It was far enough west that the warnings would have reached them with enough time to evacuate. Plus, most of the people there were either tourists and would likely have caught the last planes out of there or the last rental cars, or people who had roots elsewhere and would have left to be with their families. Major Bradley surmised that it would be as empty as Phoenix, probably more so, and the quick departure of residents and tourists would probably mean supplies were readily available. The casinos were built like fortresses and anyone of them could be further fortified and made safe. It seemed like a solid plan. It was the best one he had anyway. He ran it by Captain Morris and he could see the benefits. They decided to move out the next morning. If the roads cooperated, they would make it by nightfall.
When they arrived, it was as the Major had envisioned, practically deserted. They ended up choosing the MGM Grand primarily because it was large, plenty of fall back locations, and on the corner of Las Vegas Blvd and Tropicana Ave. An easy perimeter could be set up and trouble would be easy to spot.
At first light, they went about clearing the hotel out of a few unwanted guests and began barricading all the entrances except for one; the main entrance with the oversized lion out front that greeted all the guests. It would be the only way in or out of the hotel.
The next couple of months were spent assigning rooms, assigning jobs, clearing as much of the area around the hotel as possible, and taking in a few survivors who happened by. Their group had blossomed to around forty people. Each survivor they took in was subjected to a few questions, some to determine where they had come from and what skills they had to contribute to the group, others were to get a feel if they would be a good fit. So far, they had only turned away three people. One person, after being allowed in, had to be kicked out because he was caught pilfering the food supply after hours without permission. It was a tough decision for the Major but he felt the man left him no choice.
Teams were sent out to look for supplies, anything useful. It was done by grids. Once finished it made no sense to go back. It wasn’t like there were any supply trucks stopping by to replenish the inventory. They had managed to move out about three miles in every direction. The chapel Major Bradley was standing outside of at the moment was outside that perimeter. Hence his apprehension.
Dr. Sanderson had spent the majority of his time recently at the Desert Springs Medical Center. There was a functional lab there that allowed him to continue his search for a useful antidote. A generator had been brought over to run some of the equipment that was needed. Some other machines required more energy than the generator could provide so the Doctor had to make due.
His biggest challenge was to decrease the disposition time of the pills. It took too long for the enzyme to travel through the body to make an effective antidote. He was unconscious for two days after being bitten by Number 5. If he wasn’t locked in the controlled environment of Benton’s basement laboratory, he surely would have been the victim of a hungry zombie. Or worse, a group of hungry zombies. The point of the pill was to survive a bite from an infected, not pass out from it.
The other challenge was to kill the infection, not just simply surround and quarantine it. His original trials had shown the SOD1 pills killing the bacterium. But in his haste, he failed to examine enough samples. It seemed that the bacterium was destroyed in some instances but simply surrounded in most others.
He had, last night, made something of a breakthrough. Malcolm Sharpe had been kind enough to allow the Doctor to use his blood for his experiments. When they finally arrived in Nevada and they had time to talk, it didn’t take the Doctor long to diagnose him with Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis. Normally it would take a battery of neurological tests before arriving at such a diagnosis as ALS mimics many other less severe and treatable diseases. Dr. Sanderson, however, had knowledge that any other doctor wouldn’t have. He knew Malcolm had survived a bite from an infected person. Because of his previous tests on Number 5, it was the only diagnosis that made sense. Malcolm had all the symptoms of ALS and had survived a zombie bite.
Therefore, his blood would be invaluable to the Doctor. He had spent the last several months observing how the bacterium behaved in Malcolm’s blood. The bacterium was attacked and lost the battle every time. The limited resources in the lab made it difficult to perform some of the necessary procedures that would help determine why this was happening with Malcolm’s blood and not with just the SOD1 pills. There was something he was missing and it was driving him nuts.
Last week he discovered that the nerve cells in Malcolm’s body have excess amounts of Glutamate between them. Glutamate is one of the body’s many neurotransmitters. It allows the nerve cells to “communicate” with each other. A buildup of Glutamate between the nerve cells inhibits the ability of the cells to pass on the required information to the rest of the body, sort like a traffic jam on a highway. Eventually leading to the muscular shutdown that is seen in ALS patients.
Dr. Sanderson still didn’t understand how that would be useful in killing the invading bacterium.
That is until yesterday afternoon.
The bacterium used the nerve cells of the human body to control it. As in a hijacking or a coup d’ etat. Since most of the body’s Glutamate is found in the brain, an ALS patient would make it impossible for the bacterium to take over the host using the network of nerve cells in the human body. It would also explain why once the bacterium has taken over in non-ALS humans, only the destruction of the brain kills an infected person.
Combining an excess of Glutamate with the SOD1 pills would likely simulate the chemical structure of someone with ALS without actually giving them the disease and therefore prevent the bacterium from taking over. It would, of course, need to be tested but he felt confident that it would work. He was hoping anyway.
Unfortunately, he suffered one of his episodes again yesterday before he could finish. He passed out, or perhaps he was suddenly suffering from narcolepsy, or perhaps he was simply more tired than he thought. Either way, he had been losing large chunks of time lately. Waking up sometimes hours later with no recollection of what had happened. Just memories of bad dreams. Dreams that were impossible to describe or even to remember but filled him with an unbelievable sense of dread.
It was starting to get dark when he finally awoke yesterday. Major Bradley had a strict curfew in place. Everyone had to be back at the hotel by nightfall unless they had permission from the Major. It was, of course, for everyone’s protection. He did not have the time to continue his work yesterday.
He was also out of blood samples. Which was why he was currently standing in front of the door to room 111.
Lucy was startled when a soft knock came from the other side of the door. She hesitated for a second before opening it. The infected didn’t knock and she had a pretty good idea who it was anyway but wasn’t sure if she was truly ready.
Was she ready to get married? Was she ready to see him? Was she ready to be seen? Would he like the dress?
She took a deep breath and opened the door. Standing in the hallway was the groom. A nervous grin covering his face, hands fidgeting at his side. Nick standing on his left, Jason on his right. He looked just as she had hoped. Perfect.
Stephens’s mouth opened but nothing came out. He just stared for a moment. Lucy took that as a compliment.
“You… you look great,” he finally managed to say.
She blushed and looked away.
“You boys look very handsome,” Lucy said.
After a moment’s silence, Jason blurted out, “Let’s get you two hitched.”
A burst of laughter from everyone helped ease the awkwardness. Stephen offered his right arm as Lucy slipped her hand around his elbow. Kimberly closed the door behind them as the bridal party walked down the hall.
Major Bradley had spent most of his adult life essentially ordering people around. It was something that now came very naturally for him. He even sometimes forgot that’s what he was even doing. Despite
the fact the United States Army was, as far as he knew, a fractured and leaderless entity at best, or non-existent at worst, he still continued in his role as a commander of men.
When they settled in Las Vegas, he was anointed leader. Everyone had faith in his decision making and he was best suited for the job. As their little group continued to grow, he was considering putting together a small committee to handle some of the more mundane issues. If anything in this new world could be considered mundane.
He leaned against the west side of the Little White Chapel, the sun in his face. It was a beautiful spring day. Actually, a beautiful day for a wedding. To his surprise, his thoughts turned to Katie Sharpe. They had been spending more time together lately and he had found her to be very pleasant to be around. He kind of hoped she felt the same way. Her immediate concerns were, of course, for her father and his deteriorating condition. Relationships were not his specialty, but maybe someday there would be time to work on one with her.
“Chapel’s all clear sir,” said Private Stevens, emerging from around the corner.
Major Bradley was startled out of his daydream. He looked at the private and simply nodded.
He had brought Stevens, Sargent Sanchez, and Corporal Sinclair to clear out the chapel. They had been with him since the evacuation of Washington D.C. and he trusted these men with his life. The sudden sound of gunfire caused Bradley and Stevens to snap their heads around and look out onto the street.
“Come in,” came the weakened voice from inside room 111.
Dr. Sanderson pushed down on the handle and entered the room. All the inhabited rooms had the key card disabled and could only be locked from the inside. Malcolm was off to the side of the bed getting himself into his wheelchair. He could still move under his own power but it was becoming more and more difficult. He could manage a trip from the bed to the bathroom but anything much farther required a wheelchair.
“Why don’t you lock your door, Malcolm?’ asked the Doctor.
“Why bother?” he answered. “Never saw a zombie who knew enough to turn a door handle and if any humans get past the guards downstairs, it’s not like I’m gonna be able to outrun ‘em.”
“I’m a goner anyway, isn’t that right doc?” Malcolm continued after a moment’s pause.
Dr. Sanderson didn’t know what to say. Bedside manner was not his strong suit, he was a researcher, not a family practitioner. He decided that since Malcolm was most likely correct, he would simply avoid the question.
“I need your help today,” Dr. Sanderson said as a reply.
Malcolm just grunted and began rolling his wheelchair towards the door.
“More blood today doc?” Malcolm asked.
“Yes, but it might be the last time,” Dr. Sanderson said mustering the best smile he could.
The cargo truck was waiting outside the main entrance when the bridal party emerged. First, there was Archibald “Arch” Waxman, the computer salesman that Major Bradley rescued from the crippled Gulfstream. As it turned out Arch was also an ordained minister, registered with the state of Colorado by way of an online correspondence course. Although this was Nevada, he had agreed to officiate the ceremony. It was just another of the technicalities the bride and groom were willing to overlook.
A few other guests would be attending the ceremony as well. John Bannon was there since he no longer had a plane to fly. Terrence Cole, the man fleeing with Kimberly when the infected overran the base, was Kim’s unofficial date. They had been seen together more frequently these last couple of months. Kim wasn’t ready to commit, at least at the moment, to anything more than spending some platonic time with him. The Sandersons, Holly and Zoe, were also there apologizing for Dr. Sanderson’s absence. Katie Sharpe had been talked into going by Major Bradley. Not that she didn’t have a fondness for the couple getting married, it’s that she was so worried about her father. Holly had told her that the Doctor was taking him down to the lab today so she figured he was in good hands. Plus, a wedding was just the kind of good clean fun everyone needed around here.
Stephen insisted that Chester attend as well. It really wasn’t his scene he had said. He wasn’t a big fan of weddings. The ceremonies anyway, the receptions were a different story. He wanted to stay behind and help with that end of things but Stephen had said that if it wasn’t for Chester this blessed event would never have been possible and it would mean the world to him and Lucy if he could come. Eventually, he relented. He stood at the end of the truck, shotgun in hand, making sure everyone got on board safely.
The guest list for the actual ceremony was fairly small. Major Bradley insisted on this because of the unknown nature of the area surrounding the chapel. The fewer people he had to look out for, the better. Most everyone else, except those on guard duty, were busy preparing for the reception, including Captain Morris. There were no patrols scheduled for today, no supply runs, just an old-fashioned wedding reception.
Ken Schaffer was their driver. He was the only pre-outbreak celebrity among Major Bradley’s group. He was a professional NASCAR driver before people started eating each other. Although fairly new on the circuit, he had won once at Pocono Downs and had a couple of other top ten finishes. He had joined the group shortly after they had settled in Las Vegas and had hit it off with Nick and Stephen right away. He had that cocksure attitude and wry sense of humor that is prevalent amongst his former profession.
Everyone piled into the back except the bride. It was difficult to get up and into the cargo area with a dress on, so she sat in the front with Ken. Stephen helped her up into the passenger’s seat after kissing her first.
“See you in a few,” he said with a grin.
“I love you,” she answered.
“You too,” Stephen replied as he slammed the door shut and headed to the rear of the truck.
Major Bradley tore around the side of the chapel, past the pink Cadillac with the “ELVIS 2” license plate, under the white awning, and onto Las Vegas Boulevard. Standing in the road, just off the edge of the property, were Sargent Sanchez and Corporal Sinclair, their weapons drawn, and firing south down the boulevard.
Private Stevens came alongside the Major and joined him in looking to the left. Stumbling up the street were fifteen or so infected. They had emerged, it appeared, from the Howard Johnsons next door. Perhaps the noise they were making clearing out the chapel and making it wedding ceremony ready had drawn them out into the street. Unfortunately, the gunfire would only draw more of them if they were in the area.
Major Bradley signaled to Sanchez and Sinclair to cease firing. The zombies were now somewhat spread out and the four of them should be able to handle them in hand to hand. A few months ago, and especially when the outbreak first happened, the thought of actually going on the offensive without a gun was unthinkable. Over time the Major had come to the realization that the infected were not too bright, slow in reacting, and easy targets when in smaller numbers. The risk of attacking them with a knife or a blunt object before they reached you far outweighed the risk of gunfire attracting a nearby horde of them,
The Major had also come to another conclusion. The newly minted infected were much quicker and more difficult to outrun. He had discovered this at Fort Carson before they left and had his suspicions confirmed over the last several months. When engaging a group of infected for the first time, he made special note of how well they moved and would adjust his strategy accordingly. It seemed that the groups were generally of one condition; either fast or slow.
Sanchez and Sinclair knew this but must have been caught off guard and resorted to instinct and reached for their handguns and began firing. They looked over at Major Bradley and saw him removing his combat knife and asking that they do the same. Sanchez and Sinclair fanned out to the right as the Major and Stevens moved onto the edge of the street and headed south down the left side. This move resulted in the zombies spreading out even further. The Major signaled for the attack.
All four men moved swiftly into the smal
l herd, instinct taking over. They approached each infected placing one arm on the zombie, away from any chattering teeth, and plunging the dagger in the head and removing it, pushing the carcass to the ground, then moving on to the next victim. It was a well-choreographed assault practiced over and over during the last nine months and concluded in a few minutes.
Major Bradley looked over the scene and waited for more zombies to show themselves. After a few minutes, it looked like they were in the clear. The wedding party was expected shortly and the dead zombies strewn about the middle of Las Vegas Boulevard would make for an unwelcome beginning to what Major Bradley hoped was to be a happy occasion. The Major considered canceling the event here and just having it at the casino but decided against it. The bride and groom were likely already on their way. They all looked at each other as they began dragging the corpses off to the side of the road.
Dr. Sanderson wheeled Malcolm down a corridor near the kitchen and around a storage area and to an old employee entrance that locked from the inside. When this was a functioning casino, employees would swipe an access card on the outside of the building and the door would automatically unlock and the employee would enter. He got permission from Major Bradley to use this entrance because the car he used to transport Malcolm to and from the hospital could be conveniently parked just outside the door and the curb made it easier to get him into the car.
When he returned from the Desert Springs Medical Center he would use the walkie he left in the car and radio ahead so that someone would be there to let them back in. It was a system reserved just for the Doctor. He was, after all, mankind’s best hope. At least that’s what he kept telling himself. It was better to concentrate on the future rather than the past, otherwise, he might spend his day blaming himself for the hell he inadvertently unleashed on humanity.
The Zombie Principle II Page 15