“So they’re just big piles of white salt?” Aaron asked.
“No. First salty water is captured from the bay in the ponds that have been formed there, then they let it dry in the sun. When that happens, it starts off green or even brownish, but once it becomes more concentrated, they’ll collect large quantities of it and move it to a different pond, and let it dry out more there, where it turns more yellowish.” Richard said, looking at each of them in turn to make sure they followed. “At the final stage, the majority of the microbes can’t deal with it and will die, but there are certain types of bacteria and algae that flourish in those conditions. They actually turn the salt pink. That’s when it’s ready to be sold off.”
“So we can put it on our steaks,” Phillip finished.
“Sure, after it’s been refined,” the older man agreed, before quantifying his statement. “But about ninety-five percent of it is sold for industrial purposes, like water treatment and road salt.
Looking at the area in question suspiciously, Serrano asked, “Would someone be able to walk through there?”
Richard nodded. “Definitely. There are roads for the trucks to use to move the salt from one area to the next, then to move it out when it’s time for refining.”
“Perfect from someone trying to sneak towards the bridge,” Serrano said, nodding. “Nothing there that anyone can use, so it’s unlikely anyone would be spending time in that area. They’ll be near the stores, and warehouses, looking for food and water.”
The four men looked at the map in silence for a minute before Serrano went on. “Alright, so if he heads that way, he may get to the bridge. If he does, he’ll have a chance to get to the other side as long as no one knows that’s the route he’s taking.”
“So how do we counter that?” Phillip asked.
“We haul ass up the 101. If we see him, we take him out and rescue the girl. If we don’t see him by the time we get to the Dumbarton bridge, we split up.” Serrano pointed at the two young Marines. “You two cover that one, Richard and I will take the San Mateo-Hayward bridge.”
“What about us?” Sarah asked.
Serrano glanced at Jason and Olivia. “We find a spot for you four to hide out,” he offered.
Looking at her kids, Sarah nodded. “Fine, but I’ll need a gun.”
“You got it.”
Serrano regarded each of them in turn. “Any questions?” Each of them shook their heads. “Okay then. Let’s do this.”
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN
South of San Jose, California
S.R. 85
ALAMITOS / CAMBRIAN PARK
NEXT EXIT
The sight of the sign for their exit made Serafina breathe a sigh of relief. The 85 would shorten their trip to the San Francisco Protective Zone, taking them along the edges of San Jose so they could avoid the likely road blockages they estimated would be present in the city proper.
Tired from driving, she yawned as she reached up and rubbed first her left eye, then her right. Looking over at the passenger’s seat, she saw Daniel’s face was screwed up in discomfort. With his back issues, she knew sleeping in a seated position was hard for him. Add in the shoulder injury he’d suffered at the hands of Sheriff Halwell, and he had to be uncomfortable. The fact that he’d slept at all was somewhat remarkable.
She returned her focus to the road ahead, noting that the sun was beginning to peak out over the horizon to the east.
Glancing into the mirror, she saw Ashley, Brenna, and Paul sleeping soundly in the back seat. Brenna’s head rested on her big sister’s shoulder as she slept, while Ashley’s head rested against a sweatshirt she’d folded up and placed against the window.
Paul’s head was slumped downward, as if he were staring at his clasped hands, which rested in his lap. The young man had taken a turn driving last night as well, spending four-plus hours behind the wheel after Ashley’s turn and before Serafina took over at midnight.
Daniel had stayed awake during Paul’s entire shift, making sure the teenager was cognizant of potential threats as well as potential dangers to the car. When Daniel had woken Serafina for her turn behind the wheel, he looked exhausted, likely due to the stress of trusting a new person behind the wheel of their only source of transportation when there wasn’t a backup. An accident that incapacitated the car would have left them stranded in the dark, a hundred miles or more away from the Protective Zone. It had been a rough night for sure.
No wonder he’d managed to fall asleep.
‘Damn, I need some coffee,’ she said to herself, stifling a yawn as she drove.
In the cup holder next to her, the military radio came to life.
“San Francisco Protective Zone, this is Hermes. Come in, over.”
“Shit!” Reaching over, she shook Daniel. “Daniel! Wake up!”
Reeling from the unexpected contact, he blinked as he began to wake.
The voice came through the radio again.
“San Francisco Protective Zone, this is Hermes. Come in, over.”
Daniel looked down at the radio. “Shit, that’s the fucker right there.”
“Yep.” Serafina said, nodding.
Her husband picked up the radio and held it between them, leaning in as he listened.
Together, the two of them listened to the conversation between Reilley and the General, shaking their heads when they heard the level of disrespect in the man’s voice. The fact that the military wanted him to take Isabella to the airport made sense, and his counter to have the exchange take place at a park nearby showed more awareness than they’d given the man credit for, as did his last minute request for diamonds vice gold, no matter how annoying it was.
When Reilley signed off, Daniel set the radio back in the cup holder and looked at her.
“What do you think?” he asked.
“I’m thinking I don’t trust him, that’s what I think,” she replied flatly.
Daniel nodded. “That’s a given.” Looking out the window, he added, “Damn, I could use some coffee.”
Serafina smiled and nodded. “Even instant.”
Turning onto the ramp for the 85, she went quiet.
Noticing her silence, Daniel asked, “You alright?”
“I’m just wondering if this is still the best route. Can you check the map?”
Nodding, Daniel grabbed it and unfolded it in front of him. Looking at it, he said, “Lots of options.”
Serafina noticed he was holding it close, an indication that his vision was still limited to close range.
Just after they passed a large semi-truck, she pulled onto the shoulder of the road.
“How ‘bout we stretch our legs and check the map?”
Arching his back, Daniel grimaced. “Stretching out sounds good. Plus, I gotta take a leak.”
Rolling her eyes, Serafina turned away, opening the door and getting out of the car.
Daniel roused the kids in the back of the car, then got out and began to walk away so he could relieve himself.
After a few steps, he noticed Serafina was following him.
Turning back towards her, he asked, “What the?”
Serafina shook her head. “Your vision is still shit, remember?” Smiling slyly, she twirled her finger, indicating he should turn back around and keep going. “Go on,” she instructed, “no need to be shy.”
Shaking his head, Daniel walked over to a foot-tall shrub and stopped. Looking over his shoulder he asked, “Do you want to check this?”
“Smart ass. Hurry up.” she replied looking around to ensure the rest of the area was clear of threats.
When he was done, they walked back to the car. Ashley, Brenna, and Paul were standing near the car, stretching their legs and backs as they talked. All evidence of any hard feelings between the girls and Paul was gone as they spoke. He’d proven himself several times over during the last week, and they’d come to think of him as part of the family.
Just like Isabella.
Walking over to where the
y were, Serafina asked, “Can you three keep a lookout while we check the map?”
“I thought we already mapped out where we’re going?” Ashley asked, looking at Serafina and Daniel.
“We did,” Serafina replied, “but before you three woke up, Joe spoke to the authorities on the radio again.”
“What did he say?” Paul asked, tightening his grip on the wooden staff he held.
“They’re meeting near the airport,” Daniel replied. “Apparently the government wants to fly her back east ASAP so they can use her blood to try to develop a cure.”
Brenna’s face filled with concern. “Is she okay?”
Daniel glanced at Serafina.
“She’s fine,” she responded, reaching out and touching the young girl’s shoulder in an effort to comfort her.
Ashley cocked her head to the side, looking at them questioningly. “So what are you guys looking at the map for?”
“I’m thinking we might try to cut him off; get Isabella back so he can’t use her for ransom. There’s no guarantee he’ll keep his word.
Daniel frowned. “Besides,” he said, reaching up and rubbing the back of his head gently, “I owe that asshat some payback.”
Serafina and Daniel moved to the front of the car, while the teenagers set up a perimeter. Glancing up at the three of them, Daniel said, “They’ve all really matured.”
Serafina nodded. “Yes, they have.”
Looking down at the map, she placed her finger on the spot near where the 85 moved away from the 101. “We’re right about here.”
“Okay, and the airport is right….here,” Daniel added, placing his finger on the map. Peering closer, he added. “Looks like the park is right next to it, basically.”
“Hmmm….” Serafina replied, studying the map. “He should be coming up the one oh one to get there. We can follow the eighty five around this part of San Jose, avoiding the major freeways, then…” she looked closer at the map as well, “...take the two eighty north.”
“What if we follow the two eighty north until we reach the ninety two, then head east over to the one oh one?” Daniel suggested.
Serafina stepped back and looked down at the map. After a moment, she shook her head and placed her finger on the map, indicating an east-west route south of the one he’d been suggesting. “I think we should try to cut across on the eighty four first. If that’s blocked, then we can go up to the ninety two. That way we can reduce the chances of having to backtrack.”
Daniel nodded. “Makes sense.”
With the route determined, they folded the map back up and summoned the kids back to the car. After getting back into the passenger seat, Daniel paused before putting on his seatbelt.
“What is it?” Serafina asked.
“If Reilley still has Isabella, where the hell is Logan?”
CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT
Palo Alto, California
Robert “Dirty” Sanchez was worried. The beautiful woman he’d snuck into his apartment had fallen sick at some point during the night and had barely been able to respond to his insistent nudges. He’d been hoping to get another round (or two) with her before he had to go ‘to work,’ but one look at her sweaty, flushed face made it clear that he wouldn’t be getting shit this morning.
‘Damn the bad luck,’ he’d thought at the time, remembering how incredible the woman’s body had been when she’d been naked in his bed. The sex had been….
Oh shit.
Was she infected after all?
Had she passed it on to him?
Sitting in the passenger seat of the lowrider car, he bounced his head in time with the music absently as he and Javier patrolled the territory Varrio Diablo claimed as their own, all the while anticipating the first feeling of sickness.
Would it start with aches? Fever? Chills?
It didn’t help that it was unseasonably warm that day, making the interior of the car feel downright hot at times. As nice as the car’s suspension was (the hydraulic system alone was worth more than the car’s original sale price), there was no air conditioning, so the two of them had to keep the windows down, relying on the airflow to cool them. With them driving at speeds well under twenty five miles an hour, it wasn’t working.
Wiping the sweat from his brow, he said, “Damn, man, shit’s hot today.”
“Yeah, a little bit,” Javier conceded.
Surprised at the man’s lackluster response, Sanchez looked over at the man.
And found him completely free of sweat.
The man wasn’t hot at all. In fact, he looked completely comfortable as he drove the car, his right hand moving the steering wheel back and forth smoothly as his left arm rested on the window frame.
Which meant…
“Oh shit,” he muttered, looking away.
“What’d you say, homie?” Javier asked, looking over at him momentarily before returning his focus to the street.
“Nothing, man,” Sanchez replied, keeping his body angled away from his friend. They’d known each other for years, but even so, the rules were clear: if someone showed signs of being sick, you put a bullet in their head. No ifs, ands, or buts.
Thinking about the woman in his apartment, he realized he’d failed there, too. Instead of ignoring her sweat dampened hair and flushed cheeks so that he could admire her breasts, he should have dragged the woman from his bed, taken her outside and shot her.
But no, his dick had been doing the thinking, telling him that if she got better, he’d have another chance to have sex with the hottest woman he’d ever known.
Maybe he could still fix this.
“Hey, man, I fucked up.”
“Yeah, whaddaya mean?”
After wiping his face quickly and covertly, he looked over at Javier. “I left my fuckin’ clip back at my place. I only got one round in the chamber,” he said sheepishly.
“Shit, dog, that’s not good. Never know what we might run into out here,” the other man said, shaking his head. “I think I saw an extra clip in the glove compartment, though.”
Shit.
Thinking quickly, he shook his head and said, “Naw, man. I took that shit out last night. Didn’t want any of the workers to find it.”
“Fuck.”
“Yeah, man, sorry. Let’s make a quick trip back to my place so I can get it.”
“Man, we gotta meet the Scorpion up on the One Oh One in a bit so she can check out the checkpoint we set up.”
Sanchez waved his hand. “I know, man, it won’t take long, though. Swing by my place real quick.” Lifting his chin sharply, he added, “Hey, I got some of that Humboldt county shit we can smoke, too.”
Weed was Javier’s weakness.
“Awwww yeah, homie, let’s do this!” Grabbing the steering wheel at a low point, he was about to pull it upward so he could execute a u-turn when he hesitated. “Yo, what the fuck is this shit?”
A black Ford Mustang sat next to the curb up ahead, shaking slightly as its engine rumbled. The car sat in front of the Korean-owned liquor store they’d been in two days prior, one that still had a good amount of beer and hard liquor on the shelves.
“Hold on,” Javier said, moving his hand back to the top of the steering wheel. “Let’s see who the fuck these mothafuckas think they are.”
Sanchez nodded. Whatever was waiting back at his place could wait the few minutes it would take the two of them to deal with the arrogant fucks who chose to enter Varrio Diablo territory.
Pulling up next to the Mustang, Javier brought the car to a stop as Sanchez looked over at the driver.
“The fuck you doing here, Esé? He asked, bringing his gun up and resting it on the window frame. In actuality, it did have a clip in it, giving him fifteen rounds to use however he saw fit.
The driver, a white man with a clean shaven head looked over at him. At that moment, Sanchez knew something was off.
“Sorry, man,” he began, holding his hands up so they could see them. “We’re just passing through and
needed something to drink. It’s hot, you know?”
Ignoring the tickling in the back of his mind that said, ‘Get the fuck out of here NOW!’, Sanchez stared at the man unflinchingly and said, “Yeah, well, you need ta find somewhere else to stop, homie. This here is Varrio Diablo territory.” Demonstratively, he flicked the gun’s safety off.
“Woah, woah, woah,” the man began. “Sorry if we stopped in your territory, my friend. It’s not like it’s marked or anything…”
From the driver seat, Javier muttered. “How the fuck did they get pass Chacho and Gustavo?”
Ignoring him, Sanchez brought his gun up and pointed it at the white man. “Yeah? Well, either way, it’s time for you to go, white boy.”
“Okay, okay,” the man said, shaking his head. “I don’t want any trouble,” he began, before grinning suddenly and adding, “Trent, there, does though.” He nodded in Javier’s direction.
Sanchez turned to look at his friend just as a shotgun boomed at close range. Blood, bone, brains, and stray shotgun pellets splattered against him as his body recoiled. Blinded by the bit’s of Javier’s head that covered his face, he brought his pistol up and fired in the direction of the shooter just as the shotgun boomed again.
The last sound he heard was the windshield shattering.
“Fucking wetbacks,” Sommer said, stepping out of the Mustang. Walking around the lowrider, he smiled as he looked at the mangled corpses of the two Mexicans.
Walking up beside him, Trent grinned.
“Hey, at least I got two today.”
“Better than nothing,” Sommer conceded, nodding. He looked inside the car for anything of value that they might want. Seeing nothing, he reached in and put the car in neutral, then had the men with him help push it to the curb. Finished, he turned off the engine, took the keys out of the ignition, and tossed them onto the roof of the liquor store.
Surviving Rage | Book 2 Page 55