Just over three miles away from where the Alvarado family were , Deputy Sheriff Grayson Halwell sat in silence alongside his longtime friend, Kyle Harrington, as the man drove the fishing boat out into the middle of Big Bear Lake. Their plan had been simple: remain on the water, safely out of reach of the infected, until the craziness ashore settled down. After seeing the savagery the infected were capable of, it was the only plan that made sense.
The fact that this wasn’t their boat was irrelevant.
Three days ago, everything had been so boring, so mundane. Just another summer day by the lake, one Grayson would likely spend baking in the heat during the day as he patrolled his assigned area, hoping to catch a glimpse of some of the attractive young women that visited the lake, wearing their bikinis as they bounced around on jet skis, water skis, and floats.
The day had started simple enough, with Grayson squeezing his six foot two, two hundred and thirty-five pound frame into his Ford Fusion at just after the time he was scheduled to show up for his shift. As usual, he’d be about fifteen minutes late, but like always, he wasn’t concerned. His father, Benjamin Halwell, was the longest serving member of the city council, and the consensus shoe-in for mayor in the upcoming election, so Grayson had little concern about his position in the sheriff’s department.
Looking into the mirror of the small car, he checked his buzz cut blonde hair, then admired his green eyes and square-jawed features. His nose was slightly crooked, thanks to the overprotective asshole at the Santa Monica Pier who’d take offense to Grayson grabbing his wife’s ass, but that didn’t take away from what he considered to be rugged good looks. He grinned his usual toothy smile, showing his perfectly straight teeth, then started the car and backed out of the driveway.
Pulling into the station’s lot, he wondered what kind of crap the Sheriff, David Sanderson, would pull today. While Grayson wasn’t concerned about his job, that didn’t mean that the Sheriff didn’t look for every opportunity to remind him that he was, by far, the most junior Deputy on the force. Lately, Sheriff Sanderson had gotten a real stick up his butt over Grayson’s tardiness, even if the summer in and around Big Bear Lake was the slowest time of the year for the force.
“Sorry I’m late,” Halwell said as a matter of routine as he entered the station. He didn’t mean it, and everyone knew it, including the Sheriff, who was standing in front of the team in the small briefing room they used for morning assignments.
Tall and lean, Sheriff Sanderson cut an imposing figure. At six-eight and two hundred and forty pounds, he towered over everyone on the force. To be fair, the Sheriff towered over every permanent resident the city had as well. Even so, he rarely used his height to intimidate people, unless someone needed it, and inevitably, someone did. Each winter, some knuckleheaded suburbanite, hopped up on alcohol and testosterone, chose to start a fight in one of the bars in the Village. During winter evenings, Sheriff Sanderson typically stayed within minutes of the Village, and when he responded, he made a show of slowly getting out of his Ford Excursion SUV, not needing to step down as he did so. He’d rise to his full height, put his hands on his belt, walk over to where the individual was and stop no more than two feet away, forcing the person to crane his neck upward to look at the Sheriff as he was asked whether or not he wanted to head to his room or to the station. Unsurprisingly, every person chose to go back to their room or cabin.
Sanderson’s voice boomed as he read from the clipboard he held, dwarfed by his massive hands. “Halwell. You’re the last one here, so you get the last assignment open: Fawnskin and the north side of the lake.” Putting the clipboard down, he stared at Halwell, waiting for the inevitable response, his face devoid of emotion.
“Again? Come on, Sheriff. That’s five days in a row!”
Sanderson spread his hands out, claiming innocence. “Hey, we choose patrol assignments first thing in the morning. If you’re here on time, you might have a better chance of getting a different one.”
Knowing that arguing with the Sheriff would get him nowhere, Grayson had turned on his heel and stormed out, passing by Betsy, their admin assistant, without saying a word. He’d been hoping for a different assignment, preferably the Village, where he’d be able to make an excuse to pop into the ice cream shop and chat up Katie, the new girl who worked there. Sure, at seventeen she was a little on the young side, but hey, he was only twenty-nine, and working for the sheriff’s department and having a powerful and connected father had to count for something, didn’t it?
‘Screw it,’ he thought, deciding to make his way over to the ice cream shop later in the afternoon, regardless of where his assignment was. He was allowed to take a thirty minute break, so why not take it in the Village?
The morning had moved with the speed of molasses traveling uphill, and he’d pulled over three people to issue speed warnings out of pure boredom. None of them had been breaking the speed limit, but he didn’t care. He needed to do something to kill time. Each of the drivers had been tourists, and after being allowed to leave with just a warning, what would they do? Nothing.
Finally, it was noon, and he could legitimately take his break without being questioned about taking it too early. Driving around the North side of the lake, he used all the speed he’d accused others of using, taking turns wide with the Ford Edge he’d been assigned. He’d nearly driven over a squirrel at one point, and was disappointed when it scurried out of the way at the last second.
He’d get the little critter next time, he figured.
Arriving in the Village, he didn’t bother trying to find an open parking spot, instead choosing to pull into a handicapped spot in front of the ice cream shop.
Stepping out of the midday sun and into the cool interior of the ice cream shop, Grayson Halwell pulled off his mirrored sunglasses in a practiced manner, making sure Katie was watching as he did. Her lack of reaction irritated him a bit, but he decided to let it slide, waiting off to the side as the family that was ordering ice cream cones finished and left, the father nodding at him as he passed by. Grayson nodded back at the man, looking past him at the mother’s breasts, the tops of which were covered in a light sheen of sweat. Looking away, he fixed his gaze on Katie, smiling as he did so.
“Hey, there Katie. How you doing today?”
The girl shrugged, looking away as she did so, clearly uncomfortable. “I’m doing okay, I guess. Just working.”
“Cool, cool.” Grayson made a show of looking around the shop, even though it was clearly empty. “You the only one here today?”
Katie nodded. “Yeah. Until two. Rachel called in sick. That’s two days in a row.”
“I see.” Looping his thumbs on his utility belt, Grayson smiled at the young girl again. “What time are you off?”
The girl looked away again, still nervous. “Uh, like, five.”
“Yeah? Me, too. Can I give you a ride home?”
“Ummm, actually, my mom is gonna pick me up. Thanks, though.”
Grayson narrowed his eyes as he leaned forward, bringing his elbow up and resting it on the top of the glass above the ice cream. “Your mom, hunh? She’s not still driving that Buick Oldsmobile with the busted taillight, is she? It’d really stink for her to get pulled over on her way here.”
Katie stared at him, mouth open, as she processed the thinly veiled threat. Her mouth worked as she tried to find the right words to respond.
She was saved from having to do so by a sudden commotion outside on the sidewalk across the street, in front of the Jack in the Box. Screams and shouting cut through the relative silence of the midday surprising both of them.
“What the hell?” Deputy Halwell said, turning away from the counter and looking out of the window on the door. Across the street, a middle-aged brown-skinned man was beating a woman into the pavement, his fists raining down on her repeatedly. Nearby, a brown-skinned young girl in a Maroon 5 was screaming as she watched the man, pleading with him to stop.
“Lock the door behind me.” Hal
well said, walking away from Katie. ‘Perfect,’ he thought, ‘she can watch me take charge of this situation and know who’s the boss.’
When the door closed behind him, he heard it lock nearly instantaneously. The family that had been in the ice cream shop was standing in front of it, their cones melting in the sun as they watched the man beat the woman senseless. ‘Civilians,’ he said to himself as he strode across the street.
Using his loudest voice, he called out, “Sir, I need you to stop what you’re doing, and back away from the woman!” Stopping several feet away, he set his feet shoulder-width apart as he rested his hand on the grip of his pistol.
The man, still on his knees above the woman, turned away from her, looking back at Grayson. This close, Grayson thought the man looked Mexican, but wasn’t totally sure. His skin was dark, and his face was framed in a black mustache and beard. ‘Mexican or Arab. Probably Mexican, though,’ Grayson thought as his eyes locked onto the man’s.
The man’s mouth curled into a snarl, showing his teeth as he glared at him, spittle running down his chin as he did so. He rose to his feet, his bloodied hands falling to his side. The man’s eyes never left Grayson as his left arm flashed outward, grabbing the young girl’s bone-thin arm in a sudden motion. The girl screamed, tugging and pulling as she tried to escape the man’s grip.
“Sir! Let go of the girl and step back!” Halwell pulled his gun out and pointed it at the man.
A flash of movement in the corner of his eye barely registered as the man from the ice cream shop tackled the Mexican man, taking him to the ground. The crazed man’s fingers clawed at the girl as he was pulled away, leaving deep grooves in her forearm as she tore her arm from his grasp, turned, and ran.
Enraged, the Mexican man brought his hands down, grasping handfuls of the white man’s hair. He tore the hair from the man’s head, pulling pieces of the man’s scalp with it as he did so. The white man screamed high and loud, his voice piercing the air as the fight left him. He brought his hands to his head, holding them against the bleeding sections of his scalp as he whimpered. The Mexican man grabbed his head and slammed it into the pavement repeatedly. After the third strike, the man’s arms fell away, slapping on the concrete, lifeless.
A few feet away, the woman who’d been beaten to a pulp by the man stirred. She clumsily got to her feet, her left arm hanging limp at her side as she wavered on her feet momentarily. Her face was a bloody mess, with one eye swollen shut and her nose a shapeless blob that oozed blood down and over her mouth. Reaching over with her right arm, she grabbed her left one and jammed the arm back into place before turning and looking at the crowd that had gathered.
Standing there with his mouth agape as he watched the scene unfold, Grayson heard the mother from the ice cream shop scream.
“Oh my God! Michael!!” She turned to look at Grayson, her face pleading. “Do something!”
And in that moment, he did do something.
He ran.
His boots struck the pavement hard as he ran to his SUV at full speed, the keys on his belt jingling noisily as they bounced against his leg. He could hear the woman calling out for him, asking him where he was going, but he ignored her, focused only on his survival. Hopping into the vehicle, he started it, slammed it in gear, accelerating backwards out of the parking spot momentarily before putting it in drive and peeling out, leaving long streaks of black rubber on the cobblestone street.
He drove hard, his goal in mind as he blew through stop signs on his way to the marina, where Kyle worked. Kyle always knew what to do, even if Grayson’s dad said the guy was a loser.
The radio in the cruiser sounded suddenly, startling him. The voice was that of Kim Maddox, the lone daytime 911 operator. “All units, we have a report of a disturbance in the Village, near the Jack in the Box. Is there a unit there? We were told there was a unit on the scene, but that the officer left.”
One by one, the other officers on patrol chimed in, saying they weren’t there but were in route.
He picked up his mic. “Deputy Halwell here. Still on the north side of the lake, out near the Discovery Center, but I’m on my way.”
“Roger, Deputy Halwell.”
Grayson turned off his radio as he pulled into the parking lot near the marina. He sped to the far end, parking on the other side of a large van to hide the SUV from sight. Jumping out of the car, he pulled out his cell phone and dialed Kyle. His friend answered after the second ring.
“What’s up, Gray?”
“Dude, there’s trouble in town.”
Kyle’s voice laughed on the other end of the line. “Okay, call the police.”
“Dude, shut the fuck up. I’m serious. I saw some guy kill a woman, then a man, using his bare hands. Guy looked like he was crazy, like, on something, or sick or something.”
“Really? Shit. That’s fucked up.”
“Yeah, I know. I think it’s that virus that I heard about on the news.”
“Oh shit! Seriously?”
“Yeah, I’m serious.” Walking down the ramp towards the boats, Grayson looked around for his friend. “Matter of fact, I’m here. Where are you?”
“You’re here at the marina?”
“I’m on the dock.”
“Okay, hold on.” Grayson heard Kyle move the phone from his mouth as he spoke to the people he was with. “Uh, I just got word that there’s not enough life jackets onboard. I’m gonna grab a couple, then be back.” He put the phone back to his mouth. “Kay. I’m stepping off the boat now. You see me?”
Grayson saw his friend at the end of the pier, raising a hand to flag him down. “Yeah.” He hung up the phone and walked quickly to the end of the pier, where Kyle was standing in front of a large fishing boat. His friend’s blonde hair was short, a requirement for the job, and he wore a polo shirt and khaki pants that covered the many tattoos the man had. In his current attire, he looked nothing like the borderline criminal he’d always been. Tall and relatively fit, with tanned skin from his numerous hours on the lake, he looked the part of a boat captain. As Grayson approached, he turned on his radio again, turning the volume up so that Kyle could hear it.
Kim Maddox’s voice came through immediately, filled with fear and desperation. “All units! Multiple officers down! I repeat, multiple officers down! I need anyone not already en route to the village to head there immediately!”
Grayson turned off the radio and stared at his friend. “I’m not going. Fuck that.”
Kyle nodded. “Don’t blame you.” He looked over at the boat, then back at Grayson. “Wanna go for a ride?”
They’d spent the last three days out on the lake, keeping the group of tourists with them the entire time. The group had initially balked at remaining out on the water overnight, but Grayson had simply turned on the radio and let them listen to what was happening ashore as one by one, first the sheriff, then the deputies went silent, going offline as they were taken down by the infected. Yesterday afternoon, the last deputy fell, and Kim Maddox, assuming all the deputies were dead, signed off, crying as she did.
Their passengers, who had no idea that their lives were in Grayson’s hands, began getting restless the previous night as hunger set in. They’d eaten through the meager stores of food onboard, which had consisted of crackers, sodas, cookies, and candy bars, and now their stomachs were audibly rumbling as pangs of hunger coursed through them.
Looking over at Kyle, Grayson was grateful to have a friend he could count on through everything. As his plan came together, he decided Kyle would be a key part of it.
As for the Jeep that showed up suddenly, lit up like a Christmas tree, what did it mean? Did it mean anything? The 330 had been considered closed for that last two days, and without a tow truck, no one should have been able to make the climb up the mountain. Was it possible that the Sheriff had called for reinforcements from the surrounding area before he’d died? The man looked to be military, but in Southern California, that was fairly common. Shrugging it off, Grayson
figured it was nothing more than someone from either Running Springs or Arrowbear that was moving to higher ground. He’d keep an eye out for the man in the Jeep, but once his plan was in motion, the man would be of little concern.
Swinging the captain’s chair around, he faced the group of people who’d been with them over the last three days. He looked them over, carefully evaluating each one as he did. He’d learned a lot about them during the time they’d been together, while giving up very little information about himself.
The ‘group’ of nine was actually comprised of three smaller groups: a couple, a family of three, and a family of four.
The couple consisted of two young, black professionals. The man was medium sized, probably five eleven and around two hundred pounds, and looked like someone who had been fit and active most of his life, but had recently gained weight, adding extra weight onto his previously muscular frame. He worked as a sales rep for a large pharmaceutical company, and he’d heard rumblings about a new drug that was being tested in Southern California, but could offer little more info than that. His wife was a nurse who worked at the Veteran’s Hospitals in San Diego and Los Angeles. While Grayson normally wasn’t into black women, he’d come to appreciate the woman’s shapely hips and ass.
The trio was an anomaly to him: two mothers and a son. While he’d heard of gay couples having children, he’d never seen one in the flesh. He’d expected one of the two to be more manly, taking on the traditional male role, but neither of them filled that expectation. Instead both were strong, confident, attractive women who knew men wanted them and simply didn’t care. The blonde one was the smaller of the two, though not by much. Her tight body was encased in loose shirt that hung over leggings, and on numerous occasions Grayson had been able to look down her top, evaluating the swell of her breasts inside the jog bra she wore. The taller one was dark haired, and built more like the exotic dancer she was. Her body was all curves, from her chest to her hips to her ass. Smiling to himself, he figured neither of them had been with the right man. With any luck, he’d have the chance to help them see the light. He’d have to figure out what to do with the son, though. The brown haired twelve year-old was small for his age, standing barely five feet tall and weighing at most ninety pounds. He was constantly receiving attention from one of the two women, and that simply wouldn’t work if they were going to be giving their attention to Grayson.
Surviving Rage | Book 1 Page 39