Surviving Rage | Book 1

by Arellano, J. D.

  “Fifteen minutes.”

  “Dammit. Here, J.J., take these.” He passed a stack of eight files to the SEAL, explaining what he needed. With the limited time they had, they’d focus on taking snapshots of the cover page, health history, and the blood analysis page. Reed knocked out the other five files quickly, knowing where the pages were, then set them aside.

  “Ten minutes.”

  He pressed a button on Doctor Roberts laptop, hoping to bring it to life, but it didn’t respond. Pressing the power button, he found the laptop to be dead, its power having drained sometime before their arrival. He could connect the power bank to the machine, but it would likely be password protected and he didn’t have the time or ability to break in. He pulled off his pack and forced the laptop in, rearranging items to make it fit. Opening the top drawer of the desk, he found a pair of thumb drives, which he pocketed quickly.

  “Five minutes. And I’m done here, Doc.”

  Looking around, Reed sighed. Hopefully he, Lisa, and Andrew would be able to make sense of what he’d captured. He took a picture of the dry erase board, the stacks of files on the table, and the state of the desk. He had no idea if it would mean anything, but he’d have it just in case.

  “Alright, J.J., I don’t think we can get anything else from here. Let’s head out.”

  J.J. nodded at Jonathan. “Roger.” He keyed his mic. “Chili, Skee, we’re done here. Coming out.”

  Two mic keyings answered him, indicating that they’d heard and understood. J.J. led Jonathan back out into the hallway, where they stood and waited for Skee and Chili to rejoin them. When Serrano looked at Doctor Reed, he raised his eyebrows questioningly. Jonathan nodded, giving him a thumbs up.

  Serrano made a chopping motion with his finger, pointing down the hallway in the direction they’d entered. Skee again took the lead, followed by J.J., then Reed, with Serrano bringing up the rear.

  As the group neared the intersection of the hallways, they heard a slight scratching sound coming from a door on the left, just past the hallway that intersected theirs. Skee froze, causing the others to do so as well. The four of them listened intently, waiting to see if it would repeat itself.

  The lightest, faintest skreee sound came from the space beyond the door, so soft that it seemed almost as if it were their imagination. Skee turned and looked back at Serrano, pointing towards it. Should I check?

  Serrano shook his head, knowing the big guy was quiet for his size, but not as quiet as J.J. could be. His gaze landed on the young black man, who nodded, grabbing his rifle and holding it tight against his chest to keep it from slapping against his Kevlar vest as he walked. Creeping forward, his footfalls were silent on the tiled space as he closed the distance, stopping when he was within two feet of the door. He turned his head, listening intently, waiting for the sound to repeat. He slid forward quietly, bringing his ear closer to the door. Still he heard nothing. He reached for the doorknob slowly, bringing his hand within centimeters of the polished brass handle.

  The door exploded outward, the wood around the knob splintering as it gave way. Glass flew into the hallway, spraying the trio that waited behind J.J. as he was knocked backward, falling to the ground, smacking his head hard against the tiled surface.

  Five infected poured out of the small space, spitting and snarling, blood and slobber dripping down their chins as they locked their eyes on the young man in front of them.

  Skee broke to his left bringing his rifle to bear as Serrano propelled Reed forward, towards the stairwell. Skee’s rifle barked once, then again, putting rounds into the heads of two of the infected, making them crumple to the ground instantly.

  The force that threw J.J. backwards caused his helmeted head to bounce off the tile, causing his brain to collide against the inside of his skull, giving him a concussion that blurred his vision and clouded his judgement, leaving him in a fog. Through the fog he saw the blurred shapes of the infected coming at him, their snarls and grunts seeming far away even though the shapes were nearly upon him.

  He knew he had to fight to stay alive.

  Bringing his rifle forward, he struggled to get to one knee as he pulled the trigger and held it tightly, releasing a flurry of rounds towards the shapes that approached.

  The first round that struck the wall-mounted fire extinguisher didn’t penetrate it.

  The second one did.

  A deafening explosion shook the hallway, sending Serrano and Reed to the floor, where they landed on their stomachs. Metal shrapnel flew outward, shredding the infected, sending their blood flying in a wide spray that coated the far wall. A solid chunk of metal whistled as it flew through the air, end over end, before embedding itself in the space between J.J.’s eyebrows, killing him instantly.

  At twenty-two years old, Petty Officer Second Class Jadaveon Jefferson, of Pascagoula, Mississippi, died on the fifth floor of the Biomedical Sciences Research Building at UCLA, two thousand miles from his home, inside the borders of the country he’d sworn to protect.

  Skee was thrown sideways by the blast, flying backwards, tumbling along the tiled floor until he collided with the far wall. As he struggled to shake the cobwebs from his head, he heard more grunting, screaming, and snarling closing in as more infected ran towards the sound that had alerted them to the presence of others.

  Serrano was the first to rise, making it to his feet, looking down the hallway towards Skee and J.J. The metal protruding from the young black man’s face was all he needed to see to know he’d failed again, having lost another member of his team. Looking to Skee, he saw the man trying to rise from his position on the floor, pushing himself up slowly and with what appeared to be a lot of pain.

  A single infected person, a young blonde woman in black torn jeans and a white halter top that was covered in blood, came flying around the corner, headed straight for Skee who had still barely made it to his hands and knees. Reaching for his rifle, Serrano was stunned to find that it wasn’t there. Looking down, he saw it on the floor, near Reed, who was groaning and starting to stir. There was no way he’d reach it in time to save Skee.

  A black and brown blur shot by him, slamming into the woman, knocking her backwards. The German Shepherd ripped and tore at her, its jaws snapping shut on her neck, tearing away chunks of flesh as she flailed wildly, trying to get the beast off of her. Within seconds, she went still, her lifeblood flowing out of her.

  “Thank you, girl.” Skee was on one knee, holding his side as he stared at the dog.

  “Can you move, Skee?” Serrano asked, retreating back to grab his gun, throwing it over his shoulder and reaching down to put an arm under Doctor Reed’s armpit, lifting him to a standing position.

  “I’ll be fine. Just a little pain in my side.” The dog came to him, looking up at him with wide eyes. It whimpered a bit, licking the man’s side. Turning and looking back down the hall in the direction the woman had come from, the dog let out a low growl. Grunting, he pushed himself to his feet. “Sounds like we’ve gotta move.”

  “Yes. Now. Let’s go.” Serrano pulled Reed forward, pointing to the handrail for him to hold as they descended the stairs quickly, hearing the sounds of feet slapping against the tiled floor as the infected rushed towards them. Skee followed closely, still keeping his left hand on his side as he held the railing with his right hand. The dog stayed at his side, looking up occasionally, whining as she saw the man’s pain.

  The trio and the dog rushed downward, floor by floor, no longer concerned with stealth. Reed had recovered and was able to manage on his own, allowing Serrano to focus better on looking out for their safety. On the second floor they heard the sounds of rapidly approaching infected people rushing down the hallway in the dark, and one glance down the hall showed them to be within thirty yards of the stairwell.

  “Fuck it.” Serrano said, pulling the pin from a fragmentation grenade and throwing it towards the rushing mass. He pushed the team faster, wanting to put distance between them and the impending explosion,
and they barely made it to the landing before the grenade detonated, rocking the building yet again and throwing them to the far side of the stairwell. Ten steps later they were on the ground floor, rushing down the hallway towards the main entrance. Serrano brought his rifle to his shoulder as he hurried down the hallway, the way ahead illuminated by his headlamp as he kept his eye on the sights of his weapon. When they reached the main stairwell at the center of the building, they heard more screams of infected closing in on their position. He pushed through the left set of double doors with his shoulder, slamming them open as he rushed through, looking left and right for danger.

  Dozens of infected rushed towards them from the open grass area to their left, screaming with rage as they ran, arms and legs pumping as their feet pounded the ground.

  “Double time!!” Serrano shouted, turning right and accelerating. Doctor Reed kept pace with him, his eyes wide with fear as he ran. Skee was only a few steps behind, with the dog running at his side, panting as its legs churned. They rushed back towards Hilgard Avenue, barely breaking stride as they swung onto the street, utilizing the center of the road for maximum speed. Within seconds, they were at Manning Avenue, where they turned left, keeping the press on as they ran at full speed.

  Glancing over, Serrano saw Reed beginning to show signs that he was getting tired. He was untrained in running with heavy gear or in oppressive heat, let alone both at the same time. Though he was still concerned about the infected that chased them, he slowed the pace a bit, preferring continued forward motion over needing to stop.

  Somewhere behind them, the infected howled, still rushing after their prey. Serrano heard the sounds of them climbing over cars, the metal bodies of the vehicles clanging with each step and crawl.

  They bypassed Le Conte Avenue, not wanting to head back towards the condominium where the team lost Spider and Dash, and where large numbers of infected likely waited. They’d continue down Manning Avenue all the way to Rochester, then break left and continue on until they reached Thayer again.

  He looked at his watch.

  4:25 p.m.

  Just over an hour until extraction, and three and a half miles to go. It sounded simple, but he knew it would be anything but.

  Reed felt his heart hammering in his chest as he ran, both from fear and from the incredible exertion he was putting forth. His lungs burned as he struggled to take in oxygen, the acrid, smoke-filled air entering his throat like hot ash, drying it instantly. He yearned for a long, cool drink of water, something that would take away the dryness and let him spit out some of the soot that he felt lining his mouth and throat.

  Jonathan had no misconceptions about their situation, though. He could hear the infected back behind them, and he knew stopping would allow the overwhelming size of the group to catch them and kill them.

  So he continued, his arms and legs flailing as his running form got worse and worse, causing him to expend even more energy, which caused his form to get worse.

  ‘You need to create separation,’ Serrano thought to himself as he watched fatigue take over the tall, lean Doctor. Ahead he saw a small intersection, and in it a large moving truck, which had crashed into a minivan, knocking it on its side. ‘Perfect.’ The truck and the van had effectively blocked the left side of the road, leaving only the right side of the street open.

  “Skee, take the Doc and keep moving!” He shouted, pulling up short.

  “What? You sure?” The big man was looking a bit pale now, and still holding his side.

  “Yes. I’m going to block the way ahead here and give us some space so we can slow down a bit. Keep going and I’ll catch up in a bit.”

  Grimacing in pain, Skee nodded, smacking Reed on the back. “Let’s go, Doc. Double time.” He looked back at Serrano. “Be careful, Chief.”

  “Will do. We’ll take a look at your side when we get a chance to stop.”

  “I’ll be fine. Just catch up with us.”

  Serrano nodded, turning and looking back up Manning Avenue. A quarter mile away, the forms rushed towards them, running wildly, dashing around and climbing over cars as they did. Some fell, colliding with the pavement before being trampled by the others, obstacles in the way of their objective.

  Serrano rushed to the curb, lifting an access cover. Inside the pipe read, “CNG.”

  ‘This will do it.’ He thought, reaching for his belt.

  With fatigue taking over, Jonathan’s feet were barely leaving the ground as he shuffled along, performing a poor imitation of running. When his left foot slipped on a discarded can, he came down awkwardly on his right leg. He immediately felt pain shoot up his leg, emanating from his right knee. It was the same knee he’d injured during a game when he’d played basketball at Stanford, one that had required surgery to repair a torn ACL, and one that continued to remind of its less than whole status. “I need to walk a bit.” Reed spit out, letting his legs slow underneath him.

  “Alright, but only for thirty seconds. Catch your breath and we run again.”

  Putting his hands on his head to aid his breathing, Jonathan slowed to a walk, closing his eyes momentarily. His head still rang from the explosion in the Research Building, making him feel like his brain was throbbing inside his skull. Glancing over at Skee, he saw the man’s face was a mask of pain. The dog was still walking by his side, looking up at him with concerned eyes.

  “You okay, Skee?”

  “Yeah. Just some pain in my side from the explosion.”

  Reed slowed more, coming to a stop in the middle of the street. He pulled out his canteen, taking a quick sip. “Why don’t you let me check it out?”

  “No time. Come on, time to run again.”

  “It’ll just take a second.”

  Skee looked at him, determination showing on his face. “No time, but hey,” he pulled his canteen from his belt, holding it out. “Can you cup your hands? Need to give the dog some water, but it hurts to bend.”

  “Sure.” He did as asked, holding his hands tightly together while Skee poured water into them. He kneeled and extended his hands towards the dog, who immediately lapped it up. When the water was gone, he stood and let Skee fill them again, then gave the dog some more. Skee took a quick swig, then reattached his canteen on his belt. “Alright, gotta move. Need to be in the L. Z. in forty-five minutes.”

  “Alright. Still think you should let me look at your side.”

  “When we get there. Let’s go.”

  Crouched behind the moving truck, Serrano watched as the horde of infected ran towards him, their faces contorted with rage as they fought against each other, trying to get to him first. “Come on, you fuckers,” he muttered, his heart pounding in his chest as they closed in on his position. If this didn’t work, his chance of escape was low. Very low.

  In his hand he held a long piece of synthetic line, the other end of which was tied to a series of grenades, which were piled around the gas line in the access box on the corner of the street. He’d have to time his pull perfectly, and hope that the truck would provide enough protection to shield him from the resulting blast.

  The infected ran with inhuman endurance, going full speed without pause as they charged down the street. There were four out in front, leading the pack with superior speed, but he was concerned that if the blast occurred when the four of them were abreast the access box, the others might not be caught in it. Chances were small that they’d survive even so, but he decided to play it safe and try to time it for when the four were just past the box.

  He used his laser range finder to identify the spot in the road that marked when he’d pull the pin. As the four rushed past it, he leaned sideways to watch the rest of the mob, feeling his pulse quickening in anticipation. When the remaining mass reached the point, he yanked on the cord, feeling the tension at the far end increase then suddenly give way. He dropped the cord and ran, pushing himself as hard as he could, trying to get as much distance as possible between himself and the eminent blast.

  Serrano w
as just over sixty yards from the truck and eighty yards from the access box when the first grenade exploded, fracturing the pipe. The second, third, and fourth detonated a split second later, igniting the gas vapors. Flame traveled down the length of the pipe, expanding within it confines until the pressure was released in a massive, earth-shaking explosion that sent chunks of concrete and asphalt two hundred feet in the air. Windows of homes within five hundred yards were shattered instantly, their glass blowing inwards, spraying the insides of the homes. The bodies of the infected who were within fifty feet were vaporized instantly. Others were torn apart by the force of the concussive energy wave that swept through them. The minivan and moving truck were both thrown sideways, tumbling over and over. The moving van crashed into the front of the house on the opposite corner, coming to rest in what was once the living room, while the minivan collided with a parked car, knocking the car sideways before the van landed atop the vehicle.

  Running at his top speed, Serrano felt himself lifted off of the ground as if by a massive invisible hand. ‘Oh shit!!’ He thought as he found himself suddenly airborne. Ducking his head in a feeble attempt to protect himself, his body crashed through a hedge, bounced on the roof of a car, and tumbled across a lawn before coming to rest in a rose garden. Small bits of asphalt and concrete rained over his body, rolling off of him and gathering around his prone body.

  He lay for several long minutes, wincing in pain. Everything, literally everything, from his feet to his head, hurt. His ribs, arms, legs, and shoulders felt bruised from the multitude of impacts, while all of that and more felt the stabbing pain of rose thorns embedded in his skin. However, nothing felt broken, luckily.