But none of it was as bad as his leg. The pain was a constant fire, burning inside him. Every movement threw fuel on that fire, raising its intensity, threatening to consume all of his will.
‘They need you,’ he said to himself. Pushing the pain aside, he took another deep breath before examining the band around the kit. He now saw that not only was it latched in place, but that the latch itself, as well as the left side of the case, were bent. He didn’t have to try the latch to know it wouldn’t open.
‘Shit,’ he thought, frustration setting in. His friends were bleeding to death, and he couldn’t get to the supplies he needed to help them.
‘Pry it open,‘ the rational voice in his head told him.
‘With what?’ he asked himself.
The rational voice didn’t answer. Looking at everything nearby he saw nothing useful.
A whining sound came from his side.
Steight.
“Hey, girl,” he said, smiling. “Good job,” he added, reaching down to pet her head. He continued to look for something to use as he scratched the dog’s head between her ears.
‘Come on,’ he said to himself, frustrated at the situation.
Steight’s head pulled away from his hand. A second later, he felt her tongue softly licking his broken leg, trying to render care.
“I don’t deserve you,” he said, looking down at her and smiling. His eyes drifted from the dog’s tongue to the KA-Bar he’d used to splint his leg.
“What would I do without you, Steight?’’ he asked, smiling through the pain.
Reaching down, he slid the big knife out from the bonds he’d tied, wincing as he felt the bones in his leg move slightly. Swallowing, he brought the knife up and slid the blade under the strap. He pushed the handle upward, applying pressure to the metal band. It bent and twisted under the force he applied, but refused to give. Lowering himself until the band was at shoulder height, he grabbed the knife handle firmly, holding it in place as he pushed upward, using the strength in his right leg. Clenching his teeth as he pushed, the pain in his jaw flared even worse, seeming to fight against him as he exerted himself. Ignoring it, he pushed harder.
The band snapped suddenly. When it did, the knife slipped from his grasp, slashing across his left palm before tumbling away.
‘Of course,’ Jonathan said to himself as he saw blood begin to seep from the shallow wound. Squeezing his hand tightly, he used his right hand to lift the first aid kit out of its bracket and lower it to the deck. He slowly lowered himself back to the floor, careful not to jar his broken leg. He couldn’t afford to pass out from pain again.
He was about to start crawling towards where Serrano and Mason were when he realized he’d forgotten to use the help he did have.
Turning his head to look at Steight, he waited until her eyes met his.
“Get help, girl.”
The dog’s eyes remained locked on his.
“Go,” he ordered.
The German Shepherd leapt into action, the nails of her paws clacking on the deck as she ran across the space, then disappeared through the opening on the side of the aircraft.
Reed crawled back to where the two men were, pausing to grab a stray bottle of water that lay on the deck before stopping next to Mason’s form. Popping open the case, he found much of what he expected, plus a few other helpful items, namely, QuikClot, a claylike powder that pulled the moisture out of blood, causing it to clot almost instantly. Moving Mason’s hands away, he pulled open the man’s uniform blouse. The bullet wounds dotted the right side of his stomach and ribs, both dark and wet with blood. Before he applied bandages, he needed to get the bullets out of the man. Looking back into the kit, he was pleasantly surprised and greatly relieved to find a pair of surgical tweezers.
Removing them from the protective packaging, he brought them to the lower wound and stopped.
His hand was shaking, not from nervousness, but from exhausting and rapidly fading adrenaline. Closing his eyes, he took several deep breaths, then grabbed the bottle of water with his left hand and slowly poured a small stream of water onto the wound. When the majority of the blood had been washed away, he set the bottle aside and used the hand to hold the wound open.
“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 SEVENTY-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 hole 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 SEVENTY-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.
Surviving Rage | Book 4 Page 37