Surviving Rage | Book 4

by Arellano, J. D.

  “I can do it,” Daniel said, sliding out from under Paul’s arm. He pushed himself forward, running awkwardly as he favored his entire left side. He kept his left arm pinned against his side as he ran, trying to keep the muscles and flesh there from pulling against the wound. His left foot barely touched the ground as he sought to minimize each impact, occasionally being reminded that anything more than a tiptoe sent pain shooting up from his thigh to his hip.

  Paul remained by his side, though it was clear to him that even with his injured right knee, the teenager could easily leave him in the dust. Looking back over his shoulder, he was relieved to see that the infected hadn’t emerged from the building yet.

  That relief wouldn’t last long.

  Crossing the small road that ran between the first parking sections, they were entering the second section when Daniel heard the unmistakable sounds of the infected getting closer.

  They screamed with rage at the sight of their prey nearly halfway across the parking lot.

  Charging after Daniel and Paul, they snarled as they gnashed their teeth.

  They huffed, trying to pull in more oxygen as they ran with inhuman breakneck speed, pushing their bodies harder and harder, trying to cross the distance as quickly as possible.

  They lashed out at one another as they grew enraged at those in their way.

  “We have to go faster!” Paul screamed, his eyes wide in terror.

  “I’m trying!” Daniel yelled, pushing himself harder. ‘Fuck it,’ he told himself as he allowed his left foot to come down hard, grunting each time the pain grabbed him. There was no way around it. He needed the power the second leg provided.

  Even so, it was quickly becoming clear that they would not be able to outrun the infected. He didn’t need to look back to sense that they were closing in. Fast.

  Seeing the end of the third and final section of the parking lot ahead, they ran with everything they had.

  ‘Then what?’ Daniel asked himself, wracking his brain for a plan. They couldn’t outrun them, there was no way to hide, and there were too many to fight off.

  They were screwed.

  One of the infected lunged out, flying forward with its arms extended, reaching for Paul. Its right hand caught the tail of the teenager’s shirt, slowing him momentarily as the thing landed on the surface of the parking lot.

  He screamed.

  Reaching over, Daniel grabbed the young man’s arm and yanked him forward, pulling him away. The fabric tore leaving the creature with little more than a small prize.

  But they were out of time.

  Daniel looked at the row of parking spots that lined the edge of the parking lot, then looked along the embankment that separated the parking lot from the sidewalk and street above. There numerous small bushes dotting its length, but between a few the grass had been worn away by pedestrians taking shortcuts through the landscaping. Spotting the one he thought would work best, he angled towards it, then glanced towards the street above.

  The barrels of multiple guns were pointed down at them.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO

  East Palo Alto, California

  “Get down!” Serafina yelled.

  Daniel’s eyes grew large as he heard the command. Glancing to his left, he saw a Honda Odyssey minivan sitting in the last stall of the section, next to the aisle that ran perpendicular to the one they were on. The rear sliding door was hanging open, and from what he could see, it appeared that the van was empty. Reaching out, he grabbed hold of Paul and yanked him in that direction.

  “Now!” Serafina screamed.

  Daniel pushed Paul forward, into the van, then dove in after him. Looking back, he saw the enraged faces of countless infected rushing towards them. Reaching for the door’s handle, he heard the first gunshot a split second before a young white woman was stopped in her tracks as a bullet struck her in the chest. She fell sideways and backwards, only to be trampled under by those behind her. Daniel threw the door shut and pressed the button for the lock.

  After that, it was pure thunder as guns fired round after round, steadily firing upon the masses.

  Jumping towards the driver’s seat, Daniel pressed the master control for the door locks, engaging all of them. As he looked towards the rushing mob of infected, he saw they were twenty yards away and steadily closing. He also realized there was little chance the windows of the van would be sufficient to protect them.

  They were trapped.

  Turning to look behind them, Daniel watched in awe as the women handled their weapons expertly, three of them firing pistols, Ashley firing her high-powered rifle, and Brenna launching arrow after arrow into the mass. He heard screams of rage as bodies were struck by hot metal or the occasional arrow, followed by the sounds of the infected falling to the ground. When they fell, he heard the animalistic snarls of the infected turning on each other, attacking those in their path or the ones that took them to the ground when they fell. The sounds of fists and feet striking bodies repeatedly came to him as well, along with the sounds of fabric tearing as clothes were torn away by clawed hands.

  Still, he knew it wouldn’t be enough. Serafina had only one extra clip for her hand gun, giving her an additional fifteen bullets. Ashley had two more four-round magazines, giving her a total of twelve shots. Assuming the two women with them, who both were firing pistols, had a similar amount of bullets as Serafina, they had a total of 90 rounds for their handguns, 12 for Ashley’s rifle, and 15 arrows in Brenna’s quiver.

  One hundred and seventeen in total sounded like a lot of firepower, but it would inevitably prove to be insufficient. Not every shot was a kill shot, and most would only wound the infected. That wasn’t enough to stop them. They’d continue on, determined to maim and kill, until they were physically unable to move. That required a lot of damage. Most would take three or four hits before falling to the ground. When combined with the complete misses (which were understandable, considering the women were firing upon rapidly moving targets), they’d be lucky to take down one for every five shots.

  Which meant the women would be lucky to take down about twenty-five of the infected.

  And there were easily fifty to sixty of the infected moving towards his and Paul’s position.

  Thinking he could help, Daniel reached behind his back for his gun, only to find it missing.

  ‘Must have lost it in the pond,” he thought to himself.

  Or had he even held onto it after shooting out the glass on the railing?

  He didn’t know, but he did still have the spare magazine in his pocket. At the very least, he could pass it to Serafina, giving her another 15 rounds. At least she’d be able to protect herself after it became obvious Daniel and Paul would be overrun.

  Looking up, he saw Brenna firing arrow after arrow, and he remembered Paul’s broken bow. Leaning against the small car, he looked over at the young man. “You still have your arrows, right?”

  “Yeah, but my bow is broken, remember?”

  “I know,” he said, speaking loud enough to be heard over the gunfire, “but Brenna could use those arrows,” he explained.

  “Okay,” Paul replied. Pulling his quiver from his back, he passed it to the older man.

  Accepting it from him, Daniel checked to ensure the top was cinched up tightly, then held it tightly in his right hand as he slid upwards so that he could see through one of the minivan’s windows.

  Outside was a warzone. Barely ten yards from their position, the infected were fighting their way forward under the barrage of bullets that rained down upon them. Behind the front line of the horde, others were fighting amongst themselves, violently thrashing in a flurry of flying arms and legs.

  They’d be on the minivan in less than a minute.

  Time was running out. He had to get the extra ammo to the women now.

  Moving to the other side of the minivan, he unlocked the sliding door on that side, looked out to make sure no infected had already advanced that far, then slid it open and stepped ou
t.

  “Sera!” he called out. When she glanced down at him, he tossed the spare clip, using just enough force so that it bounced on the edge of the grass at the top of the embankment before sliding forward to stop near where she stood. Pivoting to face Brenna, he tossed the quiver of arrows in the same fashion, this time using the force necessary to land the quiver in a small shrub near the top of the small rise.

  He was in the process of turning to get back into the van when he stopped himself. Turning back, he took in the sight of his wife and daughters, fiercely firing their weapons, each of them standing there, confidently fighting off the infected.

  If it would be the last time he saw them, it would be a good way to remember them.

  Fierce.

  Determined.

  Confident.

  “Dan!” Paul yelled, before reaching out of the van and grabbing the older man’s shirt, urging him to get back into the minivan. Daniel did so, looking through the windows on the other side of the van again.

  The infected were less than twenty feet away now, and still closing in.

  ‘We’re not going down without a fight,’ he told himself.

  “Look for something to use as a weapon!” he yelled, moving past Paul towards the back of the van. He already had something in mind that he could use. Pulling the back row of seats forward, he climbed over them and pulled back the thin carpet mat on the floor, revealing the spare tire. Lifting it from the awkward position he was in, he managed to slip a hand underneath. When he pulled it back, he held a tire iron, one with the lug-sized socket on one end, a flat edge on the other for removing the hub cap. It wasn’t great, but it was something.

  “I found something!” Paul called out from near the front of the vehicle.

  Turning to face him, Daniel saw the young man holding up a molded plastic case with a handle. Paul moved back to the center part of the van and set it on the seat, then opened it. Inside was a set of high-end barbecue tools, including a long fork and a knife.

  “This will help,” Daniel said, nodding. “You take those two,” he added, before grabbing a long-handled spatula. “Make sure you’re covered up,” he instructed, “We’ll be fighting these things up close and personal.”

  As the teenager began double checking his gloves, sleeves, Daniel did the same before tucking his shirt into the waistband of his pants again.

  Picking up the spatula, he shook his head.

  ‘Oh boy,’ he said to himself, unconsciously swallowing, ‘we’re going to need some serious fucking luck to survive this shit - ’

  The front passenger window exploded inward, sending glass flying onto the seats as one of the infected began trying to work its way through the opening. Lunging forward, Daniel slammed the socket end of the tire iron into the center of the man’s forehead, stunning him. Shifting his grip on the piece of metal, he slashed forward again, this time sinking the sharp, flat end into the man’s left eye. The end forced its way into the front of the man’s brain, killing him instantly. Daniel pulled the metal back as the man slumped down on the doorframe, partially blocking the opening.

  The rear side window shattered near his back as a woman slammed her head into the glass. Paul responded instantly, slashing the womans’ throat open with the knife. Blood poured forth from her neck as she swung her arms wildly inside the van, trying to reach the young man as he quickly moved away from the window.

  Another man slammed into the woman, pinning her body against the sliding door as he tried to reach inside the van.

  The side window near the back of the van crashed inward before a woman tried to force her way into the van. The opening was clearly too small, but that wasn’t stopping her from trying. Looking down at the floor off the passenger seat, Daniel saw, of all things, a rice cooker. Grabbing it, he turned and hurled it at the woman. It caught her on the right shoulder before smacking against the side of her head, enraging her even further. She thrashed even harder in the opening, dislocating one of her shoulders with an audible pop.

  More hands reached inside the van from the front passenger window as a tall man used his length to briefly grab hold of Daniel’s shirt. Daniel pulled away, turning instinctively and using his left hand to smack the man in the face with what he held.

  Unfortunately, that hand held the spatula. It did little more than slap against the man’s cheek. Turning it sideways, Daniel slashed forward again, using its edge to rip through the man’s right eye. The man roared in anger, ignoring the pain as he fought to get into the van. One of the man’s hands grabbed the top of the seat and pulled off the headrest. The man tossed aside violently, inadvertently hitting Paul in the side of the head, stunning him.

  Daniel lunged forward and smashed the man’s left eye with the socket end of the tire iron. He felt the tip sink into the socket, sending the eye back into the man’s head.

  More glass broke.

  More arms reached inside.

  Time was running out.

  Heading west towards Highway 101, Aaron and Phillip flanked Isabella and Logan as they walked. The grizzled Soldier limped as he walked, favoring the leg. Tough as nails, he refused any further help and pushed himself to ensure he didn’t slow them down.

  The sound of multiple guns being fired nearby shattered the silence.

  “What the hell?” Aaron said, turning and looking in the direction of the gunfire. Turning his head slightly, he listened intently. The sound of countless infected screaming with rage accompanied the repeated gunfire.

  “Shit,” he said, shaking his head. Looking at Logan, he asked, “Think you can pick up the pace a bit?”

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE

  San Mateo, California

  ‘Thank God for bullet proof vests.’

  Grabbing the first thing he could get his hands on, a spare magazine clip, he flung it at the man’s head, then leapt from his position and threw himself at him.

  Seeing movement in his peripheral vision, Sommer moved his head slightly, twisting it just as the clip arrived at its target. The heavy piece of metal glanced off the side of his skull, surprising him.

  A second later, he was knocked sideways.

  Serrano took the man to the deck, tackling him with the form of a professional football player. As they landed, he pulled his right arm free, then struck forward, sending a devastating blow into the man’s jaw. He felt teeth break free under the power of his perfectly thrown punch.

  With the sound of Reed’s dog barking filling the interior of the plane, he pulled his fist back again.

  A searing pain in his side stopped him in mid-swing.

  Sommer spat, sending loose teeth flying as he sunk the blade of his knife into the man’s side. His instincts told him to twist the blade to do even more damage, but the man slipped away, pulling his body free from the metal edge of Sommer’s knife cleanly.

  Sommer lunged at him, bringing his knife up overhead.

  A knee came up, finding his balls.

  The air in his lungs left him in a rush as nauseating waves of pain flowed through his body.

  Dazed and weak, Reed watched as the men fought each other. Lesser men would have perished in seconds at the hands of men as skilled as they were, but the two of them surged back and forth, each doing damage to the other before taking damage themselves.

  ‘Do something!’ his conscience yelled, demanding action.

  ‘Okay!’ the other part of his conscience answered. Blinking rapidly, he looked around, searching for the answer before finding the obvious one.

  Seeing the opportunity in front of him. Serrano reached for the gun at his hip. The man’s eyes registered Serrano’s intentions. He threw himself forward, pinning Serrano’s arms in place.

  Breathing heavily, the man cursed at Serrano.

  “Fuckin’ Spic,” he growled, bringing his knife upward raising it above Serrrano’s head.

  ‘Shit,’ Serrano thought. With his arms pinned at his side, he was unable to defend himself. He squirmed desperately, but the other man ha
d leverage.

  Reed’s hand found the latch at the front of Steight’s carrier.

  Serrano watched as the knife flashed forward, coming down towards his head.

  Seeing the blade’s descent he used everything he had to throw his body sideways.

  The blade scraped against the slide of his skull, peeling hair and scalp away. Pain tore through him.

  “Motherfucker,” the man said, bringing the blade up once more.

  Reed threw back the latch to the carrier, unlocking it.

  “Protect.”

  Seventy pounds of hypercharged muscle and teeth slammed into Sommer, knocking him off Serrano. The blade flew from his hand. An open, drool-filled jaw lunged towards his neck.

  He brought up his arm to protect himself.

  The dog’s sharp canine teeth sunk into the muscles of his forearm.

  He screamed.

  Relentless, the German Shepherd’s instincts took over as it swung its head back and forth violently, ripping and tearing the muscles in Sommer’s forearm. Muscles and flesh tore in Sommer’s arm. He felt blood splattering his face and neck as the dog’s teeth remained locked onto his flesh.

  In desperation, Sommer threw a fist towards the dog’s neck. It smacked into the dog’s muscles, eliciting a yelp from the canine.

  The dog’s teeth released their grip as it fell away.

  Using his feet, Sommer propelled himself backwards, away from the dog. Rising to his feet slowly, he held his bleeding left arm in front of him as he drew his gun and pointed it at the dog.