Surviving Rage | Book 1

by Arellano, J. D.

  Turning into the room, he saw the young man on the bed. His face was flush, as it seemed to always be while he dealt with the pain he felt. He was aching all over, and yet his parents had refused to allow pain medications to be given to the boy, instead choosing to pray the pain away.

  It wasn’t working.

  Looking across the room, Jonathan saw the mother and father sitting in chairs next to the window, regarding him with suspicious eyes.

  Smiling, he greeted the three of them. “Mikey, Mister Miller, Missus Miller, how are we doing this evening?”

  The man stood from his chair slowly. With his eyes locked on Jonathan, he walked towards him in short measured steps. The man’s hair was cut in a mullet, which made it hard to take him serious, and his sizable gut protruded well past the belt of his jeans. He’d been asked numerous times to wear shirts with sleeves when he was in the hospital, but apparently he still chose to ignore the requests, as evidenced by the cutoff muscle shirt the man wore. He stopped in front of Jonathan, taking a deep breath as he tried to make himself taller. The effort helped very little, as Jonathan still stood a full seven inches taller than the fat man.

  “We wanna diff’ent doctor.”

  It was the last thing Jonathan expected to hear from the man, causing him to blink in surprise. “Really?”

  “Yeah, really. We wanna good doctor.”

  The young man on the bed protested. “Dad…”

  “You be quiet, boy. This daggum hospital knows we ain’t got no money, so they tryin’ ta give us one of the cheaper ones.”

  Jonathan felt his blood begin to boil. “Excuse me? Cheaper?”

  The man put his hand out, trying to calm Jonathan. “No offense, there. I’m sure you worked real hard ta git here. We’re just hoping we kin get one who knows a bit more. It’s for our boy, see? We jus’ want the best.”

  Taking a deep breath, Jonathan willed himself to stay calm. “Sir, I promise you, I am fully qualified. I graduated top of my class at Stanford…”

  “Hmmph. California.” The chunky woman with the straggly hair and loose fitting, button up plaid blouse shifted in her chair by the window, turning away from him.

  “I also scored 528 on my MCAT, the highest score possible.”

  The man remained unfazed. “What’d that other doctor score, the white one who’s taking care of the patient across the hall?”

  The man’s words brought it all into focus for Jonathan. This wasn’t about his ability. It was about his race. Perfect MCAT scores or top standing in a graduating class meant nothing to these people if the person who achieved it was black. He put his hands up, surrendering. Life was too short for this. He’d pass on the information to the other doctor.

  “Look, if you want someone else, I’ll have Doctor Gammon take over, but I’m telling you, your boy has Myeloma, which is cancer of the plasma cells. It’s why his bones hurt. It’s why his kidneys are failing. It’s why he has high protein in his urine. And it’s why he’s lost all the weight.”

  The mullet-haired man began shaking his head before Jonathan finished speaking. “See, but you already mess up ‘fore when you tol’ me ‘bout dis. You said that Mylo thing don’t let him make blood cells. I was watching the Discovery channel, and they said your body makes blood cells consta- um, consta… all the time.”

  “Sir, Myeloma is a condition that’s characterized by what your boy DOESN’T have, and that’s normal antibodies.”

  “Wazzat mean?”

  “He needs the antibodies to fight infection, and to produce red and white blood cells. In this case, it’s not what your son HAS in his system, it’s what he DOESN’T have in his system.”

  Grabbing the clipboard from the end of the bed, Jonathan drew a line through his name. “I’ll get Doctor Gammon to take over for me. When he tells you the same thing, I hope you listen and I hope you reconsider your course of treatment.”

  Stopping in the doorway, he turned back to the couple, staring at them. “No amount of praying will save your son.”

  Waking suddenly, Jonathan looked around the room in bewilderment. He picked at the rough, grey wool blanket that covered him. Sitting up, he looked around the room and saw Andrew and Lisa looking back at him.

  Lisa stood and walked towards him, looking at him worriedly. “You okay?”

  He stood up and looked at two of them.

  “I think I’ve figured out another way to approach this.”

  CHAPTER SIXTY EIGHT

  Squinting to read in the dimly lit room, Grayson Halwell heard Ricky’s voice from across the room.

  “Fuck, it’s hot in here!”

  “Keep searching.”

  Wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, Ricky looked over at him, exasperation showing on his face. His black shirt was dark from the collar down to the middle of his chest, soaked with sweat. At the desk next to him, Jerry looked equally as hot. He’d pulled his hair back in a ponytail and removed his shirt in an effort to stay cool, but it didn’t appear to be working. Sweat beaded his brow and ran down his thin frame. Halwell knew that if he got within ten feet of the guy, the smell of hard liquor would be overwhelming.

  Ricky’s voice took on a slight whining tone to it. “Can’t we just cruise the area and look for them fuckers?”

  “No. If we’re just cruising around, they could hide when they hear us. We need to narrow it down to specific properties, so we can search ‘em.”

  “We ain’t even looking at properties, though, boss.”

  “We will be, trust me. Identify the zip codes, then we can move on.”

  They’d started the day with Halwell using the public school reference that was kept in the Public Records Division at City Hall to put together a list of possible schools that started with “University C-”

  There were three University City’s and two University Center’s within 250 miles, the range Halwell had decided on for their search radius. Big Bear Lake was a great place, but anywhere further north would likely see people travel to Mammoth Mountain or Lake Tahoe. It was possible people further east in Arizona would travel to Big Bear, but he viewed it as unlikely that they would purchase a vacation home in Big Bear with the distance being that great.

  Their current job was to take the zip code of each school and find it on the map of Southern California or Western Arizona. Next, they’d draw a five-mile circle around that school and write down those zip codes as well.

  When they were done with that, they’d head upstairs, to the County Assessor’s office, where they’d use the list of zip codes they’d compiled to see if any of the properties sold in the last five years had been purchased by someone living in one of those zip codes.

  The last part would be the hardest. Big Bear home sales were cyclic, rising and falling with the country’s economy. During the housing crisis, places were sold for cheap, then sat empty for a number of years. With the improved economy, homes were being bought and sold as a matter of routine. Sometimes they were upgraded and resold for a higher profit, sometimes they were sold ‘as is’, with the seller knowing that in a booming economy, people loved the idea of having a vacation home.

  Either way, a LOT of homes had been sold over the last five years.

  “Can we at least open a window?”

  “Don’t care.”

  Ricky walked over to the row of windows along the back of the room and looked out. He laughed out loud, pointing through the dusty glass. “Ha! Look, there’s a bunch of them infected fucks out there, fighting with each other!”

  Halwell froze. Walking quickly across the room, he grabbed the other man by the arm and pulled him back, shushing him. In a low voice, he growled. “Keep quiet. We ain’t got no backup, and I don’t want to be stuck in here.”

  “Alright, sorry boss.”

  Looking out the dirty window, they watched as the mass of infected men and women attacked each other, rolling around on the ground in the open area behind the large building, kicking up dirt and pine needles as th
ey fought. There were ten of them back there, of all shapes, races, and sizes, and each of them seemed focused on one thing: killing the others.

  Several yards away, a man, woman, and small child laid on the ground, bloodied and battered, and Halwell figured something the trio had done had drawn the infected to their location. As he watched, the woman and child, each less battered than the man, whose crushed head made it clear he wasn’t going anywhere, began to stir. First the woman rolled to her stomach, shaking her head as she tried to reorient herself. When her gaze fell upon the battle happening nearby, she rose to her feet and charged headlong into the fray, arms flying wildly as she struck anything nearby.

  The child, a boy who looked to be no more than five years old and forty pounds sat up, shaking his head in a manner similar to what the woman had. The boy’s left arm hung loosely from his torso, likely dislocated, but he paid it no mind. Following the woman’s lead, he rose to his feet and ran towards the fight, his right arm coming forward in a clubbing manner as his left arm flopped around uselessly.

  Turning away from the window, Halwell said, “Let’s get back to work. Keep the windows closed for now.”

  “Awww man…” Ricky whined, looking down at his feet.

  Spinning around to face his long time friend, Halwell closed the gap between them, bringing his face close to Ricky’s. “Shut the fuck up. We’ve got a fuckin’ job to do so that we can get payback on the fuckers that hurt Kyle. Opening that window would make noise, possibly giving our position away, and let in the sounds of them fighting, which would be a distraction. The windows stay closed. You got a problem with that?”

  Ricky looked away, sufficiently cowed. “No, boss. Just hot.”

  “Me too. Let’s get done here and then we’ll move upstairs. The Assessor’s office is on the front of the building, so we might be able to open the windows there.”

  “Okay, boss.”

  Halwell glanced over at Jerry. The man quickly looked down at the map, using his finger to trace over something. Picking up his pen, he began writing numbers on the piece of paper next to him.

  Satisfied, Halwell walked back over to his desk and resumed his work.

  When they finished making their respective lists, it was nearly noon, and they were all hot, sweaty, and famished. Deciding it was time to take a break and each lunch, Halwell led them upstairs to the County Assessor’s office, hoping it would be cooler and have some airflow once they opened the windows.

  Reaching for the door, his nose told them they’d have to keep looking for somewhere halfway comfortable to eat and rest. The knob refused to turn, so he used his baton to knock out the small pane of glass closest to the doorknob, then reached inside and unlocked the door. Stepping into the room, he saw the County Assessor, an elderly man named Ernest Silverberg, sitting in the chair at his desk. The top half of his skull was missing. On the floor near his feet, a handgun rested on the hardwood floor. The room reeked of blood, urine, feces, and rotting flesh.

  “Dear God.” Halwell said, closing the door. He turned to the others. Let’s find another room to eat in, then I’ll come back and get the files we need.”

  Anxious to get back on the Sheriff’s good side, Ricky asked, “Want me to go in and open the windows real quick? That way it won’t be quite as bad when you come back?”

  Though he recognized the man’s motives, Halwell couldn’t argue with the logic. ANY airflow would make the room a hundred times more bearable. “That sounds good. Take a minute to look out and make sure there aren’t any infected out front before you open it, though, okay? And do it quietly.”

  “Sure thing, boss.” Ricky put his right arm over his mouth and nose and opened the door, rushing into the room. Moving to the window, he stared out, his right leg shaking impatiently as he fought the desire to escape the vomit-inducing stench of the room. Satisfied with what he saw, he tried to open the window with one hand but was unable to do so. Removing his arm from his mouth and nose, he pulled his shirt up to cover the lower half of his face, then used both hands to open the three windows in the room. With his job done, he spun on his heel and hastily retreated, closing the door behind him. In the hallway, he bent over, taking in deep breaths as he tried to keep from heaving the contents of his stomach onto the floor of the hallway.

  Placing his hand on the man’s back, Halwell said, “Thanks, Ricky.”

  The man nodded, still trying to regain his composure.

  “Stay with him.” Halwell told Jerry before heading down the hallway. He skipped the office next to Silverberg’s, assuming the smell might permeate into the space, and went to the following one, which was simply labeled, ‘County Clerk Support Offices.’ The door was locked, so he repeated his previous method of gaining entry, grateful for the fact that the building had chosen the style of door they had.

  The space within was large, filled with three rows of four cubicles. The windows to the room were already open, allowing the cool, fresh mountain air to flow into the space. Halwell made a quick trip down each row of cubicles, verifying each one was empty, then stepped back out into the hallway, where he motioned for the others to join him.

  Inside the room, they each took a cubicle near the windows and sat down in the accompanying office chair, relieved to have the opportunity to sit in relative comfort. With the windows open, Halwell was able to see the sun glinting off of the lake’s surface, making the valley seem serene, even though a dozen men and women had battled to the death at the rear of the building.

  Closing his eyes momentarily, he asked “Jerry, how about passing out the food and drink?”

  “Sure thing, boss.” The man stood quickly and reached into his backpack. Pulling items from within, he gave each of them a big bottle of water, a large pack of beef jerky, and two bags of chips.

  The men ate in silence, enjoying the coolness of the room as they consumed the salty foods and drank the water. They were close to finding what they’d come to look for, and Halwell was feeling confident they’d soon be knocking down doors to get their hands on the bitches that had hurt his friend.

  The sound of a metal cap being unscrewed brought him out of his reverie. Looking over, he saw Ricky with a metal flask in his hand.

  “Nope.”

  Ricky looked at him, confused. “What? Why not?”

  “Not ‘til we’re done. I need you focused.”

  Disappointed, Ricky screwed the cap back on the flask and put it back into the pocket of his black cargo pants.

  Halwell rose from his chair. “Stay here,” he ordered, walking out of the room. He made his way down the hall, checking the doors as he went. Directly across from the Assessor’s office was a janitor’s closet. The space inside was mostly empty, with the exception of a moldy mop and wheeled bucket. He pushed the two items into the corner then propped the door open. Crossing the hallway, he quickly entered the room, and without breaking stride, stepped behind Silverberg’s chair, grabbed it, and wheeled it and Silverberg out of the room, across the hall, and into the closet. He closed the door, confining the god awful smell in the small space.

  In the Assessor’s office, he grabbed the files he needed, then carried them back to where the others were. He divided the files into even stacks, handing one to each of the men.

  Three hours later, they had a list of four properties within Big Bear City limits.

  Smiling as he set the last binder aside, Halwell looked at the walls of the cubicle. The name on the outside of the small, box-like area read Maggie Redford, and the pictures pinned on the fabric lined walls showed a young, dark haired woman in her twenties who was very social. Rolling his eyes at all the ‘Instagram perfect’ poses, he was about to turn away when something caught his eye.

  Peering closer at one of the pictures, he saw Maggie with three other women, all wearing revealing clothing meant for a night out drinking and dancing. They appeared to be in an arena of sorts, with purplish lighting in the background of a high-ceilinged venue. The caption at the bottom read, “Maroon 5
October 2017.”

  Something ticked the back of his mind. ‘Maroon 5. Why does that seem important?’ He asked himself, looking out onto the lake again.

  “Alright if I drink now, boss?” Ricky asked.

  “Yes. Shut up.” Halwell closed his eyes as he pondered the significance of the band name. ‘Maroon 5 ... that was the band on the shirt they’d found. The shirt was familiar.’ Rocking in the chair, he focused on the shirt. He’d seen it before but where?

  In a flash, he stood up, grabbed the list of properties they’d compiled and stuffed it into his pocket.

  “Heading back, lock the place up when you leave.”

  Surprised, Ricky set his flask aside, turning towards where Halwell had been sitting. “We can come with…”

  Halwell was gone.

  Parking his SUV in front of the lodge, Halwell jumped out, slamming the vehicle’s door behind him as he rushed into the building. His long strides took him past the lobby and down the hallway towards Kyle’s room. When he got there, his friend was sitting in a chair by the window, looking through a Guns & Ammo magazine. He looked up in surprise as Halwell rushed into the room.

  “Hey, boss, did you find what you were looking for?”

  “Yes, now, the girl in the store, the Mexican one, describe her to me.”

  When Kyle finished describing the girl as well as he could (his focus had mostly been on the Asian woman, he confessed), Halwell stepped over to the ledge by the window and leaned against as he looked out.

  “The pot just got sweeter.”

  Down the hall, near the kitchen, Harold Ingram was in his room, looking at himself in the mirror. Pulling his belt a bit tighter, happy with the weight he’d lost, he smiled.

  ‘She’s got to respect me now,’ he said to himself, feeling confident. He walked out of the room making his way towards the kitchen, where Wanda was working. Inside the busy space, he found his wife working at one of the prep tables, peeling a massive pile of potatoes. When he walked over to where she worked, she barely looked up at him.