by TW Brown
At some point, Joel withdrew to a chair in the corner of the bedroom. From there, he was able to see out over the city of Las Vegas. He could see the strip and the lie its lights tried to tell. Those lights were part of the illusion that Las Vegas was a wonderful playground. It was the mask that the thief hid behind as it emptied the pockets—and sometimes entire life savings—of the people who flocked to it like moths. Only, this thief did not need to assault somebody to take their money; no, the fools came to give it willingly. The city played on the human weakness that you could get something for nothing. It hid the truth well.
Late afternoon gave way to evening, and all those lights fought to hide a new illusion. Death. Death had come to Las Vegas, and it would not be denied.
At some point, Peanut, Joel’s orange and white tabby leapt into his lap and curled up. Joel stroked it absently as he continued to stare out the window.
A flurry of movement caught his eye and Joel let his gaze narrow to the source of such sudden movement. It was one of the other amazing hotels that lined the new strip in Vegas. To be precise, it was the penthouse balcony.
Joel stood, ignoring Peanut’s meow of annoyance as it was unceremoniously dumped from his lap. He reached in the same drawer of his bedside nightstand where he’d drew his pistol and came up with a set of very powerful binoculars.
Opening the slider to his own balcony, Joel was assaulted by a cacophony of screams, gunshots, and sirens. He ignored it all and brought the binoculars to his eyes. It took only a slight adjustment to find his target.
What he saw was horrible. It was like walking in the living room in the middle of one of Wanda’s awful movies. A pair of women were fighting off at least a dozen attackers. All the attackers were covered in dark stains he knew to be blood. One of the living women sported a similar stain on her right shoulder. She was also visibly slower in her reactions as she struggled to fight off the pack of ravenous attackers.
As he watched, the uninjured woman backed herself into a corner. It was a double-edged sword. The benefit was that she had less area to defend, and it was impossible to get behind her. The negative came in that she had nowhere else to retreat.
The injured woman swung what looked like a large butcher knife at one of her would-be assailants and the weapon struck home, burying itself in what appeared to be the eye socket of the zombie. It dropped like it’d been shot, yanking the weapon from the woman’s hands.
Joel had no idea if she had a weapon in reserve. If she did, she never got the chance to draw it as three more zombies crowded in and dragged the woman down and out of sight. Even from this distance, and despite all the other noise carrying on the night air, Joel heard a scream that was unlike any he’d ever been so unfortunate to hear.
He re-trained his binoculars on the woman who had been backed into a corner and was surprised to see that she’d climbed up onto the balcony’s railing. Oddly enough, he was less shocked when she threw herself from that ledge and plummeted down the face of the tall hotel. His eyes tracked her fall all the way to the pavement below. It was then that he noticed several more dark shapes scattered about the wide walking thoroughfare that normally boasted thousands of pedestrians eager to reach the next location where they were certain luck would change and they would hit it big.
The time for sitting around was over, Joel decided. It was time to act. A piece of Joel that had been dormant for decades woke and asserted itself as if it had never been shelved. The warrior was awake and in charge.
***
Joel stood at the foot of the bed he’d shared with his wife in their company-owned suite at the MGM Grand. There had been a lot of good times between them and he didn’t have any regrets about the life they’d lived together.
And now that life was over. To many people that Joel had known over the years, he knew very well that he came across as cold, hard, and unfeeling. Nothing was farther from the truth.
He did feel. He felt deeply. His biggest strength, if you asked him, was that he was able to separate emotion from reality. When he was doing business, it was always with the idea that his choices were what would make his company stronger and therefore allow him to take care of him and Wanda, as well as his employees, to the utmost degree. He did not dwell on things like how others perceived him. That was their flaw. They let their feelings and emotions get all twisted up in their everyday lives, and when it came to the business world, too many people often lacked the ability to divorce themselves of such things like human emotion.
That was how Joel had done so well during his time over in Vietnam. He saw everyday as one where he needed to do his job. He needed to perform without hesitation. The option to give less than all he was capable of had never been available. At least not as far as he saw things.
Joel had not so much changed in the past hour as he had redefined what his new job would be going forward. Wanda had made that one of her final requests. He would honor it as he had so many others in their life together. He glanced down at the hiking pack that he’d loaded with the most fundamental supplies. She would laugh at him if she saw the half a dozen books sitting on top.
Joel had never given a thought to a zombie apocalypse. It was nothing more than ridiculous fantasy as far as he was concerned. Still, now that he was staring it in the face, it was impossible to deny. The book at the top was the most worn out and also had a title that seemed the most appealing: The ZOMBIE Survival Guide by some fellow named Max Brooks.
He doubted it would read much like a field survival manual, but it was likely to have a few pointers in it that would be relatable. After bowing his head for a moment to offer up a prayer to whatever might be listening, Joel twisted open the bottle of alcohol and doused the makeshift torch he’d created.
“Rest in peace, Wanda,” he whispered as he lit the corners of the bed on fire and then set the torch down in the center of the bed.
Joel picked up his cat and held it in front of his face. “I’m gonna put you in my pack. Just chill out for a bit and everything will be okay.”
The cat stared back at him with its usual catlike ambivalence. The only thing it did in acknowledgement was start a deep purr, its eyes drifting half closed. It seemed to consider its new location in Joel’s pack for a moment before yawing, curling up, and shutting its eyes. On the way out, he paused to hit the start button on the microwave.
Joel was just opening the door to the emergency stairs when the explosion rocked the floor and blew off the door that had belonged to his room, sending it slamming into the wall across the hallway. He didn’t even look back or acknowledge the blast as he turned on the portable LED lantern and started down to the ground floor.
His first order of business would be to get out of the heart of Las Vegas. The place was sheer and utter chaos, and if he was going to have a chance at survival, this was not the place to be.
At last, he reached the ground floor. His ability to hear the screams had kicked in with about three floors to go. He’d been hearing gunshots as soon as ten floors remaining in the descent.
He was not concerned in the least that he had an old school military issue M-16 slung over his shoulder as well as his beloved .44 Magnum holstered to one hip. But in his hands he held a Beretta 92 9mm with a full magazine and in a pouch on the hip opposite his Smith & Wesson were five more fully loaded magazines. His pack held four boxes of ammo for the Beretta, each box holding fifty rounds. He knew that obtaining more ammo would be vital, but he was hoping almost three hundred rounds would at least get him out of the city center.
At last he reached the bottom. Very carefully, Joel opened the door just a crack. The wave of noise as well as a wall of stench hit him full force and caused his nose to wrinkle in disgust. On the plus side, the door opened to a service corridor and was off the beaten path. All the madness was happening to his left. That meant he would go right.
Joel eased out, but set the door stop so that he could retreat back to the stairwell if necessary. He kept in a low crouch and hugged the
wall as he moved along towards the end of the long, dark hallway.
He was almost to the exit door marked with a big “EMERGENCY ONLY—OPENING WILL RESULT IN AN ALARM” sign that he could read despite the relative gloom and without his reading glasses when a scream from behind him caused him to pause long enough to glance back and seek out the source.
At the entrance to this service corridor were a cluster of figures. From this distance it was clear that at least one individual was being attacked. There was a great deal of flailing and screaming, but it was impossible to make out who was attacking whom. Joel turned back to the door and was about to press the large metal bar when a voice cried out, “Please help me, mister!”
Joel paused again and looked back. Now he could see a woman against one wall. She was holding back one attacker by the throat. Three more were on the ground and struggling like turtles on their backs as they tried to regain their feet. Joel took a step towards the woman out of reflex. More figures limped or staggered into view, all of them seeming to be drawn to the struggling woman.
There was a moment where a pair of the dark forms merged with hers. Joel knew then that any attempt that he made to try and save the poor soul would be an exercise in futility. The scream that came from her was the punctuation to that thought.
Joel turned back to the emergency exit and slammed the metal bar with both hands to open it. He expected a blaring alarm, but all he got was a weak chiming sound and some flashing lights. Maybe if things hadn’t already spiraled so far out of control, that would actually be something that garnered attention, but now, amidst gunfire and screams, it was nothing more than an undercurrent to the existing ambient noise.
Joel stepped through the door and found himself in the part of Las Vegas that the tourists never saw. This was a back alley of sorts that ran between the sprawl of hotels and casinos. It was still technically inside since it had a roof, but this was where all the pipes and stairwells to various control stations existed. This was where the illusion of the city was maintained.
Joel moved along the maze of corridors with military caution. Blundering headlong into a zombie or six would make for a lousy start in his quest to survive.
That thought caused Joel to stop in his tracks. Survive? What would the point be in something so simple as surviving? No, he was going to live.
Joel encountered his first zombie in a narrow walkway with dirty walls that might’ve been white once. There were a series of dark pipes running overhead with assorted labels ostensibly informing the maintenance crew what they proved and where.
The man was leaning against the wall with his back to Joel. At first, Joel thought he may just be another person trying to get out of the complex. The moment he caught a whiff of that smell he’d first encountered when Wanda turned, he knew better. When the man turned, Joel got his confirmation. Most of the man’s throat had been torn out, leaving a massive black stain down the front of his coveralls. His eyes were filmed over and that pus-colored film made the black tracers stand out in even starker contrast.
The man…no, Joel corrected his mindset, that was no longer a man. It was a zombie. Ghoul. Flesh-eater. Whatever the term people cared to use, it was no longer living. It was a mobile source of infection and a painful death.
The reports on the news had mentioned that, apparently like many of the movies and books in the zombie genre, the only way to take these things down were by traumatic head injury. Without hesitation, Joel veered toward the creature as it disengaged from the wall and began to shamble his way. As soon as it was just a few steps away from being at arm’s length, Joel aimed at the face of the coverall-clad zombie and fired. The back of the head exploded in thick bits of brain with a few chunks of bone that splattered the dingy wall behind it. Without a sound or cry of pain, the zombie collapsed to the ground in a lifeless heap. It didn’t even twitch with post-mortem electricity. It was just plain dead.
Joel continued to make his way through the maze, occasionally finding an arrow or sign that indicated an emergency exit. He was not confident that an emergency exit would get him clear of the building. Hell, it might just dump him into one of the huge connecting passages that allowed people to move from one casino to the next without actually even stepping outside.
Joel wanted to find the main exit that the employees used to come and go from this place. That would put him in one of the large parking garages. From there, he should have no trouble getting out of town. While newer cars were not very easy to hotwire, he was certain there had to be an old model beater in the mix. He was already making a battle plan for how he would proceed.
Besides casinos, Joel figured the most common business in the city and surrounding area had to be pawn shops. All the fools who kept thinking they needed just one more throw of the dice and everything would be okay often turned to these modern day financial vampires to trade in anything and everything they had for pennies on the dollar. These places would have guns.
He needed firepower. There was no doubt about that. Also, he knew better than to believe that he could exist for long all on his own. He would need to recruit some people. That was where things would be tricky. He knew the perfect way when it came to dealing with the undead. He was shrewd when it came to dealing with folks on a business level. But he’d never been much for building deep, meaningful relationships—Wanda being the lone exception.
Rounding a corner, he saw a set of glass doors that led to some sort of open lobby. There were at least three of those things there just wandering around, bumping off each other, counters, furniture.
“How the hell do these things win?” Joel muttered as he observed their uncoordinated movements for a moment.
After he was certain that only three of the undead were in the small entry lobby, Joel made for the door. He pushed it open and paused to let himself get adjusted to the horrific stench that was amplified by either the fact that there were three of these things, or that they were in a small, closed space. Whatever the reason, it was the closest he’d been to becoming physically sick in years.
As he stood there trying to keep his insides from spilling out through his mouth and nose, all three of the zombies turned to face him. He wasn’t sure if they could see, hear, or smell him. Now was certainly not the time to make that discovery. He stepped towards the first one and shoved it back hard. The creature had no real sense of balance and toppled easily.
He allowed the second one to reach for him and grabbed it by the wrist, slinging it past him to collide with and trip over the first one he’d already sent sprawling. He marveled at how insanely simple this was and again had to question how a single zombie managed to get even one victim.
The third one wouldn’t even reach him before he was across the room and out the door. He saw no reason to engage.
Joel exited the small lobby entry and found himself inside a large parking garage just as he figured. A sound to his right caught his attention and Joel crept along the front bumpers of the closest row of cars as he moved to investigate. As he made his way, he looked around to see if any of the walking dead might be close or possibly aware of his presence. At the moment, he seemed to be the only thing moving on at least this level of the parking garage.
At last he reached his destination. Sitting with its sliding side door open was a shuttle van. Most of the hotels and casinos had them running twenty-four/seven as guests poured into the city at pretty much all hours of the day and night. Making one last scan of the area, Joel felt confident that there was nothing close by. That did not mean there might not be something on the bus, so he had his pistol at the ready as a precaution.
Pausing at the step up that would allow him to see up and down the aisle of the shuttle, Joel gave the air a cautionary sniff. Nothing jumped out at him. He certainly didn’t smell that stench he now associated with the walking dead.
Joel climbed up into the bus, a feeling of confidence growing in him that he would now be able to move towards his ultimate goal. Ensuring that there was nobo
dy on board the shuttle—living or dead…or undead—he moved up to the front and gave the dash area a quick scan. Joel set his pack down and was not the least bit surprised when Peanut did nothing more than open one baleful eye at the disturbance, yawn once, and then shut its eyes again. He pushed a button labeled “Mid-entry” and nodded to himself when the door shut with a hiss of released air.
Popping the shuttle into gear, Joel followed the exit signs. As he drove, he passed a few staggering shapes, and in one instance, rounded a corner to discover a trio of zombies feasting on some poor unfortunate. Having just experienced his own first encounter with the things, he felt no pity for the person whose legs still twitched and thrummed as his or her insides were being pulled out in a festival of gory violence.
At last he reached the security checkpoint. Naturally the metal arm was down and the post was abandoned. Hardly slowing, Joel plowed through the exit and emerged onto the street. He was on East Tropicana Avenue. If he stayed on it, he would be able to get to Interstate 515.
That was his target. Once he reached the interstate, he knew exactly where he would go. If he was going to do this, then he was going to do it right. Somebody needed to take control of this situation.
Why not Joel Landon?
3
Grounded in the Present
While quicker than walking, Joel quickly discovered that driving was not going to get him where he wanted to go as fast as he’d hoped. With the airport to his right, he crept along through smoldering vehicles, bodies scattered everywhere, some down for good, others hunched over feeding, and some dragging themselves along due to the extent of their horrific injuries preventing them from being able to use their legs.
The airport was its own nightmare. Two passenger jets were in flames on the tarmac, in the distance, it looked like another had come down nose first. Some of the figures wandering away from the carnage were actually on fire, but seemed not to notice.