DEAD_Snapshot_Book 4_Las Vegas NV

  Other Titles by TW Brown

  The DEAD Series:

  DEAD: The Ugly Beginning

  DEAD: Revelations

  DEAD: Fortunes & Failures

  DEAD: Winter

  DEAD: Siege & Survival

  DEAD: Confrontation

  DEAD: Reborn

  DEAD: Darkness Before Dawn

  DEAD: Spring

  DEAD: The Reclamation

  DEAD: End

  The New DEAD series

  DEAD: Onset (Book 1 of the New DEAD series)

  DEAD: Alone (Book 2 of the New DEAD series)

  DEAD: Suffer the Children (Book 3 of the New DEAD series)

  Zomblog

  Zomblog

  Zomblog II

  Zomblog: The Final Entry

  Zomblog: Snoe

  Zomblog: Snoe’s War

  Zomblog: Snoe’s Journey

  That Ghoul Ava

  That Ghoul Ava: Her First Adventures

  That Ghoul Ava & The Queen of the Zombies

  That Ghoul Ava Kick Some Faerie A**

  Next, on a very special That Ghoul Ava

  That Ghoul Ava on the Lam

  That Ghoul Ava on a Roll

  That Ghoul Ava Sacks a Quarterback

  That Ghoul Ava has an Appetite for Deception

  The World of the DEAD expands with:

  Snapshot—Estacada, Oregon

  (Coming 2018)

  To see your town die in the DEAD world, email TW Brown at: [email protected]

  DEAD: Snapshot—Las Vegas, Nevada

  ©2017 May December Publications LLC

  The split-tree logo is a registered trademark of May December Publications LLC.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living, dead, or otherwise, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or unauthorized use of the material or artwork contained herein is prohibited without the express written permission of the author or May December Publications LLC.

  Printed in the U.S.A.

  A moment with the author…

  So, here we go again. A new entry in the DEAD: Snapshot—{insert town here} collection. It was high time that I visited Las Vegas, Nevada. The thing is, I went into this one with an agenda. For the first time, this story will; become a major part (eventually) of a storyline in the New DEAD series. Consider it a VERY long character introduction.

  One of my favorite parts about writing these little tales of the apocalypse is when an inspiration comes long that excites me. I won’t give anything away, but this group of individuals that you are about to meet will be back—in some manner—in the ongoing adventures of Evan Berry. I imagine that will happen around book 5 or 6, but I am looking forward to it.

  The thing about this book that might be different is that I came into it with the idea that I wanted to create a “villain” and let the reader see the world through his/her eyes. It is important to realize that “bad guys” (or gals) do not see themselves as such. Think about it…if you are a fan of The Walking Dead, then picture being the people who encounter Rick and his group. Hate Negan all you like, but that is a fight Rick and his people started.

  So what motivates the mind of the supposed bad guy in a story? I believe that many of them are guided by things that drive almost everybody…the big exception is that they often operate at the expense of others.

  Is Joel bad…or just misunderstood? That is the question you should ask as you go along. Are his rules and “laws” something terrible? Or is it simply practical? Remember, there are many cultures in this world that do things we don’t understand or accept. The reason? Because it is different from the norm we have decided is acceptable. Different is always wrong…it is simply different.

  Before you get too carried away, YES, I agree that there is real evil out there. I also believe that an apocalypse will bring out the worst in humanity. There will be good, but selfishness is just easier for many.

  When I started this particular story, I had some concerns about the fact that this was not really about zombies. Granted, I try to make that the case with all my stories, but I went into this one with the mindset that I wanted to focus on the thought process behind a person who I would eventually like to bring back into my proper series as a foil for Evan.

  I hope you go into this with an open mind. It is a little different for me and I know how much I hate change, so I guess I push that onto the reader. (That would be you.)

  Some thanks, as always, go out here. To my Beta team, you all are priceless. To my real-life friends, Joel and Wanda, thank you for being so gracious and generous. Spending that time with you is still a very fond memory. I can’t think of anybody else I would have enjoyed hanging out in Las Vegas with AWAY from the Strip. As always, my wife, Denise. I couldn’t do this with anybody else, mostly because I am intolerable when I write.

  To all of you who have hung with me this long, thanks so much. This is still so surreal to see my books selling to people all over the world. I honestly believed my audience would be a few friends and family.

  What happens here, stays here.

  TW Brown

  June 2017

  To Wanda and Joel

  Contents

  1969

  Today

  Grounded in the Present

  Field Test

  “I sentence you to the darkness.”

  Into the Heart of Darkness

  Grand Ideas

  The First Outpost

  Killing

  Who Lives and Who Dies

  Down the Strip

  Battle Ready

  Pros Versus Joes

  Company

  1

  1969

  Joel Landon rolled onto his side and tried to blink the mud from his eyes. As soon as he did, he wished he hadn’t. Lying just a few feet away, staring back at him with dead, expressionless eyes was his best friend, Jake Wilcox—or at least what was left of him.

  Jake’s body was a twisted, mangled mess. His left arm was missing, as were both his legs. His face was a mask of surprise which had likely been the feeling Jake experienced just before his death.

  Joel had been the lucky one of the two if you could call him that. The shell that had blown his friend to bits had only sent a few smaller bits of white-hot shrapnel hurtling at him and into his flesh. One such piece was in his right side. It burned something fierce and still felt hot despite the fact that he was sprawled on his belly in this cursed rice paddy.

  His ears were still ringing, but he was sure he could hear the tinny sound of voices. Their cadence gave them away. They were not his fellow platoon members. They were VC, and they were looking for survivors.

  Everybody had heard stories of what was happening to Americans unfortunate enough to be captured by Charlie. There was no way in hell he would allow himself to be captured.

  In the blast, Joel had lost his weapon. It was too dark and murky for him to spot his M-16 and he didn’t want to give himself away by sloshing around in an attempt to find it. His hands did a quick pat down. He felt his lips pull back in a sneer when they found the collapsible shovel dangling from his patrol ruck. It wasn’t his beloved bayonet, but it would do in a pinch.

  He pulled it free and unfolded the shovel’s blade from the stock. He felt more than heard it lock into place and then he closed his eyes to slits as he waited.

  Charlie was obviously feeling confident, Joel mused inwardly as he waited. He could hear them approachin
g. There would be a few gentle splashes, and then a meaty sound as they stabbed the corpses of his obliterated platoon…his brothers.

  A surge of anger tried to cloud his mind at the thought of all the men he’d come to know these past months, most now lying dead in the waters of this godforsaken rice paddy. They hadn’t died in a firefight. No, these men had died because some dumbass had either given or implemented the wrong coordinates. The shell that had ripped his friends to shreds was American-made and fired.

  A shadow dimmed the little bit of light seeping through his slitted eyelids and announced the arrival of the enemy. He heard the whispering voices but could not tell how many there were. The water sloshed and then there was a split second of silence before the sound of a bayonet being plunged into a body reached his ears. It was quickly followed by evil tittering and another stabbing sound. One of them was sticking Jake’s decimated corpse.

  Those bastards are gonna pay, Joel vowed, his hands clenching the shovel handle tightly in anticipation.

  He allowed his eyelids to open just the slightest fraction. He could see three dark figures crowded around the body of his friend. He and Jake had enlisted together. It had been Joel who convinced his best friend since grade school that they would be fine if they joined the army.

  “We’ll be able to have each other’s back,” Joel said as Jake signed his enlistment papers.

  Now, Jake was being turned into a human pincushion. Joel wanted to scream. He wanted to roar a challenge to the inhuman bastards defiling the corpse of his best friend. But he knew better. His advantage would be in having the element of surprise. They would come over to him expecting just another dead body, and he would come at them with everything he had left.

  Adrenaline was a precious commodity in the jungle. If you didn’t learn to control it, you used it all up and then crashed with a fight still raging around you. That was a sure-fire way to get a ticket home in a metal box…if there was anything left to send home.

  Joel managed to keep his breathing very low and slow. He barely caused a ripple on the water’s surface as he exhaled. The water was muddy, but if it had been crystal clear, there would be plenty of blood to indicate that he’d been hurt badly.

  Sploosh. Squelch.

  They were coming. He could hear their feet pulling free of the thick muck of the paddy. Each time a foot broke the surface of the water. He could hear the slightest splash. The untrained ear would miss it. Hell, eight months ago, he wouldn’t have noticed a thing. Charlie was quiet. He was in his environment.

  The dark stalk of a leg stopped right beside his head. He felt a foot nudge him. Then another set of legs arrived beside the first and he heard whispering in the rapid tongue of the VC.

  He tensed his body and did a quick mental review of his attack. He knew that it was likely he would die here and now, but that was preferable to being either taken prisoner or being stabbed to death as he did nothing to try and save his own ass.

  “God helps those that help themselves.” If his mom said it once, she’d said it a thousand times during his childhood.

  His parents grew up during the Great Depression. They’d known hunger and discomfort on a level that he could not begin to imagine. But they’d both made it through to the other side and given Joel a loving home. He hadn’t been the richest kid on the block, but he had never known a day of want. Both of his parents worked hard as providers in a time when women were expected to stay home and raise their children.

  They had instilled their work ethic in him at an early age. They were not shy about a butt whipping if he didn’t do as he was told. Eventually, he didn’t need to be told. He knew what needed to be done, and if he saw something that wasn’t tasked to him but needed doing, he did that as well.

  He learned how to play chess at age four from his mom. He didn’t win his first game until he was seventeen. Over the years, he learned how to plan. He learned how to look five, ten, even twenty steps ahead and take in all the variables that might arise to knock him off track.

  It was that part of his mind that went through the calculations of what needed to happen to give Joel even the slightest chance of coming away from this alive. It was that part of his mind that showed him the likelihood that he was already in his grave.

  Clearing his mind of everything, Joel acted. Planting one hand firmly in the muck, he shoved himself over and into the legs of the enemy still foolishly engaged in conversation over what they had mistakenly assumed to be just another dead American soldier.

  His body registered a spike of pain in his side, but he compartmentalized it and continued his attempt at overtaking the surprised VC regulars. From his back, he whipped his legs like the tail of a scorpion and took the second man out at the ankles.

  Pushing himself to his feet, Joel emerged from the muck of the rice paddy like a ferocious animal. The roar that accompanied him only added to the effect. Lashing out with his shovel, he caught the one VC still on his knees and making the fastest recovery of the two in the side of the neck. There was a split second where he almost thought he’d missed…until the blade of the shovel struck bone.

  Bringing one foot up, he planted it in the chest of his first victim and yanked the shovel free. Something hot sprayed his face, and for a moment, Joel thought this an odd place for a warm shower until the coppery taste filled his mouth, still open from that ferocious roar that had ebbed to a snarl by this point.

  He didn’t need to look close to know his first target was dead, even if his brain hadn’t received the message quite yet. He oriented on the second soldier and raised the shovel over his head, preparing for a downward strike that would hopefully cleave the head in half from crown to chin.

  Joel paused, arms above his head. Charlie was looking up at him. His black eyes glittered with hatred that came through clearly even in the minimal light provided by a shrouded moon. What did not show in the man’s face was fear. He was about to be executed. He had no way out and Joel held all the cards.

  He tightened his grip on the shovel and, just as he gave the slightest nod acknowledging Charlie’s bravery, he brought the shovel down. The impact stung his hands and sent hot pain all the way up his arms to his shoulders.

  He stepped back, letting go of the shovel as he did. It was buried almost to the top of the flattened nose of Charlie. Twin rivulets of blood as black as his enemy’s eyes ran down each side of the crease chopped into the man’s head. Even as the light of life left them, that look of bitter hate remained.

  And just that fast, Joel shut down the adrenaline raging through his body and collapsed to his knees. A hiss and crackle sounded from nearby. He crawled in the direction of the sound and discovered what was left of Travis “Rabbit” Alvarez, the platoon’s radio operator. The crackle and hiss was coming from the large piece of gear on his back.

  “…inbound…two minutes until…–ding just south of checkpoint…”

  There was a pop, and then the smell of fried electrical components wafted to Joel’s nostrils. The radio was dead. But, if he heard that garbled transmission correctly, then a helo was coming in and would be touching down just south of the established checkpoint.

  He steadied his breathing and listened for the telltale ‘whump-whump’ of the incoming Huey. It didn’t take long for the sounds of salvation to reach his ears. He oriented on the source and began forcing his body through the muck. As he moved, he plucked the dog tags from all the men he passed. While there would be nothing he could do for the bodies, he could damn sure make certain that each was accounted for.

  Joel felt the wind from the rotors as he entered the clearing. He threw his hands up in the air, waving them back and forth. He saw two men emerge from the open bay door and approach him in a crouch.

  “How many?” one of the men yelled above the sounds of the Huey’s rotors.

  Suddenly finding his throat clenched tight with the emotion of everything that had just happened, all he could do was point at his own chest. In moments, he was aboard the helicopter
. He felt his stomach tighten as the bonds of gravity were broken and he was sent hurtling skyward.

  Joel closed his eyes and barely felt the swipe on his right arm followed by the prick of a needle. The sounds of the helicopter were interrupted a few times by the chatter of a machine gun, but even that grew distant as Joel slipped from consciousness.

  He awoke in a sterile-looking room that felt like a foreign world after the past several months he’d spent in the shit. Glancing each way, he saw men with an assortment of bandages applied to their bodies. Some were obviously missing limbs. He did a quick inventory and breathed a sigh of relief when he counted both arms and legs still intact. That action was enough to send a burst of pain from his right side where thick bandages were taped to his body under the flimsy piece of material that was supposed to count as a patient’s gown.

  “And how are we feeling?” a voice from his left pulled his attention from a man missing both legs right around the knees who was struggling back into his bed from a wheelchair.

  Joel looked up to see a man dressed in khakis with a pair of silver bars on his collar standing beside his bed with a clipboard. “Not sure about you, but I feel like crap.”

  The corner of the doctor’s mouth twitched up in a slight smile. “You suffered a collapsed lung and a few cracked ribs, but everything seems to be mending fine.”

  “When do I go back?” Joel asked, finding it odd that he was suddenly longing for the sounds and smells of the field. There was something foreign and uncomfortable about the sterile smells of the hospital ward.

  “Next week,” the doctor said, his eyes scanning the clip board. He looked up and his expression changed. “Oh…you mean back to your platoon? No, you won’t be rejoining them. You are going stateside. You couldn’t possibly return to the field anytime soon with your injuries. It is likely that you are finished here, son.”