by Kyle West
“It could be that he has regretted it all these years,” Makara said.
“I think not,” Marcus said. “Wouldn’t he have found us, if that was true?”
“Char has a lot of pride,” Makara said, looking at Marcus. “Kind of like someone else I know.”
“Humph.” Marcus folded his arms, turning to stare at the crackling fire. The orange light reflected off his blue eyes. I couldn’t help but think of the rage that burned within him.
“We will see. But mark my words about leading, Makara. You must remain true to yourself and to your conscience. Otherwise, the only way you can possibly rule is by fear. And by doing that, you make yourself no better than Char, or Augustus, or Ohlan, for that matter. You say you want the New Angels to be like they were in the days of Raine.” Marcus turned back from the fire, and looked at Makara. “Ask yourself what Raine would do, and let that be your guide.”
“I have asked myself that question every day for the past three years,” Makara said.
“It is well, then.” Something in his tone signaled that the conversation was over. He looked at the ship. “Hard to believe, that such an artifact of the Old World still remains. I hope it will be enough to stop it.”
By “stop it,” I knew Marcus meant the xenovirus. Now, he knew everything we did. But would that knowledge be enough to get him to work with us, when it meant Char was going to work with us, too?
“We have a long day tomorrow,” Marcus said. “We will be passing a site of great sorrow for all of us.”
The man around the fire nodded, and it took me a moment to realize what they were talking about. To get to Vegas, we would have to pass through where Hoover Dam had once stood. It was all river, now, but apparently there was still some way to cross over.
I felt afraid, for a moment. With the Exiles and the Raiders enemies, we had to get our own house in order before approaching the Lords of Vegas. Yet there was no time for that. We just had to hope for the best.
And hope, in this world, was rarely enough.
* * *
We arrived at the crossing around mid-afternoon. The sight took my breath away. We had parked Odin, and now all stood on the edge of the canyon, looking down into the great chasm. Hundreds of feet below, the Colorado River churned angry and cold. Intermixed with the rock and water were the ruins of the massive explosion of twelve years past — large chunks of concrete, turbines, and metal, that were piled so thick so as to form a dam of their own. But the water flowed through, white, frothy, violent. The dam had long been conquered, and it was likely that the force of the water being released twelve years ago had pushed most of it downriver.
At points along the cliff edge, the sides had collapsed. This would have happened because the enormous force of water would have blasted away the canyon’s lower walls, leaving nothing to support the canyon’s upper reaches. This had another effect — the giant bridge that had once spanned the canyon now lay at the bottom of the gorge –broken, twisted, and useless. It was amazing what the people of the Old World had been able to construct. It was even more amazing how fast these intricately designed feats of engineering could be destroyed.
To the north, where once stood Lake Mead, was a great, empty basin, dry, cracked, and lifeless. At the far western extreme of that depression would be the beginning of Vegas. It wasn’t only the cities downriver that the emptying of Lake Mead and the destruction of Hoover Dam had affected. Surely, that large lake had also been Vegas’s main source of water, even Post-Ragnarok — and without it, I couldn’t see how they survived, twelve years after the destruction of the dam.
“There’s the path down to the rapids,” Marcus said, pointing. “It leads to the bridge.”
At first, I couldn’t see what Marcus was talking about. Then, I saw it — a thin, crude bridge made from rope and planks that stretched across the river precariously. Below, the water of the mighty Colorado churned between rocks and ruins. If anyone were to slip and fall through one of the many gaps of that swinging bridge, it was sure death. At the far end stood two shapes, bearing rifles. Guards, most likely.
“Our bikes can’t cross,” Marcus said. “We’ll have to use Odin. Take a few at a time, so as not to overburden it.”
“Why can’t we do that now?” I asked.
“We have to talk to them, first,” Marcus said, pointing to the guards. “They need to know who we are and why we’re here. Otherwise, there’ll be trouble.”
“Marcus, Alex, and I will go down there,” Makara said, turning around to face the others. The rest of you, see to loading a few of the bikes into Odin’s galley. We’ll do six at a time.”
Makara turned back to me, her hair caught in the wind. I didn’t know why she had asked me to accompany her. I put a hand on my Beretta, ready to help keep both her and Marcus secure, should the need arise.
“Let’s go,” Marcus said.
We marched down a trail that snaked down the cliff’s side. It was clear from the many rocks covering the trail that not too many people came from this side of the desert, which made sense, because no one really lived on this side. The guards would surely be surprised once they saw us, if they hadn’t spotted us already.
As we neared the gorge bottom, its either side lined with red rock, the ferocity of the river became even more apparent. For so many years, all this water had been locked behind Hoover Dam. Just seeing the ruin of the dam, both up and downriver, made me wonder just what kind of force could have done this.
“Was the bomb nuclear?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” Marcus said. “It was powerful, so that could have been the case. They also could have used a lot of high-grade explosives. The U.S. developed some very dangerous toys during the Dark Decade. There are several military bases nearby. By now, I’m sure they are stripped clean, but at the time, maybe my brother had managed to find something there.”
Makara said nothing, setting a quick pace down the trail. At last, we stood before the beginning of the bridge. On this side, the bridge was anchored to a piece of rock with a set of thick metal stakes. One of the guards held a rifle in one hand, and raised the other to indicate that we should remain where we were. Then the guard holstered the weapon on his back and began his long, torturous journey across the bridge to meet us. The bridge looked so fragile that it might snap at any moment.
When the man reached the middle, the very bottom of the bridge sagged so low that it was only a few feet above the raging river. A metallic turbine jutted from the water, reaching for the man’s leg. The man passed on, unworried. He had probably made this trip many times before. Finally, his speed increased as he came to the tauter section of the bridge. The shabby wooden planks now bore his weight rather than giving in to his step.
He exited the bridge, and now stood on the edge of the cliff. Up until now, I had not paid attention to his face. The man had a thick, black beard, coppery skin, and thick muscles. But I’d recognize that face anywhere, and when I saw who it was, it knocked the very wind out of me. It was a man I had believed dead three months, and it took me a moment to feel like I wasn’t staring at a ghost.
The man smiled as he looked at me. Unbelieving, he broke into a wide smile.
“Holy…!” The man shouted. “Alex! Alex Keener!”
I shook my head, walking forward to greet the man. We clasped arms; he drew me into a bear hug, nearly crushing me with its ferocity.
It was Michael Sanchez. He had survived Bunker 108.
Chapter 5
“I can’t believe it,” I said. “Michael. You’re alive!”
The boom of my voice echoed off the canyon walls, unmasked by the sound of rushing water. Makara and Marcus stared at us, confused. Michael did not heed them. His eyes shone brightly and his face had split into a mile-wide grin.
“What the hell happened?” he asked. “Who else is with you? Did your dad make it?”
I shook my head. “No. Just me. My dad…he died. Khloe was with me, and her parents. All of them died.”
I looked at Officer Michael — or the man who used to be Officer Michael — still unbelieving. He was still the same, if only a bit thinner. He was all muscle before, but the three months between then and now had made him a good twenty pounds lighter.
“Alex, I hardly recognize you,” he said. “You’ve changed.”
I was about to say the same to him, when Makara stepped up.
“Who is this?”
“This is Officer Michael Sanchez. He lived with me at Bunker 108.”
“Just Michael now,” he said, holding out a hand to Makara.
Makara didn’t take the hand. “I know you.”
Michael looked at me, then back at Makara.
“You were the one with Alex on his recon.”
Michael, at first, did not react. Then, it looked as if he had been punched in the gut.
“You were the one who killed that man,” Michael said, with realization. “The one we let in. The guy who infected the rest of them with the Blight Fever.”
Makara just stared, not saying anything. “It’s complicated, Michael. For now, I can say no more than that.”
“We can catch you up on everything later,” I said. “Give her a chance. I gave her hell at first, but it was all a mistake.”
Michael nodded, resigning himself to that. “I guess I have a lot to be caught up on. I’ve been here for the last two months. I’m working for the Dragons now.”
“The Dragons?” I asked, looking up.
“Not those,” he said. “They’re a gang, in Vegas. They control this crossing.”
“Guard duty, huh?”
He shrugged. “I have to start somewhere. I consider myself lucky to even be alive. More so because my wife and kid made it.”
“That’s great news, Michael.”
“When it all went to hell, we took one of the Recons and…”
“…Michael, right?” Marcus asked. “I hate to interrupt the reunion, but daylight is failing, and we need to get thirty men across the river. Are we clear to do that?”
Michael looked at Marcus. “Right.” He reached for a radio on his side, raised it to his mouth. “Franco, you have a copy?”
“Go ahead.”
“I’ve got thirty men here that need to cross. They’re friends. I’m sending them over.”
“Has this been cleared with Boss Dragon?”
“No, but I’m staking my integrity on it. They can camp outside the Sunset Wall tonight. Trust me — they are friends, and we can use the help.”
Silence from the other end.
“Mike, I can’t just let thirty men pass without being cleared by the Boss. That’s just not done.”
“Trust me,” Michael said. “Besides, we don’t have time for clearance. With the Blighters about, I don’t think they’d be safe out here. They need to be behind walls.”
The man Franco sighed from the other end of the line. “No one goes behind the walls that’s not already cleared by one of the gangs. You know that as well as I do. Anyone who is not a citizen can camp outside, no more.”
“I’ll talk to the Boss about it later.” Michael paused. “I’m letting them cross.”
“Fine,” Franco said. “It’s your ass, though. If I get asked about this, I’m pointing your way.”
“That’s fine.”
Michael put the radio back, breaking into a smile again. “I still can’t believe it.”
I smiled back. “You don’t even know the half. Wait until you see how we’re going to cross.”
Michael frowned in confusion.
“Come on,” I said. “We’ll show you.”
* * *
We led Michael up the snaking trail, a man whom I had thought dead. I had not seen him once in my escape from Bunker 108, but somehow he had managed to save his wife and kid and find himself here. Suddenly, I felt a lot less alone. I was not the only one to have survived Bunker 108. Even if it wasn’t my father, even if it wasn’t Khloe, it was someone who shared my story, someone who knew my past.
“Did anyone else make it that you know of?” I asked, halfway up the cliff.
Michael shook his head. “No. I thought me and my family were all that was left.”
“Well, there’s a few more of us, at least.” I pointed to Makara. “Makara is from Bunker One.”
“Really?” Michael asked.
“It was long ago,” Makara said, cutting the conversation short.
I shrugged. A minute later, we crested the rise. We were greeted by expansive red desert and dune, and a crumbling highway curving to the southeast. About five hundred feet ahead was the Odin.
“Whoa!” Michael said. “What is that thing?”
“Meet the Odin,” I said, proudly. “It’s one of four spaceships that survived Ragnarok. It’s the property of the New Angels now.”
He shook his head, his smile never breaking. He turned to me, squinting one eye. “The New Angels?”
“I’ll have to tell you about that, too.”
Samuel, Anna, and the Exiles walked forward to greet us, awaiting news. Then they noticed Michael.
“This is Michael Sanchez,” Makara said. “He is a representative of the Dragon gang out of Vegas. He has cleared us all to pass.”
Several whoops came from the crowd of men. Michael frowned slightly.
“Didn’t expect there to be a spaceship,” he said. “That might complicate things.”
“You’re in trouble now, huh?”
Michael nodded. “Yep. At best, I’m going to get the chewing-out of my life. At worst…well, let’s not think of that.”
“You’re one of us, now,” I said. “We’ve got your back.”
Makara spun around. “Not so fast. I’m in charge of the Angels, and I decide who joins us.”
“Why wouldn’t you accept Michael?” I asked. “He’s a good fighter.”
Before Makara could answer, Michael held up his hands. “Alright. I wasn’t going to accept, anyway.”
“Why not?” I asked.
He pulled back the sleeve of his gray tee shirt, revealing an intricate, tattooed dragon, breathing flame.
“This is why,” he said. “I’m a Dragon, now. My place is here. I owe the gang my life. I’m not going to turn my back on that.”
“We need to get rolling,” Makara said. “Where is this Sunset Gate?”
“It’s on the south entrance of town, set up on the highway. There are some turrets there that can provide cover fire, in case the Blighters get feisty.”
“Blighters?” I asked.
Michael looked at me, confused. “Surely you’ve seen them. The big scorpion reptile things with the pearly eyes?”
“Yeah, I know them. Just never heard that term before. We call them crawlers.”
“Maybe they’re only called Blighters around here,” Michael said.
“You guys can catch up later,” Makara said. “We have to get moving.”
Michael nodded. “Right.”
“We’ll need to ferry the bikes across the canyon. Then we can travel the rest of the way to this Sunset Gate. Marcus and the Exiles can follow our trail.” She looked at Michael. “Are Char and the Raiders here?”
“Char?” Michael asked. “Yeah, he’s here. Arrived two weeks ago. He’s camped by the Sunset Gate as well.”
Makara nodded, then gave a sigh of relief. “Thank God.”
Marcus’s reaction, however, was completely different. “I can’t stay by him. If I do, I may end up doing something I regret.”
Makara gave another sigh, but this one was out of exasperation. “Marcus, you’re going to have to let the past be the past. Give Char a chance to redeem himself. We don’t have time for bickering.”
Marcus held a hand on his pistol at his side. “I promise nothing. I hate Char. I hate him with everything I’ve got. And he will pay for what he did.”
Marcus’s face was passive, betraying no emotion, though I could feel the anger boiling beneath. For t
welve years, he had nursed it. And it wasn’t going away until he did something about it.
“I don’t know how to handle this,” Makara said, shaking her head. “Since the Raiders are already by the gate, you just might have to camp somewhere else.”
Marcus’s face reddened. “That’s the treatment I get? After agreeing to help you?”
“This isn’t helping,” I said. “How are any of us supposed to work together if we can’t even camp in the same spot?”
Neither Marcus nor Makara answered as both Samuel and Anna walked up.
“We’ve finished loading the first of the bikes,” Samuel said. He looked at Michael, offering a hand. “Samuel Neth.”
“Michael Sanchez.”
“We need to get moving,” Makara said, her tone insistent. “It’ll be dark in a couple of hours, and I have to babysit two grown men to make sure they don’t kill each other.”
“Makara,” Marcus began, “the Exiles will get priority over the Raiders. We joined you first. I will not have my brother…”
“Marcus,” Makara said, dangerously, “we can talk about this when we land. You brothers will have to get along. If you don’t, this group will rip apart before it even has the chance to take off.”
Marcus fell into silence, crossing his arms. He was not happy.
“We’ll put down somewhere distant,” Makara finally said in the silence that followed. “Maybe half a mile from the walls, but not right next to the Raiders.”
“You’ll be out of range of our turrets,” Michael said. “Trust me. You don’t want that.”
“Actually, I think I do,” Makara said. “I don’t trust anyone in Vegas until I can get guarantees.”
“We’re not going to shoot you,” Michael said. “For one, I’ll make sure of that. And secondly, we need all the help we can get. The Great Blight has been getting rather nasty lately. If you are outside the range of our turrets, it will leave you open to attack.”
Makara eyed Michael, unhappy with what he was telling her.
“The Raiders and the Exiles will just have to live in peace, then.”
Marcus growled, but said nothing.
“Can you arrange a meeting between me and the other gang lords?” Makara asked.
