CHAPTER 12
The prison group and the Woodbury group stood behind Rick as he crouched in front of one of the 8 glass doors that made up the front entrance to the El Dorado. He moved his Glock 19 pistol with the attached Maglite suppressor to his left hand, put his right hand over his eyes and leaned forward to peer into the casino. Beyond the class doors was a vestibule, and on its floor was a green mat with a golden Aztec pyramid printed on its center, and below the pyramid was the legend in black, bold words: THE EL DORADO.
Rick strained his eyes and looked beyond the vestibule. There was a small staircase, and above it was darkness.
"Do you see anybody, Dad?" Carl whispered as he stood behind his father.
Rick stared straight ahead for a few minutes and moved back from the glass door. "No," he answered.
Michonne knelt down beside Rick while the tip of her katana touched the ground. "Do you think the alarm was set?" she asked.
"Most likely; the doors aren't barricaded," Rick answered.
"You mean…somebody could be in there?" Floyd asked, as his hand holding the Beretta 92FS pistol began to shake.
Rick looked over his shoulder at Floyd, and the retired postal worker gulped in fear. Everyone had considered the possibility of encountering survivors inside the El Dorado, but now they would soon find out. The prison group looked determined, but with the exception of John, the Woodbury group looked nervous.
"Shit," Tyreese said angrily as he moved the safety switch of his Mossberg 500 shotgun to the "off" position and narrowed his eyes to see if a figure was approaching the front entrance. "What the hell are we going to do?"
"I say we leave!" Sam said nervously. "We don't have to tell the others the truth! We can say the casino burned down, or a herd forced us to go back!"
"We can't do that!" Carl shouted at the frightened man. "Everybody at the prison is counting us!"
"The adults are talking!" Sam spat at Carl.
"Damn right. So shut the fuck up!" Daryl ordered as he glared at Sam.
Sam lowered his head quickly, and Carl smiled at Daryl in appreciation. Rick couldn't repress a grin as he listened to his second-in-command stand up for his son, and kept a so-called soldier in line.
"Stay or go. It's your call, Rick," Michonne said.
"We're staying," Rick announced as he looked at Michonne. Rick then looked over his shoulder at Carl. "Everybody at the prison is counting on us," he smiled.
Carl smiled at his father.
"So…how do we get inside?" Karen asked.
Rick looked the 8 glass doors over and the scratched the stubble on his face. "Well, we could go around the casino; see if the service bay is open."
"Is the damn door even locked?" John asked.
"If the alarm is set, that means the door is locked, too.
John holstered his Colt M1911A1 pistol, leaned over Rick, and wrapped his fingers around the door handle.
Rick looked up at John and raised his hands to signal a stop. "Hey, wait a—"
John pulled on the door five times in rapid succession, but it didn't budge. "It's locked," he announced as he took his hand away from the door handle.
Rick looked at the door and wiped a hand down his face. "Thank you for confirming that…and for making all that noise," he grumbled.
"Hey, Rick. If rattling that door brought a herd down on us…I'm confident your brilliant, tactical mind would've thought of a plan that would save us all!" John quipped.
Rick stood up, and adjusted the M4A1 rifle slung over his shoulder as he turned around and glared at John. Michonne stood up too and glared at John, so did Carl and Daryl. The Vietnam veteran couldn't handle Rick and the prison group glaring at him so he shifted his posture.
Michonne looked back at the glass doors and peered inside. "Do you see an alarm system, Rick?" she asked.
Rick put his right hand over his eyes and peered into the vestibule again; this time he looked left and right for the flashing red light of an active alarm system. After a few minutes Rick huffed in frustration and tapped the Maglite suppressor that was attached to his Glock 19 pistol against his left leg lightly. "This place must have the latest security system, nothing like the ones I saw on the job in King County."
"So…you're saying…we came all this way…for nothing?" Floyd asked, the fear remaining in his voice.
"I didn't say that," Rick answered, still looking straight ahead.
"Me and Tyreese can check the back and see if there's an unlocked door or a window," Karen offered.
Rick shook his head. "No thanks, Karen. We shouldn't split up in the dark."
"Which brings us back to the lady's first question: 'How do we get inside?'" John asked, glaring at Rick again.
Rick looked over the 8 glass doors as he resumed taping the Maglite suppressor against his left leg as he thought if the alarm system was on or not.
Daryl slung his Stryker Strykezone 380 crossbow over his back and patted Tyreese on the shoulder. "Hey, give me that shotgun," he said.
"Say what?" Tyreese replied.
Daryl took the Mossberg 500 from Tyreese's hands and walked over to one of the glass doors.
Rick caught a blur of movement from the corner of his left eye and turned towards that direction to see Daryl with a shotgun in hands. "Daryl, no!" he shouted with his arms raised to signal a stop.
Daryl moved the shotgun's safety to the "on" position, twirled the weapon so its butt was facing forward, and thrust it at one of the glass doors with all his might.
CRAAASSSHHH!
The glass shattered into hundreds of tiny shards and fell onto the fancy green rug. Rick, the prison group, and the Woodbury group threw their arms over their heads, crouched down, and shut their eyes as they waited for the alarm to ring loudly.
Instead all they heard was absolute silence.
Daryl twirled the shotgun again so he could hold it properly by its grip, and lowered the shotgun to his side; he then leaned into the shattered doorframe, looked down at the small pile of glass shards on the rug.
Rick and the group rose to their feet, put their arms down to their sides, and looked at Daryl with shock.
Daryl stepped back onto the courtyard and turned around to face Tyreese. "Hey," he called out.
Tyreese moved his head slightly at the sound of Daryl's voice and looked straight at the redneck.
Daryl raised the shotgun slightly and tossed it at Tyreese, who caught the shotgun with both hands.
"Gracias," Daryl said.
Rick looked from Daryl, to the small pile of shattered glass, and back to Daryl. "Goddamnit…" he muttered in disbelief.
"You stupid, inbred redneck!" John shouted as he ran forward and shoved Daryl against the doorframe. "Are you trying to get us all killed?"
Daryl's right hand un-sheathed the Busse Team Gemini knife at his side, and he held the blade's point to John's throat.
"Back off, old man," Daryl warned coldly.
The two groups quietly watched the tense standoff between Daryl and John. A few moments later Floyd took a deep breath and aimed his Beretta 92FS pistol at Daryl. A flash of light and a gust of wind blew in front of Floyd's face and he felt the sharp blade of Michonne's katana against his throat.
"Drop it," Michonne ordered.
Floyd dropped the pistol and Michonne kicked it into the darkness.
Sam, Tyreese, Karen, and Juan turned their attention to Michonne holding her katana to Floyd's throat, while Carl watched them as he slipped his finger around the trigger of his Beretta 92FS pistol; Rick watched as Michonne and Carl covered the Woodburians and returned to watching the standoff between Daryl and Floyd.
Daryl and Floyd continued their standoff until the Vietnam veteran smirked and took a step back. "You've got balls, Dixon. We could've used you in 'Nam."
Daryl snorted and sheathed his knife. "Yeah. Maybe we would've won."
Michonne withdrew her katana from Floyd's neck, and the retired postal worker put a hand to his throat and fell to his knees. Tyreese, Karen, Sam, and Juan relaxed, so Carl slipped his finger off his pistol's trigger.
Rick gave John and angry glance and walked over to Daryl. "What were you thinking?" he asked.
"Noise attracts walkers," Daryl answered as he unslung his crossbow from his back. "If you lived here, wouldn't you just lock the doors and leave the alarm off?"
Rick put his hands on his hips and shook his head; he had been running a dozen theories through his mind whether the alarm was not, but Daryl had the simplest theory and proved it right. "No, I probably wouldn't," Rick answered with a grin.
Rick faced Carl and saw he was standing next to Michonne. Rick gestured with his left hand for Carl to stand at his side. Carl nodded and ran over to him eagerly.
"All right, we're going inside the casino," Rick told everyone, "stay together, stay quiet. Daryl has a crossbow and Carl and I have suppressors, so if there're any walkers inside, we'll see them first and put them down. Just in case, keep your guns out and your fingers off the triggers; shoot only if you have no choice. If there're any survivors inside, I'll do the talking. Any questions?"
Floyd raised a hand.
"What is it, Floyd?"
"I lost my gun," Floyd whined as he pointed a thumb towards the direction Michonne had kicked his pistol.
"And I saw why you lost your gun," Rick answered coldly. "You can pick it up in the morning, Floyd. Until then, stick with us. And if you ever aim a gun at one of my people again, I'll kill you myself."
Floyd shivered with fear; so did Sam. John glared at Rick. Juan blinked in shock.
Rick dug into his jacket's left pocket, took out his small Maglite flashlight, and pointed it into the vestibule; he pressed the "on/off" button and a beam lit a path up the small staircase. "Ready?" he asked Daryl.
"Just go behind that old bastard," Daryl said as he nodded at John. "I don't want him pullin' a John Wilkes Booth."
"You've got it," Rick said.
Daryl's left hand dug into his leather biker vest, took out a small flashlight, pressed the "on/off" button, and aimed the beam of light into the vestibule. Daryl walked inside the El Dorado, aiming his crossbow from his hip.
Rick looked at John and gestured for him to follow. John grumbled, drew his pistol, and followed Daryl.
•••
The beams from Daryl's and Rick's flashlights rolled slowly across the casino's dark, vaulted lobby: the walls had murals of the Aztecs' daily life on them. The reception desk with a granite top was along the left wall and at either end of it stood tall, stone statues of Aztec warriors. Opposite the desk were five pairs of elevator doors, and they had the profile of an Aztec temple carved into them. In the center of the lobby was a tall palm tree. Sofas, chairs, and round tables were placed strategically on the marble floor; across the lobby was a vaulted doorway and to its right was a staircase carved from stone and on the second floor was a stone railing that wrapped around the lobby's walls.
Daryl stopped walking; a moment he sank to one knee and raised his left arm to signal a stop. John, Rick, and Carl followed his instructions.
Daryl looked over his shoulder at Rick and gestured to the vaulted doorway past the reception desk: there was light reflecting off the archway.
Rick put his left hand on Carl's shoulder. "Daryl spotted a light," he whispered.
Carl's eyes widened. "So there are people in here?" he asked excitedly.
"Maybe. But we don't know if they're good or bad. Until I find out, you're staying here with Michonne."
"But Dad—"
"Quiet!" Rick hushed.
Four flashlight beams roamed across the dark lobby just as Daryl's and Rick's flashlights had done earlier. Rick looked over his shoulder and saw Michonne—with her katana in one hand, and a flashlight in the other—step inside the El Dorado; Tyreese, John, and Sam wielded the other three flashlights. The unarmed Floyd was behind Sam, his eyes wide and following the beam of his fellow coward's flashlight.
Michonne walked over to Rick and Carl; she knelt down beside them.
"Daryl spotted light coming from the room on the left; he and I are going to check it out," Rick whispered. "I need you to stay here, and watch Carl and the others."
Michonne nodded.
Rick looked at Carl and saw the anger on his son's face. Rick sighed wearily and stood up to run over to Daryl's side. Daryl pressed the "on/off" button of his flashlight, the beam disappeared, and he placed the flashlight in his leather biker vest's pocket. Daryl looked at Rick, who nodded in approval, and Daryl held his crossbow with both hands and ran to the left side of the vaulted doorway; he waited a moment, and nodded for Rick to follow.
Rick repeated Daryl's actions with his own flashlight, and held his Glock 19 pistol with both hands as he ran towards the right side of the vaulted doorway; he put his back to the wall, and the M4A1 rifle slung over his back scratched against it. Rick looked over at Daryl, who nodded. Rick swung his upper body into the room, and aimed his pistol high, while Daryl stepped underneath the doorframe, dropped to one knee, and aimed low with his crossbow.
The room was the El Dorado's tavern: all its lights were on, and the Aztec murals appeared on its walls, too. A square bar with a granite top was in the center of the room, and it was littered with newspapers. Over the bar were large flat screen TVs and the one facing the doorway was playing a movie with the pause option on. Rick remembered that he and Lori watched it a few years ago because Carl wanted to see it. It was The Fast and the Furious, and they both agreed Carl was too young to see it.
Rick lowered his pistol, walked over to the bar, and picked up one of the newspapers. It was the Atlanta Journal-Constitution, and the headline read: LA SWARMED, and featured a birds' eye photograph of a giant herd of walkers staggering through the streets of Los Angeles, CA. Rick put the newspaper back on the marble bar top and picked up another one. This time it was USA TODAY and the headline read: THE SEARCH FOR A CURE, and featured a photograph of a group of scientists (a few of them appeared tired) with clipboards in their hands, looking down at a computer screen. Rick put the paper down, rested his pistol atop the other newspapers, lowered his head, and closed his eyes.
That's what was happening when I was in a coma, he thought. When Shane got Lori and Carl out of King County. When Jenner said his co-workers at the CDC began to 'opt out'.
"Rick," Daryl whispered.
Rick turned around, and saw Daryl staring down at a sofa that was set beside the arched doorway. The sofa matched the ones in the lobby, and lying atop it was a pillow, a folded comforter, a remote control, and a half-empty bottle of water along with a plate with breadcrumbs sprinkled on it; an AR-15 rifle was propped against the wall beside the sofa.
Daryl looked at Rick and whispered, "The can."
Rick turned to the right and saw the two separate doors to the ladies room and the men's rest room. Rick's left hand slid along the dozens of newspapers until it touched the handle of pistol; Rick turned his head to the left, picked up the pistol, and aimed it at the men's room door. Daryl had already swung his crossbow up to his shoulder and aimed it at the men's room door.
From behind the men's room door a toilet flushed, followed moments later by the sound of running tap water.
The sound of the tap water suddenly stopped, the men's room door slowly opened, and a young black man in slacks and a button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms stepped out.
"Freeze!" Rick shouted.
The young black man froze and his eyes widened at the sight of Rick, aiming a Glock 19 pistol with a Maglite suppressor at him. "Oh, fuck," he gasped.
"Put your hands up!" Rick ordered.
The young man didn't move.
"Put your hands up!" Rick repeated.
"Don't kill me, man!" the young man cried.
"Dad!" Carl shouted from the lobby.
Rick looked over his shoulder. "Stay back!" he ordered.
"I've got him!" Michonne replied.
"Get your goddamn hands up!" Daryl ordered.
The young man turned his head towards Daryl. "Don't kill me!"
"What the hell's going on in there?!" John shouted from the lobby.
Rick growled in anger at John's interference and took a step forward. "Put your hands up!"
The young man put his hands up.
"On your knees!"
The young man fell to his knees.
"Put your hands on your head!"
The young man put his hands on his head.
Rick took his Glock 19 by its frame and offered it to Daryl, who swung his Stryker Strykezone 380 crossbow over his back, took the pistol, and aimed it at the young man. Rick walked behind the young man and frisked him for weapons.
"We've…we've got food and water. Take what you want and go," the young man cried.
Rick moved the M4A1 rifle that was slung over his back slightly, opened the handcuff pouch attached to his gun belt, and took out what police departments across the United States called "the bracelets".
"Calm down. I'm a cop," Rick said as he snapped one handcuff onto the young man's right wrist, and brought his arm down to the small of his back.
The young man stopped crying and looked over his shoulder as Rick took his left wrist, and brought it down to the small of his back. "You're…you're a cop?" he asked in disbelief.
"Yeah," Rick answered before taking the young man's left wrist, bringing it down to the small of his back, and snapping the last handcuff on him.
"You don't look like a cop."
Rick froze for a moment, and then he looked down at his jacket and jeans. "Well, it's been a year since I stopped wearing the uniform," he shrugged.
The young man looked at Daryl. "If you're a cop, who's this guy?" he asked.
Daryl snorted in contempt and lowered the Glock 19. "I'm William Fuckin' Tell," he answered as he thumbed at the crossbow slung over his back.
Rick slipped a hand under the younger man's left arm and pulled him to his feet. Rick nodded at Daryl, and Daryl turned faced the arched doorway, put his fingers thumb and index finger in his mouth, and whistled.
A few moments later Michonne and Carl led the two groups into the tavern. Everyone except for Michonne and John gasped in surprise at the sight of another survivor.
Rick pulled up a chair on the side of the bar. "Sit down," he said.
The young man sat down and looked at the group and then at Rick.
"John, take Juan and sweep the room next to the elevators," Rick ordered.
"Hey, I've got some questions for this guy!" John shouted as he pointed at the young man.
Rick shot a glare at John. "Go," he said firmly.
Juan patted John on his shoulder, and the Vietnam veteran huffed, threw his hands up in frustration, and he stomped out of the tavern with Juan following him.
•••
"Fuck that goddamn, Mayberry cop!" John grumbled as he stomped into the dark, vaulted room beside the elevators. John had his Colt M1911A1 pistol in one hand, and a flashlight in the other.
"Què? Where's Mayberry?" Juan asked as he walked slowly beside John with his Remington 870 shotgun in his hands.
"Forget it," John replied as he turned around and moved the beam of his flashlight along the walls. "Where's the goddamn light switch?"
The beam of light soon fell on the two light switches; John holstered his pistol, stomped over to the light switches, and slammed them down with his hands.
The ceiling lights came on and John turned around to see rows of slot machines. In the center of the room was a large clay pot with a cactus planted inside it. Beside the cactus were two large stone statues of Aztec priests. On the left wall were two elevators, and on the right wall was the cashier cage.
"There's no one here," Juan said as he lowered his shotgun.
"No shit, Sherlock," John quipped as he walked back into the dark lobby and began moving his flashlight along its walls in search of the lobby's light switch.
•••
"Who are you?" Rick asked the young man.
"Nathaniel," the young man answered. "Nathaniel Tatum. But everyone calls me 'Nate'."
"Nate Tatum," Rick repeated with a nod. "I'm Rick Grimes. I was a sheriff's deputy for King County.
"Cool," Nate said, as his fear gave way to nervousness. "I was a first year ADA for Fulton County."
"You said 'we've' earlier. How many are in your group?"
Nate blinked. "Twenty-five. Twenty-five people."
Rick glared at Nate for a few moments. "Don't bullshit me, Nate. How many?"
Nate sighed and lowered his head in defeat. "Five."
"All right. Now, I want you to know we don't want to hurt anybody. We're just here for supplies. I didn't think there'd be people holed up in this casino, so this is on me. Where's your group?"
The lobby's lights went on, making everyone in the tavern turn around and look out the arched doorway. A few moments later, John (who was putting his flashlight inside his jacket pocket) walked into the tavern and glared at Rick; Rick ignored him and looked back at Nate.
"Where's your group?" Rick repeated.
"The penthouse," Nate answered. "If you're going to live in a casino, might as well live in style," he then chuckled nervously.
Rick saw a wireless phone standing on its cradle behind the bar. Rick went around the bar, picked up the phone, and walked out of the bar. "Does this phone still work?" he asked.
"Yeah," Nate answered, "you can call any room in the casino. Outside the casino, that's another story."
"Does your group have a leader?"
"Yeah," Nate frowned, "a hotshot gambler from Japan named Sora Miyaguchi. He's a real asshole."
Rick asked for the penthouse's number; Nate gave him the number and Rick dialed it in.
I'm using a phone again, but this time it's for real, Rick thought to himself. Lori won't be on the other end of the line. Instead, it'll be a live person and maybe we can work a deal—
"Yes, Mr. Tatum?" an authoritative voice asked.
Rick clenched the phone tightly at the sound of the mysterious voice.
"I am busy at the moment, Mr. Tatum, so unless this is an emergency—"
"Hello, Mr. Miyaguchi," Rick interrupted.
The other line was quiet for a minute. Miyaguchi asked, "Did you kill Tatum?"
"No, he's alive," Rick answered.
"Who are you?"
Rick lowered the phone and looked at Daryl, he nodded. Rick looked at Michonne, and she nodded too. Rick brought the phone up to his ear.
"My name is Rick Grimes. I think we should talk."