Surviving Rage | Book 1

by Arellano, J. D.

  Brenna and Paul stood on either side of Daniel, silently watching as the nightmare unfolded in front of them. The young girl blinked rapidly as she fought back the tears that formed in her eyes, alternating between looking at the men and looking at the floor. Paul shifted uncomfortably as he stood there, looking as if he’d failed yet again.

  Staring at Daniel, Ricky spoke to his partner. “When we get outside, keep your back to me so you can watch these fuckers. Any of them raises a weapon, let me know. We’ll leave this bitch’s brains all over the front yard.”

  Harold nodded, grimacing from the pain that radiated from his ear. “Alright.”

  Ricky stopped in front of the door and told Serafina to open it. With shaking hands, she reached out and took hold of the doorknob, turning it and opening it slowly. At the bottom of the hill, she saw the men there spraying Douglas and Janice’s house with bullets, destroying everything they could. She knew Janice was up on the hill, but Douglas had chosen to take a position in the home. She hoped he got out in time.

  The man nudged her with his knee, forcing her to move through the door. She walked through the opening slowly, her steps slow and methodical as she fought to regain her equilibrium. Ricky followed close behind her, maintaining his ironlike grip on her arm. Leaning in, he brought his mouth close to her ear again, speaking into it.

  “Nice and slow, now, girl. I know ya’ll have traps out there, so I’ma stay right behind you. Remember, don’t try anything stupid.” Looking back briefly, he told Harold to close the door behind them.

  When Serafina heard the door close, it was as if her entire life had been cut off from her. Everything she loved and cared about - Daniel, the girls, their cats, even Paul - was now taken from her as she was taken from them. Her heart ached in her chest, but her will came back to her as her head began to clear. ‘Stay strong, Sera,’ she said to herself as she thought about the knife she had stashed in the small pocket at the back of her top. It would take her less than three seconds to take it out and flip the blade open. ‘Not yet,’ she told herself as she walked through the yard on legs that weren’t as wobbly as she made them seem. ‘An opportunity will come, and when it does, you’ll take it. You are NOT giving up.’

  Nearing the bottom of the hill, she finally saw the Sheriff up close. God, he looked like a creep, the type of guy whose eyes would linger too long on any woman, whether they were aware of his gaze or not. He was big, taller than Daniel by a few inches, and much heavier. His beady green eyes stared hungrily at her as they moved up and down her body, filling her with nausea.

  Smiling broadly, he nodded. “Great job, guys! Great fucking job!” Ricky and Harold stopped in front of the man, smiling, though Harold’s smile was still closer to a grimace as he tried to put the aching that was coming from his mangled ear out of his mind.

  Looking at Serafina, he put his hand out. “Tell you what. Harold, you look like shit. Put the girl in my SUV, then take a break. Try to get your shit together.

  “Ricky, grab a rifle and come with us. We’re going to take care of something real quick.”

  The two men nodded, and Ricky passed Serafina to the Sheriff like a piece of luggage. The Sheriff’s hand squeezed her arm hard, digging into the muscle as he yanked her towards him. Pressing his big revolver against her head, he said, “Ready, guys?”

  The four men replied they were and followed the Sheriff as he marched Serafina back up the hill towards the house. Looking through bullet riddled plywood that covered the windows of the house, Daniel, Ashley, Paul, and Brenna watched as they approached.

  Fifty yards from the home, the Sheriff stopped, pulling Serafina closer to him, forcing her rear to rest against his crotch. It was all she could do to keep from reaching back and grabbing the knife.

  The Sheriff yelled at Serafina’s family. “I’m keeping her right here in front of me. If I see a gun, you know what I’ll do.”

  The four men brought up rifles and began spraying the front of the house, forcing the family to take cover. Bullets chewed up the front of the house, sending wood chips flying as the metal dug into the cabin’s exterior. After a minute, two of the men stopped shooting and reached into a bag the lean biker looking guy had carried up the hill with them. Each man removed a Molotov cocktail, lit the end, and hurled it at the house. They followed those with another pair of bottles, creating four separate fires on the structure.

  The Sheriff grinned, looking satisfied. “Nice work, boys. Let’s head back down. Jerry, watch our backs.”

  They traced their way back down the slope, arriving at the vehicles in minutes. The two bikers walked to the truck and got in. The Sheriff passed Serafina back to Ricky and told him to take her and go with the men in the truck. He motioned for the other man to follow him and went to the SUV, where the black man sat with Isabella. Starting the engine, he spun the wheel, turning the vehicle around. The lean biker followed his lead, turning the truck around so it could fall in behind the Sheriff’s vehicle.

  As they drove to the end of the block, Serafina looked up at the Alvarado family cabin. The flames were spreading rapidly across the structure’s wooden exterior.

  The truck turned, heading down the hill, taking her away from everything she loved.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY EIGHT

  Mount Weather Emergency Operations Center, Virginia

  Staring out the window, President Martinez watched as a lone Cardinal flew down from the large tree that shaded her back porch and landed on the bird feeder. The bird turned its head in each direction, checking for predators, before leaning forward and snagging some of the seed she’d poured into the feeder that morning. Smiling to herself, she wondered what the bird thought of the notable reduction in the number of humans. Was it better or worse for birds? Most likely it was better. Sure, there were fewer discarded pieces of edible trash, but there was also less pollution, air traffic, noise, hunters, or anything else humans brought with them.

  Sitting down in a chair near the window, she reached over and picked up the file she’d been reviewing for the umpteenth time. Flipping it open, she reviewed the brief Doctor Chang’s team provided yet again, hoping, as she had each time before, that she’d find something others had missed.

  ‘Who are you kidding, Jess? Those doctors are geniuses. Your degrees were in Poli Sci and Criminal Justice.’

  Sighing, she set the file aside and continued looking out the window, focusing on a small hill dotted with trees. Beyond the hill, a mile and a half to the southwest, a tent city had formed outside the base’s main gate, where people waited, hoping to be let in. Standing firm on maintaining the quarantine had been a tough but necessary position, but she hadn’t let the harshness of their shared reality chill the compassion in her heart.

  When people showed signs of malnourishment, she insisted that they establish a food and water ‘drop zone’ where supplies could be handed out by men in protective suits, all the while protected by soldiers with lethal and non-lethal weapons.

  When a few died from random violence that stemmed from masses of people being grouped together in cramped quarters for long periods of time, she’d insisted overwatches be established so that those in the city could be provided at least some level of protection. It was far from perfect, but it was something.

  But when the infection ran through the encampment, there was little that could be done. Violence had consumed the area outside the gate, with scores of people dying horrible, bloody deaths before security forces in watchtowers within the base’s perimeter shot and killed the infected and anyone who’d been attacked by them. It had been a brutal, terrible day, and she’d wanted to turn away from the violence she saw on the security cameras, but she’d made herself sit through it all until the last body stopped twitching.

  As the President, this was her challenge.

  Staying within the safety and security of the base had the potential to make a person believe none of it was real, or that things weren’t as bad as reported. Seeing it happen brought back the reali
ty of the situation.

  She’d seen it in D.C., and now she’d seen it here.

  After the killing stopped, the tent city had slowly rebuilt itself, using hoses and chemical cleaning compounds provided by the base to scrub the area before setting up their makeshift tents. Shortly after, the occupants formed their own mini-government within days and quickly established a security team, comprised of armed men and women. In addition to keeping an eye out for crime within their camp, they also enforced a strict ‘No Entry’ policy for anyone showing the slightest sign of an illness. They’d expelled a large number of people from the camp and turned away countless others, ignoring their pleas and on occasion firing warning shots to get them moving. So far, none of those wanting to enter the camp had been shot, but from what she’d been told, more and more were being turned away, and she wondered if they were being turned away because they showed signs of sickness or because the people in the camp simply didn’t want to share their meager supplies.

  Within the base’s protective barriers, morale was decreasing rapidly. While there was still food to eat, fresh fruits and vegetables had become a thing of the past. Water was still available, but showers were only authorized on Tuesdays and Thursday, and only available at the base gyms, where three minute time limits were strictly enforced. Clothes washing was limited to undergarments, and accomplished with three gallon jugs of non-potable water, which were issued on Saturdays.

  Irrigation throughout the base was limited to use on the small gardens that were being planted in the fields beyond the main Dining Facility, and the grass fields that once appeared green and lush were slowly turning brown and dry.

  With these restrictions in place, the majority of people were choosing to stay inside and avoid physical activity, unmotivated by the thought of running and playing on the dried fields and not wanting to subject themselves or their family members to the smell of dried sweat on themselves or their clothes.

  Without sports, television, or the internet to fill their days, people became restless. The President had ordered the opening of the library to give everyone the option of reading, but even the most avid readers were going stir crazy.

  In an effort to stay busy, small walking groups took shape. Together they walked and talked, making their way around the eastern portion of the base as they traveled up and down the streets within the base housing area and along the walking trails that traversed the small forest at the edge of the base.

  The place they stayed away from was the northwestern portion of the base.

  The quarantine area.

  Blood testing had identified seven individuals who had never been vaccinated and were thus lacking the ‘Naturally Occurring Neomycin’, making them highly susceptible to the Rage virus.

  Using the blood samples taken from the individuals, Doctor Chang and his team tested the sample’s reaction to the synthesized version of Doctor Roberts's drug. The results were definitive; their theory was proven to be correct.

  The unvaccinated people were immediately removed from the base population and relocated to the long, brick building that had been used for the original quarantines they’d done for newcomers during the first few days. Loved ones of the unvaccinated - parents, siblings, significant others - had accompanied them in their relocation, bringing the building’s occupancy to thirteen.

  The building was in a constant state of lockdown, guarded by men outside with automatic weapons. For the residents, the only places outside of the building’s confines they were allowed to enjoy were the roof and a small, 40-square foot fenced-in area at the front of the building. Food and water were delivered three times daily, left in the fenced-in area once the area was clear of the building’s residents.

  ‘That’s not even the worst of it,’ she thought, looking down at her hands, which were clasped together, resting in her lap.

  Though the residents of the building weren’t infected, the residents of Mount Weather Emergency Operations Center Facility treated them as if they were, shunning not only them, but that entire section of the base.

  Tests performed by Chang’s team proved that the mutated form of the virus, the one which now infected people in minutes, not 7 - 10 days, reacted with all kinds of blood, not just that of the unvaccinated, but it didn’t matter to the population of the base.

  The unvaccinated had been the original incubators of the virus.

  Without them, it was very possible that the outbreak might not have occurred..

  Eventually, word had gotten out that the virus had been caused by the anti-vaxxers, and people in building 28 were in some ways viewed as responsible. In fact, many people viewed them as a walking reminder of how the Rage Virus began, which was, at the very least, partially unfair.

  Would they ever be able to return to normal lives?

  Would anyone?

  “More coffee, Madam President?”

  Distracted from her thoughts, the President looked up towards the sound of the voice. It was Dwayne, one of the Navy Culinary Specialists assigned to her and her family. Technically, the appropriate way to address the young man was ‘Culinary Specialist Second Class Dwayne Hardemon’, or simply ‘Petty Officer Hardemon’, but the President found the title and name combination to be both too cumbersome and too formal.

  “No thank you, Dwayne. I’ve had like five cups already, and I don’t even know why. It’s not like I can sleep.”

  The young man’s face showed compassion as he looked at her. “Would you like me to get one of the Corpsmen to come see you? Maybe they can provide you something to help you sleep.”

  “Thank you Dwayne, but no. I can’t. Anything could happen at any time, and I can’t be too drugged out to respond.”

  The young black man shook his head. “That sounds rough, Madam President. Can’t the VP or one of the Secretaries cover for you?”

  The President shook her head. “I’m sure they’d do an exceptional job in my place, but this is my burden to bear. I signed up for it, knowing it would be tough.”

  “Not this tough.”

  President Martinez looked back outside as she leaned back in her chair, shaking her head.

  “No, not this tough.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTY NINE

  “Are you okay, Momma?”

  Wincing as she squatted down next to the girl, Shelly couldn’t help but let the pain show on her face.

  “I’m fine, Gracie, just tired.”

  Her daughter reached over and cupped the side of her face gently, looking into her eyes with boundless love. Shelly’s heart melted under the girl’s gaze, reminding her why she had to keep going. ‘Anything for you, Grace,’ she thought, forcing a smile.

  In truth, everything hurt, courtesy of Luke and his insatiable demands. He’d been even rougher than usual that morning, slapping her multiple times while he forced her through one sex act after another. She was sore everywhere, and honestly wondered if the man had done permanent damage.

  “What do you want to play?” She asked, trying to change the subject.

  “Dolls?” Grace asked with a big smile on her face as her mind quickly shifted away from what they’d been focused on.

  It was like flipping a switch when she decided to focus on something that made her happy. It was when she was upset and didn’t want to think about something else that she was a real challenge. She’d vacillate between being inconsolable, angry, temperamental, and borderline aggressive, unwilling to calm down, unwilling to listen to reason. Those were the storms that were hardest to endure.

  The storms Shelly couldn’t risk letting occur in the presence of the men who held them captive.

  “Sure, baby.”

  The girl rolled over and crawled towards her bed on her short, stocky legs, reaching underneath to pull out the three dolls they’d found in some of the luggage left behind by guests who’d never returned. She crawled back over with a pair of dolls clenched in her stubby fingers, all the while smiling, her wide set, upwards-tilting eyes fixated on her mother.


  “Okay,” she said, crossing her legs with the help of her hands, “this one’s yours. It’s the mommy.” She passed a blonde haired doll to Shelly. “This one is mine. See, looks like me!” Grace held the dark haired, long limbed girl doll up next to her head, smiling broadly.

  Blinking back tears, Shelly smiled. “Just like you, Grace. Only not as pretty.”

  Grace smiled and nodded happily.

  “Okay, you put your doll down there. My doll’s going to get you some tea, some bandaids, and some ice for your boo boo.” The girl bounced her doll back and forth across the carpet, pretending to bring things for the ‘momma’ doll. Shelly said ‘thank you’ as each imaginary item was brought to her doll, all the while struggling to keep it together. The last thing she wanted to do was let Grace see her pain. That would surely set her off.

  “Feeling better, Mommy?”

  “Yes, Gracie.”

  “I meant the doll, Momma!”

  “Oh, okay.” Shelly made her voice slightly higher. “Yes, thank you dear.”

  “I’m so glad to hear that!” Grace leaned her doll in so that its mouth was touching the top of the blonde doll’s head. “MmmWah!” She said, making a kissing sound.

  “Thank you, sweetie. Where’s the other doll?” Shelly asked, looking around for the male action figure doll they’d found.

  “He’s a bad man. He doesn’t get to play.”

  Shelly leaned forward a bit more, looking towards the edge of the bed. One of the action figure’s arms lay discarded on the carpet near the nightstand. Further back, the doll’s head had similarly been tossed aside as well. The body was nowhere to be seen.

  As Shelly opened her mouth to ask the girl about it, she heard the main doors of the lodge open from down the hall, then a loud, triumphant yell.