Surviving Rage | Book 4

by Arellano, J. D.

  But first, he needed to survive.

  Taking a breath, he brought his head up slightly as he reached over and shook Paul, trying to wake him. The teenager groaned in response, which was a good sign.

  “Come on, buddy,” Daniel whispered, not wanting to attract the attention of the infected that were still above them. He could hear them still fighting with the woman and her gang, screaming with rage as they clawed at the three of them. Gunfire sounded occasionally as the infected were repeatedly hammered with bullets. Shells from the rounds rained down into the pond splashing quietly in the far end of the pond.

  Daniel felt an odd grabbing sensation on one of his fingers and looked down. One of the Koi, a big, fat, white one with bright orange splashes on it, was trying to snack on his finger. It and the other fish in the pond had likely not been fed for several days.

  Daniel pulled his hand free, then reached over and shook Paul again, this time succeeding in waking him.

  “Wha-?” Paul asked, his eyes still unfocused.

  Daniel put a finger in front of his mouth, then pointed above them, where the fight raged on. Paul blinked, then nodded slightly.

  The last gun fired once more, then stopped. The sound of it falling away from the hand of its owner came to them as they listened. The countless infected above them continued to scream with rage as they continued to pummel their victims, but soon grew bored with the effort.

  Their boredom became Daniel’s and Paul’s problem as the group slowly and clumsily made their way down the steps, snarling and growling as they did.

  Some of them tripped and fell, either tumbling down the steps and injuring themselves, which angered them even further, or tumbling into those below them, sending a group of them down the stairs in a flailing mass of arms and legs.

  At the bottom of the stairs, the accumulation of bodies turned violent, characterized by clenched fists, swift kicks, and gnashing teeth. Looking up over the pond’s edge, Daniel evaluated the situation: there were seven, maybe eight of them (it was hard to tell with the intensity of the fighting that was taking place) at the bottom of the stairs, and he could hear the footsteps of countless others descending the steps. Looking to the left, he estimated the front door to be at least fifty feet from where they were. To climb out of the pond quickly, then outrun dozens and dozens of the infected, crossing a wide expanse of cluttered tiled floor while soaking wet was not an appealing prospect. He was bleeding in two places, both of which would seriously limit his ability to run. It wasn’t a good proposition.

  Not at all.

  They could stay there and wait, which, in the short term was good, since they were both exhausted, but eventually the infected would get bored of fighting and begin searching the lobby for victims.

  “Shit,” he whispered quietly, lowering his head again. Glancing over at Paul again, he saw the young man’s eyes were wide as he looked back at Daniel. The kid knew the two of them were in trouble, and he was looking to Daniel for encouragement.

  ‘Think, Daniel, think,’ he told himself, looking up at the ceiling as he hoped for divine intervention.

  It would be hard to call it that, but intervention did, in fact, come.

  In the form of a loud explosion somewhere on the second floor. Walls and windows shook, sending bits of broken glass to the floor as the explosion rocked the building.

  The infected reacted immediately, forgetting about each other and anything else that had distracted them. Screaming, they rushed towards the second floor landing, some running up from the first floor, others descending from the third, where’d they still been beating the unmoving forms of the gang members who’d chased Daniel and Paul.

  Daniel breathed a sigh of relief as he heard the mob move away from the lobby, disappearing down the second floor hallway, screaming in fury as they fought each other as they made their way towards the source of the noise.

  When he was fairly certain they were gone, he looked at Paul and said, “Stay here.” With water pouring off of him, he slowly climbed out of the pond and stepped down onto the tiled floor. His left leg nearly buckled underneath him as pain shot up from the gunshot wound. Like the wound at his side, the bullet had gone straight through him, but this one had bored through the biggest part of the thigh muscle, carving out a half-inch diameter tunnel through his leg. And it was bleeding. Badly. He hadn’t noticed the blood flow when he was in the pond, but now it ran down his leg, thinning as it came in contact with the water that coated him. He needed to stop the bleeding, and he needed to do it quickly.

  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 buil
ding, 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 SIXTY-SEVEN

  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 SIXTY-EIGHT

  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 grabbed 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.