Las Vegas NV

by TW Brown

  “All clear,” a voice said from behind his right shoulder, bringing his mind back to the present. Joel turned to see Debra wiping off the blade she held in her hand.

  “Gather everybody up and meet me out front,” Joel replied. He patted the woman on the shoulder and headed down the stairs.

  Once outside, he removed the scarf over the lower part of his face and allowed himself to breathe in some of the fresh air. This particular house was on a hill in the northeast corner of the neighborhood. It was the last house on what the signs called Stone Canyon Road and almost sat as a lone sentinel over the entire community.

  This would be Joel’s home. He’d known it the moment he saw it. It was in the perfect location, offered an excellent view of this, their first established community. As an added bonus, it was on the edge closest to the dam in case a hasty retreat had to be enacted.

  As Joel stood in the driveway, he watched the other team, led by Will, as they held their defensive positions in support of his team. As soon as he made eye contact with the man, Joel motioned him over.

  “What’s the word, boss?” Will asked as he trotted over, the sounds of his various weapons jangling acting as a sort of synchronized soundtrack to his movements.

  “Power came on inside,” Joel said, stepping aside to allow the man to look into the open door that revealed a well-lit entry hall.

  “I’ll be damn,” Will breathed. “They actually got it done, and ahead of schedule, no less.”

  “Our broadcast is coming across the radio loud and clear. Send a message back to the control room and let them know.”

  Moments later, Debra and the rest of the team exited. It was almost at that exact same moment that everybody spotted the single flare fired from someplace to the west of them. Both teams shaded their eyes from the sun and watched the sputtering flare as it left a trail of smoke to mark its descent.

  “H-h-hello?” the portable radio on both teams’ radio operators crackled to life at the same time, creating a surreal echo that made the voice seem to be coming from the actual desert landscape of this luxury home’s front yard.

  Joel held up a hand and shook his head in the negative in response to the inquiring looks that begged the obvious question. Everybody made ready whatever weapon they favored for what might be an attack by a group of living beings.

  “My name is Dustin Gollyhorn. My group has ten people and we are trying to make contact with the people based at the Hoover Dam. If you can read me, please respond.” There was a slight pause, and then a hastily added, “Over.”

  Joel shook his head again. There was nothing but a soft hiss from the two portable radios for long enough that people began to relax when they crackled to life again.

  “We are currently just west of the highway, across from a sign for something called the River Mountains Loop Trail parking lot. We have secured a single residence, and want to join you, but our people spotted a group enter the housing community across the highway several hours ago. To our knowledge, they have not yet left. We would rather not draw their attention as they looked heavily armed and very organized. They might be military.”

  Again there was a pause, but this one was only for a moment. “Hell, they might be listening in, and one of my people says that now they would know we are here. We’re just regular folks. I was postman from Salem, Oregon for Pete’s sake. We just voted and are going to try and make a run for it. So, if you see a group of folks who look scared out of their wits with what looks like a small band of soldiers on their heels, please don’t shoot us. We’ll work real hard.”

  There was another crackle, and the sounds of people arguing about the wisdom in all the information that the speaker had freely given was being debated rather heatedly. Then…nothing.

  “I’m gonna make a silly-wild-ass-guess and say we were the possible military group that his people saw,” one of the radio operators chuckled. “I know the lot he’s talking about. It’s right across from us which would also make it more than likely that these yay-hoos are the ones who fired the flare.”

  “Let’s get out to the road and make contact,” Joel announced. He saw more than a couple of surprised expressions.

  The teams shouldered their weapons and headed out of the Lake Mead View neighborhood and to Highway 93. Just as they reached where the vehicles were parked outside the barricade of packed in cars and trucks, they spied a group of people moving at a jog through the scrub brush on the far side of a large paved lot.

  Joel held up his hand and signaled the team to stop. All of a sudden, something didn’t feel right. As if she could read his thoughts, Debra moved up beside him and unslung the grenade launcher she carried.

  “Why would these people fire a flare if they were so worried about us?” she whispered as if the people far in the distance might be just a few feet away.

  And there it was, Joel thought.

  Something had started to feel…off. He just couldn’t figure out what that might be. He pointed to two of his people now gathered around and looking all over like they were expecting an enemy to materialize out of thin air. “Get the trucks started.”

  As soon as the pair slipped past and started across the four-wide barricade of assorted automobiles, Joel turned to the others. “Will, Debra, get to the .50 cals as soon as we break for it. Shoot anything that moves.” Each of them gave solemn nods. “Everybody else keep your head on a swivel. There is something fishy here.”

  The sounds of the pair of modified deuce-and-a-half transport trucks shattered the quiet with their diesel grumblings. Without another word, Joel turned and started for the trucks. While he took the first few steps, he slowed as soon as some of his other companions began to scurry past.

  He was starting to feel silly about his feelings that something was amiss. Everybody was just about across the vehicle wall. All that would remain would be for them to load into the trucks and roll out.

  The single crack of a rifle made its way to his ears, barely discernible from the noise made by the two transports. Joel might’ve even been able to convince himself that he’d been imagining things…until the woman to his right sprawled flat on her face with a metallic thud. Her face bounced off the hood of a sports car that probably cost a few hundred thousand and was no more valuable than the late Seventies model station wagon that its front bumper was crushed into to prevent anything from being able to wiggle through. Joel grabbed her head by a handful of hair and jerked it up, although the dark pool already seeping from it made that totally unnecessary. There was a neat bullet hole through the woman’s forehead.

  Another crack sounded, and another of his people, a man who’d reached the end of the automobile wall and had just put his feet on the road, staggered a step and then fell hard. This one landed on his side, making it easy for everybody to see that he’d also been shot in the head. This time, the dark, puckered hole visible an inch below his right eye.

  “Sniper!” somebody yelled needlessly.

  9

  Killing

  Joel threw himself forward and hit the ground hard enough to make him wince. He rolled twice and came up against the rear wheels of the nearest Deuce. The smells of the diesel were gaggingly strong and he held his breath as he pushed himself to his feet. Staying in a low crouch, he hurried to the passenger side door of the cab. It flew open just as he arrived and a hand was reaching over to help him up.

  Joel was just up and settling into his seat when he felt something sting his right cheek at the same time that a warm, viscous liquid splashed his face. The driver slumped over and toppled his direction. The back of her skull was a mess from the exit wound of the bullet that had ended her. Realizing quick that he would now make a prime and easy target, Joel pushed himself out and away from the truck. Again he landed hard enough to feel serious pain and began to vow terrible vengeance on the perpetrators of this attack.

  “Cover!” somebody yelled from just behind him.

  Joel rolled his head to see a young man on his hands and knees s
hoving his body tight against the wheel well of the Deuce he’d just evacuated. The young man gave him a curt nod as he unslung a scoped rifle from his shoulder, checking it to ensure it was ready to fire. Stretching out on the ground, he inched over until he was looking underneath the transport truck. With a detached precision, the man eased his eye to the scope, adjusted slightly and then squeezed the trigger. There was a booming report, but it hadn’t even faded when the man was ratcheting another round into the chamber, adjusting slightly, and then firing again.

  Four times, the young man fired. Joel had no idea if he was actually hitting anything, but he was willing to bet that this kid was chipping away at the enemy with brutal efficiency. After the fourth round was fired, the young man rolled back and sat up, again using the wheel as his cover.

  “One sniper left, but I think he is pulling back. I might’ve nicked him, but he moved just as I got off my shot, so it wasn’t clean,” the man said.

  “Who are you, son?” Joel asked, the tone of respect with a hint of amazement clear in his voice.

  “Richard Simmons…no relation to the fitness guy,” the young man said with a hint of laughter in his voice.

  “You handled yourself well, Richard.”

  “Not well enough, sir. We still have one of their snipers out there, those other people are on the run, and this whole situation makes less sense than the finale of LOST.”

  “I will take your word for it.” Joel shrugged his shoulders, not entirely certain what this Richard Simmons person might be talking about.

  “All that radio chatter, the flare…it was as if somebody tried to lure us out, sir,” Richard said as he reloaded his weapon.

  “We got zips incoming!” somebody shouted before Joel could voice his agreement with the observation.

  Looking from behind the rear of the Deuce, Joel saw the undead coming from all directions. Getting to his feet, he called for everybody to load into the trucks. It was time to get out of here right now. They would return, and do so with a force that would make others think twice before engaging.

  ***

  The trucks slowed and then rolled to a halt. Joel tossed aside the handset for the radio and stared out the front window. While he’d not gotten a good look at the people that had fled and taken off into the scrubs at the border of Boulder City, he was confident that these were the same individuals.

  “Let me just end this,” Debra’s voice crackled on the radio.

  The small group of people had stopped running and were now facing them. Some had their hands in the air, others were dancing nervously from foot to foot. All of them seemed to be trying to find someplace to run where they could hide. He recalled seeing very similar body language and posture during his time in Vietnam. This was common anytime he and his fellow soldiers would encounter and inspect a village.

  Shoving those images away before they could take root, Joel opened his door and hopped down to the ground. Without having to be told, he heard or saw the others doing the same with the exception of Will and Debra who remained stationed at the machine guns. His people quickly fanned out, weapons at the ready, covering this small group of men, women…and children.

  “P-p-please…” A man stepped forward, hands held high. “We don’t want any trouble. We didn’t want anybody hurt, but they said they would kill us if we didn’t run for it.”

  “Who told you this?” Joel stepped forward and signaled for his people to stay put.

  “These soldiers…at least they were dressed like soldiers,” the man said.

  As he spoke, Joel looked him over more closely. It hadn’t been that long since all hell broke loose, but this guy and his people looked awful. Some were so filthy that it was almost impossible to tell if they were male or female. Their clothing was tattered and coming apart in places. A few had their shoes wrapped in cloth; presumably to keep them from falling apart.

  Tourists, he determined.

  “What are you doing way out here?” Joel asked.

  “We were on a bus tour a few weeks ago. There was a military roadblock that stopped us from returning to Las Vegas. We were all put into an emergency shelter. One day, almost all the soldiers were just gone. The ones who were left told us that we were on our own. Several people just drifted away, but some of us stayed.” The man stopped talking and rubbed his throat with one hand. “Listen, can I get a sip of water? We’ve been locked in a basement for the past few days, and we ran out of water yesterday. Talking to you is not doing me any favors.”

  Joel didn’t see the harm. After all, if there was one thing he access to plenty of at the dam, it was water. He snapped his fingers and waited as the man gratefully accepted the proffered canteen and drank long gulps. He finished and then glanced back at his group. Joel nodded and the man hurried over, handing them the container of precious fluid.

  “Early this morning, they told us all that we would be released. They said that it was going to be a sort of game…they would open the door, and we had to run in the direction they told us. We were getting a head start.”

  “Head start?” Joel asked, raising a hand to stop the man for a moment.

  “They said that they would give us five minutes from when the flare was fired. After that, we would be…fair game.” The man spat the last word with the first display of anger Joel had heard.

  “And these soldiers, how many?” Joel pressed.

  “Fifteen maybe?”

  “Are you guessing?”

  “I didn’t actually take the time to count them, but I can give a good guess based on what I saw.” The man was starting to get nervous as the undead could be seen trudging their direction. They were still a good distance away, but Joel saw no reason to add to what had obviously been a crappy day for this man and his group. He also had a feeling that it was about to get just a little worse.

  “Are you people from the dam…the ones making the broadcast?” the man blurted. Joel gave a nod, and the man began to almost babble he began speaking so fast. “We were heading for you. We would work hard, do whatever you needed. We just can’t keep going out here.”

  “Yeah,” Joel let that word draw out as he scanned the group clustered together a short distance away. “But you don’t really fit the bill.”

  “What?” the man spat incredulously. “Sure, we may not be militarily trained or anything, but I think I can speak for all of us when I say we’d be in your debt and work our collective asses off. We would do whatever you needed.”

  “The kids.” Joel let that statement hang.

  He looked once more at the group. Of the eleven, three were obviously under the age of ten, and a couple were borderline as to if they might even be teenagers.

  “What about them?” the man whispered. “They won’t be any trouble. We will care for them. You won’t even know they are there.”

  “Until one of you can’t do your duties because a child needs tending. And what about food? Who is going to give up their portion so one of the kids can eat?” Joel said coolly.

  “They’re children…they won’t eat that much. Surely that small amount could be spared.”

  “And when the next group arrives…and the next? And pretty soon we have this huge drain on supplies from a portion of the population that serve no function.”

  “No function!” Spittle flew from the man’s lips and his face began to turn red. “What sort of monsters are you people? Please tell me we didn’t get away from one group of evil just to stumble into another.”

  “Save it.” Joel stepped back, wiping at his face. “Your passion would be better served finding someplace safe before nightfall.”

  The man looked past Joel to the rest of his people. “Are you all okay with this?” He stepped toward one of the women, obviously thinking that he would get more sympathy. The woman just stared at him, her face stony, no emotion flitting across, not even the eyes showed pity. “These drains on supplies as your leader calls them are the future. They are our chance to continue.”

  “Let’s g
o,” Joel called out, pushing past the man and returning to the truck.

  His people backed up, following his lead. As Joel climbed up and prepared to get into the cab, another voice got his attention.

  “Wait!” a young woman detached herself from the group of bedraggled survivors and half-jogged, half-staggered towards Joel. “I get it. No problem. Take me with you, I don’t have any kids. I’m by myself.”

  She reached Joel and threw herself onto her knees, looking up to him with a face that showed numerous trails where dirt had caked up, tears had cut through, and then more dirt caked on. Her hair was clumps of knots and tangles that looked like they might defy any attempt to undo. She was wearing a tattered blue shirt and jeans that had equal parts mud, blood, and possibly even vomit. He could smell her, and his nose wrinkled at something familiar.

  “Are you infected?” Joel asked.

  Despite not seeing the tracers in her eyes, he knew the smell. There was a hint of the stench associated with the walking dead.

  “No, this…” she plucked at her shirt with finger and thumb, “…was one person’s bright idea that smearing ourselves with zombie guts might make us invisible to them.” She cast a dirty look over her shoulder and then brought her eyes back to Joel. “It didn’t work. Fortunately, the idiot who thought of it was one of the five we lost that day.”

  “Anybody else?” Joel hiked a thumb over his shoulder, indicating the cargo area of the truck. “I only make the offer once. But I am very serious when I say we won’t be taking any of the individuals unable to earn their way through hard work.”

  He saw a few traded glances, and then two more people stepped away from the group. Joel gave them a nod and tilted his head over his shoulder, indicating that they could get into the back of the Deuce as well.

  “You can’t be this cold…this heartless,” a man shouted. He started towards Joel but froze in his tracks when the two machine guns on top of the transport trucks swung in his direction.