The boy nodded. “Okay,” he said, relenting.
“Good, now bring my rifle over to the door for me.” With that, he used his arms to slide himself forward along the metal surface of the cargo area floor until he was at the door. “Take a look and make sure it’s clear out there, please,” he said. The boy did so, pushing the heavy door open with Richard’s help and looking through the gap. After a few moments, he pulled his head back in and nodded.
“It’s okay.”
“Good. Now, hold the door while I lower myself to the ground, then pass me my rifle.”
As the boy nodded in understanding, Richard pushed the door open far enough to squeeze through, then lowered himself towards the surface of the street, hating the way his legs flopped underneath him like wet noodles. Of all the times for his back to act up, why now? He should have been there with the women, standing by their sides. Instead, he’d be trying to catch up to them by crawling.
When his butt hit the asphalt, he looked up at Jason and nodded. The boy passed him his long-range rifle carefully, using both hands as he lowered it into Richard’s waiting hands. Once it was there, Richard slung it over his shoulder and told the boy to close and lock the door.
Turning his head, he looked towards the end of the street. He could see the women had almost reached the intersection. He considered calling out to them, but decided against it. As vulnerable as he was on the ground, he didn’t want to call attention to himself. He also didn’t want to be a burden to them.
Linda had said they needed him, not the other way around.
Leaning to one side, he lowered himself onto his stomach. Using only his arms, he began crawling, dragging his legs behind him as he slowly moved down the street. By his estimate, the end of the street was about a tenth of a mile away.
Grateful that the long sleeve flannel shirt he’d put on was protecting his elbows, he began slowly working his way down the street.
He’d barely made it a quarter of the way there when the shooting started.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED TWENTY-FIVE
East Palo Alto, California
“Shit!” Serafina yelled, rushing forward to grab the clip Daniel had thrown. Ejecting the one in her Glock, she didn’t bother to catch it, choosing instead to let it fall to the ground so that she could slap the new magazine into the gun.
Rising back up she resumed shooting, but felt helpless as she watched the infected smash the windows of the minivan. She couldn’t fire on them without risking hitting Daniel or Paul with a stray bullet. The Glock was most accurate inside of fifty yards, and by her estimation, the minivan sat about seventy yards away. Firing at the mob beyond the van was one thing, a miss there would likely hit one of the other infected, but trying to pick off one of the infected on the other side of the van was another.
Too risky.
And yet, something had to be done.
“We’ve got to help them!” She yelled, glancing towards Sarah.
“I’m down to my last magazine!” Sarah replied, her face filled with concern.
Sarah watched as the mob plowed into the minivan. One of the infected, a heavyset black woman rushed around to the near side of the vehicle. Aiming with care, Serafina put a round into the woman’s back. The woman collapsed.
Looking beyond the minivan, her heart sank as she saw at least thirty more of the infected rushing towards where her husband and Paul were pinned down. She fired again, taking out a middle eastern man in a polo shirt as he rounded the edge of the van.
“I’m out,” Ashley said, lowering her rifle.
“Me, too,” Jennifer added, after firing her gun one last time.
Serafina fired again, missing her target. ‘Dammit!’ She fired yet again, but in her haste, barely clipped her target. The white man stumbled sideways two steps, then continued closing in on the minivan, headed straight for the rear doors.
What could they do?
“You got this?”
“Hell, yeah. You know I’ve got the better arm.”
“Whatever, man. Just hurry up.”
The ball-like object flew high through the air, covering the distance with ease before it landed near the front of the pack of infected.
Boom!
The explosion rocked the minivan on its springs, knocking Daniel and Paul onto their butts. The infected at the windows slid down and away, leaving bits of cloth, as well as pieces of flesh, on the jagged edges of glass at the opening’s edge.
Silence descended upon the area, momentarily giving their ears a short reprieve from the enraged screams of the infected and the sound of them pounding on the side of the minivan.
Then the gunfire started again.
But this time it was different.
“Advance, or stay in position?” Phillip asked, squeezing the trigger of his AR-15.
“Let’s split up,” Aaron replied, firing his weapon in a short, three round burst. “We’ll leave Logan here in the middle. I’ll head towards the women so you can come around the far side of the van. You head to the right. We’ll shred ‘em.”
“I like it,” Phillip said, nodding. Looking towards where the other man was leaning against the side of the Chevrolet Volt, he asked, ”Logan, you good?”
“Yeah,” the man replied, firing a round from the Sig Sauer handgun Phillip had loaned him. “We need to hurry, though,” he added.
“Isabella, stay here, okay?” Phillip asked.
Looking up at him with wide eyes, the girl nodded. Bringing her hands up to cover her ears, she shrunk down and squatted on the ground next to Logan.
Phillip turned to Aaron. “Let’s do this.”
“Bet.” The black man sprung into action, firing his weapon in bursts as he sidestepped towards where Sarah, Jennifer, the other woman, and two teenage girls were standing.
The Scorpion was running in the middle of the pack, closing in on the minivan when she saw the grenade fall into their midst. Though the infected didn’t bother to give it a second thought, she recognized it instantly. She moved behind a much larger man just as the grenade detonated.
It didn’t help much. The force of the blast ripped through the man, knocking him into her as the two of them were thrown into the air. A second later, she hit the ground, landing on a concrete curb, breaking two of her ribs in the process.
While the man’s body had shielded her from the grenade’s shrapnel, it became a massive weight that landed atop her, slamming her chin down onto the pavement, snapping her head backwards.
Battered, broken, cut, bruised, and bloodied, she felt her will slipping away as her vision went black.
‘I tried, my love,’ she said in her mind as her consciousness faded.
Blinking away the cobwebs caused by the explosion, Daniel forced himself forward again, grabbing the tire iron and swinging it towards one of the arms that still reached inside the minivan. He connected with the elbow, shattering it, but there was no response. The arm slipped back through the window as its owner fell away, killed by the blast.
Looking towards the other broken windows, he found each of them empty, revealing the space beyond. The infected were being picked off one by one as semi-automatic weapons continued to fire in short bursts.
All they could do was wait it out.
No…. there’s still a chance….
Little by little, Aaron, Phillip, and Logan finished off what the women had started, sending what remained of the infected to their graves, ending the miserable existence that had become their lives after becoming afflicted with the virus.
As the last of them fell, the three men breathed a sigh of relief. Aaron and Phillip lowered the weapons as they made their way back towards where Sarah and Jennifer waited.
Serafina, Ashley, and Brenna lowered their weapons, becoming suddenly aware of the silence that descended upon the area now that the screams, snarls, and growls of the infected had stopped, along with the gunfire that had raged. The three of them stepped forward from the sidewalk, picking their way down the
embankment as they headed down towards the minivan that had shielded Daniel and Paul.
Across the way, Logan emerged from behind the Volt with Isabella at his side.
‘Thank God,’ Serafina thought, looking at the girl. If anything had happened to her, all of this would have truly been for nothing; all the danger, the injuries, the risk, the near-death, all of it.
As she watched the young girl, she saw her eyes grow wide at the sound of the minivan’s side door opening. Daniel emerged first, moving gingerly as he stepped down onto the concrete of the parking lot. Even so, he slipped to the ground as his leg, which was heavily wrapped, gave way under his weight.
Breaking free from Logan’s grasp, Isabella ran down the embankment, rushing to Daniel’s side.
A flurry of motion came from the area to the right of the van.
Isabella screamed.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED TWENTY-SIX
East Palo Alto, California
Lowering his head, he rested it on the warm surface of the street as he sucked in oxygen.
‘Damn, I’m tired,’ Richard said to himself. After he heard the shooting start, he pushed himself harder, trying to reach the women so that he could help them. He had no idea who (or what) they were shooting at, but he was determined to help.
The problem was he underestimated how physically exhausting crawling was when you didn’t use your legs.
He closed his eyes.
‘Just for a second,’ he told himself.
The humming sound returned.
‘You have to hurry, Richie.’ Linda said inside his head. Her voice was soft and caring, but firm, telling him that she knew what he was doing was hard, but that the need was great.
‘I’m trying,’ he said, opening his eyes. He raised his head and looked down the street. He was still half a block away from the women, and the shooting seemed to be intensifying.
‘You can do this,’ his wife’s voice replied.
“Okay,” he said aloud, nodding to himself.
‘Remember what you always told me: Marines find a way,’ she added, before cutting out again.
Richard smiled slightly. He had used that phrase often, and still did today. Looking down the street, his eyes settled on a new objective.
Redoubling his efforts, he pushed himself even harder, ignoring the pain he felt in his elbows as the tiny bits of gravel ground their way into his skin. His shirt had quickly frayed, then worn away from the continued scraping on the pavement, and now the street was tearing his skin.
He pushed on, ignoring the pain. At last, he reached his goal. He reached up and grabbed the brush guard on the front of the Acura MDX SUV. Using it to pull himself into a seated position, he briefly thought about how ridiculous it was for a luxury SUV to have a brush guard, but quickly put the thought out of his mind. Whether it was there for function or appearance, it was serving the purpose he needed it for now. Turning towards the front of the vehicle, he grabbed the top of the brush guard and pulled himself up until his stomach was even with the top bar. Leaning forward he allowed his weight to carry him onto the hood of the metallic grey SUV. Sucking in another breath, he brought his arms, which felt like lead weights, up and grabbed the top edge of the hood, then used his strength to slide himself up until his face was resting on the hot glass of the windshield.
Taking another breath, he reached up to the top of the vehicle and grabbed the bars of the roof rack. He used the bars to hoist himself onto the SUV’s roof, slipping forward at the end and lightly smacking his chin on the metal top of the vehicle. Undeterred, he smiled.
He’d made it.
He looked towards where the women had formed a line at the end of the street. From his position, he could see over them and down into the parking lot, where countless infected were converging on a minivan.
Quickly bringing his rifle around, he rested it on the rear part of the roof rack to steady it, then removed the protective covers on the scope. Looking through the glass, he focused the field of view on the minivan.
Daniel and Paul were trapped inside, desperately fighting off the infected that were trying to force their way inside.
Seconds later, he heard the unmistakable sound of a grenade exploding.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED TWENTY-SEVEN
San Mateo, California
“Doc…”
‘Dammit, Jonathan, he needs help!’ Reed thought, forcing himself to his hands and knees. ‘So does A.J.,’ he added, taking in the sight of the Sergeant lying on his back with his eye closed, hands still pressed against his midsection. Looking around the interior of the aircraft, he saw a first aid kit mounted on the wall near the wreckage that led to the cockpit. Unable to walk with his broken leg, he began crawling towards it. Knowing time was limited for the two men, he forced himself to move as fast as he could, carefully weaving his way through the bodies and debris on the floor of the aircraft.
When he reached the spot where the first aid kit was mounted he reached up and pulled on the box. It didn’t budge. Looking up at it, he saw a metal band holding it in its mount.
‘Duh,’ he thought, chiding himself.
Bringing his body next to the wall, he pushed himself upward using only his right leg. Standing next to the kit, he paused for a moment, catching his breath as he tried to summon more of his body’s reserves. He was exhausted from the fighting, the crash, and the loss of blood. The back of his head was bruised and swollen. His chin throbbed as it oozed blood.
But none of it was as bad as his leg. The pain was a constant fire, burning inside him. Every movement threw fuel on that fire, raising its intensity, threatening to consume all of his will.
‘They need you,’ he said to himself. Pushing the pain aside, he took another deep breath before examining the band around the kit. He now saw that not only was it latched in place, but that the latch itself, as well as the left side of the case, were bent. He didn’t have to try the latch to know it wouldn’t open.
‘Shit,’ he thought, frustration setting in. His friends were bleeding to death, and he couldn’t get to the supplies he needed to help them.
‘Pry it open,‘ the rational voice in his head told him.
‘With what?’ he asked himself.
The rational voice didn’t answer. Looking at everything nearby he saw nothing useful.
A whining sound came from his side.
Steight.
“Hey, girl,” he said, smiling. “Good job,” he added, reaching down to pet her head. He continued to look for something to use as he scratched the dog’s head between her ears.
‘Come on,’ he said to himself, frustrated at the situation.
Steight’s head pulled away from his hand. A second later, he felt her tongue softly licking his broken leg, trying to render care.
“I don’t deserve you,” he said, looking down at her and smiling. His eyes drifted from the dog’s tongue to the KA-Bar he’d used to splint his leg.
“What would I do without you, Steight?’’ he asked, smiling through the pain.
Reaching down, he slid the big knife out from the bonds he’d tied, wincing as he felt the bones in his leg move slightly. Swallowing, he brought the knife up and slid the blade under the strap. He pushed the handle upward, applying pressure to the metal band. It bent and twisted under the force he applied, but refused to give. Lowering himself until the band was at shoulder height, he grabbed the knife handle firmly, holding it in place as he pushed upward, using the strength in his right leg. Clenching his teeth as he pushed, the pain in his jaw flared even worse, seeming to fight against him as he exerted himself. Ignoring it, he pushed harder.
The band snapped suddenly. When it did, the knife slipped from his grasp, slashing across his left palm before tumbling away.
‘Of course,’ Jonathan said to himself as he saw blood begin to seep from the shallow wound. Squeezing his hand tightly, he used his right hand to lift the first aid kit out of its bracket and lower it to the deck. He slowly lowered himself back to the f
loor, careful not to jar his broken leg. He couldn’t afford to pass out from pain again.
He was about to start crawling towards where Serrano and Mason were when he realized he’d forgotten to use the help he did have.
Turning his head to look at Steight, he waited until her eyes met his.
“Get help, girl.”
The dog’s eyes remained locked on his.
“Go,” he ordered.
The German Shepherd leapt into action, the nails of her paws clacking on the deck as she ran across the space, then disappeared through the opening on the side of the aircraft.
Reed crawled back to where the two men were, pausing to grab a stray bottle of water that lay on the deck before stopping next to Mason’s form. Popping open the case, he found much of what he expected, plus a few other helpful items, namely, QuikClot, a claylike powder that pulled the moisture out of blood, causing it to clot almost instantly. Moving Mason’s hands away, he pulled open the man’s uniform blouse. The bullet wounds dotted the right side of his stomach and ribs, both dark and wet with blood. Before he applied bandages, he needed to get the bullets out of the man. Looking back into the kit, he was pleasantly surprised and greatly relieved to find a pair of surgical tweezers.
Removing them from the protective packaging, he brought them to the lower wound and stopped.
His hand was shaking, not from nervousness, but from exhausting and rapidly fading adrenaline. Closing his eyes, he took several deep breaths, then grabbed the bottle of water with his left hand and slowly poured a small stream of water onto the wound. When the majority of the blood had been washed away, he set the bottle aside and used the hand to hold the wound open.
Surviving Rage | Book 2 Page 77