by TW Brown
“This has nothing to do with being cold or heartless,” Joel said softly, trying his hardest to sound calm and relaxed. “If I was as you say, then I would kill everybody that I didn’t deem acceptable of joining us.”
“You’re a bastard,” a woman sobbed.
“Perhaps, but I would really use this chance to find someplace safe.” Joel hiked a thumb at the approaching streams of undead that were drawn to all the commotion. “They won’t care one way or the other who they rip apart, so I would maybe gather what you can. I’m pretty sure we got all but one of the snipers, but who knows how many other people are in that little group. They used you as bait, so I wouldn’t bet my farm on how they might treat you next time.”
“What’s to stop us from just following you?” the man who now seemed to be acting as the spokesman for those not willing to abandon their group, more specifically…the children.
“That’s a stupid question.” Joel hiked a thumb at the machine guns.
“So you’d be willing to kill us in cold blood.” It wasn’t really put as a question, but more as perhaps a confirmation.
“I am willing to do what it takes to see to the safety of my people,” Joel confirmed.
“And they would be willing to follow that order?”
“Hey, buddy?” Debra called down. “I can’t speak for Slick Willy over there, but I will put you all down and consider it a merciful ending. Now, enough of the chit-chat. You need to run and hide, and we have to go back to our base and gather our people so we can start getting down to the business of establishing our community.”
“Comm—” the man started with a bark of sarcastic laughter. His response was cut short by the loud chatter from Debra’s .50 cal.
What had once been the man known as Dustin Gollyhorn flew apart in pulpy chunks as the massive, high-velocity rounds of the machine gun tore into him. Bits of bone and chunks of flesh flew, some of it splattering on the people huddled together in terror at what they were witnessing.
“I suggest you people get a move on!” the woman snarled, swinging the barrel of her weapon over to the main group still clustered a dozen or so yards away. Many of them threw themselves on the ground as they screamed in fear, a few broke free and took off, running wildly with no apparent destination.
Joel was in agreement. The undead were coming in large numbers, and now that the .50 cal had roared and belched smoke, flame, and high-velocity lead, the conversation could officially be considered over.
“Let’s roll!” he called out as he turned his back on the scene and returned to his truck. In a matter of moments, the small expedition force was rolling out again. By morning, a much larger convoy would be returning with the first wave set to occupy the now zombie-free semi-secure community.
***
The next few days were spent bringing out the people who would make up the first wave of settlers. A meeting was held the night before the first group rolled out where Joel gave details on housing selection and security protocols.
Joel rolled out with the first group and went to his new home. Shortly after, the supply trucks came with the allotted boxed goods that each residence would receive based on the number of occupants.
All of this was running smoothly, however, there was one fly in the ointment and Joel was furious with himself for not thinking it through. When they had brought the power up and on line to Boulder City, they hadn’t thought to go through and shut everything off.
On the plus side, since most of the residents had apparently evacuated and had the presence of mind to shut things off, the power grid hadn’t tripped any breakers and shut down. However, there were several fires burning as you looked toward the heart of what made up Boulder City.
At the moment, the winds were in their favor, but these were the sorts of mistakes that he could not afford. It was time to expand the inner circle and bring in a few people to help with the planning. He had already brought in Debra and Will, but they were not of much use beyond the military and security aspects.
After all his supplies were stored, he sat down with the most recent roster of residents. That had been one thing he’d done right away; he’d had every resident added to a running census that also noted their Old World skills as well as current work assignments and their new address.
Kurt Billings was the man who oversaw the operations at the dam, and he would be a perfect candidate. He was tough as nails and a very no-nonsense kind of guy. In fact, he hadn’t been the man in charge when Joel first met with the surviving employees of the dam’s hydroelectrical plant. Just a shade over six feet tall, and sporting a beer belly that was slowly receding due to what some residents termed “the Post-Apocalypse weight loss program”, Kurt reminded Joel of a young Sam Elliott. He even had the bushy mustache that always fluttered when he would blow out a sigh of exasperation.
During the first meeting, the actual supervisor had balked at many of Joel’s ideas, but Kurt had seen the logic. The old supervisor had tried to leave and promptly been tossed from the dam. This had happened before Joel discovered the stairwell that was now simply known in the community as ‘The Darkness’ after that first pronouncement of sentence.
After Kurt, Joel decided Malik was somebody that he felt could be trusted. The man had a level head in a fight, but also had helped devise the assault plan that they had used to clear this first neighborhood. It had been Malik that thought of using all the abandoned vehicles to create a secondary barricade on the highway.
After that, Joel chose a woman named Daisy Porter. This woman had the meanest and nastiest disposition he’d ever encountered in a woman…Debra included. Her face was in a perpetual scowl, and not once had he seen it any other way. This woman reminded him of Beulah Balbricker from Porky’s…only somehow less attractive, as improbable as that would seem.
Once he had his council selected, he held a meeting with all the residents of the newly established community and introduced them to the masses. In a matter of days, a full security roster was selected and put into action. This included roving patrols inside and outside the perimeter.
Something about the relative ease of things did not sit right with Joel. He tried to dismiss it as perhaps just his naturally pessimistic nature. The days were passing and things were coming along well. The community had been out of the path of the fires that were now starting to finally burn themselves out. Supply runs were yielding a plentiful stockpile of goods, and a greenhouse complex had been located and cleared out of all the useless flowers. It was now seeing the first shoots beginning to push through the soil as a variety of vegetables had been started.
It was that core of cynicism that gave him strength on a morning that started no different than several over the past few weeks. Joel woke, made coffee, and sat at the table reviewing watch logs and the couple of arrest reports that had been turned in the night before. He was just pouring the second cup when a knock sounded at his front door.
Joel tightened the sash on his robe as he opened the door to reveal three uniformed personnel on his porch. A young man in his twenties stepped forward from the others. He removed his cap and began to wring it in his hands.
“Yes?” Joel prompted.
“Mister Landon, sir, I have been sent by Captain Debra Allen. She says that you are to come to the radio building with all haste…sir.” He blurted that last word out almost like he was afraid he had not been formal enough.
“What for?” Joel sipped his coffee and let his gaze drift past the trio on his porch. He didn’t see anything that would indicate there might be an immediate problem. Still, just because he couldn’t see anything did not mean there was not something wrong.
“She just said we needed to fetch you back to the center now and that we were not to leave without you.”
Joel scowled. He glanced down at his cup of coffee that still had wisps of steam coming of its dark brown surface. With a sigh, he set the cup down.
“I need to change.”
The young man opened his mo
uth, presumably to protest, but Joel had already slammed the door shut and headed upstairs. He opened his closet and decided on a set of military fatigues. Chances were that he wasn’t being called upon to share a cup of tea.
A few minutes later, Joel walked along the road with his trio of escorts. None of them would make eye contact with him, but that could be for any number of reasons. They had maintained that they were not informed as to the reason Debra had insisted upon his presence.
At last they stopped in front of what could’ve been any other house in the neighborhood if you did not pay attention to the seven towers of varying height that aided in the transmission and reception of radio messages.
The center had been set up for the dual purpose of staying in touch with the portion of their population still at the dam as well as to monitor for anything else that might be out there. So far, the radio traffic had been almost nil. None of it seemed to originate from the Las Vegas region. That surprised Joel since he figured the religious nuts he’d had that run in with a few weeks back might be attempting to lure people in to swell their numbers.
Joel walked inside the house-turned-radio-room. It was noticeably cooler from the six high-powered air conditioning units that were set up to keep all the electronics cool. If a person were so inclined, they could almost pretend that the world was normal. All they would need to do is look past the racks of ready-to-use firearms, machetes, spiked bats, assorted compound bows as well as crossbows.
He was not even all the way down the entry hall that would take him to the wide-open living and dining room where desks lined the walls when he could hear what sounded like a radio drama of an epic battle. An assortment of radios and even a couple of CBs were set up and monitored around the clock. A group of people were all clustered around two of the stations. Some were scribbling notes that would likely be transcribed into the daily logs later, but others were simply listening.
“…south entrance is breached, we have them in the building!” a woman’s voice was practically screaming.
“…a grenade just destroyed the east fire exit…more incoming…I repeat, we have a breach on the east!” The person making this report barely sounded old enough to have reached puberty, but he seemed amazingly calm considering what he was reporting.
“Fall back to the upper floors!” another person ordered. “We need to get the fires under control and then secure the upper floors. We can seal them off but the fires need to be extinguished,” a familiar voice barked.
Joel knew the voice of Conrad Parks well. He struggled to tamp down the guilt that tried to rise through the morass of his already burdened conscience. He’d been so close, yet unable to render assistance. And now, his sentence was to listen to what would likely be the death of a man he’d known literally since the day he was born. A young man he’d promised to care for as if he were his own son.
“And there was war in heaven…Michael and his angels fought against the dragon,” another familiar voice began to bellow. Joel could almost hear the fervor that he knew would be in the woman’s eyes. Obviously they hadn’t put that group down. “…and the dragon fought and his angels. And prevailed not…neither was their place found any more in heaven. And the great dragon was cast out, that old serpent, called the Devil, and Satan, which deceiveth the whole world…he was cast out into the earth, and his angels were cast out with him. And I heard a loud voice saying in heaven, ‘Now is come salvation, and strength, and the kingdom of our God, and the power of his Christ!’ For the accuser of our brethren is cast down, which accused them before our God day and night. And they overcame him by the blood of the Lamb, and by the word of their testimony, and they loved not their lives unto the death. Therefore rejoice, ye heavens, and ye that dwell in them. Woe to the inhabiters of the earth and of the sea! For the devil is come down unto you, having great wrath, because he knoweth that he hath but a short time.”
“Is she quoting Iron Maiden?” a man muttered.
“The Book of Revelations,” Joel said, causing all heads to turn. “Foxholes and prison cells are a breeding grounds for religion. I read the Bible a few times when I was in the shit.”
“Do we respond?” the woman sitting at the radio asked, her voice displaying just a hint of anxiousness.
“Not over the airwaves,” Joel replied with a grimness etched into his features.
He was angry with himself. He knew better than to leave an enemy in a position to get under your skin. He should’ve dealt with this group with absolute finality when he’d encountered them. After all, they were acting like a stereotype, so why wouldn’t they go whole hog and play the role of some sort of End Times rapture cult?
“So we just let them—” Debra started, the anger in her voice not masked in the least.
“We don’t let them do a damn thing,” Joel snapped, cutting her off.
When this was over, he was going to have to sit the woman down and have a discussion with her about how to address him in front of the others, but for now, he would utilize her hotheaded anger and aggression to his benefit.
“I am going back.”
Joel glanced around the room until he saw what he was looking for. Walking over, he picked up the mic that would broadcast via a series of speakers that were mounted on some of the streetlights around the community.
“Attention, all residents. In thirty minutes, I will be departing the community. I will not be asking for anybody to join me, but I will not stop those who wish to come. I will be driving back to the main Strip. My intention is to engage and completely eliminate a group of cultists that might represent a future danger to this community. As they are a considerable distance, this is mere speculation on my part.”
He paused, knowing what he was about to say, but wanting to let the tension he could already feel just in the radio room grow among those who were listening. He caught sight of Debra out of the corner of his eye and had to suppress a smile when she leaned forward while waiting for him to continue. He hoped that his words were having that effect on at least a few dozen others.
“I must also admit that I have a personal and vested interest in this trip that goes against our community doctrine. I am going in with the hopes of rescuing and bringing back a personal friend. Those of you who have ventured close to the Strip know that it is thick with the walking dead, and I am hoping to extract my friend from the MGM Grand Signature Towers. In the event that I do not return, we have protocols in place to continue on. This community is bigger than any single person and I trust that you all will continue to keep what is best for the whole in mind as you move forward.”
Joel set the mic back in the cradle and turned to face the room. The sounds of chaos were still flooding the room from the assorted speakers, but nobody seemed to be paying them any attention any longer. The focus of the room was on him.
“There is no way in hell you are going out there without me,” Debra said as she crossed over and stood beside him.
No sooner had she done so when the front door to the radio center slammed open. “Don’t even think about leaving here without me!” Malik bellowed as he jogged into the main room. He paused when the sounds of screaming and shouting blared from one of the radios, signaling that at least one position had just been overrun.
Joel patted the man on the shoulder and then headed for the exit. He could still hear Conrad’s voice coming through in between bits and pieces of a fire-and-brimstone sermon that promised eternal death and suffering for “the sinners, blasphemers, and fornicators” while extolling the so-called believers to fight and “bring all glory to God” with an underlying soundtrack of screams that ranged from pain-filled to panic-stricken.
Ten minutes later Joel stood before over forty members of the community that had all rushed out in full battle gear. He’d actually had to send Malik to his house to retrieve his own weapons and equipment since he’d just thrown on a set of fatigues without thinking to arm himself for the field.
Debra had jogged off with a few people to ge
t vehicles from what had been dubbed, the Barn. It was a single plot where a house had once stood but had burned down perhaps in the first days of the apocalypse because the fire had been contained and it had obviously been put out by the fire department. That was a luxury that ended much sooner than many people would’ve imagined. Now it was mostly just an empty lot and made the perfect spot to park vehicles centrally for the compound.
Once everybody was loaded into vehicles with Joel in his familiar seat of the Humvee that Debra would be driving and Malik in the turret manning the machine gun, the convoy rolled out. They had to use the south end of the community near Joel’s home, and drove through the opened gate, the security waving them through and then pulling the massive iron gate shut with a haste as if they feared zombies might pop up from the sagebrush and come for them.
They skirted wide and then reached Highway 93 which they would follow until it changed over to Interstate 515. The plan was to follow that interstate until they arrived at the junction of Interstates 515 and 215.
As they rolled through Boulder City, there were still a few fires burning, but most had finally extinguished on their own. Looking west, Joel spotted a dark smudge on the horizon that hinted at what might be the first big spring rain. Most likely, it would be a sudden torrential rain accompanied by thunder and lightning. If he was the sort to believe in omens, he might feel a hint of trepidation as they headed towards the now dead city of Las Vegas, Nevada.
They were almost at the edge of what constituted Boulder City when a flash erupted from Joel’s right. The truck in front of him lit up with white flame just a heartbeat later. Debra swore as she swerved to the left and crossed the median that dipped just enough to create a bit of a culvert. They rolled up the other side, all four tires leaving the ground briefly before coming down with a jarring rattle.