Zombie Apocalypse: The Chad Halverson Series

by Bryan Cassiday

  “It doesn’t really matter what he said. The fact is, the vaccine didn’t work on Emma for whatever reason,” said Quantrill, eyeballing Emma’s all but decapitated corpse.

  “Then the president didn’t know what he was talking about when he gave that speech about the vaccine.”

  “Either that or he lied to us.”

  “Why would he lie to us?” said Meers.

  “You can’t ever trust slimy politicians,” said Chogan. “They’ll say anything to stay in power. You know that as well as I do.”

  “The question is, how effective is this vaccine?” said Kwang-Sun.

  “For all we know, it may not be effective at all. How the hell can we tell if it works?”

  “Never mind,” said Quantrill. “Let’s get out of here and onto the bus,” she added, making for the door. “Burn the corpses and disinfect this room,” she told two of her soldiers.

  “Where’d McLellan go?” said Kwang-Sun.

  “He’s a dead man walking, the traitor. I’ve got soldiers out searching for him and Halverson. They’re both crow bait.”

  “What did they do?” asked Chogan.

  “They’re government agents.”

  CHAPTER 54

  Halverson, Victoria, and McLellan were still holed up in the capacious Venetian. The cathedral ceiling that loomed above the main staircase reminded Halverson of the Sistine Chapel’s with its array of paintings spread above them like a celestial canopy. But Halverson and his companions didn’t have time to marvel at it. They had to decide what they were going to do about Quantrill.

  The broken fingers on Halverson’s hand were killing him.

  “You need to have that looked after,” said Victoria, noticing Halverson wincing.

  They were standing in the main gaming room. A smattering of people played the slot machines, oblivious to the world.

  “What I really need is a gun,” said Halverson. “Quantrill’s gonna come gunning for us.”

  “Your wish is my command,” said McLellan.

  He reached inside his Hugo Boss jacket behind his back and withdrew a Sig Sauer P226 from his rear waistband. He handed the pistol to Halverson.

  Halverson accepted it. “We’re gonna need more clips to take on those guys. There are a lot more of them than us.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  McLellan withdrew his FN 5.7 automatic from his shoulder rig and ejected the magazine into this hand to check that the clip was full. Satisfied, he slammed the clip back into the receiver.

  “How are we gonna attack them with so little firepower?” said Halverson.

  “Maybe we should just get out of town.”

  McLellan holstered his FN 5.7.

  “What about Chogan and Emma?” said Victoria.

  “We can’t leave them,” said Halverson.

  “I don’t think Arnold wants to stay here either.”

  “Then we have to find a way to get them away from Quantrill,” said McLellan.

  “Is she gonna try to stop us?” said Halverson.

  “If she sees you and me, she’ll kill us. You clobbered her face and I double-crossed her the way she sees it. I don’t know what she’ll do with Victoria. Maybe nothing.”

  “We have to find out where Chogan, Emma, and Meers are before we can do anything.”

  “Aren’t they where we left them?” said Victoria.

  Squinting, McLellan thought about it. “Quantrill may have moved them after her fight with Halverson and me. She may even have vented her spleen on them in place of us.”

  “The only way for us to find out where they are is to check,” said Halverson.

  “Easier said than done. She’ll be on the lookout for us.”

  “She’ll find us sooner or later if we stay in town. I don’t see how we can evade her when she sends out soldiers to comb the city for us.”

  “That doesn’t leave us many viable options.”

  “Probably none.”

  Victoria crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m not leaving without Chogan and Emma.”

  “Then we need to sneak across the street and into the Mirage,” said Halverson.

  “That’s a tall order in the daylight,” said McLellan. “We might have half a chance during the night.”

  “I doubt we can wait till nightfall. We need to make our move on a dime.”

  Halverson grimaced as he felt a twinge of pain in his broken fingers. He eyed his mangled hand in annoyance. The broken fingers looked worse than before. They were now swollen to twice their size and had turned black and blue. In fact, his whole hand was turning black and blue.

  “We can’t enter through the Mirage’s lobby,” said McLellan. “A soldier’s bound to see us there.”

  “Then how do we get in?” said Halverson. “You know this area better than we do.”

  “There’s a side entrance near Siegfried and Roy’s arboretum near the pool.”

  “I’m all for doing something,” said Victoria, shifting on her feet restlessly. “Anything’s better than just standing around here waiting.”

  “It would be better if you had a gun,” McLellan told her. “Do you know how to shoot one?”

  “Yeah. But where are we gonna find a gun?”

  “I know where they keep a small armory at the Mirage.”

  Halverson made a beeline for the exit to the bridge that led from the lobby to Las Vegas Boulevard.

  Halverson, Victoria, and McLellan strode out the plate-glass doors of the lobby and onto the bridge to the boulevard. Once in sight of the Mirage’s lobby, they skulked along the sidewalk to the base of a pedestrian bridge that spanned the boulevard well above the motor vehicle traffic.

  From behind the cement staircase that led to the top of the pedestrian bridge, Halverson stuck out his head and peeked at the Mirage to see if there was any movement in front of its lobby.

  For his part Halverson was glad they were doing something, even if it smacked of a suicide mission. It kept his mind off the pain in his injured hand.

  To his surprise he picked up on a yellow school bus pulling into the turnaround in front of the Mirage’s main entrance. Residents standing in knots in front of the lobby were clapping and cheering as the bus parked in front of them.

  “What’s with the school bus?” he said.

  McLellan peered around the staircase to see what Halverson was looking at. “That’s the school bus they use to transport the winners of the lottery to their vacation.”

  “I didn’t know they had picked the winners yet.”

  “Me either.”

  McLellan noticed Halverson’s injured hand jutting near his face as Halverson was propping his elbow against the plaster and cement staircase.

  “Your hand looks like shit,” said McLellan.

  “Thanks for reminding me,” said Halverson.

  “Doesn’t that thing hurt? It looks like a purple baseball glove.”

  Halverson sighed in annoyance. “I’m trying to forget it.”

  “Quantrill must have picked the lottery winners.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “Say again,” said McLellan, looking confused.

  “Does she always do it this quickly?”

  McLellan shrugged. “More or less.”

  “Is it a good thing or a bad thing to win?” asked Victoria.

  “I really don’t know. All I know is that the people who win never come back to Vegas. Quantrill says that’s because their destination is so much better than Vegas.”

  “It gives me the creeps,” said Halverson. “Meers was scared stiff of winning.”

  McLellan scoffed. “Meers is scared of his own shadow. He’s a nervous Nellie.”

  “I’m not so sure,” said Victoria. “What he says makes a lot of sense to me. Don’t you find it strange that nobody ever comes back from their vacation?”

  Halverson watched the winners of the lottery pile onto the bus amidst cheering onlookers. He did a double take.

  “Isn’t that Chogan gettin
g onto the bus?” he said.

  McLellan could barely discern a guy hobbling on a crutch in the queue of winners at the bus’s open door. “We’re kind of far away for me to make out his face.”

  “Who else would be walking around on a crutch?”

  “Yeah, you’re right. It must be him.”

  “Doesn’t that strike you as strange?”

  “And that looks like Arnold right behind him,” said Victoria. “But I don’t see anyone that looks like Emma.”

  “I guess Emma didn’t win,” said McLellan.

  “But doesn’t it seem strange that both Chogan and Meers won?” said Halverson.

  McLellan grunted. “You may have a point. But what it means I don’t know.”

  Victoria made to head across the boulevard to the school bus. “Let’s go find out what’s going on.”

  Halverson held her back. “We can’t go over there. Quantrill wants my head.”

  “I don’t know what happened between you two, but why should she be mad at me?”

  Victoria struggled to break free of Halverson’s grasp on her wrist.

  “Because you’re connected with me,” said Halverson. “She might hold you as some kind of hostage to flush me and McLellan out.”

  “I wouldn’t risk going over there,” McLellan told Victoria.

  “I’ll scream if you don’t let me go,” said Victoria, trying to wrench her arm free of Halverson.

  “Don’t go off half-cocked,” said Halverson. “What are you gonna do after you go over there?”

  Victoria stopped struggling. “I don’t know. We have to do something, though. Hiding here isn’t doing anybody any good.”

  Halverson released her arm. “Maybe we should follow that bus once it’s loaded.”

  “What about Emma? I like Emma and I don’t want to leave her behind. We can’t just abandon her.”

  “I have a feeling Chogan’s in more danger than Emma. Let’s follow him first. Then we can come back for Emma.”

  Across the street, residents on the sidewalk of the turnaround in front of the Mirage were waving cheerful good-byes to the winners of the lottery who were filing onto the bus.

  Suddenly a shot rang out.

  A chip of plaster tore off the staircase near Halverson’s head. Halverson coughed on the puff of dust raised by the round’s impact with the plaster. He ducked out of sight, hauling Victoria with him.

  “They made us,” he said.

  McLellan peeked around the staircase at the bus.

  “Somebody’s shooting an M4 carbine at us from behind the bus,” he said, withdrawing behind the staircase.

  Even as he spoke, a barrage of bullets hammered the staircase.

  Grimacing, Halverson pressed his back against the staircase to avoid ricochets and exploding plaster.

  McLellan peeped around the staircase and returned fire with a single blast at the rifleman that stood next to the rear of the bus.

  The rifleman squeezed off a three-round burst at McLellan in return.

  McLellan pulled back behind the staircase.

  “We can’t stay here,” said Halverson.

  “No kidding,” said McLellan.

  Halverson, Victoria, and McLellan pegged back across the bridge over the lagoon to the Venetian. They raced to the casino’s heavy plate-glass doors and yanked them open.

  “Let’s go through here and out the other exit,” said Halverson between breaths as he sprinted full tilt into the Venetian’s lobby.

  CHAPTER 55

  “What’s all the shooting about?” asked Meers, sitting beside Chogan on a torn green vinyl seat in the hot school bus.

  “I don’t know,” answered Chogan, craning his neck trying to see through the bus’s rear window behind him. “I hope the walking dead didn’t crash the strip.”

  “I doubt that. They never come here.”

  “There’s always a first time.”

  Meers shook his head no. “They never come here.”

  “Then who were they shooting at?” said Chogan, pulling a face.

  “I couldn’t see.”

  “You don’t think it was Halverson, do you?”

  “It might have been.”

  “Why would the soldiers shoot at him?”

  “Why did the General stab you in the leg?”

  “Yeah,” said Chogan under his breath. “She doesn’t seem to like us much, does she?”

  “Speak for yourself.”

  “What makes you think she likes you?”

  “At least she didn’t stab me in the thigh.”

  “That still doesn’t answer why she would try to kill Halverson.”

  “Something’s up. I don’t know what.”

  Chogan and Meers looked away from the rear window.

  Chogan watched more passengers pile into the bus and grab seats. “If that was him they were shooting at, I hope he got away.”

  “I wonder what happened to Victoria.”

  “I don’t know, but I don’t like leaving the two of them behind. I wish they were coming with us.”

  “I wish we were staying behind with them.”

  Chogan eyeballed Meers. “You don’t sound like a winner.”

  “This isn’t my idea of winning.” Meers looked around the bus in dismay.

  “I guess we’re gonna find out pretty soon,” said Chogan, shifting his crutch beside him with a grimace. “I wish these seats were bigger.”

  “I wish Emma was with us. I liked Emma.”

  “She was a fox, wasn’t she? Crazy as a loon, but hot.”

  “She went through a lot of pain when she lost her baby.”

  “We’ve all been through a lot of pain!” rapped Chogan. “I lost my wife Maria to those things.” He held his forehead in his hand. “Goddamn this plague to hell.”

  Fifteen-odd armed soldiers barged into the bus and snapped up seats in the front.

  “Why do we need so many soldiers with us?” asked Meers.

  “Maybe we have to pass through dangerous territory on our way to our vacation,” answered Chogan, scoping out the soldiers.

  “Maybe,” muttered Meers, not convinced.

  “Or maybe they’re winners like us.”

  “Then why do they need their guns?”

  “Good question. You’re starting to make me as hinky as a mama’s boy like you.” Chogan paused in thought. “Maybe we should get off this bus.”

  “It’s not like we have a choice.”

  Quantrill walked up the steps onto the bus.

  When Chogan set eyes on her, he scrambled to his feet.

  “I want to decline the prize,” he told her.

  Using his crutch he hobbled toward the front of the bus.

  Quantrill signaled to one of the soldiers seated in front of her.

  A stocky, muscle-bound black soldier with a bald head and thick tufts of hair sticking out of his flaring nostrils got to his feet and swaggered down the aisle to intercept Chogan.

  The guy reminded Chogan of a warthog with black hairs instead of tusks protruding from its nose.

  Chogan glowered at the intimidating figure and kept limping toward him.

  Unceremoniously, Warthog latched onto Chogan’s arm and shoved him back toward the rear of the bus. Chogan tried to fight him off. Warthog kicked Chogan in his bandaged thigh.

  Chogan screamed in pain. He doubled over.

  Warthog straightened Chogan up. Chogan reared back and launched a haymaker with his right fist into Warthog’s face. Warthog’s head rocked back from the blow. A thin stream of blood leaked from one of his hairy nostrils.

  Fit to be tied, Warthog snatched a pistol out of the holster on his belt and trained the muzzle on Chogan’s face. “Sit your sorry ass down.”

  “This ain’t over,” blurted Chogan.

  Warthog brushed blood off his upper lip with the back of his hand. “It is if you don’t go back to your seat right now, homey.”

  Warthog jerked his pistol’s slide and racked a cartridge into the chamber.r />
  Wary of the gun, Chogan halted back toward his seat next to Meers. On Chogan’s way back to his seat, Warthog kicked Chogan viciously in the back of his wounded thigh.

  Chogan let out a grunt of pain and staggered forward. He clutched one of the seat-backs to break his fall.

  “What kind of a scummy vacation is this?” said Chogan, finding his seat and sitting down, wincing at the pain in his irritated wound.

  He shot a glare in Warthog’s direction.

  Warthog leered back at him.

  “Thank you, Byron,” Quantrill told Warthog as he turned toward the front of the bus and made for his seat.

  “Thank you, Byron,” mimicked Chogan in a falsetto voice.

  One minute Quantrill was glowering at Chogan, the next she was gloating at him. “How did you ever win the lottery?”

  “I wish I knew,” said Chogan in disgust.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a dozen soldiers with M4 carbines in their hands trooping away from the bus. He turned his head to watch them jog across the street toward the Venetian.

  CHAPTER 56

  Mount Weather Emergency Operations Center

  The wall-mounted flat-panel HDTV screen’s image of the map of the United States in the Situation Room was virtually all red now, save for the state of Wyoming, which was flashing orange and red.

  President Cole sat at the table with the keyboard of the nuclear football in front of him on the tabletop. What was left of his administration sat around the table.

  “We have to devise our strategy of attack,” he said, eyes on the map on TV.

  “We nuke the two coasts then bomb inward, crushing and annihilating the infected cannibals between two fronts,” said General Byrd.

  “Then what?”

  “What do you mean?” said Byrd, puzzled.

  “It’s not gonna be enough to purge our own country of the plague. What’s to stop it from spreading across our borders from Mexico and Canada?”

  “Too true. We’ll have to nuke Mexico and Canada.”

  “And Central America and South America. Our entire continent.”

  “And then fan out to the rest of the world,” said Byrd, eyes widening.

  “Let’s concentrate on our continent. The infected can’t swim. We know that. The Atlantic and Pacific oceans should act as natural barriers against the plague.”