Chapter 3. Sierra Avenue

Chapter 3

Sierra Avenue

** Warning for Depictions of Violence **

The air was thick with smoke from the burning rubber of several pairs of tires on the road. The loud horns continued to go off at timed intervals, like clockwork. Riley observed the scene before her in amazement. It was a well-rehearsed performance, like a dance. Riley thought, because she knew if there were that many people involved, and they were that organized, death was the only outcome they would want, and she knew at once they were responsible for the murders she saw earlier. She was rooted to the pavement, and she felt her survival instincts kick in. Her fight or flight response had awakened, and the adrenaline began to circulate in her veins. She bounced on the balls of her feet, slightly moving side to side, making sure she could easily maneuver a quick escape any way she could.

Nobody emerged from the cars, but she could see the heads of at least twelve people total, three in the first car, two in the next three cars, and another three in the last car. She made herself appear unbothered by putting her right foot slightly forward, allowing her to cock her hip, and her stance suddenly appeared to be one of boredom. Then she purposely placed her hands casually on her hips, the left one clenched in a fist, the other gripping the pistol grip, index finger resting on the trigger. They were silhouetted in darkness due to the fiery red and yellow-ocher colors that blazed brightly behind them, as the sun was making its final appearance for the day.

She could hear her father's voice in her head, saying, "First sign of danger, run if you can. If that option is gone, assess the situation as quickly as you can. Count the opposition. Count possible exits, count the space that separates you and them, and increase it every chance you can.' He had practically drilled those exact questions into her head every day, several times a day. Riley thought he was going overboard with all of that, but she followed along to make her dad happy, and if she admitted it to herself, it brought her comfort after she had it engrained in her brain.

Her father's voice was so clear, she could've pretended he was right beside her. She could picture him as he would've told her exactly what to do. Riley had subtly begun to count on the fingers of her left hand, tapping out the answers to her dad's questions on her thigh. She used the physical action of it to reinforce the silent questions she heard from her father. She quickly scanned the scene in front of her and realized that if she ran back the way she came, she would be able to hide, or at the very least, she could put enough distance between herself and whoever these people were. She wanted to make it at least a little difficult for those people to locate her. It had begun to get dark, and the infected had already been summoned.

She knew she couldn't go forward, or even try to talk to them. She sighed when she realized she had no choice but to retreat. She hoped it was the best choice because it was the only choice Riley could see right now. She quickly pivoted, and with the last of her energy, she took off as fast as she could manage. She heard shouts from the people, but they had faded to nothing. Riley pushed herself to go faster. She reached the bottom of the off ramp and quickly made a call to go west. She turned right and headed into the dark under the bridge and immediately felt the tendrils of regret wrap around her chest, constricting her breathing, as groans could be heard further into the dark. She skidded to a stop, then breathed heavily and loudly. She tried to be quiet, but in her ears, it sounded like a freight train. She squatted next to the rail that hugged the outside walls and tried to catch her breath. She quickly realized she couldn't see much and quickly climbed up to get a better view.

She pulled out her LED flashlight and switched it on, scanning the area closest to her in case she had to fight, but nothing was around her. She swept out further with the light; it had created a glow in the dark and the particles of dust floated like stars in the night sky. She saw who the groans had belonged to, and it appeared to be what once was a truck driver. He was in his truck, the doors still closed, and he was still buckled in his seat belt. After she glanced around, Riley determined that was the only infected person around.

She listened for people who were still alive and who had chased her from up above, but she heard absolutely nothing. She decided her best bet was to find a little car that could still be locked and try to hide inside until morning. She couldn't afford to get caught off guard again. She then quietly made her way to the middle car in a three-car-pile up. She cautiously searched for any signs of danger or possible danger. She checked the doors and made sure they were each locked, but could still be unlocked from inside. She found trash and clothes strewn throughout the backseat. It was perfect. She carefully crawled under it, fixed the layers of trash and clothes over her, and settled in for a long night. She knew she wasn't going to be able to sleep.

Riley's heartbeat felt like a jackhammer. Her breathing was so erratic, she had thought another anxiety attack might have been coming, but as she sat in the dark, curled up on the floor of a dirty car, all she thought about was making it to the morning. That was her main reason for hiding out. She could've chosen to continue, and maybe she would have had to fight, but her survival wouldn't be guaranteed. Her main priority would always be survival.

Those people were way too close to even pretend. She had no idea if they sent out scouts to search for her direction or if they had a bigger operation and had ways to contact anyone else. What if this was only a part of their operation? What if they had people at every exit ramp?

These thoughts filled Riley with anxiety and fear, which had settled in the pit of her stomach. She needed a plan, and it had to be a good one. She had never had to deal with these things alone before. She always had someone there who helped her, and now she was alone. She was always going to be alone. She was never going to trust any other survivor out here.

She had tried to believe that there could be good people who genuinely wanted to help or at least be decent to other survivors, knowing how hard it is out here. But after the incident that forced Riley into becoming something she never wanted to be made her do things, one night in an empty house her family had used for shelter, to ensure her family's survival, even at someone else's demise. She wanted to still believe, but her own goodness was questioned by herself constantly after that. Even though it was necessary, it still made her feel like she had changed for the worse.

A month after Riley's mom was killed, she started to notice how they had to travel further out to get supplies. Even though they had enough to last them another month, Daryl, Riley's father, felt it would be beneficial to go every day. He called it training, and if supplies were found at the same time, even better. Riley didn't care; she wanted the training.

It had always been in her nature to excel in anything physical. She was a tomboy from the start and had always played sports. She played on her brother's teams, never on the girls' teams. She started playing baseball at the age of 7. At 11 and 12 years old, she played football, and in high school she played water polo. She worked out in the school's gym in the off season, and after realizing the wrestlers and boxers were training during that time, she started to watch and became fascinated with their routines. She copied their workouts and copied their stance. She imitated their footwork and even used their punching bags and speed bags when they were gone. She decided to mix the two sports together, and before she knew what she was doing, she had enrolled in a local mixed martial arts class. She was a natural. She loved it. She was good too. She was a grappler and loved to take her opponents down. Her height was an advantage. One of the coaches saw the potential in her and volunteered to train her.

Riley had a natural drive to always do her best, she never could settle for any half attempts, and it drove her to get better than anyone she competed against. She used that training and knowledge so she wouldn't be a liability, even though she knew she was far from incapable. She knew she was better than most female survivors, but she wanted to get better. She wanted to be better than most male survivors.

She was quick, always a step ahead, and had a logical head on her shoulders. She usually didn't panic, and she didn't give in to fear. As natural as it would be for anyone to be afraid, she used the spark of adrenaline the fear would create to push harder and be that much more on point. She was quiet when she walked, and she could run for long distances at a rate faster than a jog. She would run laps around her property, weighed down with every weapon and her backpack stuffed with them. An added 75 pounds, her father told her, but Riley figured it was probably more, but she was determined and so was her father. He had been preparing her, and Ruben was just as adamant. He joined in the training and encouraged, pushed, and sometimes yelled to get Riley to where she could survive without a problem.

It only dawned on her, as she sat on the dirty floorboards of a smashed car, under clothes and trash, what both of them had been doing. They had already decided that they were not going to be around long enough to help her survive. They had been training Riley to live without them. Maybe, subconsciously, or maybe, they discussed it among themselves when Riley wasn't around, but the logistics and the how's and why's don't really matter anymore. They don't comfort Riley like a pair of strong arms or a reassuring smile. It was a weak substitute.

Riley got so mad when she put it together. She couldn't understand the logic. More people meant it would be easier to survive. She had argued that point to her father and then to her brother. They wouldn't budge. They just looked at her like they couldn't believe she had forgotten what strangers had done to their family. What they had made her do. Eventually, Riley would remember, look away, and concede in embarrassment.

She remembered how that night had started, and how terribly wrong it went.

It was late afternoon, in early March. She had already slacked off on keeping track of the days, and the weeks slid into months.

Riley was out in the backyard, filling a few buckets from the water hose. Surprisingly, it was still running, although the water to the house was off. Daryl determined that the main pipe connecting the house and the street was busted after inspecting the pipes. Daryl had mentioned that the hose might be hooked up to a reserve pump. Whatever the reason, Riley didn't care.

After letting the water run to clear the dirt, debris, and rust, the brownish-looking water finally ran clear, and she couldn't help the bubble of excitement that rose up. She was finally going to have a chance to wash up. As minimal as it would be, she would bird bath it and get some grime, sweat, and dirt off of her, that was all that mattered.

She filled two buckets she had found in the garage, and after she turned the water off, she carried them back to where she had found them. She went to grab her bag and some of the towels they had found in the linen closet in the hallway. She reached for the white bar of soap that was neatly placed on the bathroom soap dish. When she saw it, she could have cried tears of joy.

"I'll be in the garage for at least 20 or 30 minutes. Please don't disturb me unless we're dying." Riley said to her brother.

Her father was setting up their security system for the night. He moved couches, tables, and whatever else he could to block entrances.

"Why the garage? Shouldn't you clean up in the bathroom? " Ruben asked.

"It's just easier. We checked the backyard, no breaks in the fence, no points of entry, and no one had visibility into the yard. I'll be fine. Don't let Daddy block me out though. "

"Riley."

"Nope, don't start. I checked the perimeter. It's secure. Please just give me 30 minutes to get clean. " She begged.

"Fine. I'm sitting by the door. "

"Don't you dare!"

"Why not?" he wanted to know.

"Ruben please! Just let me bathe in peace. Go help Daddy make some food. Start the fire in the fireplace, please! " She ordered

"Riley, if any."

"Stop!" she interrupted, "Nothing is going to happen. It's a bath. No, not even that, it's a wash-up-bird-bath-thingy-ma-bob-err. " She joked

"Okay, Riley, you win."

"Yay! I'll be back in less than 30 minutes. " She practically danced her way out of the house and into the garage.

Riley had set up her flashlight on a worktable that was against the wall. It shone perfectly on the bucket, and she grabbed the washcloth and bar of soap. Without a second thought, she removed her blades from each boot and set them next to her. She unzipped her boots and tossed them by the door. She peeled off her socks and cringed.

"Gross." She whispered.

She was going to hunt for new socks after this. She took off both guns and set them next to her knives. Unbuckling the holsters was like second nature, and soon both were sliding down her legs and sitting next to her growing pile of weapons. Riley untied her hair from the rubber bands and took out the braids she meticulously put in her hair to keep her line of sight unobstructed. Her fingers combed her hair, and she could feel sand and dirt on her scalp. She sighed and removed the rest of her clothes. Tossing them to the side in a pile, she didn't know if she was going to burn or wash them.

She dipped the cloth in the bucket, and decided to let go of it and use her hands to scoop up water and bring it to her face. The cool water felt good. She did the rest of her body and decided to dunk her whole head in the bucket and wash it with the bar of soap. The water was heaven, and it felt so good for Riley to be some semblance of clean. After she had finished her hair, she grabbed a towel and wrapped it up like a turban and began to wash up. She scrubbed as fast as she could and rinsed off by splashing water on her body.

It was when she was drying off that she heard it. The distinct smash of glass. She froze and tried to listen for the location. A muffled sound of a scuffle and some distant yelling.

"Oh no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no." She repeated as she fumbled for her clothes. She turned the light off and systematically pulled up her shorts and put on her tank top. She slid into her boots and left them unzipped, afraid the noise of zipping them up would carry. She slid in her knives and grabbed her guns. Placing one in the small of her back, she pulled the other into her as close as possible and doubled over, trying to muffle the sound of it being cocked. Her wet hair was all over the place ,and she cursed herself for taking out her braids. She looked at where her AR-15 was leaned up against the wall, and quickly decided to leave it there. She determined the loud, rapid fire would attract more problems than there were probably already here.

Slowly, she walked to the door, putting her ear to it. She didn't hear anything outside, so she hoped she could catch the intruders by surprise. Taking a deep breath, and before she even thought about it, she was turning the doorknob and pushing it open. She hoped nobody was in the area, because she didn't want to jump into a trap. She stepped out of the darkness of the garage into the backyard. It was the color of dark reds, purples, and blues. The sun practically set, and it made her almost invisible.

She peered through the sliding glass door, and she almost fainted. At least six men stood around the living room and kitchen. Riley let out a silent curse, as the familiar rush of adrenaline spiked in her. Riley rounded back out of sight and immediately resumed her ingrained routine. She mentally started counting. 'Count your exits, count your opposition, count your distance' Her dad's voice calms her down and puts her mind back into focus. These guys don't look very trained. They looked sloppy and lazy, worn down from the road.

She looked back around and counted seven men. Two with guns, 9 mm's, on her brother and father. The rest scavenged around the house. Some were drinking from liquor bottles and others were already shoving food into their mouths. She knew she had to divide them to save her family.

She ran to the far side of the yard and grabbed rocks. She positioned herself next to a storage shed, where garden tools remained, rusted from lack of use. She threw a rock and it hit the wall. She didn't know if it was loud enough, so she threw another. She did not want the whole group to come out; she only wanted to pique their curiosity, and without her AR_15, she was as good as dead if they all came out to play. She cursed her decision to leave it in the garage. She grabbed one of her knives and set her gun down in front of her. She stepped over it and threw one more rock.

Crack. It hit the glass door perfectly. Thirty seconds later, it's sliding open and four of the guys are out looking for the noisemaker.

"Quit your fussing, we're gonna find whoever is out there!" yelled a voice inside, and then Ruben groaned, like he was hit. He was getting beat up trying to stop them from going out there. One of the four turned back and went back inside.

Riley blended into the shadows, and when she smelled the odor of sweat and old booze floating by, she knew one was close. She steadied herself, and when he came into view, she waited until he was close enough. She envisioned the strike: the slice of the sharp point as it enters the flesh and the resistance from the jagged serrated edge as it gets caught on muscle and tendons. When it was time, she quickly jumped up and stuck her blade into any soft tissue she could reach. She prayed he wouldn't make much noise and alert the rest. She had to practically jump on his back to keep him from running, and she was able to push the blade in further, and with the flick of her wrist, she twisted it just enough to stop his fight. He reached for the blade and Riley grabbed his hands and pulled them down with all of his body weight, restricting his attempts to grab the knife. She was relieved when she felt him get weak and drop to his knees. He still tried to fight, but it was more of him trying to grab his throat and stop the blood than anything.

Blood gushed from his throat, and when he fell, Riley jumped out of his way. He groped at the knife, trying desperately to save his life. Riley watched on, hoping he would hurry up and die, but he writhed on the floor, eyes bulging and wild. They had settled on Riley, and when his panting became gasps, and he realized who had taken him out, he gave up his fight. As he took his last breath, Riley stood over him and looked him straight in the eyes as he died.

Without thinking, she pulled her knife out and looked around for her next target. The blood that had dripped down the blade to the handle and pooled on her hand didn't even make her flinch.

She whistled, and when the heavier-set guy came around the corner, she went into grappler mode, and her MMA training came back. She swept the leg and knocked him off balance. She used his size and unsteadiness to her advantage, pushing him over with a few good kicks. A kick to the groin and a knee to the nose dropped him to the ground, face first. She quickly climbed on top of him and, without a second's thought, slammed the knife to the hilt in his neck, right below his hairline. She stayed on top of him as his body twitched and blood gurgled in his throat. She panted heavily, and sweat dripped down her back.

She grabbed the handle and had to use her foot and push off the guy's body for leverage to pull the knife out of him. She scanned the yard and couldn't make out where the other guy had gone. She backed up against the gate to keep herself invisible. She was completely tired of her hair in her face, so she grabbed it without thinking and unintentionally smeared blood throughout her curls. She is sweaty and bloody, and her adrenaline is in full gear, so she twists it up over her head and ties it in a knot, keeping it up high and out of her face. She promised to never take it out of the braids if she got out of this.

Rough, sweaty hands suddenly grabbed her by her newly placed bun and dragged her down to the grass. She felt the heavy hand come down hard and slap the right side of her face, blurring her vision. The hazy outline of a man came in and out of focus. He then lunged at her and his hand grabbed her by the curls, as her hair had come loose again. He secured his hold by twisting her long, curly locks around his hand, and began to drag her through the grass, in the direction of the house.

"Here! I found the little bitch. She killed Dave and Pete! " The third man was yelling at the house. He smelled of booze, stale cigarettes, and body odor.

The intense pain of her hair being pulled out by the roots made her forget her training, and she began to panic. She used her hands to hold onto her hair, hoping to keep it from being yanked out completely. Her feet were bare, having lost her unzipped boots in the scuffle. She could feel the cuts on her legs and arms. The sting of the night air hitting her fresh wounds brought her back to her senses.

"You bitch. Dave was my brother, you fucking Whore! You're gonna pay for that, ya hear? " He pulled her up from the floor by her hair, so he could yell at her, spitting in her face and shaking her with each word he said. He drops her down and continues to drag her, caveman style, across the entire backyard, to the glass doors.

"Hey Marco, I found her. She was a sneaky little bitch, but I found her.

"No, no, let her go!" Her father shouted. He was quickly hit with the butt of the gun Marco held. He slumped down as blood trickled down his temple.

"No! You don't need her; she doesn't know anything! " Ruben pleaded.

A younger version of Marco appeared from the kitchen, making a straight line for Ruben. He kicked him in the stomach, grabbed him by the front of his hair, right above his forehead, making him look up at him when he spoke, and began to whisper loud enough for the whole room to hear.

"You don't even begin to suggest what we need or don't need. Y'all hear me? In case you have failed to see, we are running this shit now. Not you, not daddy over there, and certainly not that fine piece of ass I see being brought in on a silver platter. " He had turned and gestured towards the door where Riley was just brought inside by her hair.

"No, you can't!" pleaded Daryl.

"Oh no, Mr. Captain-Save-A-Hoe, I think we can. I think we really can. " Marco replied, walking from where he sat, behind Ruben, towards the glass doors; his eyes had become glazed over and fixated on Riley.