The Hearts Call

"I want you to hold this," she says to me, suitcase in hand.

She put her hand on my cheek, looked me in the eye, and said, "hold onto this, to keep you safe while I'm gone."

What was going on? My hands were sweaty, my palms shook, and there was this unmistakable pit in my stomach. We'd been friends for such a long time that there had been periods we were away from each other. I spent six years fighting in Afghanistan, only seeing Lizzy on leaves, vacations, and the three times I got wounded and sent home to heal. This was different. What's she doing, why's she leaning toward me?

"You know...I wouldn't leave if I didn't need to take care of my father."

"I know," I tell her, giving her a hug, secretly wishing she didn't have to go.

Right before she leaves, she whispers in my ear, "I love you, Jon..."

The morning call of vultures brings me around as I wake up from the nightmares. Jesus, I groan, I'm in my truck, still parked beneath the Eiffel Tower. I've only got about a quarter of a tank of gas and the three ten-gallon cans I loaded into the rear of my Explorer area empty. I've got to find gas and fuel if I'm going to get further north. Vegas is a roundabout way of getting there but considering the heat, and what's left of the northern California area, it was a safer bet. What few standing sections of forest in the Northern California and Southern Oregon areas were almost always on fire.

Ah, Vegas. This seems like a good place to loot supplies and possibly even fuel. Vegas was a town built to handle the heat, so when the shockwave from the blast nearly ripped the western half of the country apart, it was no shock some of "sin city" survived.

I pulled into the Eiffel Tower area for the protection it afforded. It was defensible from all three sides and the debris behind me looks melted. It also gave me a patch tower to use. Dragging a line over to the tower and tying it off, I step out beneath what feels like 130 degrees of heat, the air being so stagnant it catches me off guard. Even the geeks at NASA expected the temps to be heading back to something resembling normal by now, but at 5:30 a.m. this was nothing like the Vegas of old. My sat-link is slow in the heat, but I finally hear a ringing.

"This is Whiskey-Alpha-Tango-Simpson-Union-Peter reporting in from Las Vegas, Nevada," I yell, hoping Colonel James hears me. "It's a warm day here in the city of Sin. Got anything for me?"

My next check-in was in 24 hours if I didn't die out here. If I did, per the Colonel's orders, it was a court-martial. Nate James knew how much Lizzy meant to me, even if I never had the stones to tell her. He was the one that pushed me to believe she might have survived, tasking dozens of drone missions and data operations to find her, 'Just to get you to stop whining.'

Alright, it's time to get moving. There was a power signature at the MGM so that is where I head first. Fortunately, there's still an awning to park under. When I get there, I'm a bit surprised at the lack of cars. I don't know how the parking area isn't more cluttered than it is, considering the time of night the shockwave and heat hit, in a city not known for sleeping.

I head inside to hunt for supplies, non-perishables, batteries, or basically anything that I might make use of getting into the upper pacific northeast. Overhead drones indicated there was a power source here. That could mean refrigeration. So, I'll head to the hotel restaurants and kitchen first.

Heading inside, the second thing I notice is a lack of dead bodies. There's a couple of skeletal sets at the main entry, like ghosts, still protecting their turf, but that's all I see. These poor bastards still haven't been buried or there simply hasn't been anyone here to finish burying them. If they survived the blast and ensuing shockwaves, earthquakes, and long stretches of record high temperatures, they might have been the last two living. Stepping across their bodies, I make a cross over my chest and quick pray for their souls. I'm not really religious but after six years in combat, we all need something in which to believe.

From inside the hotel, I see the first restaurant which will lead to the kitchen area. Finding my way there, I'm stunned to see it's fairly free of the dead. Even at this time of the day, someone should have been here.

"The pantry," I say to myself, the noise in my head sometimes getting too loud during these long stints alone. As I look inside, seeing several dozen cans of food, suddenly I stop, an all too familiar sensation telling me that there s a pistol barrel now pressed against the back of my skull. Putting my hands up slightly even with my elbows I hold my position there.

"I really don't want to have to kill anyone today, so how about you lower that gun and we talk about this," I suggest.

I hear a derisive chuckle behind me. What the hillbilly behind me doesn't realize, is that in this stainless steel example of the modern kitchen, even as dirty and dusty as this is, I can see him clearly. Bending my knees slightly, I turn quickly as my lefthand grabs the pistol, my right hand meeting my left, as I turn it away and out of my would-be assailant's hand. Instinctively I put my boot into his chest and launch him against the wall behind us.

"Who are you!" I scream, leaning toward the scruffy blond as he catches his breath. "Answer my question before I change my mind on killing someone today!"

"William, my name's William," he tells me.

William is apparently just one more unlucky person in an unlucky world. His wife left him so he took his car, his clothes, as much of their money as he could, and his generator and headed up to Vegas for a weekend before going to his cabin. He jokes that he might've fared better going to his cabin.

"Look," he tells me, "I didn't want to hurt you. I was just afraid you were taking all the food."

"Dammit," I would have felt bad if I had shot him.

I help him up and introduce myself. After telling each other our stories, and sharing a drink, I explain that I'm just looking for supplies for one person until I can find more. A few days of rations and hopefully some gas. Once I do that I'm gone. I ask him if he needs a ride out of Vegas but he makes a good point, where would he go. Besides, he's found fuel, food, and shelter here.

"What about weapons?" Williams asks.

"What about them?"

"After things calmed down I raided the sporting goods store and then the armory here. Did you know that casino security has an armory? Anyway, you're welcome to arm up some if you need to. I've got AR 15's, plenty of ammo, a few MP5 models, a few dozen pistols, and did I mention plenty of ammo?" he asks.

How fortuitous it was to meet Mr. William. I take him up on his offer, striking up a conversation about fuel. He tells me that on the north end of the strip, there's an old BP station that has a half-full main tank. William tapped it a year ago and other than riding a four-wheeler around town he really hasn't used it for much. This sounds far too promising, I think as I get the food and weapons loaded up. Then I hear it and in a flash its' all over.

"Bang, bang, bang, bang"

I kick the gun he drops away from his hand, leaning down next to him, asking him why?

"I couldn't do it myself..." he trails off, his eyes rolling back into his head.

My body goes cold, slightly limp, as I all back onto my ass. I reach over to pick up his gun, afraid that I was right. As I lift it, I feel the difference in my hand. The gun he was carrying, a model 1911, with a full clip, would feel much heavier. Turning it over, he hadn't even put a clip in the damn thing. He had nowhere else in the world to go, yet just didn't want to stay here any longer.

"May you find peace," I whisper, closing his eyes before I get to my feet.

As much as it may seem odd to people, I couldn't just leave the poor bastard to rot or his body to be picked apart by scavengers. The vultures and the jackals would be out at night and the guy didn't deserve that. I dug a shallow grave and marked it so that maybe, someday, if the rebuilding of America ever makes it to the west coast again, someone might find William and learn of his story.

After burying the poor fellow I went as far north as the BP station and as he said, there was a makeshift pump connected to a hose in the old main tank of the station.

"Thank you, William!"

I took every drop I could carry. Now I had to find the best way to cut back up and across into southern Oregon, avoiding the out-of-control blazes that were burning through the remnants of the forests. All that kindling, there'd be fires there for years, as long as there was no rain in sight and the average temperatures in December were over 100 degrees. It was the fastest way to get up into Washington state and start tracking down Lizzy and I promised Helena I'd reunite her with her granddaughter and Lizzy with her heart-shaped locket.

Looking at the map, as I throw in a CD, I'm optimistically enthused as Wanted Dead Or Alive plays, and let's face it, that's a great traveling song. Speeding away, I head north.