“Paul! Get ready to shoot, God dammit!!” Daniel yelled, desperation in his voice. The Jeep’s engine, along with the road noise from the broken window, was drowning out sound within the cabin of the vehicle, but there was little doubt that the young man could hear Daniel as he shouted.
Still the young man sat there, frozen.
The motorcycle rider closed in, inch by inch, the automatic weapon aimed at the space between the two front seats, his sights set on the right side of Daniel’s head.
“Get out of the way!” Brenna yelled, lunging across the seat, gun in held tightly in both hands. Without hesitation, she fired the weapon. Though the shot wasn’t accurate, she still registered a hit at that close range, the bullet tearing through the muscle and bone of the rider’s shoulder. The impact of the bullet, combined with the pain in brought, made him lose control of the bike, and at nearly ninety miles an hour, the bike tumbled end over end as the rider was thrown free, his body landing hard and rolling over and over for more than forty feet.
The recoil of the gun was too much for Brenna’s inexperienced hands, though, and the gun forced them back, towards her face. She turned away at the last second, but the gun’s hot barrel grazed the side of her forehead, searing the skin and burning the hair. She cried out, falling forward towards the floor, only to be caught by Ashley, who helped get her back into her seat. Reaching across her sister’s body, she reconnected the seat belt, then grabbed a handful of napkins and held it against her sister’s head, pulling the girl to her. Ashley’s eyes burned a hole into Paul as she glared at him.
“Great job, Brenna!” Daniel called out as he focused on the road ahead.
Serafina looked back to check on the girl, smiling with pride. Tears formed at the corner of her eyes as they met Brenna’s. “That was fucking awesome.”
From the front seat, Daniel said, “Guys, we’re not out of the woods yet!”
Looking back through the rear window, Serafina saw the low rider speeding towards them, accompanied by the last motorcycle, which was keeping pace. The left side of the car’s front bumper dragged on the ground, generating a shower of sparks as the vehicle closed in. While the Jeep was no match for the motorcycle in terms of acceleration, it should have had no problem against an old model Chevy Monte Carlo, but with the car gaining on them, it was clear that the car’s engine had been seriously upgraded.
As the car approached, Daniel and Serafina saw a man lean out from the passenger side, holding what looked like an AR-15 rifle. “Get down!!” They both screamed in unison as the man opened fire.
The rear window of the Jeep exploded inward with the impact of the bullets, sending bits of glass flying through the cabin. Fortunately, they were all wearing long sleeved shirts, and pants, which saved them from any serious injuries. Serafina lunged forward from the impact, her hair flying wildly as she did. Daniel stole a glance at her as he drove, checking to see if she was OK. He saw her nod from her position on the passenger seat, then slowly unlatch the seat belt before sliding down to the floor, remaining out of view the entire time. He knew what she had in mind. He pushed the Jeep towards the left side of the road, forcing the Chevy to approach on the right. The motorcycle held back, unsure of where to go, but not wanting to fire across the car or get caught between the car and the Jeep.
Keeping the speed on so as not to give away their plan, Daniel drove the Jeep hard, making small movements with the wheel to keep the men in the car from getting a steady shot. The car slowly approached on the right side. Looking over his shoulder, he saw a middle-aged Mexican man’s face glaring at him in anger through the open rear passenger window. The man had tattoos on his neck, face, and on the parts of his left arm that were visible from under his black and silver football jersey. Urging them on, Daniel reached forward and hit the lever to close the rear window, slightly letting off the gas as he did. Glancing at Serafina, he saw that she had the gun at the ready, held in her shooter’s grip, up near her left ear. “Almost…” He said, watching the car as it pulled closer, nearly even with the passenger window. Daniel saw them glance to the back of the Jeep, but with the height differential between the Jeep and its off road suspension and the low rider’s minimal clearance, they couldn’t see anything.
Measuring the car’s approach, he primarily maintained his grip on the steering wheel with his left hand, sliding down his right hand so that it was out of view. He used the fingers on that hand to count down as the car approached the open front passenger window.
5….
4….
3….
2….
1…….
He folded the last finger just as the car drew even with them, and Serafina popped up onto the passenger seat, extended the gun out of the window, the sights of the weapon quickly fixing on the Mexican man’s tattooed face. As she pulled the trigger, she saw the man’s mouth fall open in surprise, the last expression he’d ever make. The gun cracked loudly, sending the round across the six foot gap between the two vehicles, where it disappeared into the left side of the man’s forehead, burrowing deep into the brain. The man’s body went limp instantly and he fell away towards the center console. His arms dragged against the steering wheel, pulling the vehicle to the right, away from them. Traveling at the high rate of speed it was, it drove off the road and over the raised edge of the shoulder, where it plowed through the fence before tumbling down the embankment.
“Great shot!!” Daniel exclaimed, looking at her briefly as he put on more speed.
“Where’s the motorcycle?” She replied, turning cautiously to look behind them.
Bullets rattled the body of the car as the motorcycle rider opened fire on them blindly out of frustration. He maintained distance behind them, weaving back and forth so as not to become an easy target. Serafina thought about trying to take a shot, but didn’t want to break the rear window. She also didn’t know how much the window would throw off her shot. The motorcycle continued firing freely at the Jeep, wedging rounds into the body of the vehicle. It was only a matter of time before one of the bullets made contact with one of the vehicle’s occupants or something important with the car’s engine.
Serafina sat back down looking at Daniel. “I’ve got no shot.”
“Crap,” he said, looking ahead. They were running out of open space. The ramp to the 330 highway was approaching, about a mile ahead, and half of the two lane ramp was blocked on the right by a stopped eighteen wheeler.
‘What if….?’ He thought.
He reached up quickly with one hand and began disengaging the levers that held the roof panel above his head in place. Keeping his eyes on the road, he told Serafina to do the same, leaving the clamp at the front engaged. She quickly undid each lever, then removed the mounting knob on each one.
“What now?” She asked after she was done.
“We wait for the right moment, then we push both of them off at the same time.” He accelerated towards the single open lane on the connector to the 330. “Keep the front clamp on until I tell you. Without it, the wind may move the panels and give him an idea of what we’ve got planned.”
“Okay.”
The semi was less than 500 yards away when Daniel reached up and disconnected the latch. He held onto it, feeling the wind making it vibrate as they thundered down the highway.
With less than a hundred yards remaining before they reached the semi, he gave Serafina final instructions. “Okay, my side has to go first, so watch as I do it, then follow immediately after me.”
“Got it.”
As the Jeep pulled even with the 18-wheeler, Daniel let go of the latch, pulled back his arm, and slammed his hand upward, palm out, striking the panel. Lifting off of the top of the Jeep, the panel was immediately caught by the wind and ripped away, bouncing off of the cargo carrier and ripping a hole in the luggage atop the Jeep before flying back towards the motorcycle rider. Serafina copied his move, using both hands to push the passenger side panel up and away. Like Daniel’s, the panel was quic
kly torn away by the wind.
The first panel flew back, tumbling and spinning as it struck the pavement as it bounced repeatedly. As it flew at the motorcycle rider, it pinwheeled in the air, a rapid moving blur. The man on the motorcycle leaned to the right, getting as low as possible as the panel flew at him. The second panel flew back, bouncing off the edge of the Jeep’s roof, flying high into the air before hitting the ground, where it rolled end over end before hitting the semi and falling to the ground, sliding on its back along the pavement.
The man ducked and leaned to maneuver his motorcycle under the first panel, clearing it with mere inches to spare, but as he pulled left to right the bike, the second panel slid in front of him. Still angled towards the ground, the front tire hit the panel and sent the motorcycle and its rider airborne at over 80 miles an hour. Both flew through the air for over fifty feet, separating in the air before crashing and tumbling across the dead grass and into a faux riverbed of rocks.
With the wind howling through the open roof, Daniel drove the Jeep onward, following the highway as it curved to the right, then back to the left. He took his foot off the gas, letting the vehicle’s speed decrease gradually, reducing the noise as well as some of the stress they all felt.
Serafina searched behind them for any signs of pursuers, but saw none. “It’s alright kids, they’re gone.” Ashley, Brenna, and Paul sat up slowly, still unsure of what to expect. Brenna’s hand was holding her head, and Ashley brought her arm around her sister to pull her closer, resting the girl’s head on her shoulder. Looking over, she glared at Paul, who looked away sheepishly, staring out the window. Serafina reached back and pulled the napkin’s away from Brenna’s head to look at the wound she’d suffered. The gash was red and inflamed, and looked to be in need of attention quickly to avoid infection.
“Daniel, we need to pull over so I can clean up this wound.”
“Shit, that’s right.” He slowed hard and pulled the steering wheel to the right, crossing over the divider between the highway and the exit ramp they’d nearly passed. At the top of the ramp, he looked both ways for options. To the right he saw nothing but open road and cross streets that led to residential areas. To the left, he saw darkened signs for Chevron, Walmart, and Burger King.
He turned right, hoping to avoid any random people that might be looking for food, water, or gas. The street was devoid of other cars, with empty fields to the left and dark houses to the right. If there were any people home, they were maintaining a very low profile. He cruised down to the third block and took a right, went another block and turned left, then found a house with a large tree in the front yard, and a long, empty driveway on the other side of it. Approaching slowly, he looked for any signs of life in the house or the ones around it. The house itself was a two-story model covered in old, dingy yellowish stucco that had seen much better days. While the house was quiet and dark, not all of the windows were covered, indicating that the house was more likely to be actually empty, as opposed to housing residents in hiding. Satisfied, he pulled the Jeep around and backed into the driveway, continuing almost as far as he could go until he was shielded from view by the house, but leaving about five feet of room behind the Jeep between its bumper and a small blue and white shed.
Daniel took a deep breath, calming himself after the road battle, before grabbing the shotgun and stepping out of the Jeep. He racked the shotgun, readying it for firing. “Stay here.” Closing the door, he turned and walked to the shed, checking it first. Seeing that It was locked from the outside, he turned his attention to the backyard. The area was small, surrounded on all sides by six foot tall wood fencing. A large tree occupied one corner, while near the house was a small patio area with an outdoor dining set consisting of a tile-topped table and six chairs. The rest of the yard was covered in grass, which, although overgrown, was still alive. Daniel guessed that the home’s occupants hadn’t turned off the water when they departed.
Moving to the backdoor of the house, he checked to see if it was locked. It was, and on the window of the door was a handwritten note:
Vincent,
We’re out of town this week for our annual trip to Orlando - we love Disneyworld! We left your check in the mailbox. Thanks for taking such good care of our yard!
Margaret
Relaxing a bit, Daniel made a quick search of the house’s exterior, looking through open windows for any signs of people, in case the note was a ruse. He saw none, and finished up his perimeter check feeling like they might actually be able to get some decent recovery time.
Lowering the shotgun, he signalled to Serafina that all was clear, and the family slowly emerged from the Jeep, looking around cautiously as they did, even though he’d indicated that the area was clear. He understood. They’d been through an intense struggle to survive and had been lucky to survive. They’d need time to deal with that.
He went around to where they were gathering at the back of the Jeep, and hugged Serafina, Ashley, and Brenna, grateful that they were mostly OK. Paul stood to the side, staring at the ground as he shuffled his feet from side to side.
Looking at the young man briefly, he turned back towards Serafina and the girls. “Honey, how about you and the girls get comfortable at the table. We’re going to take a bit of time to rest and recover from everything before we head out.”
Serafina nodded. “Okay.” She held up her hand, which had a slight tremor to it. “I could use some time to unwind.”
“Me too.” He leaned in closer so that only she could hear. “I’m contemplating spending the night here. Think about it, and you and I can discuss it a bit later.” He turned back to Paul.
“You and I need to talk. Right now.”
CHAPTER THIRTY NINE
UCLA Medical Research Facility, Los Angeles, California
11:30 a.m.
“Wait a minute...” Doctor Michael Roberts set down the patient file he was currently reviewing for what had to have been at least the twentieth time. Reaching for a pad of sticky notes, he grabbed a small pink flag and stuck next to the part he’d been reviewing.
Moving the file to the side, he stood up and began sifting through the stack of patient files, searching for the one that was the basis of his current hypothesis. As he did, he mumbled to himself, “Jordan....Getty.....Allen…..Lee…..Ah! Elliot!”
He set Brandon Elliot’s file on the desk in front of him, paging through it quickly until he got to the section he was looking for. He slowly moved his finger down the page, scanning through the printed notes until he found what he was looking for.
‘Holy crap!’
Roberts quickly applied a pink sticky note near the section of the file, making sure the end would stick out when the file was closed, acting like a tab. He moved the file to the side, setting it on top of the other patient’s file, glancing at the name once more: Harris, Raylene.
Moving from the desk to the nearby table where more stacks of patient files stood. There were eight stacks of ten files, one stack of four, and one stack of eight. The stack of eight had a red ‘X’ on the front, matching the stack of eight on his desk. He had each and every patient file associated with the study, and he’d reviewed each one thoroughly, poring over them as he searched for something, anything, that would help him identify what went wrong. He’d spent the last two days here in his office, refusing to give up, but he hadn’t been able to find anything to tie the infected patients together.
Until now.
He worked his way through the stack of eight files, muttering under his breath as he did. Toward the bottom, he found the file he was looking for.
Scanlan, Geoff
As he’d done with the previous file, he flipped through this one quickly until he found the page he wanted. When the section he was looking for showed the same information as the others, he dropped the file on the desk and fell back onto his chair, stunned. The file slid forward from the desk and fell onto the floor as he stared at the ceiling.
Three out of a hundred wa
s hardly enough to identify a trend at this point, but his gut told him there would be more.
The ramifications of what it meant ran through his head rapidly. He hadn’t considered that this would be an issue. The patients had all been relatively healthy men and women. But he hadn’t looked hard enough into their medical history, and as a result, he’d overlooked something. Something that seemingly was part of why the outbreak had occurred.
All of this boiled down to mean one thing:
It was his fault.
He needed a drink.
Reaching for the bottle of whiskey, he decided to forgo the glass and brought the bottle to his lips. The brown liquid burned as it made its way down his throat, and he relished it. If he was at fault, he deserved all the pain the world had to offer. He took another drink, longer this time, gulping down several ounces at once. His head swam as he set the open bottle back on the desk. Sitting back in his chair he closed his eyes, wishing for a different reality than the one he faced. The one in which he was the cause of a worldwide epidemic.
Did he really want to know?
Should he stop pursuing this potential discovery?
He’d be better off not knowing, wouldn’t he?
‘I don’t need this,’ he thought, standing up from his chair suddenly, intent on walking out of the room and away from what he’d uncovered.
The alcohol hit him hard, combining with the headrush he’d caused by standing up so quickly. His vision blurred as his balance left him and he fell backwards, colliding with the arm of the chair before hitting the thin carpet of the office floor. His head bounced off the floor, sending him into unconsciousness.
Sometime later he woke, his mouth again feeling like he’d slept with burnt toast in it. The afternoon sun shone through the window, making him squint to block the light out. He rolled to the side, trying to gain enough momentum to get an arm under him so that he could push himself up. He failed several times before finally managing to work his way up to his hands and knees, where he remained for several long minutes. He lowered his head to the floor, trying to stop the throbbing in his skull, but found no relief there. Reaching up with his right hand, he found the top of the desk and used it to help himself up into a half-kneeling position, resting his body on the desk. He considered sitting back in the chair, but saw that as a path backwards, not forward, and his mouth and throat felt so dry it was difficult to swallow.
Surviving Rage | Book 1 Page 35