Surviving Rage | Book 1

by Arellano, J. D.

  “For those on shore, the Navy has about 150,000 personnel available, 40,000 of which could serve in a security role.

  “The Coast Guard is in worse shape. Most of them have been in and out of port, by design, and the epidemic has dwindled their numbers severely. Right now, they would struggle to put more than 10 ships to sea. Their numbers available for security are minimal, and necessary to keep their bases secure.

  “The Army is operating at about 45-50% capacity. There are a decent number of soldiers available, around 200,000, but only about 165,000 in the U.S. Of those, about 80,000 are available to assist within 48 hours. There is still a large requirement for base security, so they cannot offer more without leaving the personnel and equipment on the bases unprotected.

  “The Air Force is in decent shape, but there is a large percentage of those that are still healthy that must remain in their current location for strategic reasons.”

  The President looked up from her iPad, where she’d been scribbling notes, and cocked her head. “Strategic reasons?”

  “Nuclear asset protections, Ma’am. They only have about 20,000 available for security deployment.’

  “Got it. And the Marines?”

  “Madam President, the Corps is at less than half strength. About 75,000 troops are healthy in total, with 60,000 available in the United States, on lock down in secure locations. Of those, 35,000 are available.”

  “OK, so it sounds like we have around 175,000 troops available. How many would we need per major city to provide security?”

  “With each area, for each square mile of a city, you’ll need about 40 security personnel to allow for shifts. Atlanta, for example, is approximately 134 square miles, so approximately 55,000 personnel are required for patrols. The command structure for a group of that size is about 10 percent, so 5,000 personnel, and to support the whole group, it would require about 25% of the total force, so an additional 15,000 personnel. Combined, the total per large metropolitan area is around 75,000.”

  “So we can barely cover two large cities?”

  “Madam President, I believe that, combined with the existing forces in place, and reducing our personnel requirement to 30 per square mile, we can cover up to four major cities.”

  “Well, that’s not as many as I’d hoped, but I do appreciate your efforts, General Manning, thank you.”

  “You’re welcome, Madam President.”

  “So now, we need to decide which cities to protect. For the group, what are your thoughts?”

  The Vice President keyed his mic at NORAD. “Madam President, the most logical locations seem to be Los Angeles, Denver, Atlanta, and D.C.. That would provide citizens with four points in the country that they could migrate to for shelter and safety.”

  “Interesting. Anyone else?”

  General Manning responded. “Madam President, with all due respect to the Vice President, I recommend L.A., Austin, Indianapolis, and D.C. Similar reasoning, only difference is that I believe Indianapolis and Austin, being a bit smaller than Atlanta or Dallas, will be easier to manage.”

  The President nodded, understanding his reasoning. She stared at the table in front of her for several seconds, thinking as people waited. Nodding to herself, she looked up and addressed the group. “Here’s the plan: L.A., Oklahoma City, Indianapolis, and Boston. This gives us two things: One, four relatively equally dispersed locations for the people of this country to go to for shelter and assistance. Two, a total of essentially 7 locations from which we can gather intelligence: the four cities, NORAD in Colorado Springs, the CDC in Atlanta, and here and the Pentagon in D.C.”

  There was some chatter, but nearly all comments that Andrew could hear were complementary. The President’s logic was sound.

  “Anyone wish to share a different opinion?” She asked, openly. “I’m not saying that as a challenge, I’m willing to listen if anyone has another idea. This epidemic is beyond anything this country has ever faced, and there isn’t a playbook for me to follow. I’ve provided what I think is a good plan, but something sees a flaw in it, please speak up.”

  Secretary Donnelly took his microphone off of mute. “Madam President, there’s a problem with the plan.”

  President Martinez set her electronic pen down and folded her hands. “What is it, Harold?”

  “Los Angeles is burning as we speak. There’s no end in sight.”

  The President stared at the table briefly. The audience could hear her take a deep breath as she gathered herself. Looking up, she asked, “How bad is it?”

  “Madam President, we estimate the city to be reduced to rubble in no more than three days.”

  “Jesus Christ.” She rubbed her forehead as she processed the information.

  In the room at Mount Weather, Doctors Chang, Reed, and Bowman were discussing something, animated in their movements as they did so.

  President Martinez leaned forward again. “What’s going on over there? Am I missing something?”

  Secretary Donnelly looked over at the group. “Well?”

  Reed and Bowman leaned back, leaving Andrew alone at the table. Doctor Chang looked at the screen, his mouth hanging open as he tried to put his thoughts together. After several long seconds, he regained his composure and addressed the President. “There may be information there we need, Madam President. Information about the virus. We can’t let it be lost in the fires.”

  The President stared back at Doctor Chang briefly before speaking. “Is this critical to your research?”

  “Yes, Madam President.”

  “General Manning, can you have a team support Doctor Chang? Get him the info he needs?”

  The General responded instantly. “Absolutely, Madam President. We’ll put together a spec ops team to do an extraction, get him what he needs.”

  “Excellent, thank you, General.” The President picked back up her pen and crossed out something on her iPAD. “Okay. L.A. is out. Replace it with San Francisco. Otherwise the list remains the same. Sound good?”

  Each location went off of mute to provide their concurrence. The President stood, causing everyone else to do the same. “Let’s take ten. When we return, we’ll see what our team here, in conjunction with the folks at the CDC, have found out about what we’re dealing with.”

  Doctors Chang, Reed, and Bowman stepped out into the hallway to review what they were ready to report. “I’ll start things off, but I intend to turn things over to each of you for your relevant parts. Is that okay?”

  Doctor Reed stood up a little straighter, extending to show off his full 6’5” height. “No issues here.”

  Doctor Bowman remained impassive, her demeanor unchanging. She was focused on one thing, and one thing alone: finding a cure, or at least a way to stop the virus from spreading further. “I’ll be ready.”

  After they each took a turn at the water fountain in the hall, they returned to the conference room and sat back down.

  On the screen, the President entered the room and sat back down in her seat. “Okay, Doctor Chang, you’re up. What have you been able to find out about this virus?”

  “Madam President, so far we’ve determined a few things. We’re still analyzing the data, but we’ve managed to determine the genesis of the virus. It began as a reaction to a medication designed to cure cancer.”

  President Martinez leaned forward, surprise showing on her face. “Cure cancer? When did this happen? Was it approved by the FDA?”

  Secretary Donnelly shook his head. He’d already researched the drug. “No, ma’am. It was a clinical study, going through human trials. It had all positive results when attempted on lab animals.”

  The President’s eyebrows raised. “Lab animals?”

  Donnelly looked at the table, unable to maintain eye contact. “Rats, Madam President.”

  President Martinez’s mouth dropped. “Rats? Is this a joke?”

  “No Ma’am, that is the normal process. Lab testing, then, if testing results are positive, human trials.”
>
  Staring at her iPAD, where she’d scribbled a few notes, she shook her head slowly. Realizing that rehashing how they’d gotten her wouldn’t do any good at this point, she decided to move on, vowing to herself that she would revisit the process at a later date - assuming there was one. Looking up, her eyes returned to Dr. Chang. “Please, go on.”

  “Madam President, the drug was designed to kill cancer cells. On the bright side, it did exactly that, but it also did something else, which is likely the problem.

  “You see, when cancer takes over the body, the rapid growth of the cancer cells causes normal cells to go dormant.

  “In addition to killing cancer cells, this drug was also designed to stimulate the normal cells so that they would become active again and return the body to its normal state.”

  President Martinez cocked her head, quizzically. “That’s a good thing, right?”

  “Unfortunately, no, Madam President. But at this point, I’d like to turn it over to Doctor Lisa Bowman. She’s an expert in neurology, and she’ll explain the effects the drug had on the brain.”

  Lisa Bowman leaned forward slightly, looking at the camera. “Thank you, Doctor Chang.

  “Madam President, this overstimulation in and around the damaged cancer cells causes inflammation. While the inflammation is relatively minor in other parts of the body, it appears that it has devastating effects in the brain.

  “The inflammation in the brain restricts blood flow to the Frontal Lobes, where high-level behaviors are coordinated, including reasoning, judgement, and in particular, emotion and impulse control.

  “As blood flow is cut off to the prefrontal cortex, the frontal lobes, those parts of the brain die.”

  Doctor Bowman stopped, taking a deep breath, before continuing.

  “However, anger begins when the amygdala stimulates the hypothalamus. For the victims, the overstimulated cells provide a starting point for this process.

  “When this anger is triggered, the part of the brain that would normally act as a check for it simply is no longer there. The stimulation continues to occur, and those afflicted with the virus have no way to deal with aggression other than releasing it violently.

  “To make matters worse, the signals that the body’s pain receptors send to the Thalamus, within the Cerebral Cortex, cannot get there, due to the inflammation along the spinal cord.”

  Secretary Connelly interrupted impatiently. “What does all of this mean, Doctor?”

  Before she could respond, President Martinez did. “It means they are hyper-aggressive and feel no pain.” She regarded both Doctor Bowman and Doctor Chang. “Is there any hope for these people?”

  “Ma’am, the damage done to their brain is extensive and wide ranging. Even with the modern advances in medicine, I believe it would be extremely challenging to repair the damage.”

  “Doctor, please. Keep it simple: can it be done? Can these people be saved?”

  “No, Madam President.”

  The room and all the VTC locations went quiet. In addition to the tens of millions already lost, millions more, maybe even a hundred million more, had already been given a death sentence.

  CHAPTER FORTY FOUR

  “This will do nicely.”

  The self-proclaimed Sheriff, Grayson Halwell, looked back and forth, nodding as he stood in front of the building, thinking about how he’d transform the place.

  The Big Bear Lodge was a long, sprawling building that diverged on either side from the large, central, high-ceilinged lobby and adjoining bar. With one hundred and sixty rooms, including sixteen suites, it offered plenty of living space for himself and whoever else he decided to let stay there, as well as space for housing those who’d be serving him and his group.

  Kyle stood at his side, alternating between checking out the building and keeping an eye on their prisoners. The group had grown since they’d left the boat, starting with the addition of three teenagers, who they’d found hiding in the boat rental office at the harbor, and an elderly woman, who’d flagged them down in the parking lot. At this point, it was either come with them or be shot. Most of the time, it wasn’t their decision. If Grayson saw value in keeping them, they were brought along. If not, they were likely shot on the spot and left to die. The only reason the elderly woman was still with them was the fact that she was a skilled seamstress and would be needed to take care of any mending their clothes might need.

  While their selection of workers might have been small and relatively unskilled, Grayson was feeling good about the additional muscle he’d added to his team.

  Shortly after leaving the harbor, they’d noticed a couple of bikers sitting outside a liquor store, drinking whiskey from the bottle as they relaxed on their Harleys. The door to the store had been broken, its glass scattered around the entryway. When Grayson pulled up in his department vehicle, they hadn’t even flinched.

  “How’s it going fellas?” He’d asked, stepping out of his SUV, signaling for the others to wait inside the vehicle.

  The bigger one, a man with a long scar down the side of his face that started at his left temple, made its way down the length of his cheek, and ending on his upper lip, held up the bottle towards him. “Not bad.” He tossed his head back, taking a long, multi-gulp drink from it. When he pulled the bottle away, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. His dark hair hung down and around his face, giving him a sinister look. Though he didn’t look particularly tall, sitting on a massive motorcycle, the sheer size of him overpowered it. The man’s thighs looked like tree trunks, his arms like giant slabs of meat, stretching the seams of the t-shirt that extended from the man’s leather vest. Grayson guessed the man to be six foot-eight and two sixty-five, maybe two seventy.

  Looking at the other man, the first asked, “What about you, brother, how you doing?”

  The other man, who wore his hair long down the middle, with the sides closely shaved, spat on the ground, staring at Grayson. “Alright, I guess. Depends on what mister po-po here wants.” He was much smaller than his friend, but still pretty damn big. Though not as tall as the other man, he still looked to be around six-three. He wore no shirt under the matching leather vest he wore, keeping his powerful chest, shoulders, and arms exposed.

  The two men were exactly what his team needed.

  Grayson put up his hand. “Just a friendly stop to see how you’re doing. Things have gotten a little...crazy lately.”

  The first man nodded. “Yeah, you could say that.”

  Eyes glancing toward the liquor store, Grayson asked, “What happened here?”

  “Not sure. It was like that when we got here.” The bigger man’s eyes bore into his, daring him to challenge the statement.

  Grayson nodded, playing the situation carefully. He wanted these guys on his side. Big time. Pointing toward the bottle, he asked, “Mind if I take a swig?”

  Seeing that the officer in front of them was willing to join them in a drink before driving his vehicle, the giant man relaxed, grinning. “Sure thing.” He passed the bottle to Grayson, who accepted it and took a quick swig.

  “That’s nice,” he said, passing the bottle back to the man.

  Accepting the bottle, the man again took a long drink before looking at Grayson and jabbing his thumb towards the liquor store. “There’s plenty more in there.” He patted the saddle bags on his bike. “I’m loaded up and ready to ride.”

  “Really?” Grayson asked, pretending to be disappointed. “Where you headed?”

  “Not sure. Outta this little shit hole of a town, though.”

  Under any other circumstances, the man’s words would have gotten under Grayson’s skin. Having grown up in Big Bear City, he knew its shortcomings, but it was still his home, and normally he’d fight the first person who trash-talked it.

  Not today, though.

  Letting the remark slide, he shrugged, looking at the two men, motioning towards his SUV and the van they’d stolen, which carried their prisoners. “Shame. Me and the other
guys here were fixing to get some liquor here, make a quick stop for supplies, then go have a big ass party.”

  The big man looked at him for what seemed like an eternity. His hand came up and rubbed against the stubble on his chin, making a scratching sound. He looked back over his shoulder at his partner, who shrugged indifferently. Turning back to Grayson, he asked, “Where you gonna party?”

  Grayson laughed. He had their interest. Now he needed their commitment. “Wherever the fuck we want. Who’s gonna fuck with the Sheriff?”

  The man grinned. “I like that.” He drank again, taking a short swig this time, before looking back at Grayson. “You really the Sheriff?”

  Grayson nodded, a sly smile on his face. “Yes I am. The rest of the force is dead, which leaves me in charge, so I - ” he motioned for the bottle, which the man readily passed to him. Taking a drink, he brought it down and passed it back to the man, then copied the man’s move by wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘Commonality creates connections,’ he thought. “- am the Sheriff.

  “And you know what? With everything that’s been going on, I could use some help getting this town back in order.”

  The two men laughed openly, surprised by his statement.

  It was as expected.

  Once finished laughing, the big man looked at him, his eyes suddenly turning hard. “We ain’t no fuckin’ pigs.”

  Grayson put his hands up at his waist, his palms facing the man disarmingly. “Never said you were. What I need is men that will help reestablish order in this town.”

  Reaching into his jacket pocket, he caused the men to tenses up and reach for their weapons. “Easy fellas. My weapon is on my belt, see?” Looking at his waist, the men relaxed, realizing he was being truthful. Grayson pulled three cigars from his pocket, along with a cutter and a lighter. He passed one to each of the men, who took it skeptically, watching him. He spoke as he cut the tip off his cigar.

  “You see, you assume that when I say ‘order’, I don’t mean law and order the way it was.”

  He brought the cigar to his mouth, then took a number of puffs from it as he lit it. When it was glowing evenly, he pulled it away and blew a massive cloud of smoke into the air. He looked at them, shaking his head.