Surviving Rage | Book 1

by Arellano, J. D.

  At the far edge of the desk was the bottle of water he’d brought back with him from the teacher’s lounge. It was mostly empty, but two inches of precious water remained in it. Leaning across the desk, his hand grasped it, pulling it to him. He uncapped it quickly, tossing the cap away before bringing it to his lips. The meager amount of water was gone woefully quickly, leaving him unfulfilled and desperate for more.

  Taking a deep breath, willing himself to be strong, he rose to a standing position, keeping a hand on the desk for balance. The door to his office shifted slightly as he stared at it, but eventually steadied as his vision focused.

  ‘Okay, you got this,’ he thought as he took one, then another step towards the door, his resolve returning.

  He wasn’t going to run away.

  He was going to find a way to put a stop to the terrible things he’d put in motion.

  The world would likely curse his name forever, but at least he could save his soul. Once he’d found a way to stop the virus he’d deal with his own future.

  Walking slowly to the door, he thought to himself, ‘Okay, get some water, get something to eat, then come back and figure this thing out.’ He grabbed the doorknob, turned it, and pushed the door open.

  The hallway was dark. At some point, the power to the building had gone out. The emergency lights were on, dimming as the backup power provided by the generators began to falter. As he stepped out into the hallway, the lights flickered momentarily, then went out. A few seconds later, some of the lights came back on, while others remained off as part of an automated load shedding procedure designed to extend the generator’s remaining fuel as long as possible.

  The hallway to the teacher’s lounge was dim, lit only by two lights and filtered light that escaped from adjacent offices where blinds on the outside windows had been left open. With long sections of the hallway remaining dark in the areas between the still functional lights, Doctor Roberts was still able to see well enough to get to where he was going. He figured that as often as he went there, he could probably find his way in complete darkness.

  Walking down the hallway, his eyes barely open, he paused momentarily when he heard the sound of shuffling footsteps. Looking behind him, he saw nothing but empty hallway, with the only movement being a lone piece of paper that had been dropped by someone along the way. Thirty feet ahead there was an intersection of hallways, but that was further than he needed to go, since the door to the teacher’s lounge was less than ten feet away.

  He waited, listening for more noise, but after thirty seconds, he hadn’t heard anything and decided to stay focused and continue towards the water and food he so desperately needed. He briefly thought about calling out to see if anyone was there, but felt silly for considering it. Taking the remaining steps to the door, he turned the knob and pulled the door open, entering the room as the door swung closed behind him.

  The room was as he’d left it, but something was spoiling in the trash, giving the room a pungent smell. He went to the windows along the far wall and opened both of them, letting in outside air. Unfortunately, the air that came in smelled of smoke, thick and heavy, invading his lungs as he took a breath.

  ‘Nope,’ he thought as he went to close the window. He stopped with his hands on the window frame, looking back at the trash can. Leaning forward, he looked out and saw nothing but empty pavement below. Head still pounding, he looked left, then right, searching for signs of people. There wasn’t a soul in sight, and he couldn’t remember the last time the campus had been so empty. Shaking his head, he went to the trash can, withdrew the bag with its offending odors, tied the top, returned to the window and tossed it out. The bag landed with a soft smack as it hit the pavement. Thankfully, it stayed closed, and he figured he could always pick it up whenever he decided to go home.

  Closing the window, he went to the thermostat to turn on the fan and reached for the knob before reminding himself that the power was out. He made a decision to leave the door to the lounge open when he left, figuring no one was in the building anyway.

  Opening the fridge, he grabbed a bottle of water, opened it, and brought it to his lips. When the cold water hit his lips, he was grateful that the refrigerator had managed to keep the things inside cold even after the power had gone out. Tilting his head back, he finished the entire bottle in one long gulp.

  Grabbing another bottle from the fridge, he closed it and opened the freezer. Looking at the frozen items, he reminded himself that there was no power and therefore no way to heat any of the burritos, pizzas, or Hot Pockets.

  He closed the door and crossed the room to the cabinet where they stored the snacks. Opening it, he found granola bars, Doritos, pretzels, and Peanut M&Ms. He opted for the M&Ms first, tearing open the end of the bag and pouring several into his mouth, chasing it with water. He repeated the process several times, feeling better with each mouthful. The chocolate did wonders for his headache, and soon he felt well enough to head back to his office. He grabbed a bag of pretzels and a bag of Doritos, stuffing each into the pocket of his cardigan sweater, before grabbing two bottles of water from the refrigerator. Walking out of the lounge, he propped the door open as he’d planned, thinking to himself that he was going to buckle down and finish what he’d started. He’d find the root cause of the virus, then figure out how to stop it.

  Shhhkk shhhkkk

  A shuffling sound startled him, causing him to flinch. Looking around wildly, his eyes as big as saucers, he saw a figure at the intersection of the hallways, standing there with its back to him. Stepping back involuntarily, he looked at the figure intently, trying to determine who it was and what they were doing there.

  ‘Sarah?’ He thought to himself. From his angle, it certainly looked like his graduate assistant, Sarah McCall, but he couldn’t be sure. Stepping slowly and silently to the side, he craned his neck in an effort to see the person’s face. The figure was clearly a woman, dressed in jeans and a button up blouse, half of which hung loosely down their right side, while the other half was tucked in. Dirty flats covered her feet, and her long brown hair was disheveled, hanging limply and covering part of the woman’s face.

  As he watched, he noticed the figure was heaving very slightly, small little hitches that appeared to be like the ones a person’s body endured when they were crying hard.

  Doctor Roberts slowly and quietly stepped closer, still trying to see the woman’s face. The woman continued standing there with her back to him, her body heaving as he watched. He heard soft, muffled breathing, again like that of a person trying to catch their breath while crying.

  “Sarah?” He asked softly.

  The breathing stopped. Turning slowly towards him, his former graduate assistant’s eyes stared at him intensely. The front of her blouse was covered in dried blood; large, dense stains that made it appear as if the blouse had been dipped in blood. Her arms hung loosely at her side, covered in dark red streaks from her fingertips to her elbows. Looking at the young woman’s face, it appeared that her nose had been broken and bloodied, as it stood crookedly to the left, dried blood beneath it on her upper lip. Her features were gaunt, the skin appearing loose on her bones. Coming from her was a stench far worse than what he had smelled coming from the decomposing food in the bag of trash he’d tossed out of the window. The woman’s stench smelled like a combination of rotting flesh, sour milk, and sweaty socks. As he looked at her in awe, her lips curled back into a snarl, a deep growling sound coming from deep in her throat.

  Michael realized that his feet were already in motion, backing away from the woman involuntarily as he watched her anger grow, rapidly approaching the boiling over point.

  And then it did.

  The woman bent forward at the waist, screaming a murderous cry as her arms spread wide, the fingers on each hand extended and curled like claws.

  At the sound of her scream, Michael turned and ran towards his office, arms and legs flailing wildly, his cardigan sweater flying behind him.

  Footsteps
pounded on the tiled floor of the hallway behind him, growing closer with each step. The woman grunted and huffed as she chased him, her arms extended as she tried to grasp the fabric of his sweater. Approaching the door to his office, he tossed aside the water bottle in his left hand so that he could grasp the doorknob. Somehow, in the insanity of the moment, he clearly heard the bottle bounce off the wall and rebound, rolling away.

  Grabbing the door knob, he pulled the door open, intent on sliding inside, when he was pulled sideways as the woman’s hand latched onto his sweater. Screaming, he held onto the door, dropping the second water bottle so that he could use both hands.

  The woman’s foot came down on the first bottle he’d tossed, sending her feet flying out from under her. Her clawing hand maintained its grip on his sweater as she fell, her weight pulling against his desperate hold on the door. She hit the floor hard, smacking her head against the tile. Her hand fell away from his sweater, releasing it as her body went limp.

  Doctor Roberts paused in the doorway, staring in disbelief. The crazed woman laid on the tile in front of him, dazed, but not unconscious. As he watched, her arms came up in front of her, pulling and clawing at the air in slow motion as her mind struggled to coordinate the movements. The woman’s eyes fluttered and came open, staring up at the ceiling.

  He stepped into his office quickly and quietly, hoping the woman wouldn’t hear him as he closed the door gently and turned the tab on the doorknob to lock it. Backing away, he looked at the door, shaking his head. The large, square, frosted glass window that dominated the upper half of the door was a problem. Looking around the office, his eyes landed on the tall bookcase that stood against the far wall opposite his desk. Rushing over to it, he knew it would be too heavy as is, so he hurriedly began removing the books from the shelves and throwing them onto his couch. After he moved the shelf, he’d return them to the shelves to add back the weight.

  As he finished emptying the top two shelves, he heard something slam into the door, causing him to scream. Thrusting his arm into the third shelf and positioning his hand behind the books, he used his forearm as a wedge, pushing forward to force the books off the shelf and onto the floor.

  The door rattled in the frame as the pounding intensified, fists striking the wood and glass of the door repeatedly with startling intensity. Repeating the same process, he slid his arm along the fourth shelf, forcing those books off the shelf as well.

  Hearing the glass on the door crack, he decided to leave the last shelf as it was and moved around the bookshelf to begin pushing it towards the door. The carpeted floor floor made the work hard as it bunched up under the leading edge of the heavy piece of furniture, but he pushed harder straining with every ounce of his meager strength. As the pounding continued, he wondered why the woman was pushing to get in when the door opened outward.

  With the bookshelf inches from the door, the window shattered, sending glass flying into the office. In one final, desperate push, he thrust the bookshelf in front of the door, his feet slipping on the carpet, sending him to the floor. The woman’s right arm reached through the broken window and was caught between the bookshelf and the frame of the window, forcing it backwards. The elbow joint gave way as the forearm was dislocated, leaving the arm to dangle loosely as it was pulled back through the window.

  The noise from the hallway stopped momentarily, and he was suddenly aware of how loud his labored breathing was as he struggled to recover from the tremendous exertion. Knowing there was no time to waste, he rolled over and got to his feet, picking himself up from the floor. From the hallway, he heard a loud grunt, followed by a popping sound, which he assumed was the arm being put back in place. The amount of pain associated with the effort must have been excruciating, but the only indication of anything resembling a reaction to pain was another primal scream. The sound echoed in the hallway, reverberating off the walls.

  He moved to the pile of books and loaded as many as he could in his arms before returning to the bookshelf and placing them there. He didn’t bother setting them upright, he was solely focused on getting the weight on the bookshelf to help block the door from being forced open.

  The bookcase was rocked forward as a fist shot through the back panel, splintering the wood. Knocked back from the heavy piece of furniture, Doctor Roberts looked for something to help keep the crazed woman out of the office. Her fists continued their assault, bashing through the wood relentlessly, sending bits of wood flying, and he backed further away, his rear coming in contact with the desk.

  ‘The gun!’ He thought.

  Rushing around the desk, he reached into the top drawer and withdrew the gun, flicking off the safety. Knowing his aim was non-existent, since he’d never once fired it, he stepped to the bookcase, pointing the gun through the gaping hole. The hands pulled at the wood, breaking pieces away as they did. Crouching down, he lowered himself until the snarling, drooling face was centered in the hole. The woman’s crazed eyes widened as she saw him, and she lunged forward, pressing her body against the doorframe as her hands reached for him.

  Holding the gun with both hands in an effort to steady it, he pointed the gun towards the woman’s head and pulled the trigger.

  Tucht

  The trigger jammed, failing to make contact with the round, its years of neglect coming back to burn him in his time of need. He squeezed the trigger harder, willing the round to fire, but the gun refused to cooperate.

  Heart sinking, he dropped the gun to the floor, falling to his knees as the woman continued her assault on the door, working one of her head and one of her shoulders through the hole while her hands continued pulling and breaking away pieces of wood.

  ‘I’ve got to tell someone what I found!’ Doctor Roberts leapt to his feet and reached across the desk for his cell phone. He pressed his finger against the camera lense to unlock it, but it didn’t respond. Wiping his hand on his pants, he tried again. The phone unlocked.

  No Service

  “God dammit!!” He screamed, throwing the phone across the room. He reached for the hardline phone and lifted the receiver from its cradle, only to be met with silence. No dial tone, no beeping, nothing.

  Looking back, he saw the woman had worked both shoulders through the hole in the bookshelf and was using her arms to press against it in an effort to pull her body through.

  ‘I won’t let her turn me into one of them.’ He thought, walking around the desk to the window. Stopping at the desk momentarily, he grabbed his pen and wrote a note on a Post-it and slapped onto the front of Geoff Scanlan’s file, indicating what he’d found. With any luck, someone would find it and pass the information to the authorities.

  The woman was still struggling as he opened the window as high as it would go. Looking down, he saw the ground five stories below. The grey concrete stretched in both directions, empty save for the bag of trash he’d thrown out of the window from the teacher’s lounge. Climbing up onto the window sill, he looked down, wondering how much pain he’d feel. He looked away, lifting his head to the sky. He took a deep breath as he tried to strengthen his resolve. It would be over quickly, at least, and he’d avoid hurting others.

  ‘Okay. Let’s do this.’ Looking down, he willed himself to let go, but his body’s natural tendency to protect itself fought back as his hand held onto the window sill with every ounce of strength he had.

  The woman finally broke through the door and bookshelf into the room, falling to the floor momentarily before rising to her feet. In a blur, she rushed at Doctor Roberts, launching herself at him. Their bodies collided, breaking his grip on the window sill and carrying them both out the window.

  Like the trash bag, they hit the concrete with a soft, wet, smacking sound.

  Five stories above, the files on his desk fluttered in the wind that came through the open window, his note awaiting discovery.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Daniel led Paul to an area on the side of the house, away from Serafina and the girls. Turning to the young man
, he looked away, trying to control his emotions. He took a deep breath and looked at Paul, his eyes narrowing as he spoke.

  “Look, right now, I’m starting to see you as a liability. If that’s true, if you are a liability, you have the potential to put the lives of my wife and daughters in jeopardy. I won’t have that. Not for a second. Am I making myself clear?”

  Paul looked back at him, his eyes wide and filled with fear. He stuttered as he replied. “Yeh-yeh-yes sir. I-I-I’m suh-suh-sorry.”

  Daniel didn’t let up. The kid might have a good heart, but he’d failed in the moment of need. That couldn’t happen again.

  “I’m not asking you to lead, I’m not asking you to go out on your own and take down bad guys. I’m asking you to do what you’re told, when you’re told.”

  The teenager looked away from Daniel, staring down at the ground near his feet. “I know.”

  “Your best chance of survival is staying with us, but if you fail again, I’ll have no choice but to leave you behind.”

  Paul looked back at him, his mouth working as he tried to find words.

  Daniel put his hands up. “I don’t need your words. I need your commitment to our team, our family. My thirteen-year old daughter stepped up for you. I’m incredibly proud of her, but also pretty fucking pissed at you that she needed to do so.”

  Crossing his arms in front of Paul, he looked at him, impassively. “I’ll ask you this one time, and one time only: Do you want to stay with us?”