Revelation

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.”