Revelation

“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 themselves, 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.

“Sorry if I’m late,” the man said. “Business.”

Cain waved him away, but there was a slight smile on his lips. I could tell that they were friends. Jade gave no reaction, but it looked like he was trying to mask anger — and perhaps, jealousy. Boss Dragon gave a single nod of acknowledgement. I could tell that the man, whoever he was, was highly respected in Vegas.

“That’s Grudge,” Michael said. “Leader of the Suns.”

Makara nodded. This was the guy Michael had said was a loose cannon. Now, though, he looked calm and in control. Respectable, even. But I knew not to trust that. I noticed, as the other riders took off helmets, that two of them were women. I was surprised. Up until this point, I hadn’t seen any girl gang members.

Grudge walked across the tarmac, clasping hands with Cain. Grudge seemed genial and friendly. I wondered how he had earned the name, “Grudge” but it would be a while before I found out. Despite his easy smile, there was no doubting the element of danger the man exuded. I noticed the two Suns women gazed at him in an almost reverent manner.

Now that Grudge was here, there was one gang left — the Kings. The Kings were, by Michael’s admission, the most powerful gang in Vegas, so it made sense that they would show up last to emphasize that point. As Grudge went back to his spot, I thought, not for the first time, that we were way in over our heads. Getting these gangs to do anything would be like herding cats. Maybe more like herding lions.

Another five minutes passed, each group talking amongst itself. The groups quieted when the sounds of engines approached from the direction of the Strip. The Kings were coming.

As they passed the security gate into the airport, I saw that they had no less than four Recons, all military grade, with turrets in the back. They gunned it for the circle, as if their aim was to run us all down. I noticed that the Dragon gang members clutched their rifles a little more tightly. At last, the Kings pulled to a neat, orderly stop, in the last space remaining in the circle of vehicles. They sat for a minute inside, tinted windows making it impossible to see within. For some reason, they were trying to drag this out as long as possible.

Then, they stepped out into the dull red sunlight. There were eight gang members total, two for each Recon. Then, exiting the passenger side of the back Recon came Rey himself — a tall Hispanic man who was probably forty years of age. He smoked a cigar, his eyes narrowing smugly as he watched the other gangs, like a king surveying his lords. He blew out a cloud of smoke, tipping some ash onto the runway. He wore a dark pinstripe suit that was immaculately clean, a pink rose pinned to his jacket. Where he had found that rose, I had