by Brown, Tara
The Mirage and the Venetian are stunning, even as I stare at them they appear too fine for a city such as this.
“Dear God,” Lee whispers, maybe saying it low enough so that we won’t hear.
But that's our curse, we hear everything.
The Eiffel Tower and the dirty pond across from it at the Bellagio make me wonder what this looked like before.
“You guys are missing out. You shoulda seen the lights and the action that should be right here,” Harold mutters, seeming to read my mind. “What a tragedy. This city used to be beautiful. Full of rich people and fancy cars and crazy women.” His tone suggests he enjoyed at least a few of those things. “It was a great time to be alive and retired in the nineties.”
Lee cracks a grin and I follow suit.
I think we both almost see it with his tale of memories.
“The water would spray up here, putting on a real show with lights and colors like a rainbow. Fancy people would pull up in sports cars and stretch limos, and these women would get out, legs up to here.” He holds his hand up to his chin. “With slinky dresses same as one of those Bond girls. Shiny hair and red lips and flashy high heels. The men would have dinner jackets and cigars and a smugness like they could buy and sell you. It was a whole other world, separate from the rest of us. And the city was so loud all the time, the real city that never slept. You couldn’t.” He gives us a funny smile. “All the drugs kept you up.” He laughs as though he’s kidding but I don't think he is. “Drugs were better back then—you kids stay off the drugs.” He clears his throat and starts the dune buggy back up, turning to drive us back toward the helicopter.
“Wait!” Lee puts her hands up and points at the stores in front of us. “Urban Outfitters.” She peers down at her ragged tee shirt. “I could go for some new clothes.”
“Sure.” Harold shrugs. “Do they have menswear?”
“They do.” Lee beams.
Harold pulls into the parking lot, up on the sidewalk to avoid the other cars and debris.
“Looks like a different planet, don't ya think?” he asks as he gets out.
“I do,” I agree. It also feels normal walking up to a clothing store.
“Can you hunt us down some bottles of water?” Lee requests as she steps through the broken door, crunching the glass.
The sounds that come from her in the quiet of the store make me nervous. My gun comes out, my ears perk up, and my eyes sharpen.
“Lou, calm down. No one’s here.” She smiles. “You would’ve heard or smelled them a block before we got here.” She rushes to the half ripped-apart racks and begins pulling out hangers of clothes. She grabs multiple outfits and heads for the changing room. I’m not ready to go there yet, but I do. Safety in numbers and all.
“Feels normal, huh?” she asks over the wall as I pull on new tee shirts and pants, forgoing underwear completely. I need a bath or even a hosing off.
“It does. Makes me miss Kyle and Joey. You think they’re okay?” I ask her as I check my reflection and step out of the changing room, ready to go again.
“Yeah, I think they’re fine.” She comes out looking beautiful. Her frizzy hair is in a messy bun with a cute striped tee shirt and some shredded jeans. “Too bad they didn't have their summer clothes out when it all went downhill. Every store, it’s the same thing. Winter clothes.” She pulls on shades. “Now just to wash my face with the bottles of water Harold finds and we’re ready to get out of this dust bowl.”
“Secondhand stores would have summer clothes. I don't think they switch from winter to summer.”
“Oh yeah.” She links her arm in mine and pulls me toward the entrance, screeching to a halt when Harold’s white butt flashes us. We both lift hands to our mouths as we refrain from giggling.
“There’s a changing room, Harold.” I laugh accidentally.
“Yeah, I know, but it’s full of old blood and I suspect piss. Kinda smelled gross. Even the dog wouldn't go in there.” He comes around the corner dressed a moment later. “Here’s your water.” His face is flushed and he’s obviously embarrassed. He turns and walks to the dune buggy.
I pour a bottle of water for Gus into the decorative bowl that held the sunglasses on the counter before I dumped the glasses on the floor. He laps it up until there’s nothing left. I give him half my bottle too and rub his head. “You find any food?” I ask, glancing up.
“Yeah. I put it in the car. We should get going. Wind’s picking up,” he shouts at me from outside.
I bring the bowl. They’re not that easy to find and this would work for food and water.
When we get to the car, uneasiness hits my stomach. “We should hurry.” Something’s off. I don't say it, but I sense it. Just as the dune buggy gets started, we hear them. Someone else. They're not biters, they're humans. And they don't sound friendly.
Shouts and screams are coming from the Bellagio.
The sunlight glimmers off a sword as they jump into their Hummer and start driving. "Harold," I scream, “FLOOR IT!”
Harold drives like he’s in the war again or a racecar driver weaving through the traffic and debris to our street.
I keep checking back at the Hummer filled with guys with bandanas over their mouths.
They have red X marks on the black Hummer and are screaming at us, suggesting this is the end for us. It’s sport for them.
I hear words like “the blonde bitch is mine.” Words I don't like.
Harold drives around the corners much better than they do and we end up with quite the head start. I don't think they’re like us, I don't sense a hum from anyone but Harold.
When we get to the chopper, Harold runs ahead and starts doing all those slow-ass painful clicks and tugs and switches, but he doesn't start it.
Gus and Lee are in when I close the door, staying outside the chopper. Harold is shaking with fear, but I know what I have to do. “Come back for me,” I say and run back to the buggy. Lee’s screaming from inside the chopper as I jump in the buggy and drive away, headed for the city again. I aim for the dirt, creating a dust trail. In the rearview the chopper is making dust now too.
Hearing the guys coming around the corner for me, I skid around another corner, heading back to the dirt hills. They might like driving that fancy Hummer but the practicality of it just isn’t there. Not compared to my vehicle.
“You’re gonna die!” they scream.
I fear it but I don't believe it.
I won’t die.
In fact, I won’t even be hurt.
I’ll fight to the death, although I don't know how to fight.
They follow me, letting me lead them away from the helicopter and my friends and dog.
In the distance, I hear the thud of the chopper and drive toward it.
The Hummer gains on me as I try to find the exact spot to leave the city.
A sound pings off the buggy and I see a dent. I press the gas and weave a little better, trying not to get shot at again.
The buggy has to last until I can get to the chopper.
Driving like a crazy person down the North Hollywood Boulevard, I catch a glimpse of the chopper to my left and cut down a side street, racing through the cars and shit everywhere until I reach the end of the road. I jump the small curb and head into the bumpy hills, right for the helicopter.
I suspect he’s getting my idea as he circles around.
Another ping hits the buggy as I reach back and offer my own shots, shooting blindly but hoping I at least hit one of them. I aim with my ears, listening to the roar of their loud vehicle.
When they jump the curb, it sounds painful for the Hummer.
As the helicopter comes back around I leap out of my seat with the vehicle moving and stand up, one foot on the seat and one on the window. I tuck my gun in the back of my pants and wait for the right moment, glimpsing back at the gaining Hummer.
The buggy hits a bump, knocking me as the chopper comes into reach. I jump with the bounce, springing into the air to ca
tch the landing base of the moving chopper. It swings me, knocking my foot against the buggy but lifts me at the same time.
Shots fire at me so I let go of the chopper with my right hand and grab the gun. It’s a scene from a movie I’m sure, only no stunt person has the grip I do. My grip could dent the metal of the landing base. Smiling, I aim properly and shoot, hitting the driver in the shoulder. He jerks the Hummer to the right and crashes. I tuck the gun back in and swing my arm up, noting the confidence I have in myself.
Maybe I can’t fight, but superhuman Lou can hang on to metal like a boss badass!
We fly this way for a couple of minutes before he takes me to a ridge on the hillside and lowers so I can jump down. He lands and hoots and hollers, “That was some first-class shooting, Lou. You’re a real good shot.”
“Thanks.” I can’t help but smile, which is creepy since people are injured back there. “My dad taught me.” I wonder if he’d have been proud of that moment.
I bet he would’ve.
I climb in, convinced of it.
We fly away and I hope we never have to see Vegas again.
It’s the worst dead city. It’s erasing the people too quickly. And the humanity.
Chapter Twenty-Three
We land on a hillside outside a city. It’s small and brown like everything else we’ve seen. I smack my lips together, feeling thirsty, which means Gus and Lee are dying. When I turn back to check on them, I wince. They’re both red and sweaty and still sleeping, though it’s obvious we’ve landed after flying through the desert for hours.
“Where are we?” I ask Harold who seems to know America from the air like he’s flown it tons.
“Santa Clarita, outside LA, just north.” He sighs. “And in need of water.” He peers back at Gus and Lee. “You wanna make the run for it and come back? I don't think they can walk without some, and I can’t leave them here alone.”
“Yeah.” I open the door and climb out, a little scared after last time. I might be bulletproof, ish, but I’m not sexual assault proof. Besides Lance and the guys, we haven’t met anyone yet who wanted to do us harm. Humanity rose to the challenge when the world ended, something I assumed would continue on.
I hope that does continue.
Especially now that I’m walking alone toward a suburb on the edge of a dead city.
The houses appear to have been nice, a year ago. The grass is different, long and brown and resembles the start of hay more than anything. The fences are knocked down in a few spots and the cars have doors left ajar.
I know this scene, I’ve seen it play out.
The car pulled into the driveway.
The driver or passenger saw the attacker coming, or even worse, saw a neighbor acting strangely and climbed out to help. They left the door ajar, not realizing they would be dead in seconds.
Once the passenger was attacked, the driver jumped out and tried to help.
Humanities worst flaw: not running away from a scene like that.
We help.
Then we die too.
So arrogant to think we can help.
Maybe not arrogant, maybe naive.
Our scale is set at normal; under normal circumstances that person might have been able to help.
But nothing has been normal for too long now.
We lost normal the day we lost eighty to ninety percent of the population.
Now we have one mode. Survival.
I didn't know what we could possibly want to survive for, but now that I’m separated from Joey and Kyle and everyone else, I do.
I want to survive to see them again.
And perhaps that’s the hope everyone has.
They want to survive so they can see their families again.
That’s what we’re pushing toward, reunion and hope.
If humanity has one positive, it’s our eternal hope.
Just like I hope there’s water in any of these houses.
The road appears to be blocked farther down and the houses are on the very eastern outskirts, but they’re fancy. So who knows?
A tiny heartbeat and a sound bring my eyes to the right where the grass shifts. A massive snake slithers away from me.
My skin crawls and I hurry away.
The street I end up on has a silly name, Live Oak Springs Canyon Road. I scoff as I head down, searching for the fanciest amongst them. It’s harder than it looks, since most of them are magnificent, with massive lots and huge pools past the gate that screams top dollar.
I used to want this, this type of house in this type of neighborhood. My parents’ neighborhood wasn't this fancy, but it was nice for Laurel.
These houses are worth millions and each one has something spectacular about it. They all share the same view of the rolling hills and a yard that suggests they were once stunning.
Trees and gardens and stamped-concrete driveways with three-car and four-car garages.
So much money spent to make a driveway when in the end it’s just a spot for you to bleed out and die on.
The bones along the road suggest a lot of people died here.
Nowhere near the numbers of Vegas, but enough to make the walk creepy.
The house I choose to raid is a gorgeous craftsman mansion.
Listening for anything resembling a heartbeat, I press my ear to the door. Nothing stirs so I turn the handle, but it’s locked. I back up and kick it in. It takes two kicks because they have the special locks that make it hard to break down.
The house is cooler than outside, the air is stale. It tastes funny. Dusty.
I head for the kitchen first, gagging when I get the fridge open.
There’s no drinks inside.
The bar fridge is loaded though. I drop to my knees and guzzle water, gasping for air but not stopping from nearly drowning myself.
I should go and give it to my dog and my friend, but my body doesn't work like that anymore.
It fixes me first, always.
The water brings me back to life.
Searching the kitchen on my knees, still drinking water, I find a reusable bag and start shoving water bottles into it. I find crackers and protein bars and chips and cans of food. I take just enough to get us back here. We’re coming back.
Then I sprint up the hill, carrying everything I’ve found.
Harold meets me partway up the dusty hill. His eyes are wide. “They’re still not awake!” he shouts and grabs the bag from me, probably thinking it’s heavy. Only it’s not.
I follow him up to the chopper and drag Furgus from the seat, placing him on the ground carefully and slowly trickle water into his mouth. It takes a second before his eyes roll back around, bloodshot and red as always. I dump the water into his bowl and scoop it into his mouth. He starts lapping, also springing to life.
“That’s it, drink, Gus. You’re okay.”
Lee is doing better than he is. She’s holding the bottle and drinking in huge gulps.
I almost cry, I’m so relieved. Seeing him and her in the helicopter, passed out and hot, was terrifying.
“We need to start bringing more food for the humans.” Harold speaks as if it’s no big deal that they’re different, or we are. But no matter what, he's right; we’re not the same. “They’re weak. And we have to take care of them,” he adds under his breath so low Lee doesn't hear him.
When Gus is strong enough, he gets up to eat some of the canned tuna I put in his bowl.
Lee eats two tins of peaches, right from the can, with juice running down her face the entire time.
She sits back and burps. “If I puke this up later, I’m going to be super bummed.”
“Well, there’s lots more where it came from.” I point down the hill. “That neighborhood doesn't seem touched, except by death. There’s a wreck, see?” I point to the blockage where a massive truck has crashed and hit smaller cars, making the area hard to get into. “I don't think anyone’s been here yet.”
“Do you think we can bathe?” Lee sounds hopeful.
>
“We might be able to. There are some fancy ass houses in there.”
Lee gets up with Harold’s help and stands, seeming a little under the weather for half a second. “I feel like shit.”
“You don't look so hot.”
“I feel pretty hot.” She laughs. “Like this desert can kiss my ass.”
“It’s kicking it.”
“You wanna spare some of those nanobots?” She laughs and starts down the hill.
Furgus rubs against me, sniffing and needing. I rub him and lift the spotless bowl. “There’s lots more, buddy.”
We stroll down to the large houses, walking up to the one I opened.
“It stinks in here.” Harold gives me a look.
“The fridge. I opened it. It was dumb.”
“Jeesh, that’s bad.” He shudders and heads into the pantry where the evidence of my break-in is really noticeable. “Good God, these people were stocked for the apocalypse.” He peeks his head back out. “Too bad they didn't make it.”
“Lucky for us you mean.” Lee grabs a bag of cheddar crackers and starts eating, one for her, one for Furgus.
“Hey!” Harold pulls out a massive bottle of water, the kind you see in offices. “Bet I could rig this to be a shower. Won’t be a long one, but you could share the bottle.” He heads for the garage, whistling as he stalks off.
“He’s funny.” Lee smiles. “Reminds me of my uncle, crazy old rich guy who was always happy and sarcastic. He got me.” She sighs. “I miss the old fart. I wonder if he’s still around.” She loses the smile.
“I doubt it.” I say the thing we’re both thinking.
“Yeah, he might be. He wasn't the sort to help anyone or go out and evacuate. He’d hole up in that house of his, with two pantries bigger than this kitchen, and live it out. Caviar until he ran out.” Her eyes glisten, probably from exhaustion. “He probably still has caviar.”
“Why didn't you and Erin go that way?” I try to change the subject, without it being obvious.
“We wanted to get to our dad. Everyone we met along the road was saying West Coast. I’m glad we didn't stay out East though. I heard the mist things made a mess of everything. You couldn't steal cars because they were fried. Stuff like that.”
