by Sean Patten
“Thanks,” I said. “You really saved my ass back there.”
“No problem,” she said. “Only wish I could’ve been the one to kill the prick.”
She handed the crutch to Steve.
“Nice throw,” she said, a small smile on her face.
“I know, right?”
I smiled along with them. But then I remembered.
Hopkins.
“Fuck,” I said. “Come on.”
The two of them seemed to realize right away what I was referring to. Together we made our way back towards the entrance where Hopkins had been shot. He was still there in a heap, and I dropped to my knees at his side. His shirt was covered in blood.
It didn’t look good.
“Hopkins!” I said, my tone frantic. “Come on, come on.”
His eyes opened slowly, falling onto me.
“There you are,” he asked. “You…you kill the fucker?”
“Yeah,” I said. “He’s gone.”
Hopkins nodded.
“Good,” he said. “Kid…I think you owe me for this one.”
He smiled.
“You bet your ass I do,” I said. “Big time.”
“Yep,” he said. “And here’s how you can repay me.”
He reached his hand into his back pocket and pulled out a small black box. My mouth slacked open when I realized what it was.
“Take better care of this,” he said, holding it out to me. “Almost missed it when we left.”
I took the box, opening it up and laying eyes on the medal inside.
“Do something good with that,” he said. “Something that’d make your old man proud.”
Then he turned to Kelly and Steve.
“And take care of these two. Hell, all of you take care of each other. World’s not going to get any kinder.”
“Hang in there,” I said. “I’ll find a first aid kit and—”
“Nah,” he said. “This is it for me. Stay safe, kid. And…see you on the other side.”
He closed his eyes and that was it.
He was gone.
I stood up slowly, shock overtaking me.
But I didn’t have time to think about it for even a moment. A gunshot rang out, smashing one of the glass doors behind us.
Oleg.
“Not dead yet,” he said as he slowly moved towards us, a gun in one hand, the other on a bleeding wound in his stomach. “You’re going to…you’re going to have to do better than—”
A whizzing noise moved past my head, followed by a soft brush of air, and Oleg stopped in his tracks, a look of surprise on his face.
The three of us watched him for a long moment, then the gun tumbled from his hand.
Then red trickled from a wound between his eyes.
Then he dropped, dead.
This time for good.
I turned around, eager to find out who’d pulled the trigger, who’d managed to put a round between that prick’s eyes from a distance.
And when I saw, I realized it couldn’t have been anyone but them.
The Army had arrived.
Chapter 26
I stood at the door, totally frozen as I watched the troop transports rumble down the Strip. Squads of troops moved alongside them, long black rifles in their hands.
A few of them were in front of the Medley, moving closer towards us, their guns raised and their eyes hidden behind sunglasses. The rain had stopped by this point, beams of sunlight breaking through the cloud cover above.
“Put your hands up, now!”
The three of us complied, raising our hands into the air.
The squad moved closer to us, their rifles still pointed in our direction.
“We’re unarmed!” I said.
“Step out of the building, keeping your hands above your head!” the solider in charge called out.
The three of us exchanged looks, and we all realized it was the right call to make.
Slowly, carefully, we stepped out of the Medley and onto the front property. The troops didn’t waste any time in swarming us, patting us down and making sure that, like I’d said, we were unarmed.
“What were you doing in there?” asked the first solider, stepping back and giving me a look up and down. “Looting?”
I glanced at the soldier’s arm, the chevrons indicating he was a sergeant, and likely the solider in charge of the small squad.
“No,” I said. “Just…getting out of the rain.”
“That’s private property, you know,” he said. “Just because the power’s out doesn’t mean you can break and in do whatever you want.”
I gave the sergeant a once-over, quickly realizing that he couldn’t have been older than twenty-five. Part of me bristled at being talked down to by a kid like this, but I wasn’t about to make a thing out of it.
“I know,” I said. “But—”
“Doesn’t matter now,” said the sergeant. “Who was that guy in there? Why was he trying to kill you?”
“Owner of the Troika,” said Kelly. “And he was trying to kill us for…personal reasons.”
It sounded vague, but we didn’t exactly have time for the full story.
“Holy shit,” said one of the other troops, a kid who looked barely old enough to drive, let alone gamble. “The Troika?”
“Must be pissed his place burned to the ground,” said another soldier.
“Did you shoot him?” asked Steve.
“We’ve got marksmen posted along the Strip,” said the sergeant. “Saw there was some shit going down. We’ve got authorization to do whatever necessary to secure the Strip, and that includes taking action against anyone who looks like a threat.”
“And he looked like a fucking threat,” one of the other troops cut in.
“What’s happening right now?” I asked. “Where did you guys come from?”
“Not any of your concern,” he said. “All you need to know is that this place is under the control of the United States Military.”
I looked over his shoulder, watching as the long line of troops and vehicles—transports, Humvees, and even a few tanks—continued along down the Strip. The ground rumbled, gunfire breaking out here and there.
“Who’s that?” asked the sergeant, glancing past me at Hopkins.
God, where to even begin.
“Friend of ours,” I said.
“A veteran,” Steve added.
The sergeant nodded, his mouth a flat, professional line.
“You all know what happened to the Troika, then?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said. “Something like that.”
“Then you’re going to need to come with us.”
“To where?” I asked.
“You know what a ‘need-to-know basis’ is?” the sergeant asked.
“Of course I do,” I said.
“Good. Because all three of you are in one now.”
We glanced at one another, none of us sure what to make of this situation.
“Come on,” said the sergeant. “We’ll get you all checked out.”
With that, the soldiers formed up all around us. Together, we headed away from the Medley.
As we drew closer to the Strip I could get a better view of the troops.
“Holy shit,” said Steve. “It’s like a whole division here.”
He was right. The line of soldiers and vehicles went as far as we could see in both directions. The troops had the looters quickly subdued, rows and rows of drenched men and women on their knees, their hands behind their heads. Every now and then a pop of gunfire sounded.
“Are you guys here to sort all this out?” asked Kelly. “Are you bringing supplies?”
None of the soldiers said a word. Instead, they led us towards the Strip. We crossed through the long line of troops and gear in the road, eventually coming to a small storefront. A dozen or so troops were posted in front of it, senior officers moving in and out of the building. I could tell right away that it was a hastily-put-together base of operations.
“Come on,” said the sergeant. “Brass is gonna want to talk to you.”
The sergeant nodded to the rest of his squad, and they stayed posted outside while the sergeant led us to one of the other troops on guard.
“They said they know something about the Troika,” said the sergeant.
“No shit?” asked the guard. “Take ’em to the big man.”
The sergeant nodded back to us, indicating for me, Kelly and Steve to follow. Steve kept up as best he could, hobbling along on his crutch.
The interior of the shop—which ended up being a large restaurant—was a hive of activity. Men and women were busy at work, and back in the lot behind the place I could hear the low rumble of a generator.
The sergeant led us through the place, eyes flicking onto us, as if everyone there was wondering what the hell three civvies were doing in their base of operations.
“Keep moving,” said the sergeant.
Eventually we reached the kitchen, then from there we arrived at the manager’s office. The sergeant gave the door a knock, a gruff voice from inside demanding to know what whoever it was wanted. The sergeant explained, and the door opened.
Inside was a man, like the others, dressed in desert camo. He was trim, fit and middle-aged, his silver hair in a sharp, short cut. The star on his sleeve made it clear right away that he was likely the man in charge of this whole operation.
“How on earth did they get this set up so fast?” asked Steve, looking around. “They must’ve been right on our tails.”
“I don’t like this,” whispered Kelly to me as the general and sergeant discussed something between themselves. “Something seems off.”
I nodded back. I kept silent, but I felt the same way. There was something strange about this whole operation. It seemed less like a peacekeeping operation and more like some kind of invasion.
“So,” said the general. “You were all at the Troika?”
“Yeah,” I said. “There when…it all burned down.”
“Not me,” said Steve.
The general nodded before turning to the sergeant.
“And you went right ahead and took out Oleg Azarof without taking him in, huh?”
The sergeant said nothing, a guilty look his face.
“Well, it’s done now,” said the general. “And you made the right call.”
Relief formed on the sergeant’s face.
The general stepped up to the three of us and looked all of us up and down with steely, gray eyes.
“Get them with the rest of the civvies we’re evacuating. But make sure I know where they are. I want to be able to find them if I have any questions.”
He glanced at Steve’s bandages, which by this point were dingy and muddy.
“Get him looked at,” he said. “And get them all to where they need to go.”
Kelly and I exchanged another look at this cryptic statement.
“Let’s move it,” said the sergeant. “You all just lucked out—one-way ticket out of Vegas.”
“To where?” I asked.
“Remember what I said about need-to-know?”
And that was that. He nodded for us to follow him, leading us out of the base and back out onto the street. The air was sticky and warm, the morning sun now having broken fully through the clouds. More gunshots rang out in the distance.
“Come on,” said the sergeant.
He led us to a parking lot where a few dozen troops were gathered, several transports parked and waiting. A lieutenant was there, and the sergeant had a quick conversation with him. When it was over, the lieutenant glanced at Steve.
“Take him to the med station then ship him out.”
A few troops moved to Steve.
“Let’s move,” said one of them. “We’ll get you looked at.”
“Wait,” said Steve as they led him off. “Where are we going? I want to stay with them!”
But the troops didn’t react to his protests or question.
“Steve!” I shouted as the troops moved him around the building and out of sight.
“You two,” said the lieutenant, pointing to me and Kelly. “You’re taking that transport. Load up and wait.”
“You heard him,” said the sergeant.
“Where are we going?” I asked, repeating Steve’s question, panic rising in me. “What’s happening?”
Instead of answering, the lieutenant called out to the troops, giving them the order to load up and move out.
“Justin,” said Kelly, her tone heavy with uncertainty.
“Come on,” I said. “They’ll have to explain things eventually.”
We, along with a dozen other troops, loaded up onto one of the transports. The door clanged shut, the vehicle vibrating as the engine started up. Kelly moved close next to me, her hand taking mine.
It wasn’t long before the transport was away. Each of the troops inside had the same stony expression, their gazes fixed forward.
“Where are we going?” I asked. “Surely one of you can tell me.”
But none of them said a word.
I felt the transport lurch onto the Strip and continued on.
“Please,” I said. “One of you, tell me where we’re going.”
But nothing.
I realized that I wasn’t going to get an answer. I sat back, trying to relax as the transport drove.
It was as good as I was going to get. Maybe we were driving towards some kind of restoration of civilization. Or maybe something worse.
I kept Kelly’s hand close, giving it a squeeze.
Here and now, I told myself.
Here and now.
TO BE CONTINUED
