CHAPTER 16
DING!
Three of the five sets of elevator doors opened and there passengers were greeted to the sight of medium sized lobby, where clay flower pots holding Dahlia Pinnatas (the national flower of Mexico) stood in the corners, and on the wall was a framed painting of an Aztec temple at the pinnacle of the Aztec Empire.
Julia, Daryl, and Michonne had traveled in the middle elevator.
John, Floyd, and Sam traveled in the elevator on the left.
Tyreese and Karen traveled in the elevator on the right.
"Here we are: the eighth floor," Julia said cheerfully as she stepped out of the elevator; in her right hand she held her Ithaca 37 "stakeout" shotgun by its barrel, and in her left hand she held a plastic desk tray that contained several key cards.
Daryl and Michonne glanced at each other, and a moment later Daryl slung his crossbow off his shoulder and held the weapon by its grip, while Michonne reached over her shoulder, held onto the handle of her katana, and pulled the blade out of its scabbard by a few inches.
Julia stood profile and watched in disbelief as Daryl and Michonne stepped out of the elevator and watched both ends of the hallway cautiously. "Hey! What are-don't you guys trust us?"
Daryl looked at Julia, and nodded.
"We trust you and your people…your boss however is another matter," Michonne answered before sliding her partially drawn katana back into its scabbard.
The anger in Julia's eyes vanished and she smiled apologetically. "Yeah, Miyaguchi is a good leader, but when it comes to giving people a second chance…" the young woman's voice trailed off and she looked down at the carpeted floor wistfully.
John, Floyd, and Sam stepped out of their elevator; Tyreese and Karen stepped out of there's too. All five of them heard Julia and Michonne's conversation.
"It sounded like your leader is going to punish that kid," John said.
"Miyaguchi says the punishment fits the infraction," Julia explained.
"So what's the punishment for failing to guard this casino?" Michonne asked.
Julia looked at Michonne, and then she looked at the floor again.
Michonne watched Julia's reaction and she thought back to the Governor, and how he ran Woodbury through lies, fear, and violence. "That son of a bitch," she spat.
John grinned at Floyd and asked, "Still want to stay here, buddy?"
Floyd looked down at the floor, and huffed sadly.
"I'll take that as a no," John said, as he adjusted the brim of his Atlanta Braves baseball cap.
"I'm sorry that I upset all of you, but I'm really glad you're all here," Julia admitted. "And it's not just because Miyaguchi's a hard ass about the rules. If we stay here much longer, we'll die.
"We'd peek out the windows and watch as thousands of geeks staggered down the highway all day, and we couldn't sleep because we could hear them growling all night! All the people we've lost…it's because of where we live.
"Harold's been trying to talk Miyaguchi into all of us packing up and trying our luck somewhere else, but Miyaguchi's too stubborn, and the others are too scared."
"I'm sorry for what you and your people went through," Tyreese said. "Me and my sister Sasha came here from Florida, and all I can remember from the trip is the running, the hiding, and the people we lost along the way."
A tear ran down Julia's cheek and she wiped it away with a fingertip. "Thank you," she said as her voice cracked with grief. A few moments later she smiled and looked at the group of strangers. "Well, you all must be tired right?"
"We're dead on our feet," John quipped with his hands now on his hips.
"Don't joke around, man," Tyreese said in a serious tone.
"I'm not. We're all tired, at least I am," John retorted.
Julia tucked her Ithaca 37 "stakeout" shotgun under her left arm, and took the desk tray with the room cards in both hands. "Follow me," she said with the cheer back in her voice.
Julia turned to her right and walked out of the lobby, Michonne, Daryl, and the Woodburians followed her. After a few steps, the cocktail waitress stopped at a locked hotel room door on her left.
"First stop!" Julie announced as she took a room card from the desk tray. "Two beds to a room. Don't move the curtains because it'll attract the geeks, and don't turn on the flat screen TV because it drains power. "
"I'll take it," John said as he brushed his way through the crowd and took the room card from Julia. John inserted the card into the door's lock system, and with his free hand, he took hold of the door's handle, turned it, and pushed the door open.
John reached inside the dark hotel room for the light switch, his hand found it against the wall, and he flicked the switch on: the light revealed two made beds in the room, facing a wooden table with a flat screen TV and a remote control atop it. A window took up the far wall, and its curtain covered what would've shown a lovely view of the Atlanta skyline.
John stepped back into the hallway and looked at his group of Woodburians. "No hard feelings, Floyd?" he asked.
Floyd shook his head. "Whatever, man. I just want a soft bed to sleep in."
The retired postal worker walked past John and entered the hotel room.
"When's reveille?" John asked.
"Probably six o'clock," Michonne answered. "I'm sure Rick will want us to gather up as much gas and supplies as we can before we're spotted by walkers...or another group of survivors."
John nodded, took off his Atlanta Braves cap, and for the first time he looked old and weary. "Well, pleasant dreams," he said tiredly as he stepped back into the hotel room and closed the door.
"Moving along," Julia said happily as she resumed walking along the hallway, her shotgun still tucked under her arm and the desk tray filled with key cards in her hands.
Michonne adjusted the strap of her katana's scabbard slung over her back, tucked her bundled up hooded cape close to her side, and followed Julia; a moment later Daryl and the three remaining Woodburians followed.
Julia stopped at another locked hotel room and took a key card from the desk tray, "Next," she said.
Tyreese glanced down at Karen and asked with a good natured grin, "Can we go co-ed?"
"Oh, my God," Karen muttered in embarrassment as she covered her face with the palm of her hand.
Julia was not amused by Tyreese's request. "Sorry. Mr. Miyaguchi is very strict about…how does he put it…? "nonmarital relationships"."
Tyreese shrugged. "Maybe next time, Karen."
"In your dreams, Mr. All-American," Karen quipped as she took her hand away from her face.
Tyreese grinned again, and he stepped forward and took the key card from Julia.
"Can I room with you, Ty?" Sam asked.
"No prob, Sam," Tyreese answered as he unlocked the hotel room door, turned its handle and pushed the door open. Tyreese then flipped the light switch on, and he looked over his shoulder, nodded apologetically at Karen, and stepped inside the hotel room; Sam followed the former NFL player inside and closed the door.
"Moving along," Julia said happily as she walked along the hallway; Michonne, Daryl, and Karen followed her.
Julia stopped at another locked hotel room and selected a key card. "I think you girls should take this one," she said.
Michonne took the key card, nodded her thanks to Julia, and looked at Daryl. "See you in the morning," she said.
Daryl nodded.
Michonne unlocked the hotel room door, turned its handle, and pushed the door open; a moment later Michonne turned on the light and stepped inside the hotel room.
"Good night," Karen said warmly to Daryl and Julia as she walked towards the open hotel room door.
Daryl grunted, and Julia smiled.
Karen stepped inside the hotel room and closed the door.
Julia faced Daryl and he held out his hand in anticipation of an offered key card. The cocktail waitress took one of the last two cards from the desk tray and looked it over as if it were a baseball card.
"I'll give this one to Rick, I'm sure he'd want his son to room with him tonight," Julia said.
"Great, so where's mine?" Daryl asked impatiently.
Julia smiled and dropped the card back into the desk tray, a moment later she dropped the tray and her shotgun to the carpeted floor.
"Hey!" Daryl shouted in disbelief.
Daryl bent down to pick up one of the key cards, but Julia's hands were on his shoulders and she pushed him up gently to his full height.
"You can spend the night with me," Julia cooed.
Daryl's eyes widened and he dropped his poncho. "What?" he asked in a meek voice.
Julia smile grew broader and she stepped closer to Daryl. "I'm sorry, let me dumb it down: do you want to fuck?"
Daryl grinned. "Damn girl, that's some customer service!"
"I aim to please," Julia smiled.
Julia moved her hands towards Daryl's shirt collar, she undid the top button on his heavy shirt, and she slid her hands up his neck, and her fingertips touched his hair.
"You said your boss didn't like couples who weren't hitched to be fuckin'," Daryl said as he put his hands on Julia's hips.
"Neither did my dad, but that didn't stop me from sneaking out at night and seeing my boyfriend," Julia replied.
"You're a bad girl."
"Isn't that the best type?"
Daryl chuckled again and looked Julia over; she was a beautiful young woman, with smooth skin, and an hourglass figure; her brunette hair was in a ponytail, and if she loosened it, it would've spilled across her shoulders. He wanted to accept her offer, follow her to her hotel room, and fuck her all night long.
But Julia wasn't Carol, and after Daryl realized that, he started thinking about the older woman: her pale skin that broke out in freckles during the summer months, her rectangle shaped figure, her short, grey hair that looked soft to touch, and her eyes that were as blue as a clear sky.
In an instant Daryl dropped his hands from Julia's hips.
"Is something wrong, baby?" Julia asked.
"Yeah," Daryl answered.
Julia blinked. "What's that?"
"You."
Julia gasped in shock. "Excuse me?!"
"You ain't my type."
Daryl then brushed Julia aside gently and he bent down to pick up his poncho and a key card.
"I don't believe this!" Julia shouted.
"Do you believe in dead people walkin' around?" Daryl quipped as he stood up.
Julia watched with widened eyes as Daryl walked along the hallway in search for the hotel room number on the key card he selected.
"Do you have a girl back at that prison Rick talked about?" Julia asked as she ran to catch up.
Daryl stopped at the door to his hotel room, and thought about Julia's question. Is Carol my girl? I had the chance to tell her how I feel yesterday, but I fucked it up. I…I've just got to give it some time. It's like buildin' a bike; you've got to take your time with it if you want it to run right.
"Answer me, you jerk!" Julia demanded as she stomped a foot onto the hallway's carpeted floor.
Daryl unlocked the hotel door room, turned the handle, pushed it open and flipped the light switch on; he looked over his shoulder and said to Julia, "Maybe."
Julia raised her eyebrows, and then she unbuttoned the first top buttons on her blouse to show off her cleavage. "Well, what she doesn't know won't hurt her."
Daryl gave Julia the Finger; then he stepped inside the hotel room, slammed the door, and locked it.
Julia stared in disbelief at the locked hotel room door; then she turned around, buttoned her blouse hurriedly, and stomped down the hallway to pick up her shotgun and the desk tray with the last key card. "Homo," she muttered angrily.
•••
In the El Dorado Resturante, Rick sat at his and Carl's table, waiting patiently for his grilled chicken sandwich to arrive; Carl sat beside him, taking a sip of from his glass of Coca-Cola. Frankie had returned to with a new bottle of Bud Light and was seated at his table, eating his grilled chicken sandwich. Juan and Nate sat at their own table, both of them brooding on their conversation about Rick later tonight.
Alonso stepped out of the kitchen while holding in one hand a dish with a grilled chicken sandwich, and in his other hand a cold bottle of Dos Equis beer.
"Enjoy your meal, officer, and help yourself to a bottle of Dos Equis, the official beer of El Dorado!" Alonso smiled. "Only don't tell the other patrons that Dos Equis wasn't created by the Aztecs, I don't want to get sued."
Rick chuckled and said, "Your secret is safe with me, Alonso."
Alonso placed the dish with the grilled chicken sandwich on the table; he took a bottle opener from his back pocket, placed it alongside the bottle's cap, and with a flick of his wrist, removed the cap. Alonso placed the open beer bottle on the table beside the dish, and returned the bottle opener to his back pocket.
"I'll be cleaning the kitchen, but when you're finished just call out and I'll come get the dish."
"You've gone to a lot of trouble for my people; the least I can do is wash the dishes."
Alonso smiled again and placed a hand on Rick's shoulder. "It's no trouble. After all, you're the man who's going to lead us to freedom, right?"
Rick nodded; Alonso patted the sheriff's deputy's shoulder, and returned to the kitchen. Rick looked at Carl and said, "These people will be moving into a prison tomorrow, and he calls it freedom." Rick then shook his head in disbelief.
Carl smiled too at his father's statement.
Rick picked up the grilled chicken sandwich with both hands, brought it up to his mouth, and took a bite.
The grilled chicken sandwich tasted delicious.
"Good, huh?" Carl asked.
Rick nodded as he chewed.
"Told you," Carl smiled proudly.
Rick chuckled despite his mouthful of food and after chewing it a little more, he swallowed it.
I almost can't believe it; I'm eating a real sandwich! Rick thought. Daryl's done a great job bringing in game for the group, and Carol's been a great cook, but this isn't squirrel, or deer; its chicken! And it was cooked by a professional chef!
Rick brought the sandwich up to his mouth again, took another bite, and chewed eagerly. With that second bite he noticed the taste of the sandwich's bun, the slices of lettuce and tomato, and the honey mustard sauce. Rick closed his eyes, smiled with joy, and after chewing on his food for a few moments, he swallowed it.
Rick put the rest of his chicken sandwich down on its plate and picked up the bottle of Dos Equis. Rick examined the bottle's label and glanced down at Carl's half empty class of Coca-Cola.
I should've asked for a Coke too, Rick thought as he looked again at his bottle of beer. The last time I drank alcohol was that night in the CDC, when we all thought we had beaten the dead and we were going to find some answers about what happened.
Rick's mind drifted to that night: his family along with Shane Walsh, his partner on the King County sheriff's department, and the group of strangers he'd met at a quarry outside Atlanta, were sitting around a table in the CDC's cafeteria, eating pasta, drinking wine, and laughing while a quiet Shane and their sullen host Dr. Edwin Jenner watched.
•••
Dale stood at the table, refilling Lori's wine glass. "You know, in Italy, children have a little bit of wine with dinner. And in France."
"Well, when Carl is in Italy or France, he can have some then," Lori said with authority as she accepted her filled wine glass in one hand, and covered the rim of Carl's empty glass with the other.
"What's it gonna hurt? Come on," Rick smiled.
Lori looked at Rick in disbelief, and for a moment it looked like she was about to laugh.
"Come on," Dale chimed in.
Lori took her hand away from Carl's glass with a what-the-hell gesture. Dale picked up the glass and poured a very small amount into it.
"There you are, young lad," Dale said as he offered Carl the glass.
Carl took the glass and everyone at the table (except for Jenner) waited for him to take a sip.
Carl took a sip and put the glass down on the table quickly. "Eww!" he said in disgust.
Everyone at the table (except for Jenner) laughed at Carl's reaction to the wine; Shane smiled a little.
"That's my boy. That's my boy," Lori said, back to being a mom again. She picked up Carl's glass and poured what was left into her wine glass.
Carl shook his head like he was trying to shake the memory out of his mind before it took root. "Yuck. That's nasty."
Rick chuckled and tousled Carl's hair to comfort him.
"Well, just stick to soda pop there, bud," Shane muttered.
•••
The humorous memory of Carl's first taste of alcohol ended, and Rick found himself staring at the appealing bottle of Dos Equis beer in his hand.
We thought…no, I thought the CDC would be a sanctuary, Rick thought, the one place where the Government was still up and running, and the one place where we might find answers and a cure.
But instead of finding all of those things, we found there was nothing left: no government, no army, and no cure. Then we found out our host was really a madman sitting on a time bomb; Jenner's colleagues had "opted out" and he decided to follow them by staying inside the CDC as its computer counted down to self-destruct! Jenner wanted to take all of us with him, and if I hadn't convinced him into giving us a chance to keep going—and if Carol hadn't kept the grenade she found in my laundry—we never would've gotten out of the CDC before it blew up.
We lost Jacqui in that explosion, Rick thought, then we lost Sophia; and after her, I had to kill Shane in self-defense, and shortly after we found the prison I lost Lori, and finally, after we won the war against the Governor, we lost Andrea.
Rick looked again at the Dos Equis beer, and suddenly it didn't look appealing…it looked comforting. Rick brought the bottle to his lips, and took a swig; the beer tasted good.
There has to be an end to all of this! An end to all this struggling and dying! Rick thought angrily. Our lives—Carl's and Judith's lives—can't be spent hiding behind walls and living in fear of walkers or men like the Governor! Someday, the dead will stay dead, the bad men will be punished, and society will rebuild itself!
"Are you okay, Dad?" Carl asked worriedly.
Rick looked at Carl and smiled. "I'm fine, Carl. I'm just…thinking about stuff and things."
The light sounds of chair legs being pushed along the carpeted floor prickled Rick's ears, and looked to his right to see Juan and Nate getting up from their chairs.
"Well, I'll tell you what I think," Carl whispered, "I don't trust those two."
Juan and Nate walked past Rick's and Carl's table on their way to the doorway. Rick saw that Juan cast an angry glance at him, while Nate cast a frightened glance.
Rick looked at Carl, took a second swig of beer, and put the bottle down on the table. "I know how you feel about the Woodburians, well, most of them anyway, but what's wrong with Nate?"
"He and Juan were just whispering," Carl explained as he spoke at a regular level again.
"Did you hear what they were saying?"
"No, but maybe they were whispering about you."
Rick considered Carl's theory for a moment. "Maybe," he nodded.
"Murbe dur whur whizpurink rbot Mirrgurki," Frankie interrupted with a mouthful of food.
Rick—annoyed that Frankie talked with a full mouth, and that Frankie was intruding on his conversation with Carl—asked, "What did you say?"
Frankie swallowed his food, took a breath, and replied, "Maybe they were whispering about Miyaguchi."
Rick doubted Frankie's theory was correct, but in the interest of being civil, he said, "Maybe that too."
Carl shook his head in disbelief. "Why would they whisper about Miyaguchi?"
"Because that guy's a hard-ass," Frankie explained. "We had two leaders before him, both bigwigs with the casino; the first got killed with most of a group he led outside on a supply run, and the second couldn't hack it, so he hanged himself in his office. You won't believe what happened to the poor bastard that found him hanging from the closet door and cut him down."
"Oh, I can believe it," Rick quipped before he brought the bought of Dos Equis beer up to his lips and took a swig.
Frankie took another bite of his grilled chicken sandwich, chewed, swallowed, and resumed talking. "Anyway, we had a job opening again, but no one took it, except for Miyaguchi. I've got to admit, that Jap knows how to organize; food and water was rationed, electricity usage was put on a schedule, all of us were assigned jobs, he even made us clean the casino to boost morale!"
"But…" Rick said cynically.
Frankie put down the rest of his sandwich, took a swig from his bottle of Bud Light, and wiped his lips clean with the back of his hand. "Like I said, the guy's a hard-ass. I mean, people have been calling me "Frankie" for as long as I can remember, but Genghis Khan insists that everyone call me "Frank". It pisses me off."
Rick sighed wearily at Frankie's trivial complaint; he closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Anything more serious than that?" he asked.
"Yeah, that samurai sword he carries around…it's not for show," Frankie answered. "I was with him when he found it in that pawn shop and I watched him try it out on a couple of geeks; I don't know if everyone in the Far East grew up swinging those swords like baseball bats, but he fucking carved those geeks up like a turkey!
"But the sick part is he's used that sword on our people! If somebody fucks up on the job, or gets out of line, they get a private meeting with the shogun!"
"That's crazy!" Carl shouted. "Miyaguchi kills people for making mistakes and the rest of you let him get away with it?!"
"Hey, kid, the fucker is our boss!" Frankie retorted. "He kept us safe for this long, and if he had to chop a few heads to do it, then it never bothered my sleep!"
"Carl," Rick said firmly as he looked at his son.
Carl lowered his head and clenched his fists in a clear display that he was still angry.
Rick looked at Frankie, and he shot a glare at the younger man. "I know we're uninvited guests, and I'm sure you're upset over the deaths of your friends, but don't ever speak in that tone to my son again."
Frankie's complexion turned pale. "Yes sir," he said as he nodded quickly.
"Now, does Miyaguchi plan to execute Nate?" Rick asked.
"Maybe," Frankie said as he picked up his sandwich, "but Miyaguchi listens to Harold…sometimes, so if Nate's lucky he'll just get his ass caned like that kid who vandalized a car in Singapore a couple of years ago."
"I'm not going to let Miyaguchi execute that kid," Rick said firmly.
Frankie took the last bites of his sandwich, chewed and swallowed, and drank it down with a swig of Bud Light beer. He stood up, bottle in hand, and walked towards the doorway. "Well, good luck with that. Only don't get yourself killed before you get us the fuck out of this casino."
When Frankie walked out of the restaurant, Rick looked at Carl and said, "He's gone."
"Good," Carl replied, still looking down at his plate of crumbs.
"So do you think this is another Woodbury situation?" Rick asked.
Carl raised his head and answered, "A little."
Rick nodded. "Should we leave these people here?"
Carl thought his father's question over for a minute, and answered, "No."
"Why did you say that?"
Carl looked up at his father and said, "Alonso can cook."
Rick chuckled and picked up his sandwich. "Yes, he can. What do you think about the others?"
"Well, I think Frankie is an idiot and he'll get somebody killed. That lawyer Nate is a wuss, but he could toughen up like Glenn did. The big guy Harold looks strong, so I think he could help us keep the prison safe. Julia's a girl, but she's okay. And their leader, Sora, he's an asshole."
Rick stopped chewing his food to give Carl a stern look. The young boy frowned. "I'm sorry, Dad. I didn't mean to swear."
Rick swallowed his food and his face softened. "It's all right, Carl. I don't like him either. Just watch your mouth from now on."
"Okay, Dad."
Rick another bite of his sandwich, and drank it down with a swig of beer. Carl watched his father enjoy his meal.
We need supplies, Carl, and I thought this brand new casino was the best place to get them," Rick explained. "I didn't expect there'd be survivors here, so I made a deal with Miyaguchi; the supplies in exchange for moving into the prison."
Carl nodded. "I get it, Dad."
"It's a big prison, so I don't think we'll see much of Miyaguchi."
"Yeah," Carl agreed.
"Look on the bright side: in the morning you can look around for that guitar you wanted."
"Oh, it's not for me!" Carl blurted out.
Rick blinked. "What?"
"Uh…It's not for me," Carl muttered.
"If it's not for you, son, then who's it for?"
Carl blushed and lowered his head again. "Uh, Dad. I…I really like Beth."
Rick's jaw dropped and he stared at Carl. The young boy looked up at his father, expecting to be criticized at any moment, but he said nothing. Finally, a chuckle burst from Rick's open mouth, and a stream of laughter followed.
"What's so funny?" Carl asked, his embarrassment vanished and replaced by anger.
"I'm sorry, Carl. I'm sorry," Rick said as he struggled to control his laughter. "It's just that with everything I have to worry about, you having a crush on a girl was something that I never thought about."
Carl blinked. "You're…you're not mad?"
"Why should I be mad that you like Beth? Oh, excuse me, that you really like Beth?"
"Well, Beth's seventeen. I'm thirteen. She's kind of...you know…"
"Old?" Rick suggested.
Carl closed his eyes and lowered his head. "Yeah," he muttered.
After a minute of silence, Rick said, "Carl."
Carl looked up at his father.
"Can I tell you something?" Rick asked.
Carl nodded.
"I…never gave much thought about the day this topic would come up; when I did think about it I pictured your mother would do most of the talking, but I…I think she'd tell you that Beth is a sweet girl, and you should get to know her better."
Carl considered his father's words for a moment and asked, "But what do you think, Dad?"
Rick thought while tapping the bottle of Dos Equis beer with his fingertips. "I think getting Beth a guitar was a great idea. I also think you should get to know Beth better. Maybe she feels the same about you."
Carl smiled. "Thanks, Dad."
Rick smiled and patted Carl on the shoulder. "You're welcome, son. Oh, can I tell you something else?"
"What?"
"Thanks for telling Miyaguchi and his people the truth about Floyd and Sam."
Carl smiled. "You're welcome, Dad."
"That's the second time you've stuck up for me," Rick said.
"We're family; it's what we do," Carl explained.
Rick smiled. "That's right, son."
Hurried footsteps echoed from the hallway; Rick and Carl looked at the doorway to see Julia stomping through the waiting room, and into the restaurant. The cocktail waitress had a scowl on her face, her fists were clenched, and in her right fist she held a key card.
"Here's your key card! Good night!" Julia shouted as she slammed the item onto the table, Rick and Carl winced.
Rick picked up the key card and watched as Julia turned around and stomped out of the restaurant. "Uh…thank you…" he said bewilderedly.
"What's wrong with her?" Carl asked.
Rick looked at Carl and shrugged.
•••
Juan was sleeping on one of the sofas in the lobby when a hand touched his shoulder and shook him awake.
"Ahh!" Juan shouted as he sat up with his eyes wide open.
The hand touched Juan's shoulder again, and a voice said, "Shhh."
Juan rubbed his eyes and looked up to see the lights in the lobby were on and Harold was standing over him. The truck driver's MK18 Mod 0 assault carbine was missing, but he still had his Glock 17 pistol holstered at his side.
"Juan, right?" Harold asked.
"Sí," Juan answered.
"You've got something to tell Nate, right?"
"Sí," Juan answered again.
Harold stepped back and pointed a thumb over his shoulder. "Let's go," he said.
"Wh…where are we going?" Juan asked as he stood up from the sofa.
Harold didn't reply and walked towards the five pairs of elevator doors with the profile of an Aztec temple carved into them.
Juan stood up and teetered left and right; when he lifted his feet to walk they felt as heavy as cinderblocks. How long had he slept? Juan looked over his shoulder at the large clock with Roman numerals above the front desk; he guessed he'd slept for twenty-five minutes.
The large clock reminded Juan that he was supposed to meet with Nate at eleven o'clock, but that was five hours away. Juan looked at the Tavern's doorway and wondered if he should go there or even call out Nate's name.
Harold pressed the 'UP' arrow key to one of the elevators and the doors slid open; he stepped inside the elevator and whistled to get Juan's attention. Juan looked at Harold, walked towards the elevator as quickly as his weary legs could move and stepped inside.
"Where are we going?" Juan asked again.
The doors slid closed and Harold pressed a number key on the elevator control panel. "We're going to a meeting," he answered.
The elevator ascended to the selected floor.
•••
Nate sat nervously in one of the two chairs placed in front of the (deceased) executive's desk. Sora stood behind the desk, his back was to Nate, and he was looking out the window that spanned the wall, and offered a bird's eye view of the poker room. Nate's frightened eyes kept going from Sora's back, to the sheathed katana lying atop the desk.
"I swear to God, Mr. Miyaguchi, Juan's knows a big secret about this Rick Grimes," Nate pleaded.
"Your god is not my god, Mr. Tatum," Sora replied without turning around.
"But…you are going to listen to Juan, right?"
"I will listen to him. And if this alleged secret is useful, your infraction may be forgiven."
Nate squirmed in his chair nervously.
The office doors opened; Harold and Juan (who was now walking normally) stepped inside.
"Thank you, Mr. Singleton," Sora said as he stood profile.
Harold nodded. "No problem, boss."
"What's going on, Nate?" Juan asked.
"I…I'm sorry, Juan, but…after our conversation in the restaurant..."
"You told him?!" Juan interrupted as he stomped towards Nate.
"I had to man!" Nate shouted as he leapt out of his chair. "My neck is on the chopping block!"
"Qué?"Juan asked. "What are you talking about?"
"Gentlemen," Sora said firmly.
Juan and Nate stopped arguing and looked at the casino group's leader.
"Stop arguing. You both are giving me a headache."
Juan and Nate glared at each other for a moment and they both took a step away from each other.
"Sit down, the both of you," Sora said.
Both men sat down in the chairs in front of the desk.
Sora looked at Juan and asked, "What is your surname?"
"Zavala," Juan answered.
"Would you care for a drink, Mr. Zavala?" Sora asked, with his hand pointing at the liquor cabinet to his right.
Juan looked at the liquor cabinet, filled with expensive bottles and crystal drinking glasses. "Uh, Gracias, but I had a beer with my meal," he answered as he looked at Sora.
"I watched you during the dinner and you did not touch your food and barely drank your beer."
Juan looked at the liquor cabinet again; his throat felt dry.
"Have a drink, Mr. Zavala. Put your nerves at ease."
Juan nodded.
"Mr. Singleton, will you pour our guest a glass please?"
Harold nodded and walked over to the liquor cabinet; he chose a bottle of Jim Beam, and poured it into a glass. Harold walked over to Juan, and offered the glass to him. Juan accepted it with both hands.
Juan stared at the glass of golden brown liquid in his hands, brought it to his lips, and took a sip.
The bourbon tasted delicious.
Juan sighed happily and sank in his chair.
"Now," Sora began as he sat down the leather chair behind the desk, "you told Mr. Tatum that you have a secret about Rick Grimes."
"Uh, Sí. I do," Juan said.
Sora put his hands together and placed them on the desk. "Would you care to tell me what that secret is?" he asked.
Juan put his left hand over his fist, coughed, and sat up in his chair. "Well, it's not just about Rick. It's more about Philip; he was the man who led the group my wife and I were first with."
"Oh?"
"Sí. But Rick and Philip are a lot alike."
"Indeed?"
"Sí. I thought Philip was a good leader, everyone in the group did. He found an abandoned town called Woodbury, cleaned it out, put up walls, and kept people safe. I mean, Philip did his best, but sometimes the biters got past the fences and…"
Juan thought about the horrific day that one biter slipped into Woodbury; he took another sip of Jim Beam, and closed his eyes.
A minute later Sora said, "Go on."
Juan opened his eyes and looked at Sora. "Like I said, Philip did his best, and sometimes he did what he thought was best for the group. I know because one time I went with him and this guy Nick…
•••
Juan, Philip, and Nick sat amongst the five young men around the large campfire. Laughter filled the air again, while burgers (which had been burnt) were passed around on paper plates along with bottles of Bud Light. Nick ate and drank greedily, Philip placed his plate and beer at his feet, Juan just held his plate and beer in his hands.
Por favor, Dios, don't let Philip kill them, Juan thought.
"I appreciate your hospitality, Lance," Philip smiled.
"No sweat, Philip," Lance replied before he took a bite into a hamburger.
Sean nodded at Juan and asked "Hey, dude?"
Juan looked at the college group's chef.
"Aren't you hungry?"
"No," Juan muttered.
"Then why the fuck didn't you say something before?" Sean asked angrily. "I ain't wasting patties on some old guy who came out of nowhere."
Sean stood up, snatched Juan's paper plate from his hand, and held it high in the air. "Anyone want another burnt burger?"
"Me!" Bryan shouted with his hand raised.
Sean handed the paper plate over to Bryant. "Bon appétit, kid."
Philip glared at Luis for a moment, but when he looked at Lance, his affable smile was back. "My friend will get his appetite back soon," Philip said. "In the meanwhile, do you gentlemen have a plan?"
Lance took a swig of Bud Light beer and smiled. "We've got a plan; we stay on this mountain and wait for the radio to announce the all-clear."
Philip raised his eyebrows. "The radio?" he asked.
"Yeah, I'm keeping track of current events with this old radio," Kurt answered as he knocked on the metal box for emphasis. "You wouldn't believe the shit I've heard. It's like something out of a Stephen King book."
"But why stay on this mountain instead of a shelter?" Philip asked.
"Me and the guys used to ride over these mountains on our dirt bikes; I took Bryan up here when he got old enough," Lance explained. "Nobody else comes up here, so why should the geeks?"
"Dirt bikes?" Phiilp asked.
"Yeah, dirt bikes," Lance answered as he pointed a thumb behind his back. "We brought them with us along with plenty of gas. We even ride them during the day!"
"It beats sitting in camp all fucking day," Caden added.
"Well, you gentlemen seem well organized," Philip said. "Maybe we could join your group; help protect the camp."
Lance and his college friends looked at each other and laughed; Bryan kept eating his new hamburger but lowered his head in embarrassment.
"Sorry, Philip. The meal's free, but this camp has no vacancies," Lance quipped.
"Yeah. One day in camp and the three of you will turn into our fathers," Caden added.
"I brought a few of bags of weed up here," Sean said. "I don't want you old guys nagging me about doing drugs, or rating me out to the cops when this shit blows over."
Lance and his college friends laughed again; Bryan still looked embarrassed.
"Well, I'm sorry all of you feel that way," Philip said.
"Nothing personal, Philip," Lance said before taking a sip from his bottle of Bud Light.
"There's just one more thing I'd like to ask you," Philip continued.
Lance put his bottle of Bud Light down. "What's that?"
"You told us earlier that you put your weapons away because you were going to eat dinner. If—and I know it's a big if—the biters climb up this mountain, what do you have to defend yourselves?"
"I'm glad you asked." Lance smiled and stood up. "My dad and Kurt's dad were members of the NRA. We cleaned out their collections before we came up here!"
Lance left the campfire and ran into one of the tents pitched in the background. A few moments later he ran back with a bullpup style assault rifle.
"Check this out, it's the Steyr AUG A1 assault rifle!" Lance said happily. "It fires 5.56x45mm ammo and takes a 30-round magazine! I've watched my dad shoot this baby and it's a badass!"
"I took my dad's AKM assault rifle," Kurt said. "It's Russian made, not a cheap Chinese Type 56 knockoff!"
Philip turned to Nick, and nodded. Nick put his half-eaten hamburger down on the ground. Philip then looked at Lance again and smiled. "Well, you gentleman certainly don't need us," he said.
Lance beamed with pride, his friends chuckled. Bryan stopped eating his hamburger and looked at Philip nervously.
Luis felt his heart stop momentarily.
Philip drew his nickel plated Beretta 92SB Compact pistol, aimed it at Lance, and fired.
BLAM!
The bullet hit Lance in the chest; he dropped the Steyr AUG A1 and fell to the ground.
Luis and Bryan screamed in unison.
Lance's college friends leapt to their feet in shock.
Nick grabbed his AR-15 rifle, aimed it at Sean, and fired.
BRAKKA! BRAKKA! BRAKKA!
The first bullet struck Sean in the neck and the head; the last two struck him in the head which burst open like a grapefruit, the rest of Sean's body collapsed to the ground.
Kurt grabbed the radio and used it as a shield. Philip aimed his pistol at him, and fired two shots.
BLAM! BLAM!
The first bullet went through the radio and struck Kurt in the chest; the second bullet struck him in the forehead, and he fell to the ground dead.
Caden put his hands in the air. "Don't kill me! Don't kill me!" he pleaded.
Philip aimed his pistol at Caden and fired.
BLAM!
The bullet struck Caden in the forehead; he flew backwards and landed on his back, dead.
The echoes of the gunfire drifted away, the crackle of the campfire, and Lance's desperate gasps for breath continued. Philip and Nick stood up, while Juan watched wide-eyed. Across from the campfire, Bryan shivered in fear.
Philip looked at the frightened teenager and lowered his pistol. He turned his head to the right. "Nick," he said quietly.
Nick raised his rifle to his shoulder, aimed it at Bryan, and pulled the trigger.
BRAKKA!
The bullet struck Bryan in the forehead, and his head burst open. The rest of his body collapsed to his right at his wounded brother's feet.
"Madre de Dios," Juan whispered as tears ran down his face.
Philip walked around the campfire and stood over Lance, who was lying on his back, gasping for air. Philip saw that the young man had a small, bloody bullet wound in his chest, and blood was trickling out of his mouth; he looked up with shock and fear in his eyes at Philip.
"Not bad for three old guys, huh?" Philp asked.
Rather than wait for a reply, Philip aimed his pistol at Lance's forehead, and pulled the trigger.
BLAM!
The bullet went through Lance's forehead, and a small, thin stream of blood and brain matter shot up into the air and just missed hitting Philip.
"Why did you kill them?!" Juan asked as he stood up.
Philip looked at Juan. "For the supplies and the gas. I didn't want to kill them, but that's the way the world works now."
No. There had to be another way, Juan thought.
"You could've asked them to join us!" Juan shouted.
Philip holstered his pistol, and picked up the Steyr AUG A1 assault rifle. "If you remember, I asked if we could join them, but instead of accepting us, they laughed at us."
Sí, he did ask them that. And they did laugh at us. They even wanted us to leave.
"Then you should've just taken their supplies!" Juan argued.
"And if I did that, they'd have gone after us, and then I'd have to kill them; but I'd put my own people at risk, like your wife Marianna."
Juan pictured Marianna, dying in his arms in the aftermath of a gunfight, and then he thought, No! Marianna can't die!
"You…you should've tried to make a deal!" Juan said.
"A deal? With what and how long should I have tried?" Philip asked. "You saw the way they behaved, Juan, they thought this was a game, but this is survival."
Sí, we can't stay here all night. And those muchachos were stupid. If they joined us, they'd have gotten us all killed, or maybe they'd have killed us.
"What…what do we tell the others back at camp?"
Philip walked over to Juan and put a hand on his shoulder. "Let me worry about that. But right now, let's just gather up the supplies and the gas. Everyone back at camp must be worried about us."
Juan nodded, and he followed Philip and Nick into the camp and they began to collect the supplies and the gas cans.
"Juan," Philip said.
Juan turned towards Philip slowly.
Philip said, "Remember, this is the way the world works now."
•••
Sora sat back in his leather chair and said, "That was a shocking story, Mr. Zavala."
"It's true. I swear it," Juan wept.
Sora looked at Harold, and gestured at the box of tissues in the brass container on the desk. Harold nodded, took a tissue, and offered it to Juan. The Latino took it and dried his eyes.
"I fail to see how this concerns Rick Grimes," Sora said.
"My friend John warned us that Rick was turning into the new Governor. I didn't want to believe it, but he was right," Juan explained.
"The Governor?" Sora asked.
"Sí," that's what we started calling Philip soon after the walls went up in Woodbury. He…changed and drew us into a war against Rick, when Philip lost he slaughtered most of his people."
Sora looked at Juan, and said nothing.
"Rick took the rest of us into the prison, but he orders everyone around and makes all the decisions. He let the work crews fill their stomachs while everyone else starved. We were almost overrun by biters yesterday, but John saved our lives by gunning them down.
"But Rick, he showed no appreciation for what John did. Then he threatened Floyd and he beat Sam. He's turning into Philip. If you and your people go with us to the prison, he'll slaughter you all before you even get there."
Sora looked down at his hands as if he were holding a hand of cards, a minute later he stood from his leather chair, put his hands behind his back, and looked out the window at the poker room below.
"That is an elaborate theory, Mr. Zavala," Sora said.
Juan lowered his head in defeat.
"However it is a theory that I agree with."
Juan raised his head and looked at Sora hopefully.
"It is not easy to lead people in these desperate times, I can attest to that. But I have never broken into the sanctuary of another to steal their supplies, and I have never convinced others to abandon their sanctuary for mine.
"My associates have wanted to leave the El Dorado for some time; Mr. Singleton has told me so. They are eager to go to the prison Rick Grimes spoke about, and I will not deny my associates their wish."
Harold and Nate looked at each other with surprise.
"Is this prison secure?" Sora asked.
"Sí," Juan nodded eagerly. "We put up a new gate yesterday, and the fences are strong."
"Then I will honor the agreement I made with Rick Grimes; we will share our supplies and go to the prison."
Sora stood profile and said, "But before we leave the El Dorado, Rick Grimes must die."