Las Vegas NV

by TW Brown

  “How did this happen so fast?” he whispered aloud as his hands sought the radio and switched it on.

  “…repeat, please do not try to take the wounded to local hospitals. The governor has declared all hospitals a danger zone and a military response is being planned at this moment. There are reports of large bands of the infected now being referred to as zombies—” Joel pushed the button for the next station. “—and can be identified often by displaying injuries that should be mortal in nature. In addition, it is now being reported that the appearance of dark tracers in the eyes indicate infection.”

  As he switched through the channels on his radio, and even searched the AM band, he discovered that every station carried the exact same message. Some were delayed by a second or two, but for the most part, the transition was seamless.

  The going only grew more and more treacherous as he continued on in his quest to reach the interstate. Twice, Joel had to actually use the shuttle’s nose to shove aside a wrecked automobile. On more than a dozen separate occasions, one or more of the walking dead careened off the front or side, some of them falling underneath and causing the shuttle to jolt as it ran over the downed creature.

  At last, Joel was forced to stop. He leaned forward to get a better look at what waited ahead. He could see the Thomas & Mack Center looming. From the looks of it, the military had set up a rescue center at that location. The perimeter of the massive parking lot was marked by waist-high concrete barriers and then a tall fence, complete with strands of razor wire at the top.

  Perhaps it would be a good idea to stop there and get his bearings, Joel thought as he inched forward, pressing his front bumper up against the rear quarter panel of a shiny newer model pickup that had obviously caught fire in its cab. The driver’s side window was down, and black smudges were visible all along the top. The interior was practically consumed by the earlier fire and a charred corpse still sat behind in the driver’s seat with its hands seemingly welded to the deformed steering wheel.

  There was movement on the other side of the barrier and fencing. Joel opened the door and stepped out of the shuttle. He was still too far away to really see the details. The dry desert air was rank with the smell of the undead, the dead, and the acrid bitterness of all the fires burning unchecked.

  The sounds of low moans came from the direction of the Thomas & Mack Center. That seemed to answer his question. He climbed back into the shuttle and took a visual assessment of his situation. It was clear that the shuttle had served its purpose to get him clear of the casinos. Unfortunately, he didn’t see a way around the mess ahead. Glancing in the rearview mirror, he could see a few dozen undead limping along in his wake.

  Once again, he wasn’t sure which of the five senses were operating for these things. After ensuring he had a bubble of relative safety around him, Joel grabbed the half-finished bottle of soda from the holder on the left side of the driver’s area, exited the shuttle, and then found a target. Cocking his arm back, he adjusted slightly and then threw the bottle. As it sailed end over end, he hoped that his throwing aim was at least half as good as his shooting.

  The bottle slammed into the side of the abandoned UPS truck with a hollow boom that was amplified by the relative lack of noise in the area. Like watching a section of a snowy hillside give way in the initial moments of an avalanche, Joel watched the heads of all the zombies in the area turn towards the new sound stimulus and begin trudging in that general direction.

  “Could it really be this easy?” he whispered.

  Joel backed up the steps of the shuttle and slid into the driver’s seat to contemplate his next move. As he did, he felt something rub up against his shins and absently reached down to scoop up Peanut. The cat purred loudly as he stroked it under the chin with his index finger.

  As he sat there, he let his senses drift outward and scan the general area for anything of interest. That is when he heard the muffled ‘BOOM’ of what he was certain had to be a shotgun. He let his gaze drift in the general direction he’d heard the commotion. One mistake he found that most people made came in looking too hard for something. They narrow their focus and miss the obvious.

  That is how he spotted the man dressed in camo fatigues with the wide-brimmed hat and his shotgun slung casually over his shoulder like he was out for a stroll through the park. As Joel watched, the man sauntered along, occasionally shoving aside the odd zombie that lurched out from behind a vehicle. Twice he watched as the man simply caught the offending zombie by the arm or shoulder, spun it around, and then plunged a large-bladed knife into the side of its head.

  Joel was still deciding whether or not he would make himself known to this stranger when the man paused, flipped up the brim of his hat and gave a slight nod his direction. After a moment, the man slid his shotgun into a sling that allowed the butt to stick up over his shoulder like the hilt of a sword. Joel took that as a sign of truce and an invitation to make contact.

  “Stay here, Peanut,” Joel crooned as he set his cat down and exited the shuttle once more.

  The two men approached one another like a pair of gunslingers from the Old West. As he approached, Joel looked the man over. This new stranger seemed to be in his late forties. His face was weathered and worn, giving the look of somebody who worked outside. He was a shade on the short side at perhaps only five-and-a-half-feet tall, but his shoulders were broad. The man had a few days’ worth of stubble on his face, but that might be a more common thing with the world going to hell in a handbasket.

  Besides the shotgun, Joel noticed a pair of pistols hanging from the man’s hips, an assortment of blades ranging in size from a few inches long, to a couple of feet, and what appeared to be a few baseball-sized orbs that had to be grenades. The man was also carrying what could best be described as a heavy-duty fanny pack around his waist. He wore heavy gloves and dark glasses that hid his eyes.

  About ten feet away, Joel pulled up, stopping and folding his arms across his chest. “Good afternoon.”

  “As good as possible, I reckon,” the stranger replied. “Just headed out of town and a pair of them damn rot-bags wandered out in front of me and caused me to crash. Figured I’d just catch another ride on the other side of all this.” The man waved an arm to indicate the congestion around the Thomas & Mack Center. “Be surprised how many folks just left their keys in the ignition.”

  “Not really.” Joel gave a shrug. “Keys aren’t usually a priority if something is trying to drag you from your seat and bite your face.”

  The man nodded, his expression hardening as if he were giving the situation more thought. “I guess I am in the minority. These things are nasty, but they’re slow as maple syrup in January and dumber than my second ex-wife.”

  “Finally.” Joel let loose a deep sigh and allowed himself to chuckle. “That’s been my thoughts as well…mostly. I didn’t have an ex-wife, but I’ve known a few individuals that made me wonder how they managed to remember to breathe without somebody giving regular instructions.”

  “If this is the zombie apocalypse, maybe we were long overdue,” the stranger tacked on. “I mean, sure, they can come at you in numbers, but the key is to avoid holing up someplace without multiple possible exits. And I’ve shoved far more of the things to the ground as I passed than I’ve actually shot or knifed.”

  “Wasn’t that you that just fired off a round from that shotgun?” Joel tilted his head towards the butt of the weapon jutting over the man’s shoulder.

  “I did, but that was more due to me being pissed.” When Joel didn’t speak, the man continued. “You know…the two I said stepped out and caused me to crash. Bastards pissed me off.”

  “Mmm.” Joel gave a nod and created a mental file on this stranger, storing that bit of information away in case he had need of it later.

  “Where’re my manners?” the man said, wiping his hands on the fronts of his jeans. “Brad. Brad Lehrer.”

  “Joel Landon, pleased to meet you…current circumstances excluded.”<
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  “Where you thinking of heading, Mister Landon?”

  “Towards Boulder City. Thought I’d hit a few pawn shops along the way and stock up on weapons. I think civilization has run its course in its current form. Thought I might look into setting myself up to ride things out in style. Most folks are going to scrape and scratch with the hopes of surviving. The way I see it, they won’t come up with any concrete plans for a while, and most will die before they reach the point of being able to do anything. That gives me the jump since I think I already know where I want to set myself up, and how I want to live.”

  The low moans of a handful of approaching zombies interrupted the conversation. Both men glanced over at the zombies and then back to each other.

  “I have a few things in that shuttle bus over there.” Joel gave a nod of his head to indicate the idling vehicle. “We can hop in it and edge around this little snarl. I think it has enough power to push through to the other side.”

  “You out searching for survivors?” Brad asked as he fell in beside Joel and ambled toward the shuttle bus, not giving the zombies much more than a passing glance as they stumbled over each other in an attempt to adjust their course to pursue the men.

  “Survivors?” Joel mused. “Not really. I think it would be more accurate to say I’ll be seeking out soldiers. This is an unprecedented event in our history. A person could literally rebuild a society in the image of what he believes is best.”

  They walked in silence the last few yards to the shuttle bus. Brad broke off once to stick one zombie in the side of the head that would’ve been able to reach them before they climbed inside.

  “So you plan on setting yourself up as some sort of dictator?” Brad asked as Joel shut the doors to the shuttle and climbed behind the wheel.

  “That is an old word that has lost its meaning ever since lunatics like Hitler. I think I would actually consider myself a warlord if forced to pick a label.”

  “Warlord.” Brad let the word roll off his tongue like he might be tasting it. “And I assume you will have some form of chain-of-command.” It wasn’t a question, but Joel heard the prompt.

  “I’m going to need people who have the rare ability to separate themselves from emotion. Not everybody should survive. If they can’t offer something to the common good, then they have no purpose. The days of welfare or coddling those deemed to have some malady that gave them special treatment are gone.”

  The shuttle pushed through a hedge that once acted as a barrier between the sidewalk and a vast parking lot. Scores of cars were crammed in and made an effective log jam at the exits if a person chose to adhere to the normal driving lanes. Joel rolled up onto a wide pedestrian walkway, instantly colliding with a zombie and sending it toppling over the railing and plummeting to some lower level out of his sight.

  “Sounds almost heartless,” Brad finally spoke up.

  “I prefer practical.”

  Joel slammed on the brakes without warning, earning a yowl of annoyance from his cat and a string of expletives from Brad. He brushed both aside as his eyes widened just a bit at what he was seeing.

  “How did I not consider that?” Joel muttered.

  “You mind telling me what the hell you’re babbling about?” Brad snarled, pushing himself back into his seat and rubbing his palms to try and ease the bruised feeling in them.

  “Who set up that emergency center?” Joel asked, pointing to the sprawling parking lot of the event center that once hosted championship fights, basketball tournaments, and a variety of other things.

  “The army?” Brad’s voice rose in confusion, making his response sound more like a question.

  “And how much firepower you think is just sitting there inside that fenced-in death trap?”

  “Yeah,” Brad barked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “The key word there is death. That place is swarming with zombies. I mean…look at ‘em all.” He made a sweeping gesture with his hand.

  A dull thud sounded outside the shuttle as some of the nearby zombies outside the fenced in lot had finally made their way over to the vehicle and were now starting to pound, paw, and gnaw on the sides in a futile attempt at gaining entry. Joel didn’t seem to notice, but Brad was looking around now with an expression on his face that gave away his thoughts that he was starting to regret meeting Joel Landon.

  “So we lure them to one side.” Joel gave a slight shrug of his shoulders and began to stroke the soft fur of his cat which had jumped back into his lap at the sound of the undead on the sides of the shuttle bus.

  “How do you suppose we do that?”

  “They seem to be attracted to sound,” Joel explained. Struggling to hide his annoyance that this man hadn’t already made such a simple observation. “One of us goes to one side of this place and creates a distraction, the other can slip in and either start grabbing gear, or else at least cataloging it so we know what’s here and what we might want.”

  “And what is going to keep the zombies outside of that place from getting to the person making all the noise?” Brad challenged. He rose to his feet and ambled down the aisle of the shuttle, peering out both sides of the van at the gathering undead. “Look, I think we both have different ideas about how to ride this out.”

  “Ride this out?” Joel laughed nastily. “You think this is going to just magically go away any time soon? I got news for you, sport, this is the new world. It will be survival of the fittest, and the weak will either perish or serve.”

  “Maybe we aren’t exactly on the same page about this.” Brad glanced over his shoulder at the exit towards the middle of the shuttle.

  “I don’t doubt it.” Joel shrugged his shoulders again and reached down for the lever with a small plastic square indicating it was for opening and closing the large double-doors. He gave the lever a pull and heard the hiss of the pneumatic system as the doors swung open wide.

  A low moan sounded from just outside the bus. Peanut arched up on Joel’s lap and hissed angrily as a dead hand grabbed the top of the divide that cordoned off the stairs. Brad turned and his mouth dropped open in apparent surprise.

  Joel carefully set his cat down in the well by the gas and brake pedals as he got to his feet. He was confident that Brad’s focus was solely on the small horde of walking dead gathered at the side entrance. Joel had seen them gathering the entire time that he and Brad had been talking. It had only taken that much time for Joel to be certain that this stranger was not compatible with the vision Joel held for the future. He talked a good game, but he seemed to lack the fortitude to make the tough choices and do what needed to be done.

  Just as Joel reached the man, who for some foolish reason, had yet to draw any of his firearms, Brad turned with a look of fear on his face. He looked down at Joel’s hands which were open wide with the fingers splayed.

  “Wha—” Brad Lehrer did not finish his question.

  Joel gave the man a hard shove, sending him tumbling awkwardly into at least a dozen of the walkers scrambling for position at the opening like a litter of puppies around a newly offered food dish. He watched impassively as the man vanished into the crowd like he’d just plunged into a tank of water.

  There was just a moment where the moans of the gathered throng were the loudest noise, then the scream came. Joel turned and walked back to the front of the shuttle and shut the side door before driving away. He glanced in the right sideview mirror and saw the knot of bodies humped over what had once been Brad Lehrer.

  “On the plus side, I doubt there will be enough of you to come back and wander about,” Joel mused aloud.

  He turned left on what the sign at the intersection announced as Gym Road and then left again almost immediately onto Wilbur Street. He passed the front of a large building identified as the Dayton Complex and hung a right. This would take him along the edge of the parking lot and parking garage on his side of the vehicle with an assortment of buildings and communal areas on his right. He noticed the one large grassy common was now a series of
massive trenches that Joel guessed had been set up as huge burial sites. Unfortunately for those who’d sought shelter here, it looked like more of the dead remained inside the fence of what the signs now told him were FEMA Site #6. There were hundreds, if not even a few thousand, undead walking around inside that fenced in sanctuary. Scattered like grains of pepper in a salt shaker he spied undead soldiers still dressed in their combat camo gear.

  He was considering how he might possibly be able to break in to the compound and loot the place when the distinct sound of an approaching helicopter drew his attention back towards the direction of the airport. Joel considered just blowing it off, but then the chatter of a machine gun piqued his interest even further.

  Joel only had to back up a little to see the helo as it swung around, coming in low over the airport that had deposited so many tourists over the decades. It was military, Joel realized. He watched as it dipped its nose and made a slow approach his direction. That was also when he noticed a curl of black smoke coming from just under the rotor.

  Joel thought that the helo would put down in the massive airfield. He was more than a little surprised when it continued his direction. More specifically, it was angling for the four-story parking garage. He watched it as the smoke began to pour forth in greater volumes with every passing second.

  At last it was close enough that he could see a face peering out at him. That individual gave him a curt wave as the AH-64E Apache Guardian tilted slightly and came in for a landing atop the parking structure.

  “Things just got a little interesting,” Joel said to his cat as he watched every single zombie in his field of vision turn and start for the parking garage. Whether they were inside or out of the compound made no difference. Perhaps this was the break he needed.

  Joel put the shuttle in park and then shut off the engine. He wandered to the back part of the vehicle and climbed up on the empty luggage racks. Making short work of the overhead air vent, he was out onto the roof in a matter of minutes. He could hear the Apache winding down, but it was still easily the loudest noise source in the area. Watching the zombies trudge tirelessly toward the sound, he felt confident that he now had a method to distract the undead. There were other possibilities, but he wasn’t ready to plan that far ahead yet. He was a firm believer that if you looked too far ahead, you were likely to trip over something right in front of you and in plain sight.