Kyle West - Revelation

“If Alex is going, then I’m going, too,” Anna said, walking up. She turned to me. “I think you could use some backup.”

I nodded. I was glad she was coming, and was surprised that she would rather come with me than see Char, whom she had once guarded. The moral support would be good, and to tell the truth, she was much better in a fight than I was.

“There will be absolutely no fighting,” Michael said, seemingly reading my thoughts. “Things are tense enough as they are without starting another war. Besides, outsiders are required to leave weapons at the gate.”

“That’s not acceptable,” Makara said.

“No harm will come to either Alex or Anna,” Michael said. “What’s important here is letting Boss Dragon know what’s going on. He can update the rest of the lords on the situation.”

“Fine,” Makara said. “Both of you go. Samuel, Marcus, and I can hold down the fort here and meet with Char. Just try to get back by tonight.”

“Maybe this is a chance for Alex to catch me up on what’s going on.”

I nodded. Even though Michael was from Bunker 108, where my father researched the xenovirus, the virus itself wasn’t common knowledge. Only my father, Chan, and I had known about it in any sort of detail. And Khloe knew some, from what little I told her. To most people, these “Blighters,” as they were called, were nothing more than monsters. Soon, all that would change when Michael and others learned about the true cause of the Blighters — the xenovirus.

Hopefully, what we had to tell them would be enough to get everyone to stop their fighting and work together. And not only work together, but join Makara and the New Angels.

We had a long road ahead of us.

Michael, Anna, and I approached the Sunset Gate. Two large torches blazed on either side, casting a feeble orange light on the thick wooden doors.

“Are they always on guard duty like that?” I asked.

Michael nodded. “These days, they have to be. The gangs have a pact where each donates the same amount of members to man the walls, so that no one gets too powerful. Attacks from the Blight happen almost every night. Usually, it’s just a few crawlers that we can scare off with a few shots. Sometimes, there’s more, and you have to worry.”

“You must have a lot of ammo.”

“We won’t be running out for a while. Each gang has its own munitions stocked in its HQ. Any gang that doesn’t, won’t last long.”

“HQs?”

“They’re all close to each other, actually. Five of the six of the gangs are set up in the hotels and casinos along the Strip. Only one, the Reds, live outside city limits. They control most of the outskirts. Horrible place to be these days. The Reds have no walls, but they do have the most people. A lot of people live out there, in the slums. The Reds rule over them.”

“Seems like a dangerous place to be,” Anna said.

“You have to be a gang member, or good with one of the gangs, to be let inside city limits. If you aren’t, you join the Reds and hope they give you a job that’s better than slave. They have their own farms, and are seen as a threat by the city gangs. They’ve been upsetting the normal balance in the last year. Since farm space is so limited, the rest of the gangs work together to grow food out on what’s left of Lake Mead.”

We made it to the gates. Michael called upward.

“You going to let us in, or what?”

The man on the right-hand turret spoke. “Hold your horses, Sanchez. You’re still not cleared with Boss Dragon. You were told to come alone.”

“Maybe so,” Michael said. “But I have two members of the Lost Angels, who will explain why they’re here much better than I could.”

“If they give up their weapons, then maybe. Let me call HQ.”

The man turned his back and talked on his radio. While the guard was talking, I decided to use the opportunity to ask Michael more questions.

“I guess this place has slaves, too?”

Michael nodded. “Unfortunately, yeah. They are kind of a necessity. Without anyone to grow food, no one can survive. I mean, most everyone who doesn’t fight has to work the farms, like my wife and kid. But the slaves get the most backbreaking labor.”

“And where do you guys grow food? You mentioned Lake Mead, but that looked all dried up by now. Plus, it’s really far away.”

“A lot of water actually survived in Lake Mead, but not on the surface. We use drills to tap underground reserves That water is used to grow crops, and a lot of it is transported back to town using trucks.”

“Sounds like a lot of trouble,” I said.

“It is,” Michael said. “Especially these days. The crawlers come out at night, mostly, so there’s a constant stream of traffic going back and forth between Mead and Vegas during the day. All supply routes are heavily guarded, as are the farms. By this point, the gangs are so used to it that it’s hardly a second thought.”

“What about the Great Blight?” I asked. “It can’t be too far from the lake.”

Michael nodded. “It’s getting closer, expanding a few feet every single day. It’s already at the western edge of the lakebed, and it’s starting to cover the river.”

“So, you don’t use river water to drink?”

Michael shook his head. “No. I don’t touch that stuff. People who drink it get sick, even if they boil it thoroughly.”

The turret guard faced us again.

“Leave your weapons here,” he said. “You’re clear to go in.”

Slowly, the gate rolled back, revealing a long stretch of empty highway. In the far distance, skyscrapers rose, shadowy in the darkness. Vegas’s days of glitz and glamor were over. Somewhere distant, a crawler screamed in the night, reinforcing that this was now the new reality.

“Best to get inside,” Michael said.

When we passed the gates, a guard appeared to my left, holding out his hands for our weapons. With resignation, I gave the guard my Beretta, and Anna gave him her katana and handgun. He cleared his throat. I realized I hadn’t yet given him my knife. I handed it over, begrudgingly. I felt a lot less confident without both.

We walked past crumbling buildings, abandoned now for decades. In parking lots, metal shells of cars sat on the ground, stripped of tires and ornament. The rubble wall of Inner Vegas stretched around the city in a wide, haphazard circle. Beyond the highway lay the suburbs. After thirty years, the greater part had been swallowed by the desert. It was amazing what thirty years could do.

We talked little on the way. Michael told me that his wife, Lauren, and their daughter, Callie, were fine — such as fine was, these days. I’d only met Lauren once, a little bit before heading out on my first recon. She was a pretty, blonde woman, but I hadn’t spoken to her much. Bunker 108 was small enough that you could know everyone, but large enough so that you didn’t know everyone well. Lauren definitely fell into that second category. The fact that she had also survived was amazing news. Perhaps I would get the chance to meet Michael’s family soon.

Michael gripped his AR-15 tightly. The gun was old, but reliable, and its vast proliferation around the country, Pre-Ragnarok, made finding bullets and replacement parts easy even now. It was a gun I had used a lot for practice in Bunker 108, so I knew it well. It was the gun Samuel wanted me to use.

But it also reminded me too much of Bunker 108. Too much of my old life.

About fifteen minutes later, we turned off the highway onto Russell Road. The Strip was one block over, and the tall buildings rose into the sky, their tops obscured by darkness and dust. When we turned onto the Strip, dust swirled in eddies. On the median, hanging askew, was the sign: Welcome to Fabulous Las Vegas, Nevada . A few of the letters were missing; the faded sign was marred by graffiti, time, and dust. The median itself was empty — the trees that once grew there had long been cut to the ground, leaving vestiges of stumps like wooden graves. On our left was a wide, empty lot, in the middle of which lay the remains of a massive bonfire. On the right rose some newer buildings, towering above like some long-lost, glamorous vision of the future — from back when people dreamed of a future.