Halverson found himself standing under a towering sign that featured a half-naked showgirl advertising Bally’s Casino.
He walked another block and snuck down a dark alley that led off the strip. He had no trouble eluding guards since they did not patrol the side streets. They camped at the beginning and the end of the strip. Quantrill must have figured that nobody would be foolhardy enough to try to escape via the side streets straight into the maws of the flesh eaters.
Then again, maybe this wasn’t a jail. Maybe anyone could leave any time they wanted, decided Halverson. But that wasn’t the impression Halverson got from either Quantrill or Meers.
The only way to find out what was going on was for Halverson to check it out for himself. He wanted to see if they had any chance of escaping from Vegas if they so decided. At this point, he knew Chogan didn’t want to stay and he didn’t want to stay. There was no way Halverson wanted to deal with Quantrill any longer than he had to.
As for Victoria and Emma, Halverson didn’t know how they felt about leaving. For the moment they seemed content to stay here—but they hadn’t witnessed Quantrill massacring all those medics in the shelter.
If Halverson discovered it was feasible to escape via the side streets, he would urge Victoria and Emma to leave the strip. He could see no good coming from remaining under Quantrill’s rule. It was obvious Quantrill had it in for Chogan and him on account of their standing up to her when she slaughtered the medics at the shelter and later when she abandoned her soldiers in the third SUV to the walking dead.
Halverson skulked through the night past deserted skeevy strip joints, massage parlors, tattoo parlors, and assorted dingy shops. Unlike Las Vegas Boulevard, this road had no functioning streetlights. Maybe, if he was lucky, he’d stumble across a gun shop where he could arm himself.
Right away he saw one good reason no one could escape in a vehicle on this street. Abandoned motor vehicles of all shapes and sizes cluttered the street. Cars, buses, pickups, even an 18-wheeler stood chockablock on the macadam as well as on the rumble strips. If he and his group escaped in this direction, they would need to hoof it.
He figured that the other surface streets off the strip were just as choked with parked vehicles as this one, which explained why Quantrill hadn’t posted guards on the streets.
Halverson tensed.
Up ahead of him a tall figure in a grimy brown overcoat was striding down the sidewalk jerking his hands up and down in front of him as if trying to dry them. As the guy approached, Halverson could discern a shaggy rusty beard on the guy’s gaunt face.
Halverson froze in his tracks. He wondered if the guy was one of the walking dead. The guy’s pale eyes looked stoned out.
Halverson realized he didn’t have a weapon on him to protect himself. He panned his head back and forth, casting around for a weapon of some sort like a club he could use against the guy.
But Stoner was moving too fast for a zombie, noticed Halverson. And Stoner was paying no attention to Halverson. In fact, Stoner barreled right by Halverson without so much as a glance. Pale eyes blank, Stoner proceeded toward the strip.
A homeless person, Halverson decided. At the same time he realized they were all homeless now thanks to the plague. The plague had rendered everybody a refugee seeking a safe house.
Halverson ventured farther down the street, away from the strip.
He picked up on silhouettes lurching in an intersection in the distance. The silhouettes were wending through the vehicles but not moving in Halverson’s direction. A pack of them were milling in that area, Halverson could see. From their awkward gaits, he suspected they were the walking dead.
He wanted to make sure, though. He stole toward them through the night, darting behind fluted metal lampposts to obscure his movements.
A large rag of cloud glided away from the full moon, revealing moonlight that bathed the scrabbling figures, illuminating their decrepit faces. Halverson pegged them for zombies.
The creatures walked day and night, never stopping, never sleeping. Like land sharks, they were forever on the prowl seeking food.
As Halverson closed in on the creatures, he could make out a square patch of pavement in the intersection free of vehicles. The walking dead seemed to be milling in that area. Halverson wondered what was drawing them there.
He wanted to get closer to see what was there—if anything. Two conflicting feelings were tearing at him. He wanted to investigate the square, but he also wanted to head back to the safety of the strip.
As yet, the walking dead seemed unaware of his presence, too rapt up in patrolling their concourse.
Eschewing caution Halverson edged closer to the zombie-infested intersection. The ghouls almost seemed to be milling around in wait. But what were they waiting for? wondered Halverson. Their actions made no sense. Then again, why should anything the ghouls did make sense?
They seemed to be deliberately concentrated in that area. Halverson had to find out why.
He slipped behind a forest green metal Dumpster that somebody had trundled onto the sidewalk. He peeked around it at the ghouls. He was twenty-odd feet away from them. They hadn’t picked up on him yet, he noted with relief. They kept traipsing around the intersection, heads down, enamored of the asphalt.
He still could not make out the cleared pavement in the intersection beyond the abandoned cars. He would have to get closer to take a gander at it.
He darted behind a sedan that skirted the intersection and crouched behind the front dinged fender. Gradually he rose and peeked over the hood at the parading ghouls. With shock he could discern now the blacktop in the middle of the intersection.
Hundreds of white bones were strewn about the asphalt haphazardly in piles. The bones gleamed phosphorescently in the moonlight. They had been picked clean of flesh. They looked fresh, as though they hadn’t been exposed to the elements very long.
And they looked like human bones, Halverson noted, gulping. And human skulls. Apparently the ghouls had slaughtered scores of humans here recently.
Oddly, interspersed helter-skelter among the bones were lengths of rope.
He heard scuffing off to his right. He whipped his head toward the source of the sound and spotted a middle-aged ghoul with a beer belly shuffling toward him. Its jaws gaping, the creature flailed its arms at Halverson and lunged at him.
Halverson managed to sidestep the creature in the nick of time. He had to beat it. There was no point in going forward. He had already found out what he wanted to know. This road could not be used for an escape route. It led directly into a nest of the walking dead.
He retreated on the sidewalk toward the strip at a dead run. For some reason the walking dead didn’t follow him. They continued to mill around the clearing as if waiting. Waiting for what? he wondered again. And why didn’t they take off after him? After all, they couldn’t resist the taste of living flesh. Puzzled, he slowed his gait. None of it made sense.
What he found particularly disturbing was the fact that they seemed to know what they were doing. The flesh eaters couldn’t think, could they?
To hell with them, he decided. If they wanted to stay there, let them.
CHAPTER 41
Mount Weather Emergency Operations Center
The next morning Cole and Slocum sat in the Situation Room with cups of steaming coffee sitting in white saucers on the tabletop in front of them.
“I’ve never had a worse night,” said Cole, face drawn, his tie askew, his suit rumpled. “This is the most difficult decision I’ve ever made.”
He swiped his forefinger over one of the bags under his eyes.
It looked like Cole had slept in his suit, decided Slocum. He wondered if Cole had managed to grab any shuteye at all.
An open pack of cigarettes lay in front of Cole on the tabletop. He snagged the package and shook out a cigarette. He inserted the cigarette into his mouth, scooped up a match folder from the tabletop, ignited a match, and lit his cigarette.
; “I thought you quit smoking, Mr. President,” said Slocum.
Cole glanced self-consciously at the cigarette wedged between his index finger and middle finger as a skein of tobacco smoke swirled around his face.
“I’ve quit a couple times,” he said.
Slocum smiled.
“You have no idea how difficult it is to preside over a country that’s on the verge of collapse,” said Cole.
“We’re all in this together,” said Slocum.
“But the buck stops with me,” said Cole, his voice even.
“It was the only decision you could make under the circumstances.”
“I hope history will remember me as a decisive leader who wasn’t afraid to make the tough decisions and who never gave up.”
“If there is any history after us.”
“We aren’t beaten yet. We still have drones and scads of bombs. The country may be a shambles, but we still have WMD.”
Slocum coughed on Cole’s cigarette smoke. “That’s not much comfort to the uninfected Americans that are still out there trying to escape the infected.”
“I disagree, Ernest. We still have the power to obliterate those infected cannibals with our arsenal of weapons. As long as we let the people know we have that power, they’ll feel secure.”
“When they see bombs dropping over New York, they’ll know for sure we have that power.” Musing, Slocum ran his fingertips over his lips. “I wonder how secure that’ll make them feel.”
He sipped coffee from his china cup.
Cole massaged his temple with his free hand. “You have no idea how difficult it was for me to make the decision to order the bombing raids.”
“I don’t ever want to know.” Slocum wouldn’t mind being president in better times but not under the current conditions.
Cole rested the backs of his hands on the tabletop and inspected his open palms. “The fate of the free world rests in my hands.”
Tobacco smoke slunk up from the cigarette between his fingers.
“We’re in good hands, Mr. President.”
“These are the times that try men’s souls,” said Cole, waxing philosophical.
“Our country’s been through worse and survived.”
“I’m not so sure it’s been through worse than this. We’re talking about a plague with a hundred percent kill ratio and reanimated cannibals eating anybody that’s left alive.”
“What about the Civil War?”
“Yeah. We killed our own people in that one too, didn’t we?” Cole paused. “But you and I both know this is worse. This could be the end of civilization as we know it if we don’t put the kibosh on this outbreak.”
“It’s not looking good for our side.”
“But we can never give up, Ernest,” said Cole, suddenly combative. “If life has taught me anything, it has taught me that. Never give up. We must fight the black death to the bitter end.”
“Great times make great men. Not the other way around. This is your time to be great, Mr. President.”
“This country didn’t become the most powerful country in the world because we’re a bunch of wimps. All life is a struggle for survival. We will annihilate these cannibals before they annihilate us.”
Cole slammed his fist against the tabletop. The coffee cups rattled in their saucers.
Cole heard his cell phone humming in his trouser pocket.
He fished out the red mobile. He plugged its earphone into his ear. “Hello.”
Cole listened. His face clouded.
Slocum watched him intently.
“See where that gets you,” fumed Cole and ended the call.
“Who was that?”
“That nincompoop Ho at the UN.”
“What does he want now?”
Cole got to his feet and paced around. “He saw my speech on TV and says he forbids me to drop any bombs.”
“On whose authority?”
“On his own.”
“The man’s a dweeb. He doesn’t even have his own country. How can he have any authority over anyone? He has zero authority over us.”
“Can you imagine the gall of that numskull, telling me what to do? He says he’ll charge me with crimes against humanity if I drop bombs on my own citizens.”
Slocum steepled his fingers in thought as he sat at the table. “I can see why he’s concerned.”
Cole stared at Slocum.
“After all,” Slocum went on, “UN headquarters is in New York, which is our number one target.”
Cole shrugged it off. “I gave plenty of notice for him to evacuate safely.”
“He probably thinks you’re trying to kill him after he declared himself leader of the world the other day.”
“That had nothing to do with my decision. Ho doesn’t even rate a blip on my radar screen. New York has the highest concentration of plague.”
“You know that and I know that, but Ho with his delusions of grandeur probably thinks you’re out to get him.”
“If he doesn’t evacuate, that’s his problem.”
“Where’s he gonna go after the UN building is bombed?”
“He can go to hell for all I care.”
CHAPTER 42
Las Vegas
Halverson, Victoria, Emma, and Meers sat in the Mirage’s auditorium and watched Chogan limp down the aisle toward an empty seat next to them. His wounded thigh bandaged, grimacing, Chogan was using a crutch to help him get around.
He raised the seat cushion beside Meers and propped his buttocks on the seat-back so he wouldn’t have to bend his aching leg in order to sit down. He was half leaning against the seat-back and half sitting on it.
On the stage in front of them a giant barrel-shaped cage was being cranked around and around mixing up the lottery numbers inside it. People seated in the auditorium were queuing up one row at a time to mount the stage and select their numbers.
Quantrill was presiding over the event with Kwang-Sun and McLellan standing at her side onstage.
“Maybe we’ll win a free trip to sunny California,” joked Halverson.
Victoria gave him a look. “Where were you last night?”
Halverson didn’t know how much he should tell her. He held his voice low. “I was trying to find a way out of here.”
“Why?” asked Emma.
“Are you kidding?” said Chogan. “After what that ballbuster did to me?” Chogan massaged his wounded thigh.
“I don’t have any problem with her.”
“I sure do.”
“You obviously must have provoked her some way to cause her to defend herself.”
“Who told you that?” said Chogan in exasperation.
“Nobody.”
“I didn’t attack her. I was sitting at a table and she knifed me in the thigh. You may think you’re safe now, but you’re not. She’ll turn on anybody on a dime.”
Emma shook her head. “This is heaven compared to California.”
“What California?” said Victoria.
“Oh, yeah. I forgot.”
“What are you talking about?” said Halverson.
“That’s right. You weren’t here last night, were you?” said Victoria.
“What happened while I was gone?” Halverson asked, on the edge of his seat.
“The president gave a speech on TV. He said he’s blowing up California and New York today.”
“What!”
“Stinking politicians,” said Chogan. “How did this country ever survive with them running it into the ground?”
“Is this on the level?” said Halverson.
“It was on TV,” said Victoria. “If you weren’t out screwing around last night, you would have seen it.”
“I was looking for a way out of here,” said Halverson, his voice low. “Just because it was on TV doesn’t mean it’s actually gonna happen.”
“The president said he was gonna order the bombs dropped to prevent the plague from spreading and to destroy the cannibals.”
�
�Does he have any air force left to do this?”
“How do I know? I’m just repeating what he said last night.”
“It could be propaganda to convince everyone who’s alive that Cole’s still in charge.”
Emma shifted anxiously in her seat. “You mean like he’s threatening us by dropping these bombs?”
“No. He’s trying to demonstrate he’s still the president and can fight the plague and the walking dead.”
“What would be the point of his threatening us?” asked Victoria.
“So we won’t revolt against him,” answered Emma.
“Then why did he tell everyone in California and New York to evacuate? He wouldn’t give them time to evacuate if he really wanted to kill them. He would give them an ultimatum.”
“New York, too?” asked Halverson.
“Yep.”
“What kinds of bombs is he using? Don’t tell me he’s going nuclear?”
It was Chogan who said, “Thermite bombs.”
Halverson breathed a sigh of relief. “At least we don’t have to worry about radiation.”
“Not yet,” said Chogan. “But you know it’s only a matter of time before he uses WMD.”
Halverson nodded. “Nukes have a wider range. Thermite bombs aren’t gonna wipe out the plague. It’s too widespread. He’ll have to go nuclear eventually.”
“Then all we have to worry about now is getting burned alive,” said Meers.
“We’re not in California or New York,” said Victoria.
“What’s to stop him from expanding his bombing campaign in the future?”
“At least the government gave us the vaccine,” said Victoria. “That proves they’re still trying to lick this disease.”
Emma groaned in pain.
“What’s wrong?” asked Victoria.
“Just a stomachache,” answered Emma, hiding the truth that it was her zombie-bitten foot that was hurting her.
Chogan scoped out the auditorium. Flanked by Kwang-Sun and McLellan, Quantrill was standing onstage preoccupied with conducting the lottery.
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