Revelation (The Wasteland Chronicles, #4)

by Kyle West

  “That’s part of the vision of the New Angels, anyway,” I said. “Makara, you said the Lost Angels took control of L.A. back in the day because they offered freedom to slaves.”

  “My only reservation is, slaves are not fighters,” Makara said. “Gangsters are. We can free the slaves, but training them up will take time. Time is something we don’t have much of. Besides, who knows how well slaves would hold up in a fight?”

  “I’ll make fighters out of them,” Char said. “I think you’re sure of getting at least some recruits if you go straight for the farms. And if you need someone to train them...” Char chuckled. “I’m your man for that.”

  “How many slaves are there, anyway?” I asked.

  “Marcus said two, maybe three thousand,” Samuel said.

  I nodded. “That sounds like a good number to me. That far outnumbers any of the gangs. Maybe all of them.”

  “It does,” Michael said. “But I liked Makara’s idea of trying to get the gang leaders to work together. Combined with Char’s idea, it might be our way of gaining power in Vegas. If they at least know why we have come, then it won’t seem like we are attacking those farms for no reason.”

  “I’m afraid all this might bite us in the butt,” I said. “What if going after those farms gets them to work against us?”

  “There’s that risk,” Char said, “but we’re running low on options. It’s go big or go home, kid. We need them to take us as a serious threat. And if we sit on our laurels too long, they’ll realize that those farms are in danger. We need to move before they do. Soon, they’ll likely be arguing on which gangs get guard duty.”

  “That’s how they’ve done it so far,” Michael said. “No one gang ever gets control of the farms. They all send an equal number to watch over them; that way none of them gets the upper hand. It’s the same with the walls and gates.”

  “How many guards are there in total?” I asked.

  “Two, three hundred maybe,” Michael said.

  “That’s more than I would have thought,” Makara said. “But we have Odin, and Gilgamesh on retainer. That counts for a lot.”

  “There are a lot of slaves there,” Michael said. “And not just slaves, but normal workers, like my wife and kid. The only difference between them and the slaves is that they get a ride back home at night. This is why I want to caution against such an attack. There will be casualties. Any time we kill, we’re making all of us weaker, and the Blighters stronger.” Michael shook his head. “Violence should always be the last option. That said, the slaves might rise up against the gangs. They’re getting scared of the Blighters. They’ve gotten hit harder than Vegas because they’re closer to the Great Blight. If offered a way out, then they’d probably take it.”

  “That’s all the convincing I need,” Samuel said.

  “Alright, then,” Makara said. “We all need to be ready to head inside. Michael, when you find out what time, let us know.”

  Everyone nodded, satisfied at the consensus we had reached. What had once been just four was quickly growing into a full-fledged army. Two hundred strong – and maybe by the end of the day, we would be two thousand strong.

  Despite what Michael had said about us not needing to worry, I felt going inside was as dangerous a plan as any we had concocted. It could be that this was all just a conspiracy for the gangs to take us all out in a pinch. We just had to trust they were just as afraid of the Blight as we were.

  Only, I didn’t know how sure of a bet that was.

  Chapter 10

  A few minutes later, we were standing in front of the Sunset Gate. The tower guard went for his radio, letting Boss Dragon know we were on our way. Everyone in Vegas would soon know Makara was in town. They would know that the Angels were back.

  “You’re clear,” the guard called down.

  Slowly, the large wooden gates rolled open, sending up a thin veil of dust. The highway, twisted buildings, and rubble of the inner city were revealed, the towers and hotels on the Vegas Strip in plain view in the daylight. As we walked past the gates, the tower guard watched warily. He didn’t ask for our weapons this time, for which I was grateful. Maybe he had been given specific orders not to ask for them, or maybe the scowl on Makara’s face told him that asking was a bad idea. Either way, we walked forward along the deserted, dusty highway. In my hands I held my AR-15, per Samuel’s instructions. If he wanted me to get back into the swing of using this weapon, I decided now was as good a time as any to start.

  Using the rifle would take something of an adjustment, but I decided that Samuel, in the end, was right. There were situations where the rifle would be a better fit than my Beretta. It could shoot at long range, and thirty rounds per magazine meant I wouldn’t have to reload as often. It also had the ability to go fully automatic. My Beretta definitely didn’t give me that advantage. Still, I didn’t want to use it. Pointing at Blighters was one thing. Pointing at human beings was another.

  I slung the rifle over my right shoulder by the strap, and felt my Beretta holstered on my right side. With my combat knife on my left hip as well, I felt positively dangerous. I took a swig of cold water from my canteen, the taste metallic. The air had a nip to it, but it felt good. I wore enough layers to be protected from the harsh, dry wind.

  My thoughts scattered when a group of six, toting guns, walked onto the highway from an on-ramp. We paused in our tracks. It was probably Boss Dragon and his escort, but it paid to be careful.

  The lead man held up a hand in greeting.

  “It’s them,” Michael said.

  Makara stepped ahead, her hand not far from her gun. She wasn’t taking chances, either.

  “Let’s go.”

  We walked forward, until we were about fifteen feet from the men. I recognized one of them as James, the man who had been guarding the MGM’s front yesterday.

  “The Boss is waiting on the runway,” he said.

  “Lead, and we’ll follow,” Makara said.

  We walked in silence down the off-ramp to the street below, the remains of Mandalay Bay passing on our left. We crossed the beginnings of Las Vegas Boulevard and passed the marred “Welcome to Vegas” sign. On the other side of the Strip, we went around a decrepit wedding chapel.

  I was beginning to wonder when we were going to come upon the airport, when we were there. Across a mangled fence lay a vast sea of gray tarmac, extending for what seemed miles. The red, faded light of the sky cast a crimson hue on the vast, open space. In the distance rose the airport itself, long and low on the horizon. Boarding tunnels jutted out from the complex, connecting only with empty air. A few tunnels, however, had planes next to them, abandoned now for decades.

  We crawled through the fence where someone, long ago, had cut a hole for ease of access. We walked on, past desert ground and wispy, dead grass. We came across a row of hangars, their wide-open doors revealing planes gutted for parts. The hangars were like mechanical crypts, the planes dead things that would never fly again. The Vegas gangs had clearly already tried to get any part or tool that would be useful from these machines.

  We walked on quietly, entering the vast open area of the runways. Red sand covered most of the gray tarmac, though the tarmac still showed through in places along with peeling yellow paint. It wouldn’t be long before the desert totally buried the runways. It was eerily silent. The wind blew, carrying, always, the dust. The dust was a symbol of the disintegration, the burying. We now walked on the surface of an alien world, a world in which life was but a distant memory, a colorful dream that had only existed in imagination and not in truth. I could hardly imagine planes zooming down these runways, taking off, landing, in controlled chaos. And all that had just been thirty years ago. It felt like thirty centuries. After the lushness of the Empire, the absence of life in the Wasteland was a rude awakening.

  Then, from beside one of the boarding tunnels, a vehicle made its way toward us, startling me from my thoughts. The vehicle glimmered in the dull, mid-afternoon light.


  “That’s him,” James said. “Hold up here.”

  We stopped, waiting for Boss Dragon to arrive. As he approached, I had a bad feeling about this meeting. Even with the Dragons protecting us, the other gangs would probably outnumber us two to one. If anything went wrong, they could easily kill us. This rotting city was gangland turf, and as long as we were in it, we had to play by their rules.

  As the vehicle’s shape grew, I saw that it was a Recon – not the military grade, but more of a civilian knockoff. The main difference was that it didn’t have a turret. We didn’t have anything to fear from the vehicle itself, at least.

  When it got close, the vehicle wheeled to the right, coming to a sudden stop about thirty feet away. The tinted windows made it impossible to see inside. The driver left the vehicle running for another few seconds before shutting it off.

  Four men exited the vehicle, all bearing rifles. Boss Dragon exited last, his face hard and determined. He wore a pair of sunglasses, a black tee shirt, and camo pants. He had a rifle slung over his right shoulder.

  Boss Dragon looked at Michael for a moment, wondering why he hadn’t come to join his side of the circle. Michael didn’t move, however. Boss Dragon looked at Makara.

  “You Makara, then?”

  “Yes. And you must be Boss Dragon.”

  Boss Dragon nodded his affirmation. “What do you got for me, Makara? Why do you want a meeting with the Lords of Vegas?”

  “Because none of us will survive what is to come.”

  “Ah, okay.” Boss turned his head, facing the east. “That Great Blight is getting closer, every day.” He turned to face her. “That’s what you’re here for, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. In part.”

  Boss Dragon arched an eyebrow. “In part? What do you mean, ‘in part’?”

  “There’s another threat. I suppose you know who Emperor Augustus is?”

  “Yeah, I know who he is,” Boss Dragon said, voice low. “He’s the big, bad man in the south. He buys all our slaves. Don’t see where he has room to keep them, though. Yeah, we know about Nova Roma. That’s where the batts come from. You can ask Rey, Grudge, or any of the others.” He smiled. “Guess you could say, Nova Roma’s our lifeblood.”

  If these gangs were good with Augustus, then convincing them to fight him might not be in the cards.

  “We just came from there,” Makara said. “Augustus is coming here with an army. There’s a good chance a big part of that army will be here in two months.”

  “Two months?” Boss Dragon. At last, Makara had said something that had caught him off-guard. “You sure about that?”

  “I’m for damn sure. They might not be coming to Vegas, specifically. But yes. They are coming to the Wasteland. I formed the New Angels for two reasons: to stop Augustus, and to stop the Great Blight. But to do that, I will need an army.”

  Boss Dragon said nothing, gauging her seriousness. He folded his arms. He was an intimidating man, all the more so because of his size and muscle.

  “Well,” Boss Dragon said, “I think you’re going to have a tough sell. Don’t expect any miracles. In Vegas, we like to run our things our way. Men have tried for years to take control of this town. Tried, and failed.”

  “The Great Blight doesn’t care about who runs this place,” Makara said. “It only cares about killing.” She gestured at all of us. “We know how to fight it. And unless the gangs follow us, then they’re going to become part of that.” Makara pointed eastward.

  Boss Dragon, instead of getting angry, nodded. “You’re right. But tell me: when was the last time being right was enough?”

  Makara didn’t have an answer for that. I didn’t know what she could say, either. Boss Dragon had hit the nail on the head.

  “You have to think of what can you offer,” Boss Dragon said. “Batts. Slaves. Those are the things that will get us to listen.”

  “I can promise nothing,” Makara said. “Nothing, except freedom for the Wasteland.”

  “Freedom?” Boss Dragon smiled. “You are still young. Freedom is a fine idea, but Raine’s time is past.”

  “Those are my conditions,” Makara said. “I can lead the gangs to safety, and to victory. But I will need their loyalty.”

  “There are men in this town who would kill you for those words. You are lucky. I’ve always appreciated a good joke.”

  I watched the others, who had been staring silently at Boss Dragon, trying to decide whether or not he was a threat. Char and Samuel flanked Makara’s either side, hands not far from their weapons. Michael stood by me, and Anna on my other side. We were all here for Makara, in case things turned nasty.

  “When are the rest of them going to be here?” Makara asked.

  “I don’t know,” Boss Dragon said. “They should be here now.”

  Well, that at least gave Makara time to think about what she had to say. Or, perhaps, to not think about what she had to say. She had the unenviable job of getting the gangs on our side, and not getting us killed in the process. And she had to stand on her own two feet to do so. Relying on any of us, or on Char, would make her look weak. She had to talk about the Great Blight and the Empire and hope that they, the gang lords, would all come to the same conclusion as we had.

  But Boss Dragon’s words echoed in my mind: when was the last time being right was enough?

  Chapter 11

  As the day wore on, the first of the gang lords pulled up. This was Jade, Lord of the Diamonds. He rode up in a long, dusty limousine, completely black. The limo idled for a moment before shutting off. Then Jade stepped out, decked in a cheesy white top hat and white suit. He bowed with a flourish, a slimy, yellowed smile spreading over his greasy face. His black hair was long and unwashed, so much so that I would not have been surprised if his hair was evolving its own life forms, far more deadly than the xenovirus.

  I could see why Jade was called “the Weasel.” Jade was, in short, a weasely man. Though probably in his early thirties, Jade already had lines etched into his face that bore testament to his constant, empty smirk. He was tall, and diamond rings graced all of his fingers. He had three men with him, similarly dressed, some wearing one ring, some two, but all wore diamonds. I wondered if the rings were the Diamonds’ way of establishing rank. No weapons were visible outside their white suits, but I knew they each probably had guns in their jackets. They’d be stupid not to.

  Jade snickered for no reason, and gave no greeting to Makara or any of us. He gave a slight nod to Boss Dragon. Boss Dragon crossed his arms, and looked like he was doing his best to ignore Jade’s presence.

  Jade and the Diamonds said nothing to us, talking only amongst themselves. From time to time, Jade looked at Makara with interest. Even so, he said nothing to her, and Makara said nothing back.

  The next gang arrived about five minutes later. An all-terrain SUV surged from the direction of the Strip, throwing up a giant cloud of dust. As it neared, I could see one man with silvery gray hair, slicked back, standing in the sunroof opening. The man had ice-cold blue eyes. The vehicle pulled to a stop between the Dragons and the Diamonds.

  “Cain,” Michael said. “Lord of the Sworn.”

  Men piled from the vehicle, dressed in dingy military apparel. Cain sunk back into the vehicle from his perch and, shortly after, stepped outside to join his crew. I guessed Cain was probably in his late fifties. He was tall and well-muscled for his age. He had high cheekbones, broad shoulders, and a pale complexion. He stared at Makara, sizing her up. Makara just stared right back. He nodded and smiled, but said nothing, leaning forward with hands on his hips in an aggressive posture. Samuel, Michael, and Char stared him down, their hands not far from their guns. I slowly went for my Beretta as well. Somehow, Cain had a very dangerous air. Even Jade seemed nervous looking at him, touching the diamonds on his fingers, as if to draw some imaginary comfort from them. Boss Dragon watched Cain warily, saying nothing.

  It was a while before anyone else arrived. The gang members talked amongst themselv
es, impatient. The two most powerful gangs, the Suns and the Kings, were absent. And of the Reds, there was no sign. They lived outside city limits, so it could be a while before they showed up.

  Then, a cloud of dust formed in the east, at the end of a long runway. It was from the opposite end of the Strip. I supposed this to be the Reds, since the other gangs had their headquarters on Las Vegas Boulevard. It would make sense for them to approach from this direction. As the dust cloud approached, I saw that it was a train of motorcycles. Was it the Exiles? Marcus must have somehow figured out we were here, and was now coming to join the deliberations. That would have been fine with any of the New Angels, but we were only allowed a certain number of people. If Marcus and the Exiles joined us, it would give us an unfair advantage, which would destroy the trust we were trying to cultivate with these gangs.

  As the bikes neared, though, I saw that it was not Marcus and the Exiles. The vehicles were too lightweight, built for the speed of city streets rather than the harsh terrain of the Wasteland. The bikes were decked out in flashy colors of red, yellow, orange, and purple. Their collective high whine intensified as they drew close.

  Then, the bikes circled around us, buzzing and humming like angry insects – or angry xenolife. As the dust rose, Cain shook his head, annoyed, while Jade’s face reddened with anger. Boss Dragon’s face was stoic, while Makara stood fast, betraying no emotion. I did my best to mirror her example.

  Finally, the motorcycles pulled to a stop, between the Dragons and the Sworn. The lead man, who was short, well-muscled, with black hair, pulled off his helmet, revealing mischievous brown eyes. He was dressed in black leather, and a shadow of stubble covered his chiseled face. He grinned as he put down the kickstand and stepped off his bike. Immediately, the six men who had been with him followed suit.