by Sean Patten
“You sure about this?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said. “Don’t let them engage you. Just move around them.”
It was risky as hell, and I knew it. But it was the least bad of all our possible options.
The group grew closer, then closer. Soon, they were twenty feet away, then ten.
“Look at these two!” said one of them, his voice brash and cocky.
“Yeah,” said another. “Bet they had a really good night at the tables.”
It was still unbelievable to me that it was taking so long to sink in that all of that crap—cash, cards, chips—was now less than useless.
Then I remembered that plenty of these people probably weren’t aware of the extent of the disaster. They probably thought this was some little hiccup that they could take advantage of and be ready with pockets full of stolen cash and whatever else when the lights went back on.
But the lights weren’t coming back on.
The men split up as we approached, forming a wide circle around us. Steve and I stopped and stood still.
Finally, one of the men, a tall, lanky guy in a black undershirt, his arms covered in tattoos, spoke up.
“Sup?” he asked.
“Just passing by,” I said. “Don’t want any trouble.”
“Oh yeah?” asked the man, a big grin spreading across his thin face. “Then that means you two and us got some shit in common.”
“Yeah,” said another of the men. “We’re some fucking do-gooders, right? Keeping the peace till the power comes back on.”
“Mhmm,” said the first man. “Making the streets safe, right?”
They were playing a game, but I said nothing. Instead, I glanced furtively over the lanky guy’s shoulder, spotting that behind him the sidewalks were clear. If only we could get past them.
“But the thing about our operation is that it needs, you know, funding.”
“Lots of funding,” said another.
Here we go.
“So,” said the first man. “We’re going to need a little donation from you both to make it worth our time, reward me and my boys for our hard work.”
“We don’t have anything,” said Steve. “And even if we did it’d be useless.”
I winced internally, wishing Steve would say nothing. There wasn’t a chance that we’d be able to talk these guys down, make them see sense. Hell, even if we did convince them of what was actually going on, that’d be no guarantee that it’d do any good. If anything, it might make them drop even the pretense of playing nice.
“How about you give us whatever you have, and we’ll decide if it’s useless or not?” said the first man.
They were about to find out that we had nothing to offer them. And I didn’t want to find out what their reaction was going to be when they did.
The circle grew smaller and smaller as the men moved in, each of them ready to pounce.
The only way out was through.
“Steve,” I said out of the corner of my mouth.
“Yeah?” he asked.
“Run. Now.”
I didn’t wait for him to respond. Taking off at full force, I pointed my shoulder at the first man and slammed into him, hard. He let out a cry of surprise that shifted into an “oof!” as my shoulder connected with his chest, then he fell right back onto his ass.
“Shit!” cried out Steve.
I ran, through the circle and down the sidewalk.
“What the fuck?” shouted out one of the men.
“Get those pricks!” called out the first man through struggled breaths. “Now!”
I glanced over my shoulder for just long enough to see if Steve was behind me. He was, hoofing it just as fast as I was.
“Fucking hell!” he said through hard breaths. “You tackled the hell out of that asshole!”
“Just move!” I shouted.
He did. We ran hard and took the nearest side street, the muscles in my legs burning. Behind us, through the commotion of the crowds on the Strip, I could hear the men hurrying after us. We had to find somewhere to hide, and fast. No way we could outrun these guys forever.
“Where?” shouted Steve, only able to get out the single word.
I scanned the street ahead. Up further was a small shop front, dark and empty. As I got closer I spotted a red-and-white candy stripe pole above the door.
A barbershop—the last place anyone would want to loot. And if we got in there now, we could duck in before the men turned the corner and saw us.
“Come on!” I shouted.
I ran up to the barbershop, the interior as empty as it had appeared from a distance. I jabbed my elbow into the small pane of glass over the doorknob, reached in, and unlocked it. Once that was done, I yanked the door open, motioned for Steve to get inside, and shut it behind us.
“Hide!” I shouted.
We both scrambled for cover behind two of the large barber’s chairs. Through the crack between the seat of the chair and the back, I watched through the window as the gang rushed past the storefront and was soon gone.
“Jesus,” said Steve, having seen the same thing I did. “That was close.”
I let out a sigh of relief as I turned and leaned back against the chair. My deep breaths brought in the scents of the place, hair oils and rich shaving cream.
But right at the moment I let my guard down, I heard a pair of footsteps emerge from the back of the restaurant.
Then the click of a safety being released.
“You two want to tell me what the hell you’re doing in my store?”
Chapter 18
22:30
I whipped my head around the chair and was nearly face-to-face with the business end of a pump shotgun. My eyes tracked up to the face of the person holding it. He was an older guy with silver hair styled in a neat part, one eye squinted and one, a striking blue, gazing at me hard down the long, black barrel of the shotgun.
“I’ll repeat what I said, and you’ll have one chance to answer before I blow your brains out all over my nice, clean floor. You want to tell me what the hell you’re doing in my store?”
“We had to run,” said Steve. “There was a gang after us and they wanted to—”
The barrel of the gun swiftly moved, pointing towards Steve.
“I don’t recall asking you a God-blessed thing,” he said. “Now, if you boys want to make it through the next five minutes, I suggest you both start following directions.”
He pointed the barrel back at me, and I slowly raised my hands.
“We’re unarmed,” I said.
“Good to know,” he said. “But that doesn’t answer my question.”
I closed my eyes for a moment and carefully measured my words. The man didn’t strike me as the type to screw around.
“That’s my brother over there,” I said, cocking my head towards Steve. “We were in the Medley when this all went down. And we were trying to get the hell out of the Strip when this gang surrounded us.”
“Walking around out there during a blackout?” he asked. “Not a smart move.”
“No kidding,” said Steve. “We were—”
The gun whipped right back over to Steve’s face.
“Next unprompted word I hear out of your mouth will earn you a load of buckshot right into the belly, you hear me? Not sure how much you know about these sorts of things, but that’s about the most horrible way to go out that a human’s likely to experience.”
Steve shut up, his mouth forming into a hard line.
“So,” said the man, his shotgun trained on me again. “You were fleeing some gang and decided that my store would be the perfect place to break into.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Listen, it was do-or-die, we had to hide somewhere.”
He stared hard at me, as if trying to figure out how on-the-level I was simply by the way I looked.
“And you’re unarmed?”
“Not unless you count a lighter as a weapon,” I said.
A hush of silence fell.
“Stand up,” he said. “Just you—not your little brother.”
“Actually,” said Steve. “I’m the—”
I raised my palm to Steve, shutting him up mid-word.
The man kept his gun trained on me as he stepped over, and performed a quick pat-down. He did it quickly and efficiently, knowing the exact places to look for hidden weapons. Between that and the way he handled his gun, I began to wonder whether this guy had always been a barber.
“Now you,” he said, speaking to Steve.
Steve took my place and the barber gave him the same efficient pat-down.
“You’re clean,” he said. “But running around in this nonsense without a weapon is about as exposed as you can get.”
“I know,” I said. “Which is why we want to get out of the city.”
He kept the barrel pointed at me for another long moment before finally moving it and slinging the shotgun onto his shoulder.
“Yeah,” he said. “You and two-and-a-half million other people.”
He glanced behind him.
“Come on back,” he said. “Don’t want to attract any attention through those windows.”
With that, he started towards the back of the shop. Steve and I followed him, and in the back of my head I still worried he’d decide that we were too much on an unknown element to deal with and instead put a couple of shots in the both of us.
Then again, him walking ahead and letting us behind him seemed to suggest that he trusted us, at least a little. It’s more than I would’ve expected, considering we’d broken into his shop.
A string of popping noises sounded over the commotion outside, maybe gunshots, maybe fireworks—there was no way to know for sure.
We followed him through the dark hallway, towards a room at the end. A soft glow emanated from the entrance.
“Back here,” he said, stepping around the corner.
Steve and I entered in behind him, into an office. It was a small space, a compact desk in the center, two cheap chairs in front of it. Over the desk was a hung a large American flag, a golden cross beneath it. A few framed pictures were here and there, one of what appeared to be a younger version of the man in military gear, posing with a few other guys dressed the same way.
The light came from a small, battery-power lamp—the kind of simple device that, much like the robbers’ flashlights back at the casino, could survive something like an EMP blast. The man took a seat behind the desk, setting the shotgun down in a manner that would allow for easy access.
He shook his head, a stray strand of silver coming loose and draping over his forehead.
“What a goddamn mess,” he said.
I took the opportunity to get some information.
“When did this happen out here?” I asked. “We were in the Medley when the lights went off.”
“Couple hours ago, maybe?” he said. “Lights flickered for a sec and then bam”—he snapped his fingers—“total dark.”
“Then what?” asked Steve. “Everyone just started acting crazy?”
“Not right away,” he said. “Some people were so drunk and high or whatever that they didn’t even realize that something was wrong at first. Then, after about fifteen minutes, they all started wandering around in a daze.”
He shook his head.
“Then the more…opportunistic types, the ones who realized that something was seriously amiss, started smashing things, looting. Didn’t take long for the rest of ’em to join in.”
“They should be getting to safety,” I said. “Instead they’re grabbing TVs like they’re actually going to be able to use them.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“That’s what this is then, right?” he asked. “That solar event they’d been talking about on the news?”
“It is,” said Steve. “My brother knows all about it.”
As much as a small, petty part of me wanted to gloat now that Steve had come round to my point of view, I didn’t care for this—I didn’t want to be set up as some kind of expert.
But the man only nodded.
“What’re you boys’ names?” he asked.
“Steve Powell. And that’s my little brother Justin.”
“Henry Sands,” the barber said, tapping his stout chest with the tip of his thumb. “I suppose I’m pleased to meet you.”
“Likewise,” I said. “And thanks for not shooting first and asking questions later. We were in a hell of a jam out there.”
“Sure,” he said. “I got the sense that the two of you weren’t up to any trouble. Evil-doers all have a way about them—you can see it in their eyes.”
I flashed back to the faces of the men who’d had us surrounded, thinking of the hard, menacing expression they all wore. It was something sinister, all right, something you could feel in your bones.
“So,” said Henry. “You boys got an idea of what to make of all this?”
“The power?” I asked.
He nodded.
“If it’s out, it’s out,” I said. “Not a matter of turning it back on. Anything that got hit by the blast is totally fried.”
“Figured as much,” he said. “I did a little reading about that whole EMP thing. Didn’t look pretty.”
“The only thing to figure out is the extent of it,” I said. “And with each minute that passes without the government coming in to let us know they’re still around, the more likely it is that this might very well be a global catastrophe.”
“End of days,” said Henry.
“Huh?” asked Steve. “What?”
“End of days,” he said. “Judgment day. The end of the world as we know it.”
He folded his hands together and leaned forward on his desk.
“You two boys believing men?” he asked.
I didn’t know quite how to answer that. Part of me did believe in the idea of…something. But it’d been years since I’d been to church, or done anything that would be a reflection of religious faith.
“Not…not really sure,” I said.
“I’m not,” said Steve. “Not even a little.”
Henry flicked his eyes over to Steve, scanning every inch of him.
“LA, huh?” he asked.
“Yeah,” said Steve. “How did you know?”
“You’ve got the stink of that cesspool on you,” he said. “And let me tell you this—you’d better be thanking whatever it is that you believe in that you’re not there right now.”
“Why?” asked Steve, leaning forward. “Do you know something?”
“I know what happened to Sodom and Gomorrah,” the man said. “Two other cities built with sin as their foundation. And I’d bet you two know enough about the Bible to know their fates.”
“But those are just stories,” said Steve.
Henry allowed himself a small grin, his face illuminated by the camp light as if he were about to tell us a scary story around a fire.
“They’re not stories,” he said. “They’re warnings. LA, New York, Las Vegas—they’re cities of vice and avarice and just about every other sin you can imagine, only held together by the power of the United States government. And that government might very well be in no position to do a damn thing. Tell me, Mr. California—what do you think Manhattan looks like right now?”
Steve sat back, thinking the question over.
“Probably…not good.”
“Probably not good at all. And what about LA? You think the masses of destitute in that city are sitting around, waiting of the power to come back on? Or do you think they’re taking the opportunity to settle some scores with the rich folk who live those mansions up in the sky?”
Steve said nothing. I didn’t either—I knew the answer.
“And Vegas is about ready to meet the same fate,” Henry said. “Right now we got something halfway between Hell and an end-of-the-world party out there. And you boys just met the first wave of demons who’re getting ready to turn it into the former.”
The barber took
a breath before he continued, giving us both an appraising look up and down as he did.
“So,” he said. “We got a non-believer and a ‘not sure’ believer here. You want my advice? Get yourselves right with God—you’re going to need His help if you’re going to make it out of this alive.”
“God’s not going to help us if we get cornered by a gang like that again,” said Steve.
Henry wasn’t perturbed.
“You’re wrong about that,” he said. “Live by God’s plan, and you’d be surprised what happens when you walk the path He’s set out for you. Because, make no mistake, He’s got a plan for us all.”
“But what about your plan?” I asked. “You can’t be considering staying in here for much longer.”
Before any of us could say anything, a deafening crash sounded from the main room, followed by the increasing volume of the chaos outside. Even from where we sat it sounded like it was getting worse.
“Come along,” Henry said, getting up and grabbing his shotgun. “I’ll show you what I’ve got in mind.”
Chapter 19
We hurried out of the office. Henry took point, the shotgun in his hands and the camp light hooked onto his belt loop. I was worried, half-expecting to emerge and see that the place had been filled with people from the streets.
Or even worse, the gang who’d been chasing us.
Henry seemed to be kind, but I had no idea if his Christian sense of care for his fellow man would extend to getting in a gun battle on our behalf.
We stepped into the hallway and I was relieved to see that no one had entered the store. The window had been smashed, a stray trashcan laying among the broken glass, but the damage seemed to be inadvertent.
However, the crowds out on the street had a wilder way about them now, more violent. Gunshots popped here and there, the masses glowing orange among the whipping flames of cars and shopfronts.
“See that?” asked Henry, pointing to the people. “They’re getting worse, and it’s only been a few hours. Imagine what that scene’s going to look like by the time the morning light hits.”
“Don’t even want to think about it,” said Steve.
“Me either,” said Henry. “And that broken window’s as good a sign as any that it’s time to move. Come on.”