The Loyal Nine

by Bobby Akart

  “There’s nothing wrong with that; it’s human nature. My bumper sticker is helping my fellow vets,” said J.J.

  Sabs smiled at him, and then turned her attention to the Quinns. “I hadn’t seen J.J. since the brief moment I opened my eyes at JBB. But I could never forget his face and his comforting words,” said Sabs. “I have worked with Wounded Warriors for years because of my situation. MassVets contacted me a year or so ago about counseling wounded vets in the Boston area. I was glad to help.” She turned towards J.J. “We have become friends—close friends—since the Gillette event.”

  J.J. blushed slightly, recognizing that Sabs felt an emotional tie to him as well. They were having a moment. Being around a loving family like the Quinns could produce those same emotions in others around them. J.J. felt it, and apparently Sabs did as well.

  “Are you guys dating?” asked Susan.

  J.J. squirmed and Sabs began to laugh.

  “Susan, men can’t handle questions like that,” said Sabs. “Just look at him. Maybe I’ll give him a great big kiss right now!”

  Donald and Susan were laughing at him now. This was not supposed to be a coming-out party. Donald intervened on J.J.’s behalf.

  “Listen up, ladies, this is not The Dating Game,” came the buzzkill from Donald with the added effect of rescuing J.J. Turning to Sabs, Donald said, “J.J. tells me that you two have discussed his preparedness plans. He probably also told you we get together every month or so to get up to date.”

  “He did, Donald, and I appreciate the fact that you guys trust me, or him, enough to let me participate in all of this,” said Sabs. “I have obvious limitations. My prosthetic left leg is limiting in terms of running, but it carries my weight easily. My left arm was removed just above the elbow. It is mobile, to an extent, but it certainly does not make me the bionic woman.”

  J.J. admired how Sabs could discuss her limitations so frankly.

  “I do have serious concerns about our country and the state of society in general,” said Sabs. “I would be remiss if I didn’t consider my shortcomings in the event of some type of collapse. Being prepared for what life might throw your way is one thing. Living in a post-collapse world with only one arm and leg raises a whole new set of concerns.”

  J.J. understood her concerns, especially from a medical perspective. A post-collapse America would be extremely difficult for the elderly, children, and people with special needs—both physical and mental. There is no such thing as a one-size-fits-all preparedness plan.

  “But I will say this,” added Sabs. “I will always be a Marine. When it comes to defending America and her principles, I’ll fight side by side with you, albeit with one arm and one leg.”

  That’s the spirit. I really like this lady.

  “Well said, Sabs,” said Donald. “Being part of a preparedness group involves more than physical capability. Some might disagree with me, but prepping is ninety percent planning—which includes mental preparation. You can’t survive on being able to run a marathon alone. It takes a comprehensive set of protocols framed in an organized fashion that makes sense for you.”

  It was words like these from Donald after that summer evening in 2012 that convinced J.J. to become prepared. He was honored to become a part of the Quinns’ group, and as he became more involved, he marveled at the importance of their purpose.

  “Honey, where’s the remote?” asked Susan. “I think we need to turn this up.”

  Everyone’s attention was drawn to the FoxNews channel on the television. Arthel Neville filled the screen. Next to the FoxNews logo, the words LAS VEGAS IN THE DARK were prominent.

  “As we have been reporting in the last several moments—and the information is still coming in to us, as this is a fluid situation—it appears that the entire metro Las Vegas area is without power at this time. Fox News correspondent Dan Springer is in Seattle and is bringing us the latest—Dan,” said Neville. The screen switched to Springer standing in front of a background of the Seattle skyline, including the Space Needle.

  “Thank you, Arthel. As you mentioned moments ago, information on this event is increasingly difficult to obtain. Here is what we know so far. Around eight p.m. local time in Las Vegas, the entire valley comprising the city of Las Vegas began to go dark. I spoke with a friend by cell phone before he lost his signal. My friend lives in a high-rise condominium project overlooking the infamous Las Vegas Strip, also known as Las Vegas Boulevard. The outage apparently happened suddenly, in less than a minute. At first, the lights dimmed and then they brightened. My friend described a wave of darkness sweeping across the valley from the north to the south towards Henderson. After the call dropped, I attempted to call my friend back, but I received an ‘all circuits are busy’ message.”

  The Quinns and their guests continued to watch the events as they unfolded for the next several hours. Despite the late hour, J.J. and Sabs stayed there and took in the reports. Susan provided ample coffee for the weary guests. By three a.m., midnight in Las Vegas, J.J. and Sabs agreed to bunk in a guest room. Reports were coming in to the twenty-four-hour news channels about out-of-control fires and gunshots being heard throughout the city.

  “This is one heck of a train wreck,” said Donald. “While I feel bad for anyone who is in the middle of this, I can’t seem to take my eyes off the screen. I can only imagine what we’ll learn when the lights come back on. The cell phone calls getting through to the news stations are eerie enough.”

  “I’m amazed at how quickly everything went to shit,” said Sabs. “The power has been off for maybe four hours or so. There are now reports of buildings burning and shots fired. How could this situation deteriorate so quickly?”

  “I’ve always read in preparedness manuals the time frame for societal breakdown is at least seventy-two hours,” said J.J. “What could trigger this type of reaction?”

  “Opportunists,” replied Susan. “In a collapse, the bad people survive and take advantage of the chaos.”

  “This is why we take prepping seriously,” said Donald.

  Chapter 35

  February 13, 2016

  Caesars Palace Hotel

  Las Vegas, Nevada

  “Are we going out after dinner?” asked Sarge. Sarge was beat and would have settled for room service.

  “I don’t think so,” said Julia. “Let’s get plenty of rest. Tomorrow is Valentine’s Day and a full day of shopping at the Forum Shops.”

  Julia paused, trying to gauge his reaction, but he just smiled. This is what married life would be like. He watched her touch-up through the wide door separating the opulent marble bathroom from the spacious high-rollers’ suite. She was stunningly beautiful and exceptionally smart. Sexy, with a wicked sense of humor. They were meant for each other—compatible in so many ways. Extending his business trip to include a getaway for the two of them had been a stroke of genius.

  Sarge had insisted she come along to cover his keynote address and join him for a two-day stopover in Las Vegas—including Valentine’s Day. He knew it was the right call when Julia immediately cleared her schedule, accepting his offer. Sarge had spent the better part of February travelling to promote his new book, which kept the two of them apart far more than either of them liked. The trip gave them a chance to reconnect, in more ways than one, before his next long series of appearances. In fact, he was beginning to wonder if they’d ever leave the hotel room. He could get used to this on a more permanent basis.

  Sarge’s mind wandered to the Little White Chapel on the Strip. Wouldn’t that be something? Hey, we got hitched on Valentine’s Day in Vegas! Over eighty thousand people got married in Clark County every year—five percent of the weddings nationwide. Valentine’s Day was the busiest day of the year in the get hitched business. Am I ready to pop the question? Would Julia say yes?

  Julia caught him staring off in deep thought.

  “Hey, buddy, how’re you doin’ over there?” asked Julia. “If you’re tired, we can just order in.”

&
nbsp; Sarge considered this tempting offer but decided against it. She’d dropped everything to travel out west with him, and he wasn’t going to deny her a night on the town. Besides, she was incredibly gorgeous tonight, as always.

  “No way, Bobby Flay awaits,” said Sarge. “This city is wide open for business twenty-four seven. It never sleeps, nor shall I, my goddess.”

  Julia looked at him through the mirror as she put the final touches on her lipstick. She was studying him.

  Maybe she is a mind reader. Women are scary creatures.

  Sarge looked out the window of the twenty-eighth floor of the Palace Tower and wondered at the magnificence of Las Vegas. Whether you called it Sin City or the City of Lights, it was truly a wonder to behold. Sarge recalled an image taken by the International Space Station, which revealed Las Vegas as the brightest city in the world as seen from space. The accompanying article concluded if all the lights along the Las Vegas Strip were lined up, it would create a train of lights over fifteen thousand miles long. The lights had dimmed to honor Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin, performers comprising the infamous Rat Pack with Sammy Davis Jr. They were also dimmed in memory of the 9/11 terrorist attack and the death of Ronald Reagan. Las Vegas was incomparable.

  Julia joined his side. “What an unbelievable view. Could you live here?”

  Sarge thought about it for a brief moment.

  “Believe it or not, I would consider it because of the weather,” said Sarge. “Boston winters are getting old.”

  Sarge stared down at the magnificent Fountains of the Bellagio Hotel. The show was in progress and the lights flashed as seventeen thousand gallons of water shot into the air to a brilliantly choreographed light display. The water of the Bellagio’s manmade lake could fill two thousand swimming pools. This brought back the visual of Lake Mead and Hoover Dam.

  “You know what concerns me, though?” asked Sarge.

  “What?”

  “When we flew in this afternoon, did you notice the levels of Lake Mead upriver from the Hoover Dam?” asked Sarge.

  “Yeah, you could see how the banks of the river were a sandy brown color compared to the rest of the red clay walls of the canyon,” said Julia. “What are you thinking?”

  “I think they’re running out of water,” he said bluntly. “I guess time will tell.”

  Ten minutes later, they were waiting for the elevator. It was almost 8:00 p.m.

  “This is taking forever,” remarked Julia.

  “Yeah, it’s probably a busy weekend,” said Sarge. “The airport and the casino were packed today. I suppose between Valentine’s Day and the President’s Day weekend, Vegas is getting slammed with the turistas. Or, everyone heard I was in town.”

  “Then there’s that,” said Julia dryly as she began to pull on Sarge’s ear. Ding! Saved by the bell.

  The elevator started out empty, since Sarge and Julia were located on a floor requiring special card access. Systematically, the car descended to the lobby, picking up new passengers.

  Ding! Floor twenty-six—happy family of four, including a whiny six-year-old who should be in bed.

  Ding! Floor twenty-three—two little old ladies from Pasadena, wearing their finest Lilly Pulitzer spring fashion.

  Ding! Floor nineteen—presenting the young couple in love, because they have matching nose rings.

  Ding! Floor seventeen—introducing the high roller, clicking his leftover chips in his pockets.

  Sarge and Julia pressed against each other as Sarge assumed the role of elevator-car operator. He held the doors open as the new passengers, now numbering eleven, entered and squeezed into the brass and mirror compartment. He looked up and read the safety notice to determine the car’s rated capacity—sixteen, five to go.

  Ding! Floor fifteen—a smelly, intoxicated man entered and teetered in the remaining space.

  “Mommy, I have to pee,” squalled the six-year-old.

  “Johnny, why didn’t you pee before we left the room?” barked his father.

  “I didn’t have to go then,” replied Little Johnny.

  Ding! Floor fourteen—an elderly couple in their Sunday best joins the party.

  The head count stood at fourteen. As the elevator doors started to close, Sarge heard a shout from the hallway.

  “Hold the elevator, please,” said a young woman.

  The high roller, anxious to win big, barked in Sarge’s direction, “Hell no, we’re full. Shut that door, pal.”

  Julia squeezed Sarge’s hand, flashing him a quick look that told him to take it easy.

  “Mommy, I still have to pee,” cried Little Johnny.

  “I’ll never get to that Monopoly slot machine,” whined one of the Lilly Pulitzer twins.

  “C’mon, let’s go,” slurred the drunk.

  Sarge was determined to hold the doors for the woman now, especially in light of the protesters’ attitudes. The young woman smiled at Sarge and mouthed thank you. With the last passenger of the trip safely onboard, Sarge released the button holding the door open. Halfway closed, the lights inside the elevator flickered, and the door stopped. Sarge glanced at Julia, registering a look of concern before she disappeared. She quickly reappeared, bathed in the eerie glow of the hallway’s emergency lights, the look of concern replaced by sheer terror. The elevator car sat quiet for a moment, its passengers frozen in place. When the elevator mechanism rumbled, everyone gasped at once. When it shook again, the passengers screamed and surged toward the two-foot-wide exit.

  The drunk and the high roller hit the door first, thrashing at the rest of them with panicked limbs.

  “Calm down!” shouted Sarge. “We can all get out if we wait our turn.”

  High Roller ignored him and squeezed through the door, catching his toe in the space between the elevator and floor fourteen. He hit the carpet-covered concrete face first, bellowing a profanity-laced tirade at the empty hallway. The drunk tried to follow him into the hallway, but misgauged the distance between the doors, striking his left shoulder on the solid steel obstruction. He overcompensated for the sudden, unexpected lack of forward motion and careened backward into the elevator, tripping over his own feet. Before Sarge could react, the drunk tried to use Little Johnny as a crutch to lift himself up, pulling the kid on top of him in the process. Julia instinctively scooped the child into her arms, removing him from danger.

  With his child suddenly clear of the impact area, the enraged dad landed several hard kicks to the man’s stomach, causing him to projectile vomit on the elevator floor. Shrieks filled the elevator, along with the caustic smell of vomit and peach schnapps. With the elevator in pandemonium, the lights reenergized and the elevator door began to close. Sarge reacted by placing a hand in the door, preventing its closure and triggering the inner doors. The gap widened several inches before the power cycled, leaving the elevator car and the hallway illuminated by emergency lights.

  Screams and crying promptly filled the small space, joined by voices from the hallway as hotel guests streamed out of their rooms in search of answers. Put Sarge in charge. The motto from his father’s gubernatorial campaign rang true, giving him the clarity he needed to resolve their immediate problem.

  Ignoring the chaos behind him, he placed himself between the elevator doors to prevent them from closing if the power cycled again. Placing his back against one side and pushing with both hands on the other, Sarge opened the door another foot. He was rewarded with a stampede of selfish, unruly passengers, led by Little Johnny’s parents. Julia emerged last, covering her nose and muttering obscenities. He pulled her aside, away from the dispersing crowd of panicked passengers.

  “You okay?” he asked, hugging her tightly.

  “I’m fine. What about him?” Julia motioned toward the elevator.

  “I’ll take care of it,” he said, giving High Roller a wide berth.

  The self-important gambler hadn’t moved from where he fell, reaching out frantically to grab anyone that staggered into range.

  “I need hel
p!” he said.

  “Then get off your ass and look for it,” said Sarge.

  “Fuck you, buddy! I’m hurt here,” he replied, grabbing at one of the older women’s legs.

  The people from the elevator scrambled like bugs, eluding his grasp. Satisfied that High Roller wasn’t going to pull anyone into his clutches, Sarge entered the car and grabbed the unconscious drunk by the legs. He dragged the guy through his own vomit and deposited him on top of High Roller.

  He whispered to Julia as he took her hand and guided her down the hallway, “We need to get out of here.”

  “I think the stairs are in the middle of the floor, next to the ice machines,” she said.

  “I knew there was a reason I kept you around,” he said, squeezing her hand and kissing her forehead. “I wonder why the backup generators haven’t kicked in.”

  “EMP?”

  “Don’t say that word, Julia. Please don’t say that word. Do you know how much trouble we’d be in if that were the case?”

  “Based on what I just saw in the elevator? We’d be screwed,” she replied.

  “And stuck in a city dependent on electricity to run everything. Screwed might be a kinder-than-warranted assessment,” he said, spotting the stairwell door.

  A few feet in front of them, a male guest dressed in a white terrycloth bathrobe started kicking his door.

  “Goddamnit, I’m locked out of my room!” screamed the man.

  “Try your key,” said a female voice from behind Sarge and Julia.

  “Power’s out, key won’t work, you stupid bitch,” said the man. Oh boy, here we go.

  “Don’t call my wife a bitch, motherfucker!” exclaimed a second voice.

  He pulled Julia past the robed door-kicker, barely escaping the inevitable fray. Sarge glanced over his shoulder in time to see a goateed man in jeans and a green Celtic T-shirt body-slam the guy against the door he was kicking, knocking it wide open. The man slid to the floor in a heap, half in and half out of the doorway. The Celtics fan cocked his foot back to deliver a kick, but stopped when the man’s terrycloth robe parted, exposing his private parts.