Alas, Las Vegas, book two, chapter one

For those who read the first book, "Alas, Las Vegas" and, for any reason, don't want to buy part two, or want to see if part two is worth buying, or too eager to wait for part two, here is chapter one of part two.  Enjoy.

ALAS, LAS VEGAS, Part II

by Susan Gregersen & Rebecca Reynolds

Copyright - Susan Gregersen, May 2016

 

 

 

CHAPTER ONE

The Aftermath of Destruction

Mark stared in horror as the last of the bodies in the ravine quivered and were still. He wanted to gag but he couldn't move. He was vaguely aware that the wind was shifting but his overloaded brain couldn't process what to do about it. Out of the corner of his mind he heard someone hollering and then realized they were yelling at HIM.

Sam's lips were moving but the words Mark heard seemed to be coming from far away, like from the other end of a tunnel. Then the words blasted out of Sam's mouth into Mark's face. “MARK!” he hollered. He jerked Mark's arm and dragged him away from the catapult. “Come on! We gotta GO!”

Shaking his head he turned and ran after the marshal to the horses. Their loaders hadn't obeyed the order to head back to town. They were waiting on their horses' backs holding the reins for Mark and Sam's horses. In seconds all four men were mounted and riding hard for town.

As the horses' hooves pounded down the street of town toward the marshal's office people peered out windows to see if it was safe to come out yet. The door of a house opened and a man stepped out with a child. Sam hollered for him to get back inside, and he did, pulling the child back with him.

When they reached the marshal's office they flung the door open and led the horses inside. “This way,” Sam said, panting.

“Okay, marshal,” they said and led the horses into the empty cell. The prisoner in the second cell stood, too dumbfounded to speak. “Oh look, our jailbird has nothing to say, for a change,” Sam said. The prisoner had watched the goings-on earlier when they had carefully taken the backpacks containing the jars of death from the other cell, and he had made several verbal observations that served to annoy Mark and the marshal.

Mark dropped his horses' reins and ran to the bathroom. He heaved over the toilet but couldn't bring anything up. After a minute he washed his face and stumbled out and flung himself onto a chair. The men who had loaded the catapults between shots were in the cell with the horses, calming them and wiping them with towels. They were hot after their mad dash back to town and disturbed about being inside the marshal's office, and they danced around on the tile floor.

Sam stood looking through the window of the door. He was watching the flagpole in front of the building. He shuddered and put his hands over his face. The prisoner had walked over to the door of his cell and stood quietly holding the bars, looking from one man to the other. Mark met the man's eyes for a moment, then closed his with a wince.

The bodies of roughly 50 people appeared before his closed eyes. They lay scattered among the rocks and brush on the sand at odd angles, vomit covering their faces and clothes. Some clung to each other. Mark choked on a sob. He knew the leaders, and probably most of the others, were evil and had committed heinous deeds as they marched toward their town. But he didn't know how many others were just along because they had no where else to be.

He told himself that they could have left the group at any time, after the killing and ransacking at Mesquite, and their horrible deeds at the Newstead ranch. The memory of little Abby Newstead's screams still shrieked through his head. He realized they needed to go back and bury her and her parents, and look for her brother.

“How will we know when it's safe to go out?” one of the loaders asked as he came out of the cell. He tossed a handful of towels onto a bench and sat next to them. His haunted eyes stared at a spot on the wall next to the clock. The battery-operated clock was the only sound in the room for a few minutes as it's hands went tick....tick....tick. Everyone's eyes were drawn to it.

Sam looked out the window, peering as far as he could see each direction. He hoped to spot a bird or a cat or anything moving. THUD!!! Something hit the window and the marshal jumped back. Everyone in the room was startled. Mark jumped out of his chair and walked over to stand next to Sam. A bird laid on the sidewalk in front of the door.

“Hard to say,” Sam said quietly. “That bird might have hit the window any other day, too. It happens.” He kept studying everything around. Faces looked back from the windows of the few homes within sight of the marshal's office. He returned a few waves that people gave him when they saw him watching.

“Every day of the week I can look out and see some kind of critter. Cat, bird, chipmunk, something. Nothing is moving out there,” he said.

“The wind isn't blowing straight this direction any more. It's blowing more to the south now. That could put the people out at Pahranagat Lake at risk, but this stuff may dissipate before it hurts anyone. Didn't Carol and Anna say there were already birds pecking at carcasses when they came across that wreck? They thought it hadn't been very long.”

“Yes,” Mark said solemnly. “But they had no way of knowing how long it had been. Half an hour? Two hours? Four hours? We really don't know how long this stuff stays deadly.” Sam nodded in agreement.

“Deadly? That stuff in the jars was deadly?” the prisoner asked in a rising voice. “You left that stuff next to me all night...and it was DEADLY???” He paced his cell and then stopped at the front again and stared at them.

“It was just for a few hours, jailbird,” Mark retorted. “And other than an earthquake coming along, they were as safe as having a baby's bottle in the next cell.”

“You haven't shown much regard for other people's lives up till now. Why should we show regard for yours?” Sam asked.

The prisoner stared at him for a minute, then looked down. He walked back over and sat on his cot. He looked at his hands, then brushed some dirt off one arm. He picked at his fingernails, then stretched his legs out and studied them. He stood up and stepped onto his cot gingerly and looked out the small window up near the top of the wall. “Nothing out there either,” he said. Everyone ignored him.

“You got anything for me to eat today?” he asked. Sam just grumbled. Mark walked over to the filing cabinet and picked up a partially eaten strip of crackers and handed them to the man through the bars. “Thanks,” the prisoner said, “You want some?” Mark shook his head and returned to his chair. His stomach still churned.

“Jailbird, eat those quieter,” Sam said.

“Okay, okay,” the prisoner said. He went and sat on the cot with his back to the room and ate the crackers.

“There!” Sam said. His head swiveled against the glass as he watched something. “A bird. A raven, I think. It's circling behind some trees at the park and he keeps going out of sight.” All four men crowded at the window and watched.

“The air up there must be good. Or it doesn't affect birds,” one of the loaders said.

“I don't know. In the old days miners would use birds, canaries mostly, to check for bad air in the mines. The bird would be lowered in a cage, and it would die if there were dangerous gases or not enough oxygen in the mine. Then the miners knew it wasn't safe to go in,” Mark said. “But I have no idea if that applies to this sort of stuff.”

“So what do we do? Eventually one of us just goes outside to see if it's safe?” the other loader asked.

“Oh, GROSSSSS!” wailed the prisoner as he waved his hand by his face. One of the horses had to pee and was doing it's job on the floor of the other cell. When he finished peeing his tail lifted. “Oh, MAN, it gets WORSE???” he hollered as the horse pooped. It made a “Splat” sound as it hit the floor. The other men snickered, then covered their noses.

“Ugh! I'm not sure which is worse! I might just take my chances out there now!” Mark said, coughing. Suddenly he broke into guffaws and the other men joined him. Except for the prisoner, who stared at them mournfully. Mark wiped his eyes. He was on such emotional overload that all he could do now was laugh. It had been a terrible day.

“I have an idea!” the prisoner said. He bolted to his feet and stood by the cell door. “Send ME out there. Anything is better than this.”

At one time Sam had contemplated all kinds of ways to get rid of this thorn in his cell. He'd even thought of sending the prisoner to deliver the jars to the evil gang, but knew he couldn't do it. This man had more the signs of someone who was more bored than bad. It didn't excuse the things he had been part of, such as raiding the Spooner house, where Richard Spooner was killed, and kidnapping Carol and planning to ransom her. But he seemed like more of a follower than a leader. He might have some redeeming features but Sam didn't trust him yet.

Sam walked over and stood on the outside of the bars studying the young man. The man squirmed under the inspection but finally brought his eyes up and looked straight into Sam's eyes.

“Son, you have no idea. We don't either, except that this is something extremely deadly. We just watched 50 people die and it wasn't pretty,” Sam told him. “And it could be right outside that door.”

He shrugged. “It might not be, either. Besides....my Mom always said I'm too ornery to die.” He gave a small, dry laugh.

Sam wasn't amused. His eyes bored into the prisoner's. “What's in it for you. If you live....then what?”

“I dunno. You make me a deputy?” he joked. Then his eyes dropped and he stepped back from the bars. “I assumed I would die. I don't know what there is for me out there if I live. I never wanted to be a bad guy, I just didn't know how to be anything else,” he said. Then he straightened up. “I'm not asking for violins playing here. Just telling it how it is.”

Everyone watched Sam as he paced the room. He walked back to the door and peered out the window. The raven was gone, and so were some of the people who had been watching through the windows. He figured people were getting bored and finding things to do.

“What about liability?” one of the loaders asked.

“Liability for WHAT? Either I die or I don't. If I die.... that's that,” the prisoner pointed out.

“Well, is is constitutionally acceptable to do this?” Sam mused.

“Oh jeez, what country are we even still part of?” he yelled through the bars. “Just let me do this. Let me give back. My cousin killed that man, in a house I can almost see out the window in my cell. He would have done terrible things to that little girl, too. And the woman we caught in the desert. I hate myself for being with him. Dang it all, let me do this. If I die, then we're even. If I live....” he sobbed, “just put me back in here, in my cell.”

Mark walked over and stood next to Sam. “What if he runs off?”

“Just shoot me then,” the prisoner said.

Sam walked back to the door, pleading quietly for some kind of critter to be out there running around. But there was nothing. He understood the young man's argument but still couldn't stand the thought of sending him out to his death. He glanced at the clock. More than an hour had passed since they came racing into the office. He sighed.

“Okay, jailbird,” Sam said quietly. “You really want to do this?” The young man nodded. He was quiet but his eyes were clear as he looked at Sam. Slowly Sam walked over and pulled the keys from his belt. He put the key in the lock and stood there. Then he turned the key and pulled back the door of the cell. The prisoner walked out and stood next to the marshal.

Sam felt old as he reached out a hand and put it on the young man's shoulder. “Son...on behalf of the town and myself, thank you. It's a brave thing you're doing.” The prisoner started to smile and open his mouth to make a smart remark but Sam stopped him. “I want you to know that if this goes bad, if you die, I'm truly sorry.” Sam's voice hung heavy with sorrow.

Unable to speak, the young man just nodded his head. He followed Sam over to the door. Everyone gathered around him. “If you feel funny, hold your breath and run back. We'll yank the door open,” Mark said. Again the young man nodded.

Taking a deep breath he said, “I'm ready.” The others quietly wished him good luck.

Sam reached for the door knob but Mark laid a hand on his arm. “Let me,” he said. He looked at the prisoner. “Count of three?” They both took deep breaths, then Mark said, “One....two....THREE” and yanked the door open. As soon as the prisoner's body cleared the door he slammed it back shut. They instinctively stepped away from the door for a moment, then crowded around the window.

“Be safe, Jailbird,” Sam whispered. The young man took a few steps, then looked back hesitantly. It looked like he had been holding his breath. Now he raised and arm in a silent wave and opened his mouth and took a breath. He looked away and took a few more steps.

He stopped and stiffened. His arms started quivering and he fell to the ground. The men inside yelled in horror. After a few seconds there was no motion outdoors. Everyone stared at each other in shock, then back out at the body on the ground. Before they could react the body sat up and rolled over. He gave a big grin and a thumbs up and called “Gotcha!”

Mark yanked the door open and ran out and started hitting on the young man. Not hard, but enough to vent his frustration. The others walked up and pulled the young man to his feet.

“I should put you back in that cell for doing that to us!” Sam growled at him. Then he slapped him on the back and said, “But I'm sure glad you were just faking it!”

“Well, in a way, I wasn't. I was so scared that I started shaking. It was easier to think about something funny, so....” He stood there rubbing his arms.

“Someone go ring the church bell so everyone knows they can come out,” Sam directed.

“Can I go back to my cell now?” the prisoner asked. Sam looked at him incredulously. He added, “I don't have anywhere else to go.”

 

 

 

(End of chapter one)

Susan's note:
I'm sorry there isn't anything more yet about Randy on the ship.
My daughter, Rebecca, is writing that part.  It's not as much of a 'cliff-hanger'.
Obviously, Randy is alive and will be finding out what his situation is
and trying to escape.