Surviving Rage | Book 3

by Arellano, J. D.

  Feeling his ruse unraveling, Trent struggled for an excuse. “I...had to take a lot of back roads. Haven’t seen any people.”

  “Back roads?” The black man asked, his eyes burning holes into him.

  “Uh, yeah. There was, um, you know, car wrecks and stuff on the freeway.”

  “Really? Where, exactly?”

  “Uh, you know, the Five. It’s the reason I’m over here on the Ninety-nine.”

  The man’s gun fired, sending a bullet into the air near Trent’s left ear, making him recoil in fear and surprise.

  “I said, EXACTLY WHERE.”

  “Okay, okay, sorry. It was back near Lake Hughes. Just north of there.”

  The man’s eyes stayed locked on him. “What else you see back there.”

  “Fire. The whole damn mountain was on fire.” He’d seen the fire in the distance as he’d traveled west from Lancaster, where he’d stolen the big SUV after putting a bullet in the head of the man who’d given him a ride to the dealership at the edge of town. “Then the fires back there..” he added, using his thumb to point over his shoulder towards the fires in the downtown area behind them.

  The black man looked at him for a minute, then looked back at his crew. “Ya’ll believe him?”

  “Nah, dog,” the man who’d spoken before said, shaking his head.

  “No fuckin’ way, Mack.” Another man said, shaking his head as well.

  “And why is that?” Mack asked, looking at the second man.

  Keeping his thumbs tucked in the belt loops of his baggy pants, the man raised his head, pointing his chin towards Trent’s left side. “Look at dat tattoo.”

  ‘Dammit,’ Trent thought.

  The man they’d called Mack tilted his head to the right, looking towards the upper part of Trent’s arm. “Pull up yo’ sleeve.”

  Closing his eyes and taking a breath, Trent reached up with his right hand and lifted the sleeve of his shirt, revealing his tattoo in totality.

  “I got it when I was younger…” he began.

  “Shut the fuck up.”

  Moving to his side, the black man stared at his arm, examining the tattoo. Having chosen the design barely a year ago, Trent knew exactly what the man saw.

  A Confederate flag in the background.

  A cross in the foreground.

  The words, ‘Don’t Erase My Heritage’ underneath.

  Returning to his spot in front of Trent, the man looked at Trent with his hard, dark eyes again. “Your heritage, hunh? What heritage is that, exactly?”

  “I...it’s my ancestor’s legacy. They fought and died on the battlefield.”

  “Oh yeah? And what exactly were they fighting for?”

  “To, uh, not have the Federal government interfere with their lives.”

  The man in front of him smiled, sensing the game Trent was playing. “Okay,” he leaned in with his body, “and how, exactly was the government trying to ‘interfere with their lives’?”

  Trent swallowed before beginning. “They - “

  The other man pointed the gun at his face. “I said, exactly. Don’t fuck with me.”

  “They wanted to take away the labor my ancestors depended on to work their farms.”

  The other man’s finger squeezed the trigger, firing the gun again.

  Trent flinched, squeezing his eyes shut as he waited for the burst of pain that would end his life.

  Nothing came.

  He heard a snorting sound. “Hunh. And wasn’t that a law signed into effect by the President of the United States?”

  Knowing his leeway was gone, Trent answered softly, “Yes.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Yes.”

  “So you believe parts of the country can rise up when they see fit and take up arms against the government?”

  “Uh, no.”

  “Oh, so only when it comes to freeing black people do you think it’s okay, is that it?”

  “No!, My people, we just…”

  “Your people? The fuck you mean by that?”

  “I…”

  “You know what I call what your ancestors did?”

  Trent felt sweat running down his body from multiple places as he looked back at the man. He swallowed again. ‘Um…. No…”

  “I call it treason.”

  He fired the gun a third time. This time the bullet caught Trent in the upper left part of his chest. The force of the impact sent him flying backwards. He landed hard on the concrete surface of the sidewalk, his head bouncing against it, knocking him unconscious.

  When he awoke several minutes later, pain wracked his body, pulsating from where the bullet had passed through his body. His chest and back felt wet. Looking over at his shirt, he found it soaked with blood.

  Instinct told him he needed to stop the bleeding.

  Rolling to his left, he painfully made his way to his knees, bringing his hand up to apply pressure to the wound. Looking to his right, he saw a bus stop bench nearby. He forced himself to his feet and made his way to the bench, where he sat down heavily, his big body jiggling as he did so.

  ‘Fuck, that hurts,’ he thought to himself, grimacing through the pain. Closing his eyes, he gritted his teeth as he tilted his head skyward.

  ‘Fucking niggers.’

  The sound of a rumbling engine interrupted his thoughts. Opening his eyes, he brought his head down and looked towards the sound of the noise. A black Ford Mustang approached, its engine growling deeply as it begged to be given more gas.

  The car came to a stop in front of the bench. The window lowered, revealing a bearded man with a smooth shaven head.

  Steve Sommer leaned out the car door.

  “You alright there, brother?”

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Near Pismo Beach, California

  Eventually, a sense of normalcy sets in, no matter what a person is faced with. The difficult becomes normal, the challenging becomes routine. Minds adjust over time, allowing people to react more appropriately to the things that aren’t normal.

  After nearly two weeks of living in a constant state of readiness, expecting an attack from anywhere, it was only natural for the men in the truck to let their guard slip.

  Serrano would struggle to identify what he could have done differently, though ultimately it wasn’t his fault.

  “Damn, my ass hurts,” Phillip said, shifting around in his seat.

  “Language, Phil,” his grandfather warned.

  Changing their plans, they’d stopped about forty miles south of Santa Maria, in the small town of Los Alamos, where they’d had lunch and refueled the truck. Serrano had clearly been frustrated by the change, but after four hours of slow driving, punctuated by repeated backtracking to circumvent areas of the highway that were completely blocked, they’d all been tired, hungry and cranky.

  After the much-needed break, they’d continued on, spending the next three and a half hours in their respective vehicles, determined to make it to San Luis Obispo before dark.

  In all, they’d been driving well over nine hours, covering a distance that was previously covered in just over two hours.

  Everyone was frustrated.

  “Sorry, grandpa.” Looking towards the coast, Phillip marveled at the vastness of the Pacific Ocean. Maybe when all this was over, he could take a boat out for a sail. He’d never sailed, but figured he’d get one with an engine so he could fall back on that should the whole sailing thing be too hard. Either way, being on the ocean, fishing and enjoying the sea air would be a well-deserved treat.

  Smiling, he turned and looked ahead again, making sure the road was still clear. Serrano and the others were a few hundred yards ahead, weaving around the random vehicles that had been abandoned on the road. The man was good at identifying spots that would be too small for the truck to get through, and he’d successfully led them around the obstacles numerous times that day.

  ‘Glad he’s on our side,’ he thought to himself, looking briefly over at his grandfather. The man
’s face grimaced as he shifted in his seat. He was in pain, and Phillip knew why.

  “Your back tightening up again?”

  “Yeah,” the old man replied, shaking his head, “damn thing won’t give me a break.”

  “Sorry, grandpa.”

  From the back seat, Phillip’s sister asked, “Want some more Tylenol?”

  The old man shook his head. “No, thanks. Don’t want to take too much of those. It’s bad for the stomach.”

  “Shoot,” Damien began, looking towards the man, “you know what you need? Some of that Tiger Balm stuff they sell at the Asian stores. I use that stuff on my knees when they’re really aching, and it’s amazing.”

  Richard smiled as he reached into his pocket. When he withdrew his hand he was holding a small vial of green liquid. “I’ll be using this tonight.”

  Damien laughed his deep, rumbling laugh. “Of course you got some!”

  The group laughed as well, smiling as they tried to make the best of their situation.

  Reading a sign up ahead that Serrano and the others had just passed, Phillip asked, “Pismo Beach, isn’t that where the big golf tournament is?”

  Richard nodded, then turned in his seat and pointed south and further west, towards where Highway One was. “Yes, but it’s back down that way - ”

  The truck was suddenly rocked sideways by a hard impact on its right side. Another impact rocked it again before multiple smaller impacts were felt as bodies plowed into the truck. Loud, strident screams filtered in through the windows as the infected announced their presence.

  “Shit!” Phillip exclaimed as he struggled to maintain control of the vehicle as body after body slammed into the side of the truck as the mob of infected swarmed it. Fingers clawed at the truck, etching long trails in the black paint and making terrible, high-pitched scraping sounds. Arms and hands reaching desperately towards the interior of the truck, desperate to gain access.

  Without warning, the front passenger window shattered inward, showering Richard with glass as he leaned away from the outstretched hands of the infected, his own hands reaching for the glove compartment as he did.

  Pressing down on the accelerator, Phillip felt the old truck lurch forward, struggling to deal with the added weight of the multiple bodies as the infected hung onto the side of the truck and climbed into the truck’s bed.

  “Go!” Jennifer screamed from the backseat as she rolled her window up the short distance required to close it, catching an infected man’s fingers in the gap. The thing screamed in rage before bringing its fist forward and slamming it into the side of the truck. Bones snapped as the fist hit the metal of the truck’s side, enraging the man further. With one hand flopping around uselessly at his side, he leaned forward, bringing his angered face within inches of the window. Snarling, the man pulled his head back, preparing to use it to smash through the glass. Realizing what he was about to do, Jennifer opened the window, releasing his hand. With his weight shifted backwards and nothing to hold on to, the man fell away, hitting the ground and tumbling several times before coming to a stop. Prone on the ground, he was quickly trampled by the infected as they chased after the truck.

  Phillip turned the wheel hard to the left as he accelerated, trying to swing the truck away from the horde. Next to him, his grandfather pulled a revolver from the glove compartment, switched it to his left hand so he could fire across his body as he leaned away from the hands of the infected that looked to maul him, and fired. The back of a crazed woman’s head exploded as the bullet impacted her face at close-range, sending blood and bone back into the faces of the infected behind her, giving them an even more sinister look.

  Swinging the wheel back to the right, Phillip was able to shake loose a few more people as the distance between the vehicle and the mob of infected began to grow. Turning the wheel back, he drove forward, feeling the truck bounce as the rear tires of the vehicle ran over the bodies that fell underneath, crushing and killing the creatures that had fallen beneath it.

  Ahead, he saw Serrano stop the small car he and the others rode in. The SEAL exited the vehicle, followed close behind by Aaron. Both men held their automatic weapons at the ready as they walked forward and positioned themselves on either side of the road, prepared to engage the mass of infected that still chased after the truck.

  The sound of glass breaking brought his attention back to the interior of the truck, where Jennifer screamed again as one of the infected broke through the truck’s rear window, sending glass flying into the cabin.

  “Get down, girl!” Damien said, throwing his body over hers to shield her from the outstretched arms of the infected that reached into the truck from its bed. The first man, whose hands were both broken and bloodied from the impact against the tempered glass of the rear window, was pushed aside by a woman and another man as they sought to get to Damien and Jennifer.

  “Stay down!” Richard yelled as he aimed his gun towards the back of the truck.

  The gun banged loudly inside the cabin of the truck as it sent a bullet into the opening, striking the closer man in the neck and shoulders and sending him backwards into the truck bed. The man slid back and out of the truck’s open gate, falling to the pavement behind them.

  Richard aimed again and fired, sending the first man flying backward -

  - as the woman lunged forward and sunk her teeth into the meat of Damien’s back.

  Damien screamed loudly in pain as the woman violently pulled her head back, using her teeth to tear away a chunk of his flesh. The woman snarled as she swallowed the meat, then lunged forward again, biting him once more, eliciting another scream.

  “I don’t have a shot!” Richard cried from the passenger seat.

  “Hold on!” Phillip shouted before yanking the steering wheel hard to the left, causing the vehicle to swerve hard. The woman lost her balance, ripping another piece of flesh from Damien’s back as she fell away, stumbling sideways before falling over the edge of the truck’s bed and down to the pavement.

  With all the infected off the truck, Phillip pressed down harder on the gas pedal, accelerating towards where Serrano and Dennard were standing. As they left the screaming, charging horde behind, the two men’s guns began to chatter in short, measured bursts as they picked off one after another of the infected.

  In the backseat, Damien leaned back and to the side as he moaned in pain. Jennifer reached for him, then thought better of it and reached for her small, makeshift medical bag, which consisted of a backpack filled with surgical gloves, bandages, painkillers, cotton balls, and a bottle of hydrogen peroxide.

  Phillip heard one of the gloves snap onto her hand as he sped past where Serrano and Dennard stood before bringing the truck to a screeching halt, leaving bits of rubber on the road. Grabbing his rifle, he jumped out of the vehicle and rushed to where the other men were, opening fire after stopping to set his feet. From behind him, he heard the telltale sound of his grandfather’s high-powered rifle as the old man began taking out the infected from over a hundred yards away.

  Together, the four men fired on the approaching mass of infected, their bullets tearing through flesh and bone as bodies fell in heaps under the withering assault. Before the horde got within 50 yards of Serrano and the others, they’d been mowed down, their bodies reduced to shredded bits of flesh and bone that were no longer capable of functioning.

  Releasing the magazine from his rifle and slapping another one in place, Serrano began walking forward, motioning for Aaron to follow. Looking back at Phillip, he ordered, “Stay with them!” before walking away.

  Phillip nodded, looking back towards before beginning a slow walk backwards walk to where the truck was parked.

  Sitting on the ground near the truck, Damien’s head hung low as Jennifer cleaned his wounds, using a cotton ball that Phillip assumed was soaked with hydrogen peroxide. The sound of Serrano’s and Dennard’s guns made it impossible for him to hear what Jennifer was saying as she cleaned the affected area, but the way Damien
shook his head in response told him the two were in disagreement.

  The big man mumbled words Phillip couldn’t hear as the gunfire continued.

  “No! You can’t think that way!” his sister said firmly, though Phillip heard her voice crack as she said it.

  Closer now, Phillip heard Damien’s defeated tone as he persisted.

  “You know I’m right. They got me. Leave me behind so I won’t hurt anyone.”

  “NO! You don’t know that!” Jennifer cried, her face now covered in streaks left by her tears.

  Footsteps approached.

  “What happened?” Sarah asked.

  “Stay back,” Phillip warned, as he pointed in the general direction of the infected, “he was bitten by one of them,”

  “Oh no…”

  Damien looked up at the woman, his eyes filled with sadness. “Please keep those beautiful children away from me. I don’t want them to see me turn into…” he lowered his gaze, looking at the pavement as he finished, “...one of them.”

  Tears burst forth from Sarah’s eyes as she brought a hand to her mouth, stifling a sob as she nodded.

  Behind them, the gunfire stopped.

  “Hold still,” Jennifer ordered as she tried to place a bandage on the large man’s back.

  “Don’t waste it on me,” Damien said, scooting away from her.

  “Don’t say that! It’s not a waste. What if you turn out to be immune?”

  As Serrano and Aaron returned, Damien turned his head until his eyes met Jennifer’s. “Listen here, young lady, we both know I’m not immune. Ain’t no way God’s gonna waste immunity on a big ol’ fat black man like me.” He shook his head slightly, then nodded resolutely. “Today’s my day to go. I didn’t see it coming, but if it is my time, I’ll be okay with it.” Looking around, he met each of their eyes, finding Jennifer’s, Richard’s, Sarah’s, Phillip’s, Serrano’s, and Aaron’s, smiling as he did.

  “I had the pleasure of spending my last days around some truly amazing people. Ya’ll are special, and I’m better having met you.” He looked at them again. “I know you’ll make it to San Francisco. With Chili here leading you, ain’t nothing gonna stop ya.”