Kyle West - Revelation

“What about the other gangs?” Makara asked.

“We don’t have time to be playing politics,” Samuel said. “We need to get in there, say our piece, and hope this can get done the easy way. If not, we play Char’s ace. We go after the farms and free the slaves.”

“We win either way,” Char said. “They care about their food, their water, and their slaves. And all of them are just a few minutes’ drive away. We’re not strong enough to take on one, or any, of the gangs directly. But if we go after the farms, we have a chance. If we offer those slaves freedom and put guns in their hands, that’s army enough for me. Then we get the hell out of Dodge, and do the same to any other city we come across.”

“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.

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.