Daniel smiled half-heartedly, trying not to show the amount of pain he was in.
Turning his head away, he looked at where the knife had been buried in his shoulder. There were thick bandages covering the wound. Shifting slightly, he realized bandages were wrapped around his midsection as well. Someone had patched him up.
Feeling aches and pains throughout his body, he looked at the ceiling. “Getting old sucks.”
Brenna chuckled softly. “I know I tease you, but you’re actually not that old.”
“Jeez, thanks. How long have I been out?” He asked, slowly bringing a hand up to rub the sleep from his eyes.
“Just over twelve hours. We moved you down to the lobby so you could be with the rest of us while Logan worked on fixing everyone’s injuries.”
“Logan?”
Brenna nodded, pointing across the room at a white man in his late twenties, possibly early thirties. The man was fit and muscular, and moved with the smooth, surefooted ease of a trained soldier. “I think they said he’s a Combat Medic or something.”
“Sera?” He asked, his heart suddenly racing in his chest. If anything happened to her…
“I’m here, baby.” Serafina stepped around from behind the couch, coming over and squatting down in front of him. Her left hand was heavily wrapped and braced with multiple splints.
“Your hand…”
Holding up the bandage, she nodded. “Yeah, couple of broken bones.” Turning back to him, she smiled. “But you should see the other guy.”
Over the next hour, Daniel was updated on the health of the family. Brenna had escaped without injury, having stayed away from the fray, firing arrows from concealed positions on the hill.
Ashley was in overall good health, but had a bruised jaw and a knot on the back of her head.
Paul was in worse shape, having had his shoulder dislocated by the Sheriff. After having a shot of whiskey, Paul had closed his eyes and tried to relax while Logan put it back in place. It still hurt the young man, and while he’d be limited in its use for some time, he was likely to make a full recovery from the injury.
Apparently, their timing couldn’t have been better, having coincided with the internal fighting between the black man, his wife, and the man named Ricky, who was later killed by Logan.
Logan had also helped Janice, Douglas, and Brenna take out the men guarding the perimeter of the building.
Which brought him to the woman named Shelly.
“I believe I owe you a tremendous amount of gratitude.”
The woman smiled slightly, shaking her head. “It was nothing. I wanted to kill that bastard anyway.”
“True, but your timing…”
”Wouldn’t have been possible without you and your family’s assault on this place. Grace and I might have escaped temporarily, but eventually we’d have been caught. As a matter of fact,” she motioned towards the large group of people in the lobby. In addition to his family, Douglas and Janice, and Logan, there were another twenty people, all looking worn down and tired, but who were talking comfortably amongst themselves. “We all would have been stuck here, working and being routinely abused until we died if it wasn’t for you.
“It’s you all that should be thanked.” Glancing at the others again, she saw them nodding in agreement. Tears formed in her eyes as the woman looked at Daniel and his family. “We all thank you. From the bottom of our hearts.”
Stepping back, Shelly brought her hands in front of her and began clapping. One by one, the men and women of the lodge stood from their chairs, joining in on the applause.
In the middle of the crowd, Isabella beamed at Daniel, applauding as well. Next to her, Grace watched her closely, mimicking her actions with joy.
Smiling and slightly embarrassed, Daniel looked over at Serafina. “Honey?”
“Yeah?”
“Can I have some scotch?”
Daniel clinked his glass with Logan, enjoying his second glass of scotch as he sat on the barstool, resting against the bar. He turned and touched the glass against Serafina’s, then took a small sip. The alcohol was helping, but literally everything still hurt.
“Okay,” he started, looking at the man across from him, who stood behind the bar, admiring the bottle of scotch they’d taken from the Sheriff’s room, “number one, stop calling me, ‘Sir.’”
Logan grinned. “But you’re one of those officer-types. You know, paper pushers.” He sipped his scotch, hiding his smile.
“Do I look like a fucking paper pusher?”
Logan put his hands up. “Okay, okay. No more ‘Sir’. So what then, Dan, or Daniel?”
“Either one is fine.”
“You got it.” Logan paused, then turned his head quizzically. “Hold on a second.” Moving around from behind the bar, he crossed the lobby to the front desk area. Behind the desk, he reached down and began working on something underneath the counter. After a few seconds, the sound of a radio came over the speakers mounted behind the desk.
“ -anciso, Oklahoma City, Indianapolis, and Boston. Citizens are advised to proceed to the protective zones immediately. All entrants will be subject to a four day quarantine in the outer tent city, during which time they will be provided protection, food, water, and temporary shelter. After required quarantine, entrants will be allowed into the city and provided with more permanent accommodations…”
‘Same message,’ Daniel thought, shaking his head. He’d been hoping there’d be some kind of update.
“This is the Emergency Broadcast System with an urgent announcement. If you or someone you know is immune to the Rage Virus, please make your way to one of the protective zones immediately. Your help is needed as soon as possible. Protective zones had been set up in San Francisco, Oklahoma City, Indianapolis, and Boston. Citizens are advised to proceed to the protective zones immediately. The government will not be working to secure other cities until a much later date. All entrants will be subject to a four day quarantine in the outer tent city, during which time they will be provided protection, food, water, and temporary shelter. After required quarantine, entrants will be allowed into the city and provided with more permanent accommodations.”
“What the…” Daniel started, before going silent and listening to the message again. Hearing the message again, it confirmed what he thought he’d heard the first time. His eyes met Logan’s then traveled across the room to where Isabella and Grace sat on the floor, playing together.
Turning to Serafina, he saw understanding in her eyes as well.
Confused by the looks exchanged between the adults, Ashley and Brenna came over, confusion showing on their faces. “What does it mean, Dad?”
“It means we’re not done yet.”
END OF BOOK ONE
EPILOGUE
EPILOGUE
“You sure we can’t convince you to at least wait a few days?”
Grimacing as he lifted his backpack into the Jeep, Daniel looked back at Douglas and shook his head. “Time’s the one thing we don’t have. People are dying out there, and Isabella might hold the cure. Every day we wait, more people die.”
“True, but your shoulder - ”
“Will heal in time. While it does, we’ll be making progress.” In truth, the wound still hurt, a deep, dull ache that throbbed constantly, never letting him forget, even momentarily, how badly his shoulder had been damaged. It was unlikely he’d ever have full strength in it again barring surgery, something that seemed highly unlikely in the new world they fought to survive in.
But that didn’t change what needed to be done.
Daniel used his hand to pull the shirt away from his shoulder, admiring the work done by the medic. “Logan did a great job stitching it up, and he’ll be with us the whole way.”
Standing next to her husband, Janice nodded briefly, then shook her head. “I was glad to hear that, but I’ll admit that I’d thought of him as more of a loner.”
Walking up to where they stood next to the Jeep, Serafina pass
ed her backpack to Daniel, still favoring her injured hand. “Oh, I think he believes he is, but deep down inside, he needs to be part of something bigger than himself. I think he’s had a rough life and believes being alone is the best thing for him, but eventually he’ll realize he needs others.”
Ashley, Brenna, and Isabella came over, each of them clutching an overstuffed backpack. It contained their personal toiletries and all the clothes they’d wear over the next few days or possibly weeks that it took them to reach San Francisco.
Daniel and Serafina had discussed the journey with Logan, and all three agreed that it was unlikely the roads would be usable for the entire trip. At some point, they’d have to set out on foot, and when they did, things would be left behind. Anything they weren’t willing to ditch was to remain in the cabin until they returned.
Ashley opened the gate for the Jeep and set her backpack on top of the food and water that had already been packed.
“Did you pack our guns?” She asked, without looking closely at what was in the Jeep.
Daniel cocked his head to the side, regarding her.
Looking back inside, she saw the rifles mounted to the inside of the roof. “Oh,” she added, looking away.
Daniel grinned. Teenagers. “Pistols are under yours and Brenna’s seats.”
“Cool,” Brenna said, setting her backpack inside the Jeep before reaching out for Isabella’s. “Here, Izzie.” The girl passed it to her, smiling shyly. She’d slowly been coming out of her shell, and was actually beginning to banter with the other girls from time to time. Daniel and Serafina hoped that, given time, the girl would be able to recover from what she’d been through so far and someday thrive. After everything she’d had to deal with, she’d still managed to maintain a sweet demeanor, and her kindness, manners, and polite nature made her nice to be around.
Looking over at the other vehicle - Derek’s truck - he nodded at Logan. The man nodded back, raising his hand and giving a thumbs up. On the other side of the truck, Paul gave a thumbs up as well, albeit with a little less enthusiasm. He hadn’t been a fan of riding in a different vehicle, but Izzie insisted on staying with the girls, and Daniel and Serafina needed to work together to drive the Jeep. The young man’s arm was in a sling, which he’d need to wear for the next week or so as the muscles and tendons had a chance to repair themselves.
Turning back to Douglas, Daniel stuck out his hand. “Thank you for everything. Seriously. We would not have survived this without you.”
Douglas grinned, taking Daniel’s hand and pumping it up and down.
“Right is right, Daniel. If we do the right thing, it’s a whole lot easier to live with ourselves.”
“Sage advice, my friend, sage advice.” Daniel released his hand, stepped over, and gave Janice an impromptu hug. Serafina did the same with each of them, before stepping back to look at the man and his wife.
Daniel opened the passenger side door to the Jeep for his wife before turning to look back at the couple.
“I’d ask you both to come, but I know you’ve got a lot of work to do, being the Acting Mayor and all.”
“Yes, I do.” Janice replied, smiling. “A lot of work.”
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“I, Jonathan Simon Reed, do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; that I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion; and that I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office on which I am about to enter. So help me God.”
“Congratulations, Captain, and thank you for signing on to serve your country.” President Martinez reached forward and shook his hand, smiling as she did. Around them, people used their cameras to take pictures. The what and why for the pictures was unclear; it was most likely done out of habit.
Reed brought his hand up cleanly, rendering a perfect salute. “Thank you Madam President.”
“My pleasure.” She returned the salute, then reached out and shook his hand, sliding a Presidential Coin into his palm in the process. Still smiling, she turned and walked over to a spot nearby, flanked by her ever-present Secret Service detail.
Lisa came up and hugged him lightly, keeping things casual in front of the President and the other senior administration officials present. “I’m proud of you,” she whispered in his ear softly before moving away.
Andrew came over and shook his hand, smiling up at him. “Very cool.” He stepped back and gave the man a salute.
Reed returned it, smiling. “Thanks Andrew. I feel like I have to give something back after what those men did for me in L.A.”
Sergeant Mason, Corporal Richards, and Corporal Johnson came over, saluting him in turn before walking over to wait off to the side.
Looking over to where his new friend waited under a tree, Jonathan smiled before crouching down on one knee. “Come here, girl.”
The German Shepherd rushed over, tail wagging happily. Jonathan rubbed the dog’s head, moving his head aside as the dog tried in vain to lick his face. “Alright, Eight, alright.”
“Okay, Captain, it’s time to get to work.”
It was Colonel Williamson, the base Commanding Officer. Next to him was Sergeant Mason, along with two other men: one, a thick-muscled man with a buzz cut in a Marine Corps camouflage uniform, the other a tall thin man in an Army camouflage uniform.
“Yes, Sir,” Jonathan replied, bringing his hand up to salute.
The older man grinned slightly. “No need for that, Jon, we’re the same rank.”
“Oh...Okay, Mike.”
Turning to motion towards the Enlisted men, Colonel Williamson went on. “Sergeant Mason is shifting to become your liaison. Corporal Johnson will support Doctor Chang. The Sergeant here is assigned to ensure you get to all of your required training each day until it’s time for you to head out.”
Williamson nodded towards the Marine. “The big guy is Staff Sergeant McGhee. He’ll be training you on hand-to-hand combat.” He looked over at the man. “Don’t hurt him too badly, Staff Sergeant.”
“Train hard, fight hard, Sir. Ooh-Rah!”
Williamson shook his head. “Make sure you have ibuprofen. Ice is hard to come by.” He pointed towards the other man. “Jacobs there will be working with you on weapons training. You’ll work primarily with the M17 handgun and the MP4 rifle. Jacobs will teach you how to handle, shoot, breakdown, and clean the weapons.
He turned back to face Reed. “Any questions?”
“Just one, Mike. You said, ‘head out.’ Where am I going?”
“Don’t know, but the bottom line is this: when someone with immunity is identified, they’ll be directed to one of the Protective Zones.
“You’ll go there to meet them and bring them here.”
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Screams of terror sounded as the infected overran the innocent. Bursts of violence, accompanied by massive amounts of bloodshed. Men, women, and children fell at the hands of the infected. The elderly, the handicapped, the sick fell, finding no mercy in the minds of the insane.
Beneath it all, there was sadness, overwhelming sadness.
And then faces he knew, one after another.
Tears streamed down his face as he cried, mourning the losses, over and over, living in the pit of despair, unable to change it, knowing only how to relive it.
Awakening from his nightmare with a start, the man tried to sit up. His vision swam as pain flooded through his body, forcing him to fall back on the bed. He laid there, eyes shut tightly as he tried to stop the room from spinning. When he felt settled, he opened his eyes again, staring at the plain white ceiling above him. Realizing movement wasn’t an option, he used his eyes to look around the room in an effort to evaluate his surroundings.
The room was small, lit only by the setting sun in the sky, which filtered in through thin, white drapes. The bed he was in was small as well, as required
for the room. Next to him was a small nightstand, which held a lamp, an untouched glass of water, and a bottle of ibuprofen.
The bed was covered in a thin white comforter that had pictures of seashells, sea horses, and nautical compasses on it.
The man flexed his toes and was relieved when they moved as intended. His legs felt heavy and tired, and he could tell both were heavily wrapped. Both arms were wrapped as well, though his left arm appeared to be in a makeshift cast. Stainless steel shone through the thinly wrapped bandages, held tightly along both his upper arm and forearm. The dull ache that emanated from both areas told him the bones had been broken. He hoped that they’d been reset before being bandaged and splinted, but he had no room to criticize; he had no idea where he was or how he got here.
He suddenly became aware of an unbearable dryness in his mouth and throat, one that made it difficult to swallow. Turning his head slowly, his eyes came to rest on the glass of water. Moving his right arm up slowly, he methodically brought it towards the glass, waiting for the stab of pain he was sure would come at any second. When the backs of his fingertips touched the glass, he breathed a shallow sigh of relief. At least one part of him seemed to be okay. He walked his fingers around the circumference of the glass until he was able to take hold of it. Lifting it slowly, he began bringing it away from the table, intent on bringing it to his mouth, where the water would relieve the unbearable dryness. As he moved it upward, the strength in his arm failed, and the glass slipped from his hands, landing on the bed, where it spilled its contents, before rolling off and falling to the floor, shattering on the wood flooring.
The man let his head fall back on the pillow, defeated. Staring at the ceiling, he wondered what had happened to him. In his peripheral vision he saw a figure walk in. Out of reflex, he turned his head quickly to identify the person. Sharp pain stabbed his brain, sending electric shocks through his head, causing his vision to double. The images doubled momentarily before settling on the tall, lean figure in front of him. An old man in his late sixties or early seventies smiled at him from where he stood at the side of the bed. His face was old and weathered, with long deep wrinkles and a dark tan. The man wore glasses, which he removed momentarily to clean, using part of his long sleeve flannel shirt, which hung open, revealing a faded blue t-shirt with a picture of a bigmouth bass being caught. Below the shirt, he wore stiff looking denim jeans, which were held up by a web belt with a military style buckle. The old man’s boots were tan, and looked like those worn by Marines in the desert. A red ball cap sat atop the man’s head, with a logo that read: “3rd Marine Division” above a triangular shape. Below that, the words “Vietnam Veteran” were emblazoned.
Surviving Rage | Book 1 Page 79