Walters nodded slowly. “Maybe. Let me see what I can do.” In truth, he knew it would be of little trouble. He could easily find volunteers to man the library desk and track the books being checked out, but he chose to hesitate for a reason: to make sure Jeremiah didn’t get used to automatically getting whatever he wanted.
Leaning back in his chair, Jeremiah smiled, then spread his hands. “That’s all I can ask.”
Walters nodded again, then fixed his stare on the man. “Listen, Jeremiah. The reason I called you here today was to discuss the rallies you’ve been holding. They seem to be getting a little…” he trailed off as he tried to think of the right term to use.
“Boisterous?” Jeremiah offered.
Walters pointed at him. “Yes. That’s it. They’re very boisterous, and I need to know that you’re reminding them that while they’re in the P.Z., they answer to me, understand?”
The tall, lean man nodded eagerly, then sat forward, clasping his hands in his lap. “Of course, Sir. You’re in charge, and everyone knows that. You know that I think you’re doing a tremendous job, and I believe everyone else thinks that way, too. People are fed, sheltered, and safe. Without you and your men, my family and I wouldn’t be able to have the peace we need to pray and share the word of God.”
Walters nodded again, unsure of how to proceed. For some reason, he’d expected more pushback, maybe even a war of words that would result in him stripping the man of his title and position. He’d expected it to get ugly, and he’d been ready to use his authority and the military men and women at his disposal to get his way.
Regardless of how prepared he was for a battle, Jeremiah’s response put him simultaneously at ease and off-balance. Maybe this wasn’t the big deal he thought it was. Maybe he was being too strict on the man. After all, having Jeremiah deal with the social issues in the Protective Zone had made his life much, much easier. He’d effectively been able to leave the part of his job he disliked the most to someone else, allowing him to focus on what he did best, ensuring that the operations inside the P.Z. ran like a well-oiled machine.
Leaning back in his chair, he sought to regain control of the situation. “Well, I appreciate that, Jeremiah, thank you. But are you reinforcing the Chain of Command with the people? Are you reminding them who’s in charge? Are they aware of the rules?”
“Of course, Colonel. Nothing that takes place during my motivational talks, which some people prefer to call sermons, ever goes against the law and order required within the Protective Zone.
“I’m on your side, Colonel, and I’m here to support you.”
Walters remained impassive as he listened. After a moment, he nodded and smiled. “That’s good to hear, Jeremiah. Very good to hear.” Rising from his chair, he placed his hands on his desk and leaned forward. “And honestly, thank you for taking this on. You’ve been a huge help.”
Jeremiah stood as well, stepping forward and offering his hand. “My pleasure, Sam.”
Walters shook the man’s hand firmly, then said, “Okay, well, I don’t want to keep you any longer. Please keep up with the daily reports, and we’ll meet again on Thursday, right?”
“Indeed,” Jeremiah agreed, nodding. “Looking forward to it.” He was in the process of turning away, when he stopped and looked back at Walters. “You know, you should come by and listen in on one of our gatherings. You never know. You might enjoy it.”
Far from religious, Walters forced a smile. “Thank you for the invitation. I’ll think about it.”
“Please do.” With that, the tall man turned and strode from the room.
Sitting back down, Walter returned to his work, feeling better about the situation.
Trailed by Donald, Jeff, Evan, and Tim, Jeremiah Clark was walking on the long sidewalk that led from the Governor’s Mansion back to the main road in front of the structure when he saw a young Army Captain approaching with a distraught woman in tow. Tears streamed down the woman’s face, and she sobbed as she walked, her legs repeatedly threatening to give way beneath her.
Slowing to a stop on the sidewalk, Jeremiah tilted his head to the side as he observed the woman’s barely controlled approach.
“Young lady, whatever is the matter?” he asked.
The woman sobbed as she tried to speak. “My-my-my daughter. She-she-she….”
The Army Captain, a light skinned Black woman leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Her daughter’s gone missing.”
“I see,” Jeremiah replied, staring at the crying woman. After a moment, he said, “Why don’t you let me take it from here?”
The Captain hesitated. “But I’m supposed to notify the Colonel, or at least Major Miklaski…”
“I understand, Captain, but I’m the Social Liaison here, and I’m also a man of God. I can both convey her concerns to the Colonel and help offer her comfort.”
The soldier looked beyond Jeremiah’s tall form, looking at the Mansion. “I - ”
Inside the building, Walters watched the scene as it unfolded. ‘Great, another crying woman, wanting me to send soldiers back to wherever she came from to see if her husband, boyfriend, neighbor, grandmother, bridge partner, whatever is still alive.’
Seeing the Captain looking in his direction, he pointed through the glass towards Jeremiah, then gave a thumbs up.
The young Black woman nodded. Taking a breath, she said, “Okay, well, Missus Maxwell, this is Mister Clark.”
“Please, miss, call me Jeremiah,” the man replied, not bothering to indicate who his words were intended for.
The Captain nodded. “Okay, Jeremiah,” she replied. Turning back to the woman, she said, “Jeremiah here will help you, okay?”
The weeping woman nodded. “Okay.”
Unsure of what to do, the Captain stood there on the sidewalk in front of the group. Glancing at Jeremiah and the four tall, muscular White men behind him, the Captain hesitated, then turned and walked back the way she’d come from.
Once the woman was out of earshot, Jeremiah stepped forward and put his arm around the thirty-something blonde woman. “Now then, young lady, please, tell me what’s wrong.”
Distraught and barely holding it together (if you could call nonstop crying ‘keeping it together’) Kristen Maxwell wanted to scream at the man for asking her to repeat her story. She drew a deep breath before looking at him.
And when she looked into his eyes, the anger fled her.
The tall, good-looking man’s eyes were filled with compassion as they stared into hers, searching her soul.
“Please. Talk to me, my child.”
Inside the mansion, Walters smiled.
“Perfect.”
One less thing for him to deal with.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Tehachapi, East of Bakersfield, California
Day 1
The light atop Serrano’s MP4 lit up the crazed face of the old, overweight man for less than a second before he pulled the rifle’s trigger, sending a handful of rounds into the man’s chest. The first two rounds slammed into the man’s chest, completely stopping his forward momentum and causing his feet to slide out from under him. The second two rounds hit him as he was falling backwards, ripping through his neck and removing the top left part of his gray hair-covered head. His body slapped the cement flooring with a loud thump.
The radio on Serrano’s chest chirped twice. Reaching up quickly, he keyed the mic once, sending a signal to the caller that unless the matter was urgent, they should wait. As expected, the radio remained silent. Whether it was the team members out front or the trio of Army soldiers checking the perimeter, the gunfire would have sent a clear message that Chili and the others were otherwise occupied.
Looking over at Phillip, Serrano gave a series of hand signals, instructing the man to head over to the next row and proceed towards the end, as he would be doing in the row he remained in. Glancing behind him, he locked eyes with Paul and extended his hand towards him.
Stay here.
; Moving slowly down the aisles, the two men covered the length of the area quickly and quietly. When they reached the end, Serrano looked back and flashed his light at the young man, indicating that he should catch up. Paul rushed forward relatively quietly, joining them. The three men repeated the process on the remaining aisles, and after ten minutes, they’d cleared the remainder of the store’s interior.
Grabbing his radio, Serrano keyed the mic, then said, “Station calling, go.”
Nicholson’s voice came through the speaker. “Chili, Nicholson here, be advised that there are bodies piled up against the inside of the fence at the north end of the outdoor section of the store. Not sure where the attacker is.”
“Copy,” Serrano replied. Hopefully they’d already dealt with whoever had killed the people in the outdoor garden area, but they’d cover that area in the same, cautious manner that they had the rest of the store.
Together, Serrano, Phillip, and Paul cleared the outdoor area relatively quickly. The setup of the garden center was different from the interior of the store, with the aisles being wider and more open than what they’d seen inside. Finally satisfied that the store was safe, Serrano relaxed his grip on his gun and stood up straighter.
“At ease,” he told the others, as he looked away from the massacre that had taken place at the far end of the garden center. The bodies looked like they’d been there for several days, and while the smell of the decomposing bodies would normally be overwhelming, the dry air and intense sunlight that beat down on the exposed area had dried them out rather quickly. Nonetheless, he’d keep the rest of the team inside the structure. Sights like these could quickly become demoralizing.
“Alright, he said, turning away, “let’s head back inside and set up an area to bed down for the night. The store has a camping section, so with any luck we’ll be able to find sleeping pads or cots to keep us off the cement floor -” He stopped suddenly and grabbed his rifle again.
“What is it?” Phillip asked, grabbing his rifle again as well. His head turned back and forth as he searched for whatever had grabbed Serrano’s attention.
“Up there,” he replied, using his chin to indicate the top of the shelving near the opening that led back into the store.
On the top shelf, a thin arm extended from underneath a bag of red bark. As he watched, the hand opened weakly, then closed. After a second, it repeated the gesture.
Looking around, Serrano searched for a ladder. The top of the shelf was eight feet high, and to reach it without fully exposing his hands and arms, he’d need to be at or above that level. Finally, he spotted the tall, rolling staircase favored by hardware supply stores.
Pointing at it, he told Phillip and Paul to grab it.
They quickly did so, wheeling it over after figuring out how to disengage the brake. When it was aligned with the racks that led to where the person was, Phillip stepped forward, extending his hand towards Serrano.
“Let me.”
Serrano nodded and backed away as Phillip slowly climbed up the steps until he was even with the bags of bark that the arm extended out from. Pausing, he reengaged the safety on his rifle, slid it around his back, then took out his handgun. Looking down at the other two, he motioned for them to move back. Turning back to the bags of bark, Phillip kept the gun in his right hand pointed at the bag, then used his left hand to grab the bag and rip it away, throwing it to the floor.
A thin, young Asian boy recoiled, pushing himself back and up against the wall in fear. His hands came up, in front of him slowly, though they looked barely able to do so.
“Please don’t kill me!” the boy cried out. His voice was a dry croak, and his lips were cracked and bleeding.
Phillip kept the gun pointed at him. “Have you been attacked?”
The boy said nothing, and instead tried to shrink back further.
“Have you been injured by those things?!” Phillip demanded.
“No!” the boy replied, coughing and choking back tears. “My family lifted me up onto the shelves before that man got them…”
“And you weren’t bitten or scratched by him?”
The boy shook his head. “No...I swear….my family….” He began to cry, though his eyes were unable to produce enough moisture to form tears.
Lowering his gun, Phillip extended his hand. “Come on. We’ll get you some water and something to eat.”
The boy nodded weakly as he reached out and took Phillip’s hand. The Marine helped him off the shelf and onto the steps, then down the steps until he reached the ground floor. At about five feet in height and less than a hundred pounds, Phillip guessed he was probably older than Isabella, maybe twelve or thirteen years old.
The boy glanced at Serrano, then looked away sharply. When his eyes met Paul’s though, he nodded slightly.
Leading him back into the store, Phillip focused on getting the boy rehydrated and fed.
“Head to the camping area,” Serrano ordered. Looking at Paul, he motioned. “Go with him.”
Turning away, Serrano headed back to the front of the store and out into the parking lot, where he found the three Army soldiers waiting near the two Humvees and the Armored Personnel Carrier. “Is there somewhere to put the vehicles out back?” he asked Nicholson.
“Yes. Plenty of space, and I saw a single door leading from the back of the store out to the parking lot.”
“I saw that, too,” Serrano replied, before turning to Zhang. “You can drive a Humvee, right?”
“Hooah, Warrant,” she replied, nodding.
“Don’t call me that.”
“Sorry, uh, Chili.”
“Good, now, let’s get Reed, Logan, and Isabella inside. You drive the Humvee with Aaron on the fifty. Take the vehicles around back, and park them so we can get in and go if we need to. When you’re done, knock once, then three times, then once more on the rear door, got it?”
The men and women nodded in response before heading to their respective vehicles.
Serrano went to the Stryker and opened the rear door. Remaining businesslike, he motioned for the occupants to get out, then stepped back as the tall form of Reed emerged first, followed closely by the grizzled, middle-aged Army Combat Medic and finally, rail-thin Isabella. The girl clenched her President Martinez doll closely in the crook of her right arm as she maintained a tight grip on Logan’s right hand with her left.
“We’re staying here tonight,” Serrano stated, before adding, “Doc, there’s a young boy in there that’s been holed up for a while. Hungry and thirsty, probably needs some help.”
Reed nodded once, then reached back into the ICV and grabbed his medical kit, along with Steight’s leash. “Let me do a quick checkup on him. See if he’s okay.”
Serrano nodded, before glancing at Logan and Isabella. “Let’s go. They’re in the camping area.”
Reed followed Serrano and the others into the big building grateful to be out of the Armored Vehicle and on solid ground again. By the looks of the German Shepherd’s happily waving tail, she was, too.
Inside the store, they found Phillip and Paul sitting with the young boy on folding chairs that they’d taken off the shelves.
Smiling, Reed passed Steight’s leash to Paul before he stepped forward and looked at the young Asian boy. “Hi. How are you? My name is Jonathan.”
The boy turned away without saying a word.
Surprised by the response, Reed looked back at Serrano. “Was the infected person who killed his family a black man?”
Serrano shook his head. “No. Old white guy.”
Reed frowned, then turned back to the boy, who was busy working at not making eye contact. “Hey, is it okay if I check to make sure you’re okay?”
Still, the boy refused to look at Reed.
“Hey, he’s the doctor, alright?” Phillip argued, leaning forward in an effort to make eye contact with the boy.
“No.”
“Listen - ”
“What about him?” the boy asked, pointing at Logan
.
“I’m not a doctor, kid.” Logan replied, shaking his head. “I just help people with physical injuries.”
The boy shifted in his chair, turning completely away from Reed.
“That’s not nice,” Isabella said suddenly.
“Shut up.”
Paul exploded out of his chair. “Hey! You cut that out!”
“Don’t have to,” the boy replied, glaring at Paul. “My mother, my father told me, ‘stay away from blacks and Mexicans. Dirty people.’”
Stunned, Paul stepped backwards and looked around at the others. When his eyes met Isabella’s he saw something he’d never seen there: pure anger. The sweet, kind, innocent girl’s fuse had been lit, and she was ready to blow. Turning back to the boy, he said, “Look. They’re with us, alright? If you want our help, you cannot talk to them that way.”
The boy continued to glare at Paul, unyielding.
Feeling tested, Paul glanced at the others once more, then back at the young boy. “Hey. You either show them some common decency, or you leave.”
“Fine!” the boy responded, yelling suddenly, his voice echoing off the walls of the building’s interior. He rose to his feet and stormed past Paul, heading for the main entrance.
Just as he was nearing the exit, Aaron entered the store, followed by Mason, Rodriguez, Simmons, and Zhang. Stopping in his tracks, the boy stared at them openly. The group stared back at him in return.
Serrano’s eyes glanced towards Phillip and Paul questioningly.
Paul nodded, feeling determined to see this through. Raising his voice, he called out, “They’re with us, too. Same rules apply.”
The boy strode past the group, refusing to make eye contact. When he reached what remained of the glass doors, he finally paused. Looking out at the openness of the largely empty parking lot, he hesitated. After a second, he looked back at the group, noting how the ten military personnel, and even the dog, had positioned themselves around the young Mexican girl.
Surviving Rage | Book 5 Page 11