Surviving Rage | Book 5

by Arellano, J. D.

  “I understand.”

  “So what now?” Paul asked.

  “What?”

  “You’re the senior person, so what do we do now?”

  “But I’m…” As motivated as Zhang had been throughout her short time in the service, she still thought of a leadership position as something that would come later. Regardless of her previous assumptions, though, she realized that it had been thrust upon her. The young man in front of her was looking for her to take charge.

  And she’d do so.

  Nodding at the Humvee, she said, “Let’s get what we can here, then we’ll head back to the Stryker and see if there’s anything we can use there-”

  An explosion assaulted their senses, and as they watched, the Stryker flew up into the air several feet. As it came crashing down, their eyes came upon a rapidly approaching helicopter.

  “Shit!” Zhang said, looking towards the Humvee.

  “What do we do?”

  Leaping into action, she grabbed his arm and yanked him with her as she ran towards the wall the Humvee had crashed into. “Jump!”

  As they leapt over the wall, the Humvee was thrown into the air by a missile strike. The outward blast caught the two of them and pushed them further out into the open air, and for a minute Paul thought he might hit the retaining wall for the Westbound side of the highway.

  Luckily they missed it, though it was hair-raisingly close. They flew underneath, their arms and legs flailing wildly as they tried to slow their rapid descent.

  Paul could only watch in horror as he fell towards the large rocks that dotted the rapidly moving river. Would he slam into one of the boulders and leave a bloody stain that would eventually be washed away by the river’s unrelenting flow?

  Two seconds later he smacked into the river’s surface. Though he missed the major rocks and boulders that would have either ended his life instantly or left him with life-threatening injuries, the force with which he hit the water was enough to stun him, making his head spin.

  Unable to fight against the river’s current in his state, he was at its mercy, and it showed him little, throwing his limp body into the rocks and occasional log. At one point a branch ripped through his uniform blouse, and though it tore a long path through the skin of his chest, the branch would ultimately save his life, helping him stay afloat as the river had its way with him.

  Stars burst inside the darkness behind his closed eyes as his head struck a rock. His vision shrunk, quickly scoping down until it was pinpoint.

  And then, darkness.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR

  Oklahoma City Protective Zone, Oklahoma

  Day 5

  The temperature inside the laboratory was a cool sixty five degrees, but the air conditioning did little to cool Lisa Bowman as her anger continued to burn inside of her. Slapping the manilla folder with the name ‘Raylene Harris’ on the desk, she stood up from her chair and walked away, looking absently towards the upper part of the wall as she moved down the aisle between the desks. There was a vent located up near the ceiling, but she guessed it was only eighteen inches wide, clearly too small for anyone to use as an escape route.

  As she reached the back of the room, she stopped and looked around, allowing her eyes to take in the tables that had been put there for their meals. Two aluminum trays rested there, the food within no longer warm and untouched, ignored like the breakfast trays had been.

  The food’s fate wasn’t a sign of a planned hunger strike or anything, it was simply a product of the fact that neither of them had much of an appetite after they’d learned they were prisoners, something that had been driven home when the armed men made them stand against the far wall at gunpoint while the food was dropped off.

  Pausing at the table, she stuck a finger in the nearest tray and stirred it a round a bit, then withdrew it and brought it up to her nose.

  Italian pasta, poorly seasoned. They tried to make up for the poor taste with extra salt.

  She licked her finger slightly, checking to see if her initial assessment was an accurate one.

  And garlic.

  Rolling her eyes, she grabbed the tray, carried it to the trash receptacle, and dropped it in, joining it with the breakfast trays. Reaching over, she opened the refrigerator and withdrew a diet soda. Pausing, she looked at the can, then back at the shelf inside the refrigerator.

  Screw it.

  Returning the diet soda to the shelf, she grabbed a regular one and closed the door. Stepping over to the counter, she leaned against as she opened the can and took a drink. The cold cola flavor reinvigorated her a bit, and after a few sips, she felt a bit more energized. She walked back over to where Andrew sat at his desk, looking at a file.

  Sensing her presence, he turned and looked at her. Bringing up the file, he said. “I don’t know why I keep looking at these. Mister Brandon Elliot here isn’t going to tell me anything new,” he said, shaking his head. “Even if he could - which he can’t - I’d probably miss it at this point.” Staring at the file, he sighed. “I can’t concentrate,” he explained, before tossing the file on his desk.

  Lisa shrugged. “I couldn’t either. If it’s any consolation, there’s cold, shitty Italian food back there on the table for you.”

  Andrew chuckled. “Yeah...I’ll pass.” Standing up, he stretched his back a bit, then walked to the back of the room, grabbed his tray, and deposited it in the trash. Looking back at Lisa, his eyes spotted the soda in her hand. He opened the fridge and took out a can for himself. Popping it open, he held it up.

  “To our first hostage situation.”

  Lisa chuckled and nodded before lifting her drink in response. She drank from the can, then set it aside on the counter before walking towards the front of the lab. There, she looked at the whiteboard that had been mounted on the wall.

  BREAKFAST: 0700

  LUNCH: 1200

  SUPPER: 1700

  ‘Geez, talk about regimented,’ she thought. Early breakfast, lunch five hours later, dinner five hours after that. Shaking her head, she looked at the writing at the bottom of the board.

  *WRITE SNACK REQUESTS HERE. WE WILL TRY TO GET IT, BUT NO PROMISES.

  ‘I guess that’s their way of trying to show they’re not so bad,’ she said to herself, as she turned away. ‘New flash: no one’s buying it, you bastards.’

  She was in the process of walking back to where Andrew sat at one of the dining tables at the back of the room when the door opened.

  Turning, she looked back and watched as four armed soldiers walked in, followed by Colonel Walters. The Air Force Officer, who was of shorter stature and smaller build, regardless of how much effort he put into lifting weights (which apparently was a lot), was wearing his dress uniform and had a giant grin on his face.

  Looking at Lisa, he smiled. “So, did you figure it out yet?” he asked, cockiness in his voice. After a second’s hesitation, he laughed, throwing his head back as he let the sound of his outburst fill bounce off the walls of the room. He obnoxiously carried on for nearly a full minute, bending over at the waist towards the end as he struggled to catch his breath. He held up a finger, signalling for her to wait, as if she was anxious to engage him.

  She wasn’t.

  “Sorry,” he said, still chuckling. “I - that was mean. You all have been struggling on your own for what, a week and a half now?” He waited briefly, as if he expected her to respond.

  Seeing the glare she continued to direct at him, he shook his head and went on.

  “You needed more, right? That’s why the other doctor, what was his name? Oh yeah, Reed...that’s why he was sent to San Francisco to get the girl.

  “But then he got there and wasn’t able to fly back, so you all tried to figure it out remotely, right?”

  Lisa remained silent.

  Walking forward, Andrew took up position beside her and addressed the man. “Look, what’s the point of this?” he asked, staring at him.

  Walters brought his hands up. “I was gett
ing to that,” he explained.

  “So you two were in Virginia, and Reed was in California with the girl, and you weren’t able to figure it out while being separated.

  “You needed to work together, with the girl there to provide blood samples as needed.”

  Andrew and Lisa remained silent as they continued to stare back at him.

  “So you two made your way from the east coast to here, and Reed and the girl were supposed to come here as well.”

  “Tell us something we don’t know,” Lisa said irritably, finally breaking her silence.

  “Okay, okay,” Walters replied, bringing his hands up defensively. “The point is, the plan was a good one.” Looking around the large room, he nodded appreciably. “This is a great lab. State of the art equipment, climate controlled, all the resources you need. Plus, there’s even a walk-in refrigerator here,” he said, gesturing towards the door at the front of the room. Looking back, he smiled. “Don’t you go storing your leftover pizza in there!”

  Lisa blinked at him, expressing her rapidly dwindling patience.

  Walters chuckled. “I digress.” Turning towards one of the men that had entered the room with him, he nodded.

  The man stepped out of the room and said something to someone in the hallway. Seconds later, a fit man with what looked like an ever-present five o’clock shadow and wearing royal blue t-shirt and jeans stepped into the room, followed by a thin, young Hispanic girl, and finally, Jonathan.

  Lisa gasped.

  “What the heck?” Andrew muttered under his breath.

  The three of them looked dirty, tired, and emotionally spent. The man in blue jeans appeared to have taken one or two blows to the face, one of which had resulted in his right eye being swollen shut, and moved with the slow, methodical manner of someone with bruised ribs. The girl’s face and hair were a mess, and she looked as if she’d been crying a lot, which was no surprise, given the circumstances. Jonathan looked the least affected, but still appeared stressed and physically exhausted.

  A muscular White man with a clean-shaven scalp followed the trio in the room. Unlike the others, he didn’t wear a uniform, choosing instead to wear black pants, a dark grey t-shirt, and a black leather jacket that he left open. His face was hard, with a square jaw, and long scar down his left cheek, and eyes that were devoid of emotion.

  Lisa felt herself swallow involuntarily as a chill ran down her spine. Without realizing what she was doing, she pulled her lab coat closed in response to the sudden coldness the man seemed to have brought into the room with him.

  “Well, I guess a couple of introductions are in order!” Walters said enthusiastically. “Obviously, you two already know your tall doctor friend, but this,” he said, placing his hand on the girl’s shoulder, causing her to flinch, “is Isabella. She’s the one you’ve been hoping to take samples from.”

  Looking over at the injured man, he said, “This is the girl’s father, Lawrence. Didn’t know her father was with them when my guys went to bring them in, but we figured, ‘what the hell?’”

  He shrugged. “I’m not going to lie. He’s purely leverage. If the girl doesn’t cooperate, we start breaking his bones. We’ll start small, then move on to the bigger ones. Of course, at any point we could change our minds and start cutting him, but we’ll see.

  “And you know what else? I’m feeling generous.” He gestured towards the door that led to their quarters. “The bunk room is only set up for four people, but I’ll have my guys bring in a cot that we can put between the two racks at the back of the room.” Reaching out, he slapped the man on the back. “Don’t make me regret not having them put a bullet in your head, okay, buddy?”

  The man he’d called Lawrence stared ahead, saying nothing. His one functioning eyelid blinked.

  Walters clapped his hands together. “Alright! We’ll let three get settled in, and then you all should get to work. As I’m sure you’re aware, time is of the essence.”

  “Hold on a minute,” Andrew said, stepping forward suddenly.

  The men with Walters grabbed their weapons quickly, preparing to deal with the doctor. Surprisingly, the other man had no obvious reaction. Instead, his dead eyes moved methodically, taking in Doctor Chang’s movements, his empty hands, and the distance between him and Walters.

  Walters, on the other hand, flinched before regaining control. “What?” he asked angrily.

  “You said, ‘get the vaccine for me.’ What do you mean by that? The vaccine is supposed to be for everyone.”

  Walters grinned. “Don’t worry about that, Doctor.”

  Turning away, he spoke over his shoulder as he walked towards the door. “Just get it done. You have seventy-two hours.”

  He left the room, followed by the man in the black jacket, then the soldiers. The door closed heavily behind them. The sound of the lock engaging echoed through the room, one again signifying their status as prisoners.

  “Seventy-two hours?” Chang asked in bewilderment.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE

  Oklahoma City Protective Zone, Oklahoma

  Day 6

  Bringing the gleaming white napkin up, Colonel Walters wiped the edges of his mouth with obvious contentment.

  “Not bad, Clyde. Not too bad at all,” he said, tossing the napkin onto his plate before pushing it away. “Next time, though, it would be better if you made my Eggs Benedict on actual English muffins, okay? Not biscuits.”

  The chubby black man, who’d been pulled from the troops’ main dining facility because of his superior skills, took a deep breath. “But sir, we don’t have English muffins.”

  Walters gestured towards his plate. “So where’d the biscuits come from?”

  “I, uh, made them, sir. Been making ‘em my whole life.”

  “So…”

  “I don’t know how to make English muffins, sir.”

  Walters stared at the man for a moment, then raised his voice and called out to the man in the hallway outside the dining room. “Mitchell!”

  A young soldier with brown hair that was slightly covering his ears came into the room. “Yes, sir?”

  “After Clyde here is done cleaning up, I want you to take him to the library and help him find a book that shows how to make English muffins.”

  “Yes, Sir!” the man said nervously. He moved to exit the room.

  “Mitchell.”

  He froze. “Sir?”

  “After you get the book, I want you and Clyde to go to the food distribution center and get the supplies needed to make English muffins.

  “Yes...Sir...”

  “I’m not finished. Then I want you two to bring those supplies and that book back here, got it?”

  “Of course, sir,” Mitchell said, nodding vigorously. “That’s what I was thinking you wanted.”

  “I’m not done.”

  The young man swallowed thickly. “Yes, Sir?”

  “When you get back here, Clyde is going to make English muffins and you’re going to help him.” Walters spread his hands as he leaned back in his chair, looking at them snidely. “Now, I’m an understanding person, so I understand that the first batch or two, or three, or four, might not be very good, see?”

  “Yes, Sir,” the young man said, nodding.

  Walters brought his forefinger up, signalling for the man to wait. “But let me say this to you both: tomorrow morning, my Eggs Benedict will be made on God Damn English Muffins, and those muffins better be thick, yet soft, okay? Slightly crunchy on the outside, but not hard. Got it?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Good,” Walters said, nodding. Looking at each of them in turn, he said, “Because if it isn’t, I’ll find a new cook and assistant, and you two will be out.”

  He paused, letting the words resonate as he looked each of them in the eye.

  “And I don’t mean ‘out of a job.’ I mean out of the P.Z.”

  Clyde involuntarily stepped back a step. Bringing his hands up, he surrendered himself. “Sir, please. My fam
ily is here with me.”

  Walters tilted his head to the side and frowned in concern. “Hey, wait a minute, there, Clyde. You act like I’m not giving you a chance.”

  “I mean, you are, Sir, but I just…” the chubby Black man stammered, “don’t want my future to be determined by English muffins.”

  The Colonel smiled. “But I’m providing you with the recipe and the ingredients so that you can be successful. I’m literally setting you up for success. By all accounts, you’re a good cook, so this shouldn’t be a big deal.”

  “I…” the man exhaled. “Yes, Sir.” Looking over at Mitchell, he said, “I guess we should go, then.”

  “Wait,” Walters ordered. Grabbing his glass of freshly squeezed orange juice (oranges that had been hand selected from the supplies that had been sent by the Indianapolis Protective Zone), he took a small drink from the glass. Grimacing, he set the glass down and looked pointedly at the cook.

  “Orange juice, sir. Yes, Sir. I’ll take care of it, Sir.”

  “Good.”

  The cook grabbed the plate and glass and backed away from the table. As the two were about to leave, Walters spoke up once more.

  “Mitchell!’

  The young man swallowed visibly, nervousness on his face. “Yes, Sir?”

  “Your hair is out of regulations.”

  “Uh, I’m sorry, Sir. It’s hard to get a haircut right now, Sir.”

  “Shave your head, then.”

  “Sir?”

  “Did you not hear me?”

  “I did, Sir, but…”

  “Tell you what: when I see you again, if your hair is out of regulations, you’re out. Now, you could risk it and try to have someone cut it in a manner that would pass my inspection, I guess…” Walters paused and turned to look at the man. “But you have to ask yourself, ‘How confident am I that the haircut would pass Colonel Walters’s inspection?’”

  Shrugging, he turned away and grabbed his cup of coffee as the man absorbed his words. Without turning to look back at the soldier, Walters finished. “Or, you could play it safe and shave your head.”