After connecting the clamps, she realized the cables weren’t long enough to let the device sit on the ground. Thinking quickly, she left the charger off and hopped down from where she was perched. She removed the wood bead seat cover from the driver’s seat and took it to where the charger sat. Folding it over several times, she created a mat that would provide a non-conductive barrier between the charger and the metal frame of the charger. With everything in place, she turned on the charger and verified that the ‘charging’ indicator illuminated. Satisfied, she hopped down again and told Jennifer she was finished.
‘Now, we wait,’ she thought, as the two of them climbed back into the rear compartment of the vehicle.
Leaning back against the wall of the truck’s interior, she smiled at her children as she reached into the bag. ‘Screw it,’ she said to herself. ‘These kids deserve a treat.’
“Cinnamon bun?” she asked, holding one out to each of them.
At the far end of the street, a large white SUV turned onto the street, heading towards the lowrider parked in front of the liquor store.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Palo Alto, California
‘Was I out of my mind?’ Daniel asked himself, pushing himself harder, pumping his legs and arms as he ran, all the while listening intently to the sounds of the pursuing mass of infected.
Paul raced along at his side, the bow and quiver on his back bouncing tightly with each impact of each foot on the pavement. He guided them along, looking ahead and pointing in the direction they needed to go, assisting Daniel in deciphering the names on street signs well in advance of their arrival, preventing the need to slow down while waiting for Daniel’s eyes to focus.
Even so, their lead on the horde of infected was decreasing rapidly. While both Daniel and Paul were experienced runners, what they were doing was far different from what they were used to. Distance running requires pacing to allow a runner to cover long distances, and what they were doing was anything but paced.
They were running for their lives.
And they were running out of steam.
“There! …. Turn …. right!” Paul shouted between breaths.
Saving his breath, Daniel nodded slightly, continuing to suck in air as he followed Paul’s instruction, turning onto Seale Avenue. If his memory was correct, they’d cross Middlefield Road soon, then turn left on Newell Road, which would lead them straight into the Community Center and associated Park.
Behind them, the screams of the infected were interrupted occasionally by the sound of one of them falling, only to be trampled by the others that chased after Daniel and Paul. Even with the frequent losses to their numbers, the mob never seemed to decrease in size. The only thing that did seem to change was the intensity of their screams as the chase wore on.
‘Just keep going, Daniel,’ he told himself, grateful that they started out with such a lead. He forced himself to close his mouth, trying to work some saliva down into his throat, which was raw from the constant flow of air and his need to breathe through his mouth instead of his nose. Ideally, he’d breathe through his nose and exhale through his mouth, but this situation was anything but ideal.
Somehow, the infected simply didn’t tire. They ran until they collapsed, then crawled while trying to rise, falling repeatedly until they could regain their feet and start running again. Daniel didn’t understand the how or why associated with it, but he did know one thing: they were never down for long.
Crossing Middlefield road, he glanced to his right, checking for signs of the infected, and saw none. Looking left, he saw nothing other than a lowrider car parked off in the distance. Something about it grabbed his attention, holding his gaze longer than intended causing him to misstep.
His right toe snagged the leading edge of a stray hubcap, lifting it upward and slowing his right foot in its attempt to complete the intended stride. With his left leg coming down, he found himself suddenly falling forward.
A hand grabbed his right arm, slowing his forward momentum long enough for his right foot to find its way under him. Looking over he saw Paul’s eyes were huge as he looked back at him. A fall at this point could very well be a death sentence.
With the sudden surge of adrenaline associated with the near-fall coursing through his veins, Daniel rushed forward, leaving Middlefield Road behind. With sweat running down their faces, they ran, their feet pounding the sidewalk as they struggled to stay ahead of the screaming horde of infected that pursued them.
“Next street is Newell!” Paul yelled. Glancing back over his shoulder, he added, “We gotta run faster!”
Daniel assumed he was nodding, but figured it would be hard to tell at that point with all the movement associated with their running. At the same time, he figured a response probably wasn’t necessary.
What was necessary was doing what Paul said: they needed to run faster.
They leaned into the turn, cutting the corner as closely as possible, taking advantage of the one thing they’d learned during the chase: every turn added a bit of distance between them and the infected. The uncoordinated way that the infected moved was as primitive as it was clumsy. Simple minded, they couldn’t figure out how to slow down before changing direction, resulting in them falling to the ground, creating obstacles for one another, causing even more of them to fall. Each time this happened, the mass converged on itself, falling into one another and fighting through each other, before managing to make it back to their feet and resuming the chase once more.
Daniel’s ears picked up the sounds of the infected tumbling and falling, then screaming at each other, as he continued running, finally seeing the short chain link fence that edged the fields up ahead.
Thank God.
“Can ... you … jump ... that?” Daniel asked between breaths, lifting his chin in the direction of the fence as he ran.
“I think so,” Paul replied.
“Alright!” Daniel said, stepping into the parking lot that led to the fence. Somehow, he found a little more speed and rushed forward towards the fence. Taking one final step, he pushed off with his right leg, lifting his left leg into the air, easily clearing the fence. Airborne, he saw the overgrown grass fields that led to the baseball diamonds ahead of him. Next to him, Paul was already landing on the grass, accelerating again as he rushed forward.
Daniel’s right foot caught the top edge of the fence, sending him flying forward. Extending his arms out in front of him instinctively, he twisted slightly in the air and allowed his right arm to relax as his palm hit the ground, leaning downward with his right shoulder, rolling with the momentum. He rolled on the ground twice, then scrambled to his feet and lunged forward, running once more.
Behind him, he heard the chain link of the fence rattle as the swarm of infected slammed into it and then into each other. Snarling and screaming, they fought against each other as they struggled to get over the fence.
Closer, he heard something wet slap onto the grass behind him and couldn’t resist a look.
A pool of blackish-red fluid coated the overgrown grass, barely three feet behind where he’d been a half-second ago.
‘Shit!’ he thought, forcing himself to run faster.
Seeing the dirt of the infield ahead, Paul glanced at both sides of the baseball diamond before cutting left towards the small gap in the fence that wound around and out onto the other side of the fence. He stood aside, letting Daniel go through, then followed him through the back and forth of the small walkway.
Emerging on the other side, Daniel rushed over to a metal trash can.
Seeing it was full of both trash and water from the recent rain, he cried out, “Give me a hand!”
The two of them moved the trash can to the opening and set it there then quickly squatted down and pushed it into the center of the narrow opening.
Breathing deeply, they backed away from their work as the infected rushed towards the baseball diamond. Scores more of them were still fighting their way over the fence, falling int
o the grass clumsily before rising to their feet and charging towards where Daniel and Paul were.
Glancing to his right, Daniel saw the lower portion of the fence extending outward from where it aligned with First Base.
Ready to run again, Paul started to move when Daniel reached out and grabbed him.
“Wait. Come on,” he said, moving away from that direction, towards the area behind home plate.
Curious, Paul followed him.
Daniel continued to move, drawing the crowd towards him, until he was directly behind home plate. Remembering how far one of them had spit the goo from its mouth, he backed away until he was against the shuttered snack bar that sat between the two large bleacher stands, nearly ten yards from the fence.
Solely focused on Daniel and Paul and lacking analytical skills, the creatures rushed straight into the fence, crashing into the chain link fence and the additional poles that reinforced this part of its length. Screaming in rage, they piled onto one another, seemingly convinced that those in front of them were the sole reason for their inability to get through.
Seeing a few of the infected wandering off to the sides of the baseball diamond, Daniel reached over and pulled the metal lid off a nearby trash can and began banging it against the cylinder.
The noise further enraged the infected that were crammed against the fence, causing them to claw at one another with even more intensity, but more importantly, it brought the stragglers into the mass of bodies.
Stopping, he looked at the crazed mob of infected people, feeling both terrified and sad. These had been people at one point.
A black man in a bus driver’s uniform.
An Asian woman in a business suit.
A Sikh man in a police officer’s uniform and a turban.
A Hispanic woman in hospital scrubs.
An elderly white woman with greyish-blue hair in a blue flowered dress.
The virus had infected people without discrimination, attacking people of all races, cultures, and occupations. As he watched, the first row of infected pressed against the fence fell under the crush of those behind them, disappearing from view as they were trampled.
“Dan?” Paul was at his side, pulling on his elbow.
“Yeah,” he replied, nodding. “Let’s go.”
Turning away, they saw another parking lot in front of them. Moving in a slow jog as they began to feel the tiredness they’d kept at bay for the last twenty-plus minutes, they cut across the parking lot, heading towards Middlefield Road, which they would use to head back to where the Serafina and the girls were.
CHAPTER FORTY
Redwood City, California
Steve Sommer, Hank Williams, and Randall Gaetz had been back on the road for barely ten minutes when they heard the massive explosion somewhere behind them. After dropping off Trent and Graham near the Dumbarton Bridge, they’d noticed the 101 highway was surprisingly clear of cars - likely done through the efforts of the U.S. Military in an effort to give travelers an easier path to the Protective Zone - so they brought the car back onto the highway and increased their speed, cruising north towards the next stop.
“The fuck was that?” Hank asked, turning in his seat to look behind them. In the distance, a huge cloud of dust was rising into the sky above the highway in the general direction of where they’d dropped off the two men.
“Probably some kind of booby trap,” Randall replied, looking through the rear window of the Mustang.
Without saying a word, Sommer pulled the steering wheel to the right, angling the car towards the upcoming exit.
“Gonna use surface streets again?” Hank asked, looking over at him.
“Yes,” Sommer replied, adding nothing more. They were so close, their objective nearly at hand. They couldn’t afford a mishap.
Though he’d originally intended to have Graham and Randall cover the San Mateo-Hayward Bridge, he’d felt it was necessary to leave Graham with Trent at the smaller Dumbarton Bridge. Though he believed Trent was dedicated to the cause, he knew the man was more bluster than action, more bark than bite. Even worse, he had little to no confidence that the man wouldn’t cut and run at the first sign of trouble. Graham would keep the man in line.
Based on his knowledge of the area, the medical building he and Hank would wait on top of gave a clear view of the San Mateo-Hayward Bridge, and he’d instructed Randall to fire a flare if saw any sign of the man who went by the title ‘Hermes’, the Mexican girl, or both.
If that happened, he’d send Hank to back the man up. It wasn’t ideal, but he could stay behind and handle things by himself if he had to.
Pulling off the highway, he glanced in both directions before turning left onto Whipple Avenue heading back under the freeway and to the west. A half-mile later, he turned right on Industrial Avenue, heading north once more. The street was long and narrow, and, under normal circumstances, less preferable to the larger El Camino Real a half mile further to the west, but if someone (probably the damn Mexicans who were running a muck throughout the city) was setting booby traps, they’d target the larger streets before they got around to the smaller ones.
He drove the Mustang carefully, avoiding anything remotely unusual in the road, and even the smallest potholes. Even the delay of a flat tire was unacceptable. Lowering his window, he rested his arm on the door’s edge, trying to portray confidence regardless of the nervousness he felt in his gut.
The truth was, he was worried. Everything was coming to a head, and there would be only once chance to get it right. There was no way Hermes had beaten them this far north, so they had a chance to catch him before he got there.
If they were unsuccessful, everything, literally everything could be lost. The girl’s blood would be used to formulate a vaccine, which would be reproduced over and over as it was shared throughout the world. The White race, the chosen race, would be further watered down with inferior genetic compounds.
They could not fail.
He could not fail.
This was his mission, and it was far more important than anything he’d done in the Marine Corps.
Looking ahead, he saw the building he was looking for. Tall and modern, its numerous dust-covered windows still managed to reflect light in the mid-morning sun. Five stories in height, it was far shorter than anything further north, closer to San Francisco city limits, but its position was perfect for what he had planned.
Turning into the lot, he remained silent as he did one trip around the building, examining how many cars were in the parking lot. It would be easy to assume that numerous cars would be there, given that it was a medical facility and likely the first place people would go once they started to feel sick, but for whatever reason, that wasn’t the case. The parking lot was far from empty, but the eight vehicles there were trivial compared to the thirty-plus empty parking spots.
Bringing the car to a stop near the front of the building, he looked back at Randall.
“Need you to come with us while we clear the building before heading to the roof. Once we’re there, we’ll review the plan, then you can head to the bridge.”
Randall nodded. “You got it.” Grabbing his shotgun from the seat next to him, he opened his door and got out, watching the front of the building while Sommer and Williams grabbed their things from the trunk.
When they were ready, Randall looked at Sommer and asked, “Want me to go first?”
“Yeah,” Sommer replied, hefting his weapons onto his shoulder.
Nodding, the heavily muscled man turned and headed towards the front door of the facility. The sliding glass door was stuck open, its leading edge resting against the body of a middle-aged black woman in scrubs. Her neck had been twisted into an unnatural position, allowing her lifeless eyes to gaze at the ceiling while the front of her body rested on the ground.
Randall stepped over the woman and entered the building, aiming his gun left and right as he looked for signs of movement. Aside from the woman in the doorway, the waiting room and receptio
n area was devoid of people. A thin layer of dust covered everything, and the smell of the woman’s decomposing body filled the space, even with the door propped open.
Moving past the reception area, Randall led them to one of the doors that opened into the back area where they treated patients. Though the door was locked, the vertical piece of glass that allowed the medical staff to see if anyone was on the other side before they opened the door had been broken, leaving an opening wide enough for him to reach through and press the latch that opened the door. The floor of the hallway beyond the door was covered in a long, wide streak of dried blood that extended from the entryway to an intersecting hallway and around the corner. Randall followed the streak, leading the men down the hallway until they reached another desk, where the actual nurses and healthcare workers documented their treatment efforts for the patients who visited.
At the corner, he turned left, leading them past the station and to a door marked ‘Stairwell’. The streak of blood broke to the left, away from the door, extending down the hallway further before disappearing into one of the rooms. Randall paused at the door, looking at Sommer. When Sommer’s eyes met his, he tapped his chest, then pointed towards the room.
Sommer nodded.
Randall walked slowly down the hallway, keeping his gun at the ready as he crept down the tiled floor. His head turned left and right as he checked every possible opening for signs of trouble. When he got to the room where the streak of blood led, he saw the door was open. He didn’t need to enter to see where the streak ended. He could see it there on the floor near the open door.
The top half of a man, from his waist to his head, was on the floor, arms extended in front of him. The man’s bottom half had been violently torn from him, leaving only flesh, exposed bone, and severed tendons at the place where his lower half should have been.
Had the man crawled all this way in this condition?
Surviving Rage | Book 4 Page 20