by TW Brown
The two-vehicle convoy rolled out through the gates that had been the first thing installed once they’d arrived. The sturdy iron gates ran between two massive power supply stations with ten-foot walls acting as a funnel for anything that might approach his outpost. By the time they were on the Great Basin Highway and headed towards Las Vegas, Joel had counted two lone undead and both turned around and started away from his growing complex to follow after this newest form of stimulus.
“I want a patrol out this far every day,” Joel said to Debra as they cruised up the onramp. “Have them equipped with some sort of noisemaker.”
“Alrighty,” Debra’s voice came back in his headset.
Joel sat back and smiled. That was just another reason that he liked the woman. No questions. She simply did what was asked. She was the perfect soldier. The fact that she was just a bit terrifying didn’t hurt.
6
Into the Heart of Darkness
It had been perhaps just over a month since Joel had been in the city. It was impossible not to be taken aback by how things had unraveled. The degree of destruction was beyond anything he’d ever witnessed. More houses and structures were either torched and now reduced to little more than blackened skeletal husks. Bodies and partial bodies were scattered about and attracting swarms of insects, and in more than a few cases, showed signs of animals having snacked on them.
They were perhaps an hour’s drive from what had once been a global Mecca for debauchery and excess when Joel called for Debra to stop. Just ahead on the side of the road was what would almost be considered a normal scene these days.
From the looks of things, a small party of failed survivors had taken a stand on the outskirts of what the sign announced as Boulder City. It was really nothing more than a simple sign beside the road. The terrain was mostly just flat with the usual variety of plant life that survived in the desert until the first signs of development asserted itself. There were three large RVs ranging in size from twenty-four to thirty-five footers parked in a line. All around were perhaps a hundred or so undead that had been put down during this battle.
None of the proper battle area stood out any more than any other display of humans attempting to make a stand that dotted the post-apocalyptic landscape. It was the upper half of what had once been a woman with dark hair that had pulled itself to the middle of the highway that made Joel pause.
He pulled a set of field glasses from his bag and sighted in on the female zombie. She was surrounded by at least twenty cats. The collection of felines were darting in, taking a bite out of the flailing creature, and then darting back to a safe distance to feast on their newly acquired prize. From the looks of things, a great deal of the insides of this pathetic zombie had already been pulled free. Joel had to assume the cats had already picked at those soft and gushy bits.
“This is not making things any clearer,” Joel grumbled.
“What do you mean?” Debra asked, slowly getting the Humvee moving again.
“The transmission of this virus or disease or whatever it is that has wiped out humanity.” Joel’s eyes stayed fixed on the unsettling scene as they rolled past. “We’ve already seen a few cases of what appear to be spontaneous infection and then there was that dog.” The memory made Joel shudder.
“Yeah, but I haven’t seen anything else. I expected rats or birds and figured that no matter what we did, unless we just went totally underground, humans were done for. But nothing else has popped up.” Debra stepped on the gas and swerved just enough to clip a lone zombie stumbling down the center of the road for them. “And I’m not sure if you’ve heard, but there have been a handful of zombie dog sightings by patrols and scavenge teams.”
Joel had heard. And it was that sort of thing that had him trying to guess how the zombie infection might be spread besides just the typical bite or scratch. He’d already passed a rule that anybody going on patrol was to wear a surgical mask and eye protection. He wasn’t absolutely convinced that this would do any good, but it was better safe than sorry. Also, every person coming back from the field was put in quarantine for seventy-two hours.
They followed the highway to Vegas. The closer to the city they drew, the worse the damage. And now they were starting to see various spray-painted messages warning people to either stay away, or beware entering by whoever had claimed a particular area. These were the outlaw-style gangs that Joel expected, and they would be the first to be removed. He knew that there would be other communities of survivors that would spring up, and these would be perfect sources for supplies. Some would eventually be “taxed” and others would be absorbed. Each would be a case-by-case situation.
With the outlaw gangs, Joel simply decided that there would be no negotiation. These would be the sort to victimize others and cause trouble. These people would be the dregs of society crawling from under their rock and doing unspeakable things. Nope…these would simply be exterminated.
“We got incoming,” Malik’s voice announced through Joel’s headset.
Looking around, it was easy to spot the dust cloud that gave away the approaching band of survivors. “Pull up here,” he said, unharnessing himself. “Everybody take up positions. Debra and Will, split to either side and find a spot in the weeds where you can snipe.”
Joel did a self-check of his own armament as he took his place in front of the Humvee. Cradled in his arms was his M4 with the laser-dot scope. It had been his experience in the past few weeks that people often backed down when they noticed a red pinpoint of light or two on their bodies. On his hips were his beloved .44 Magnum and the simple-yet-practical Beretta. He also wore an assortment of blades including a nasty field blade that could chop a coconut in half like it was melted butter.
“Don’t wait for my word, Malik,” Joel called up over his shoulder. “The moment it looks bad, just lay into ‘em with everything you got.”
“Sure thing, boss,” Malik called down.
Joel didn’t hide his smile. The young man had certainly taken a firmer stance in his loyalty as Joel offered him more responsibility. Malik’s greatest advantage came from his mouth. Joel could almost remember back that far when he believed himself to be invincible.
Once they were in full view, Joel was able to count five motorcycles and two large panel vans. He would guess their numbers to be no more than twenty, and he was already dismissing them as just the sort of raider he felt compelled to eradicate.
The lead bike was one of those overly loud three-wheel affairs. The man riding it was so much of a stereotype that Joel refused to hide the smirk on his face.
“You folks must’ve missed the signs,” the man said in a rumbling voice.
He was easily over six feet tall and pushing three hundred pounds—very little of it muscle by the way the man’s gut wobbled to the thrum of the bike’s powerful engine.
Trike, Joel corrected himself. This biker wasn’t even hardcore enough to ride what Joel considered to be a real motorcycle.
Looking the man over quickly, Joel made a checklist of every B-Grade movie’s cheesy biker and this guy was acing the test. Small, black open-faced helmet—check; tinted goggles—check; leather vest (although a bit new in appearance, which was certainly a deduction in points)—check; open-fingered gloves with spikes on the knuckles—check; long, braided beard and handlebar mustache—check.
The man had a dingy sort of hair color that, if washed, might reveal itself to be ginger. Even from a few paces away with decaying corpses littering the landscape and a bunch of engines running, the man’s rank body odor was gut-turning.
“Last one I saw that meant anything said ‘Welcome to Boulder City’ if my memory serves,” Joel said casually.
“And I must say, that weapon you’re holding looks like it was stolen off our fine military,” the man continued, seemingly oblivious of Joel’s response. “The Hells’ Avengers laid claim to all military hardware in these parts, so I think you’re gonna need to hand that over.”
The stupidity of
some people never ceased to amaze Joel. He saw the realization dawn on the man’s face just a moment too late. His eyes were just tracking up to where Malik sat in the turret manning the .50 cal on top of the Humvee that Joel stood so casually in front of.
There was a mechanical ratcheting sound that Joel heard with just enough time to allow his rifle to drop and dangle from its strap as he covered his ears. When the machine gun opened fire, Joel actually took a few steps to the side and back to avoid being hit by the flying debris of metal as the motorcycles and their riders were cut to pieces by the high-velocity ammunition. The vans made a clumsy attempt to escape, colliding with each other as they backed up too fast. Before they could wrench themselves free of each other, Malik was already walking bullets across the ground in short bursts until he had his newest targets sighted in.
The entire event took less than a minute, but when it was over, the carnage was indescribable. Bodies had been pulverized along with the machines their riders had arrived on. Both vans were smoldering hulks with an assortment of fluids draining underneath them in large dark puddles.
“Okay folks,” Joel called out as he returned to the Humvee, “let’s get this show back on the road.”
“That was easy enough,” he said as he strapped himself back into place and Debra stomped the gas sending them lurching forward. “You got a problem?” He turned to face the woman in the driver’s seat.
“I want to ride in the nest next time,” the woman grumbled. “I’ll be damned if I’ll let that punk kid have all the fun.”
“You know I can hear you, right?” Malik’s voice called down.
“I want everybody to keep their eyes peeled for any activity,” Joel said into his headset, ignoring the barbs between Debra and Malik. “If that was the extent of their little gang, then I’m surprised they managed to last this long.”
He had barely finished speaking when plumes appeared in the distance on either side of them. He had just spotted them when Will’s voice broke in. “You mean like what we have coming from our three and nine o’clock positions?”
Joel scanned the area. Just ahead was a four-way intersection with what looked to be the remains of what had probably been an exclusive community.
“Turn left.” Joel pointed at the intersection and Debra jerked the wheel around hard.
“How about a warning next time?” Malik shouted.
The deuce-and-a-half followed, a plume of gray-blue smoke coming off the tires as it slowed dramatically to take the turn.
“This isn’t a freakin’ sports car,” Will bellowed in the radio. “Maybe try to keep the speed down in the corners. If we get separated, I will be lost. I’m from Colorado. I never even visited Vegas before all this zombie shit popped up.”
“You gotta be kidding me,” Debra quipped. “Hot shot like you never been to Vegas?”
“I saw no need to throw my money away. I’d rather spend it fixing up my Harley and taking road trips during my leave times.”
“As interesting as this all might be,” Joel interrupted, “can we keep our minds on the fact that we have what might be the rest of a biker gang chasing us?”
“I have a visual on approximately twenty individuals,” Malik chimed in.
“Next intersection, break left, Will,” Joel ordered. “Have your passengers set up ambush positions and give them the word to open fire at will.”
Debra reached the next intersection and turned right without being told. She continued to rise in value in Joel’s opinion with every passing minute. She knew exactly what he had in mind and eased between what had probably been some soccer mom’s minivan and a two-seater sports car with the driver and passenger still strapped into their seats. As the vehicles passed by Joel’s window, he saw yet another stereotype. The man was perhaps in his late fifties, thick dark hair with gray streaks down each side. If not for the paleness of his undead flesh, he imagined the man once sported quite a tan. His skin had the appearance of elephant skin with its leathery quality. The woman, and that was stretching the definition, barely looked twenty. And it was unlikely that she was his daughter considering her attire which would make a stripper blush.
The woman had suffered the worst by the looks of things. Her throat had been ripped out, and she was missing her right arm at the shoulder. The man had been bitten on the face and lost his nose, most of his lower lip, and left cheek.
The Humvee came to a stop after turning around to allow Malik the full view of anybody approaching in their wake. Both Joel and Debra exited the vehicle with Debra running in a crouch to take up a position on the ground wedged up against the minivan. Her rifle was snug against her shoulder and two spare magazines were on the ground beside her.
Joel scanned the area and spotted a rock fence that ran between a pair of houses. That position would make him useless in the opening minutes of the firefight to come, but it would also allow him to slip behind the enemy and flank them.
The rumble of the approaching motorcycles began to echo off the vacant houses and fill the abandoned neighborhood with a deep thundering noise that brought out the undead. Joel felt rather than heard the creature come around the corner of the house he was beside.
Glancing over his shoulder, he saw it stop and regard him. This child was perhaps eight years old. Her hair was cut short and one colorful ribbon still clung to the matted mess. Her mouth had a dark stain of very old dried blood and her teeth looked almost as gray as her skin when she opened her mouth to let loose a soft moan. She was wearing a pair of faded jeans and what remained of a powder blue blouse. He glanced down and saw that all the fingers on her left hand had been chewed off in a rather grisly manner. Splinters of bone and tattered flesh almost gave the hand the appearance of being tipped with claws. Her right forearm had a chunk missing, and if he were to guess, he imagined the little girl had tried to fend off her attacker. The size of the bite on her forearm was small, which led Joel to believe that her attacker had been a child as well.
He didn’t have to wait long for what he took as confirmation. A little boy of perhaps five came around the corner of the house in his sister’s wake and stopped just behind and to one side of her. Their similarity, despite the distortion of their features due their facial muscles growing slack in death, was uncanny and left little doubt that they were siblings.
“Go on,” Joel whispered. “Nothing to see here.”
The children regarded him, and something about their lack of simply attacking him outright caused him to pause. He had no issue with killing a zombie. If need be, he wouldn’t hesitate to drop one no matter the age or gender, but these two weren’t acting like the zombies he’d seen or encountered thus far. They were acting like…children.
“This is a bad place to hang out,” Joel whispered.
The pair continued to simply stare at him with their filmed-over eyes shot with the black tracers. When they did move, it seemed confined to the head which would twitch and jerk in small fits like a toy trying to start but not quite managing it.
“You need to be away from here,” Joel hissed through clenched teeth.
He could hear the bikes approaching and guessed that they were just now coming up the main entry to this development which, as Joel got a closer look, wasn’t as devastated as he’d initially thought. Still the kids remained put. He used the barrel of his gun and jabbed at the air making a shooing noise as he did so. In that moment, the pair almost appeared to transform before his eyes. Both lurched forward, mouths open and hands reaching for him just like any zombie he’d seen in person, on television, or at the movies.
It was no problem to allow the rifle to drop as he pulled a knife from his belt. By the time the zombie children reached him, he’d made it to his knees. He grabbed the closest of the two, which turned out to be the girl, and plunged his blade into her temple. Pushing her aside as he withdrew the knife, he caught the boy by one arm and yanked him in, driving the point of the dripping blade into his open and staring eye socket. Just that quick, it was over.
At no time had he felt like he’d been even in the slightest bit of danger.
Kicking the corpses away with one foot, Joel took his place again and sighted in on the intersection as the first motorcycle prowled into view. One of the snipers from Will’s group fired the first shot and the rider toppled to the side, dumping the big hog in the process. That was the signal to everybody else, and a barrage of high-velocity lead flew as the rest of the bikers rolled into view.
In seconds, the scene was almost a comedy from Joel’s perspective as the bikes collided with one another as some of the riders made the choice to attempt to flee. It didn’t matter once Malik opened fire. The group was cut down without any of them so much as getting off a shot.
When the cacophony of weapons ended their deathly symphony, a silence fell on the scene that lasted just a few heartbeats before moans of the dying were met by the groans of the undead. Joel got up and walked into the street, shoving an elderly woman wearing way too much makeup and jewelry aside as he returned to the Humvee.
“Mount up and let’s roll!” Joel called.
As they exited the once upscale housing community, Joel glanced back. The zombies were falling on the bodies scattered about the intersection. Even in the Humvee with his headset on, he could hear the screams begin.
They continued on towards what had once been the city of Las Vegas. Despite being several miles out, there was a noticeable and very visible smudge in the sky. The number of fires that had burned out of control were beyond counting. Being in the desert there was an added feature that only helped the destruction: the wind.
The steady breeze that blew now was sending the scattered plumes of smoke southeast towards Joel and his team. The closer they got, the thicker the smoke became until Joel finally called for a halt.