lizette.”

  Watching, frozen in place on the embankment, Serafina felt helpless. She and the others were out of ammo, having used everything they had to stop the infected from completely overrunning the minivan. Even if she had a round left in her Glock, the woman was keeping Isabella in front of her, blocking any shot she would have.

  After all they’d done, how had it come to this?

  Daniel swallowed. He was hoping he could convince the woman it’d been him that had killed the other woman. He realized now that she’d seen Paul’s bow and quiver back inside the building.

  Shit.

  Okay, one thing at a time.

  “Okay, but still, why not let the girl go? She’s immune to the virus, and she could actually help the government develop a cure.”

  “Why the fuck would I care?” the woman spat. “I’m dying anyway. I won’t last an hour.”

  “But she hasn’t done anything to you,” Daniel pleaded. The situation was rapidly slipping out of control.

  “Got a shot?” Aaron asked.

  “Not at all,” Logan replied, shaking his head. “She’s got Isabella too close to her. Even if I had an opening, I wouldn’t try it with this,” he said, holding up the handgun.

  “Same here,” the black man replied. The AR-15 was fairly accurate for a semi-automatic weapon, but not accurate enough for a shot like that.

  “Dammit,” Logan muttered.

  All they could do was watch and hope that the woman would make some kind of mistake that Daniel could take advantage of.

  “Okay, look,” Daniel began, keeping his palms in front of him in an effort to calm the woman. “Why don’t you just take me and let these two go?”

  “Why would I do that?” she asked, before spitting out yet another mouthful of blood.

  How was she still standing?

  “They’re just kids,” he offered, softening his voice as he tried to reason with her. “They’ve got their whole lives ahead of them.”

  “So did Lizzette and I!” she snarled, her one open eye glaring at him.

  ‘Shit,’ Daniel thought. ‘Okay, try something different,’ he told himself. His mind spun rapidly as he tried to figure out a different approach.

  “Then just take me.” Paul said, flatly.

  Daniel turned to him, shocked. “Wait - ”

  “It’s okay, sir.”

  Daniel objected, shaking his head. “No, don’t do this.”

  Ignoring him, Paul focused on the woman. “I’m the one you want, not him,” he said, pointing towards the older man, “and definitely not her. I’m the one who killed Lizette.”

  The woman swallowed again, staring at him.

  “You fucker.”

  The Scorpion felt the unfamiliar emotion of sadness welling up inside her again.

  She hated it. It made her feel...weak.

  “Fuck this!,” she yelled, holding the phone in her hand higher. “I’ll kill us all!”

  ‘Squeeze.’

  The Scorpion’s hand, and the phone with it, exploded in a blood-filled spray of flesh, bone, plastic, and bits of glass.

  Stunned, she staggered backwards, releasing Isabella as she stared at the bloody stump her hand had been attached to.

  ‘Exhale....

  Squeeze.’

  By comparison, the woman’s head was a much bigger target than her hand had been, and one Richard Singletary could have hit at the beginning of his training.

  The woman collapsed to the ground, dead.

  For several long seconds, no one moved or spoke.

  ‘I’m proud of you, Richie.’

  The humming stopped. Richard laid his head on the warm surface of the SUV’s roof and wept.

  CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED TWENTY-NINE

  San Mateo, California

  “Shit, how do we get in there?” Sergeant Nicholson asked aloud as he sped along the road that lined the golf course. Fencing lined the length of the street, leaving no opening for them to use to find the fallen aircraft.

  “Typical,” Rodriguez muttered. “Fucking golf courses always take up prime real estate, then use fences and expensive fees to keep everyone out.”

  “Stop complaining Rod,” Zhang said, shaking her head. “We all know you golf.”

  Nicholson, Zhang, and Corporal Simmons laughed, while Rodriguez shook his head. “Still…” he began, “I go to like the base golf courses. Shit like this is expensive.”

  “Looks like it,” Nicholson replied, nodding.

  “Hey, check that out,” Zhang said, leaning forward and pointing.

  “That doesn’t look like a stray,” Nicholson commented. Glancing at the dog that ran along the inside of the fenceline. Barking, it paced them as they drove along the wrong.

  Zhang rolled down her window, grunting as she did so, wishing the damn military vehicle had at least power windows.

  “What is it girl?” she called out, looking at the dog. The dog barked in response.

  “Stop for a second,” she said to Nicholson. He brought the Humvee to a stop in the middle of the road as she continued to communicate with the dog.

  The dog stopped and stood there, looking at them for a few seconds, then barked, ran a few yards, then turned and looked back. Trotting back to the edge of the fence, the dog repeated the process once more.

  “Follow it.” Nicholson concluded.

  “Yep,” Zhang replied, nodding. “Okay, girl, lead the way!”

  The dog raced along the fenceline, not bothering to see if the Humvee was keeping up.

  Reed’s eyes opened slowly at the sound of an approaching vehicle. ‘Shit,’ he thought, forcing himself to sit up. ‘Was more trouble coming?’

  Turning to where McGhee’s body laid, he reached out and grabbed the man’s uniform, then used the leverage to pull himself forward so that he could reach for the gun in the man’s belt.

  “Relax,” Serrano said. “That’s a Humvee.”

  “You sure?”

  He scoffed lightly. “Yeah, I’m very fucking sure.”

  With his arm still extended, Reed reached instead for the man’s canteen. Grabbing it, he unscrewed the cap and poured some into his mouth. Scooting back over to Serrano, he held the man’s head up and poured several small sips into his mouth.

  “Delicious, right?” he asked.

  “Yeah, but I could definitely use something stronger.”

  “Me, too.”

  Seconds later Steight leapt up into the aircraft, her tail wagging. She rushed to Reed and began licking his face.

  The sound of the Humvee’s engine grew louder and louder until it was right outside the aircraft before it cut out with the finality of being turned off. Reed heard the sound of doors slamming, followed by a man’s voice.

  “Hello? This is Sergeant Nicholson! My squad and I are here to help!”

  Reed raised his voice, “In here, Sergeant.”

  Four Army soldiers climbed into the aircraft, the leader of them one that Reed could only describe as a thick bodied, corn-fed country boy.

  “Shit…” he muttered as he took in the sight of the plane’s interior, including the injured and dead. His eyes found Reed’s then drifted down to Reed’s rank insignia. “Sir, what’s the situation? My team can help, but I don’t want to injure anyone further.”

  “Understand, Sergeant,” Reed began, before giving the man the details on the conditions of everyone. “I don’t know about Major Quinn or Lieutenant Knight, though,” he finished.

  Turning to the Asian woman next to him, Nicholson said, “Zhang, check it out. If you need help, let us know.”

  Nodding the woman climbed over the wreckage and into the cockpit. A few
seconds later, her face reappeared above the twisted metal that had been the support area. “Pilot’s alive, but looking bad,” she said.

  Thinking about Lieutenant Knight, who’d never co-piloted a C-17 prior to the mission, Reed asked, “What about the Copilot?”

  Zhang’s eyes met his. “Sorry, sir.”

  Realizing they wouldn’t be able to fit all of the injured inside the Humvee, Nicholson sent Rodriguez out to the vehicle to call for assistance.

  Turning back to Reed, he nodded reassuringly.

  “Don’t worry, Doc. We’re gonna get you back to safety.”

  The fact that he used Skee’s last words was not lost on Reed, who lowered his head and allowed his emotions to take over.

  CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED THIRTY

  East Palo Alto, California

  “That should do it,” Philip said, dusting off his hands as he set the tire iron aside.

  Turning the handle on the heavy jack, Aaron lowered the armored truck until the tire once again supported the load. Though the tire was a different style - an off road one they’d removed from a nearby truck - it was the same size as the flattened one they’d removed.

  “Alright,” Aaron said, smiling at the others as he gestured towards the open back door. “All aboard for the ride to the Protective Zone.”

  He moved away to assist Logan as Phillip and Jennifer helped their grandfather into the back of the truck, then stepped aside as Serafina and the girls helped Daniel in.

  “I feel like I’m being loaded into the back of a paddywagon,” Daniel remarked, grinning slightly.

  “What’s a paddywagon?” Brenna asked.