CHAPTER 17
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
Rick's eyes shot open; his hand flew to the left and landed on the alarm atop the nightstand and his fingers moved a switch.
The beeping stopped.
Rick blinked a few times, sat up and yawned. He moved the pillows so he could put his back against the headboard, his hands went to his eyes and he rubbed the sleep out of them. Rick's eyes adjusted to the darkness of the hotel room and he looked to his left, picked up the alarm clock from the nightstand, and looked at the time; 5:00 AM. Rick put the alarm clock down and turned on the lamp. A small column of light lit up the center of the hotel room, and Rick looked to his left again and saw Carl sleeping soundly in the bed next to his, Rick smiled in amusement at his son's talent for sleeping despite a loud alarm.
Rick—wearing his T-shirt and boxers—threw the bed's covers aside, got out of bed, walked over to the light switch, and flipped it on, bathing the whole hotel room in light. Rick looked at the table set in front of the two beds and saw that his folded shirt, socks, dark jeans and tan Levi jacket were still were he placed them last night. Atop his jacket was his gun belt and holstered Colt Python revolver; his boots were on the carpeted floor alongside the desk. Rick now looked at his bed and checked that his M4A1 rifle was still leaning against the wall on the right side of his bed, his Glock 19 pistol with its attached Maglite suppressor was laying atop the right side of his bed.
Rick turned around and looked at the short hallway and the closed hotel room door at the end of it. The door was still locked, and the chair Rick placed against it for added security hadn't been moved. Satisfied that he and Carl were safe, Rick walked over to the linen closet, took out a green towel with the legend EL DORADO woven into it. Rick glanced at Carl to see if he was still asleep, and certain that he was, Rick stepped into the bathroom.
Rick urinated in the toilet and flushed it, then he removed his T-shirt and boxers, opened the shower's glass door, stepped inside, and turned the dial. Hot water from the shower head struck his face and it felt shocking and comforting because all the showers back at the prison were either weak or broken. Rick picked up the fresh bar of soap from the soap tray, and began to lather it across his body.
•••
After deciding he had showered long enough, Rick turned the dial back to its "off" position and the hot water stopped shooting out of the shower head. Rick opened the glass door and a cloud of steam rushed out of the shower ahead of him. Rick took the green towel he placed on the towel rack and began drying himself off.
After he dried off, Rick dropped the towel into the hamper and put his boxers back on; he then stepped over to the sink and stared at his reflection in the mirror.
This stubble is starting to fill in, Rick thought as his fingers on his right hand scratched at the whiskers on his face. Maybe I should shave it all off.
Rick looked around the sink's countertop and saw a leather toiletry bag on the upper right corner, the property of the hotel room's original occupant. Rick grabbed the bag, slid it towards him, and opened it. He rummaged through the contents quickly, and found a small can of shaving cream, a bottle of aftershave, and a cartridge razor.
I…I can't use this thing, Rick thought suddenly as he held the cartridge razor. It's not like taking clothes from a suitcase or hotwiring an abandoned car, this was a man's personal property, the first thing he used every morning of every day of his life.
Shame chilled Rick's bones as quickly as the hot shower had revived him. He put the cartridge razor back in the toiletry bag, followed by the small can of shaving cream and the bottle of aftershave. Rick picked up his T-shirt, put it on, and stepped out of the bathroom.
•••
Rick (now fully clothed) picked up his Kenneth Cole wrist watch from the nightstand and slipped it onto his left wrist. He looked to his right, and watched Carl who was still sleeping in his bed. Carl's battered Stetson hat was atop the headboard's right finial, and his tactical belt with his holstered Beretta 92FS pistol was wrapped around the finial's leg. Rick looked over the side of Carl's bed, and saw his son had strewn his denim jacket, plaid shirt, blue jeans, socks, and boots about the hotel room's floor like he used to in his bedroom at home. Rick shook his head at Carl's untidy habits, but he put a hand on his son's shoulder, and shook him gently.
"Carl," Rick whispered.
Carl grunted in annoyance, and pulled the sheets over his head as he curled up in his bed.
"Time to wake up, son," Rick said.
"Five more minutes, Dad," Carl muttered weakly.
Rick smiled as he remembered mornings like this one not so long ago: Lori trying to get Carl out of bed and get ready for school, but their son pleading for more time to sleep. Sometimes Lori would call Rick for help and he'd march into Carl's bedroom wearing his sheriff's deputy uniform and jokingly warn Carl he had five seconds to get ready for school or he'd be arrested for vagrancy.
"We don't have five more minutes, Carl. Get up," Rick said firmly.
Carl pulled the covers down from his head and sat up in bed, he was wearing a T-shirt with the "Atomic Paw" logo printed on it, and he wore boxers. "What time is it?" he asked while rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.
Rick looked at his wrist watch: "Half past five," he answered.
Carl's eyes shot open and he fell back into his bed. "Jeez!" he shouted in disbelief.
Rick smiled at Carl's outburst and tapped the watch's face with the tip of his index finger. I was in the shower for half an hour? He thought. I know it's been over a year since I had a real shower, but being in there for that long was crazy!
Rick put his arms down and looked around the hotel room: the soft beds, the flat screen TV and remote control; the bright, electric lights, the carpet, and the window with the drawn curtains. It's going to be hard for everyone to say goodbye to all this luxury.
Carl swung his feet out of bed and sat with his head in his hands. "Are we going to eat breakfast?" he asked.
"Of course we are," Rick said as he walked over to the table. "But you should hop in the shower first; it'll help wake you up."
"Do I have to brush my teeth too?" Carl whined.
Rick picked up his gun belt and considered Carl's question for a moment. "Only if the toothbrush looks brand new," he answered.
Carl huffed. "Okay," he said.
"I'm going to wake the others up. See you in the restaurant."
"Okay," Carl repeated.
Rick buckled on his gun belt, and walked down the short hallway; he moved the chair away from the door, unlocked it, and walked out of the hotel room.
•••
After dinner, Rick asked Julia (who, for whatever reason, was still upset) which rooms his group and the Woodbury group occupied. Now, the sheriff's deputy approached the hotel room Michonne and Karen were staying in; he stopped in front of the door and heard the faint sound of a shower running. Rick knocked on the door and took a step backwards.
Rick heard the door unlock and he saw the handle turn; the door swung open slowly and Michonne stood in the doorway. The bathroom door was closed and Rick heard the shower more clearly, he also smelled the fragrance of shampoo and soap on Michonne.
"Good morning," Rick smiled.
Michonne smiled in return. "Good morning."
Rick blushed at Michonne's smile and rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "Uh…it looks like I didn't wake you."
"I thought you'd want to get an early start," Michonne replied.
"Well, I'm sorry the emphasis is on early."
Michonne looked over her shoulder at the alarm clock on the nightstand, looked back at Rick and smiled again. "It's okay. It's a long drive back to the prison."
"You know, Carl asked me if he could sleep for five more minutes."
Michonne chuckled, a rare sound that made Rick smile automatically. "I can sympathize with him; these beds are a lot more comfortable than the prison's cots."
"How did it go rooming with Karen?"
Michonne looked over her shoulder again, this time at the closed bathroom door. "Not too badly," she answered. "But she didn't like me setting the alarm so early. It's good for her that I don't speak Spanish, if you know what I mean."
Rick smiled. "I think I do. Anyway, we'll start gathering up supplies after breakfast, so I'll see you downstairs, okay."
"Fine," Michonne nodded.
Rick turned to his left to continue walking along the hallway when Michonne said, "You didn't shave."
Rick looked at Michonne and blinked. "What?" he asked.
"The stubble; you didn't shave."
Rick's hand went to his face and scratched at the stubble. "Oh, that," he said.
"I thought if you found some shaving equipment in your room, you'd use it. I thought even county sheriff's had a policy against facial hair."
"Well, I did find a razor and shaving cream in the bathroom, but I…thought there wasn't enough time to shave."
"Oh, well, maybe when we get back to the prison, you can find the time," Michonne suggested.
Rick smiled, rubbed the stubble on his chin, and resumed his walk. "Thanks for the advice."
•••
After waking up Daryl and the Woodbury group, Rick took the elevator to the first floor. After stepping onto the lobby, Rick decided to check on the eight glass doors that made up the El Dorado's main entrance before getting breakfast, so he walked towards the vestibule.
There was a large, dark shadow with a thin column of smoke rising from it sitting atop the top step. Rick removed the thumb strap from his holster and his fingers wrapped around the walnut grip of his Colt Python revolver. The shadow turned its head, and Rick saw it was Sora's second-in-command, Harold Singleton; the truck driver was smoking a cigarette.
Rick nodded and let go of his revolver's grip. "Good morning, Harold," he said.
Harold didn't reply, but he looked Rick over. "Good morning, officer," he said coldly.
Why is Harold calling me officer when I said he could call me Rick yesterday? Rick thought.
Harold nodded at Rick's holstered revolver. "You going to shoot me with that hand cannon?" he asked.
Rick glanced at his Colt Revolver and snapped the thumb strap back into place. "Of course not. I'm sorry if I frightened you."
"It takes a lot to scare the piss out of me, especially when I have this."
Harold raised his hands and revealed his MK 18 Mod 0 assault carbine.
"I guess not," Rick said, trying to remain polite in this odd conversation.
"I found this baby when we raided that police station Nate was hiding in. It saved my ass from those geeks five or six times."
"I believe you," Rick said as he looked at the steps where Harold spent the night on sentry duty: beside the truck driver was an LED lantern and a worn paperback novel by Craig Johnson; the book was from the Longmire series and its title was Death Without Company, (the irony almost made Rick laugh aloud). Rick also saw a clay ashtray filled with ashes and crushed cigarette butts, and an open thermos with its lid/cup holding a small amount of coffee, and beside it was a nearly empty bottle of Fireball Cinnamon Whisky.
Damnit, he's been drinking, Rick thought.
Harold noticed Rick's changed expression and asked, "Is something wrong?"
Rick looked at the eight glass doors and asked, "I was just wondering if there was any trouble last night."
Harold looked at the glass doors, took the cigarette from between his lips, and tapped the ashes into the ashtray. "Nope," he answered.
"Did you see any walkers?"
"What the fuck's a walker?"
"That's what we call the dead," Rick explained.
Harold took a drag on his cigarette and blew out the smoke. "I saw a few "walkers" walking across the parking lot. Maybe they remembered they parked here."
Harold threw his head back and laughed loudly.
Damnit, we don't need him like this, Rick thought.
Harold looked up at Rick and asked "Ain't you got a sense of humor, officer?"
"Not at the moment," Rick answered.
Harold chuckled, then took another drag on his cigarette and blew out the smoke.
"You and your people must be happy to finally be leaving this casino," Rick said.
"Yeah, we're thrilled," Harold muttered.
"Does that include Nate too?"
Harold removed his cigarette from between his lips and looked up at Rick again. "What?"
"Nate. I saw how scared that kid was of Miyaguchi, and that card shark made numerous veiled threats towards him. So is Nate okay, or did your boss take his samurai sword and execute him after dinner?"
Harold ground his cigarette into the ashtray, and leapt to his feet as his left hand tightened around the grip of his assault carbine, and stood nose-to-nose with Rick.
"Damn right Nate's okay!" Harold shouted with the aroma of coffee laced with alcohol on his breath. "For a lawyer, the kid's a dumbass, but Miyaghuchi didn't touch him!"
"Why not?" Rick asked.
"Because Nate told Miyaguchi—"
Harold stopped in midsentence; his complexion turned pale and he stared at Rick wide-eyed.
Rick glared at Harold and rested his hand on the walnut grips of his Colt Python revolver. "What did Nate tell Miyaguchi?"
Harold blinked a few times; beads of sweat appeared on his forehead and he wiped them away with his right wrist. "Nate…told Miyaguchi that…he was sorry." Harold panted. "The kid fucked up on sentry duty, but none of our people got killed, so Miyaguchi forgave him."
"Just like that?" Rick asked.
"Just like that," Harold answered.
"That's an odd decision for a leader who came across as being stern."
Harold sat back down on the steps and laid the assault carbine across his lap. "Well, it's an odd world nowadays, ain't it?"
Rick looked back into the lobby, the morning sun made it look as big, luxurious, and empty as it did in the evening.
"Is Miyaguchi awake?" Rick asked.
Henry huffed in annoyance and checked his wristwatch. "He'll be down for breakfast at six o'clock sharp. Those Japs have a hard on for punctuality."
Rick shook his head in disgust at Henry's drunken racism and turned towards the lobby. "Thanks," he said as he walked away.
Harold picked up his cup and looked over his shoulder as Rick walked along the lobby. Yeah, you're welcome, asshole. And thank you for dropping in and giving us all that false hope! Harold thought angrily.
The truck driver drank his mixture of coffee and whisky and put the empty cup down beside his thermos.
Last night at dinner I thought that cop was going to help us get away from that goddamn Jap, Harold thought. But that Juan goes and tells Nate that we just put our lives in the hands of Charles Manson!
Harold lowered his head and remembered the horror he felt as he listened to Juan's story about "The Governor" killing those college kids for their supplies and the similarities he shared with Rick Grimes. Henry was so stunned he didn't hear when Sora twice called his name. Sora curtly instructed Harold to visit each member of their group individually, recount Juan's story to them, and tell them Rick would be dealt with tomorrow morning.
Harold shut his eyes and tears seeped through his closed eyelids as he remembered going up to the penthouse floor, and knocking on the door of the other group members—his friends—and telling them how Rick Grimes would execute them on the side of the road.
The other three reacted to the news differently: Alonso cursed in Spanish, a stunned Frankie asked if that former Atlanta Falcons player Tyreese Coleman was in on Rick's plan (Harold told him "probably"), and Julia cried so fiercely, Harold had to hold her until she calmed down. All of it had worn Harold down, so when he went downstairs to do the late shift hours of sentry duty, he stopped at the tavern and took a bottle of Fireball Cinnamon Whisky; as the hours ticked by, Harold had poured less coffee and more whisky into his cup.
Harold opened his eyes and looked out the El Dorado's front doors; beyond them were the courtyard, the parking lot, and freedom; freedom from Sora Miyaguchi and his arbitrary rules and his cold wrath. Ever since the group had asked the Japanese gambler to be their new leader, they had watched him wield his katana, and execute somebody for various infractions of his rules: deserting the group on a supply run, breaking silence while on a supply run, pocketing supplies for themselves, the waste of the group's resources, and desertion or sleeping while on sentry duty. Harold would argue with Sora respectfully before each execution, and sometimes his efforts were successful, but mostly he found himself and Frankie taking the decapitated body and its head (with a stab wound in its temple to destroy the brain) to the El Dorado's back lot, where they set it afire, and said a prayer for the deceased.
This shit is never going to end, Harold thought sadly. We can hide from the dead, but they'll always be out there, waiting for us to fuck up. Our leaders will always promise us there's a safe place, but they'll get us killed.
We're all going to fucking die, Harold thought. He put his head in his hands and wept.
•••
This isn't the cheerful breakfast I had in mind, Rick thought as he looked around the El Dorado Resturante.
All the excitement the prison group and the Woodbury group had over gathering up supplies and leaving for the prison was extinguished when the El Dorado group shuffled quietly into the restaurant. They now sat at their tables, and picked at their breakfast of plates of Huevos Rotos (Broken Eggs), and let their cups of coffee go cold; Sora was the only one who had walked in with his head up.
What's wrong with these people? Rick thought.
Rick looked at Harold, Alonso, Nate, Frankie, and Julia; all of them glanced at Rick, and when they saw he was looking at them they looked down quickly at their breakfast and covered their faces with their free hands.
I guess nobody likes a cop, even when it's the end of the world, Rick thought. He shrugged and resumed eating his breakfast.
•••
Rick and Sora stood side-by-side as they all three groups standing around the lobby, waiting for instructions. The El Dorado group had placed their personal weapons and luggage in front of the reception desk; Sora held his sheathed katana in his hands.
"Everyone gather around," Rick ordered.
The three groups walked over to Rick and Sora.
"All right, it's a quarter past six. I saw that not everyone had much of an appetite during breakfast, but we've a lot to get done and not much time to do it in."
The El Dorado group shivered. Rick chose to ignore it, while Sora stared ahead coldly.
"Sora, has your group been scavenging the gas stations in Atlanta?"
The Japanese gambler turned towards the sheriff's deputy. "Indeed we have."
"Well, I think it'll be safer if we siphoned gas from the cars in the parking lot. My group brought siphon tubes and gas cans with us."
Rick looked at the group gathered in front of him and said, "Karen. Julia."
The two women stepped forward nervously.
"I want you two to watch the doors while the rest of us are in the parking lot."
"Okay, Rick," Karen said.
Rick nodded in appreciation and said, "Daryl, Michonne, John and Sora."
Rick's second-in-command, the mysterious woman, and the Vietnam veteran stood a bit taller at the sound of their names, while the Japanese gambler turned his head towards the sheriff's deputy.
"I want you four to cover us while we're siphoning gas from those vehicles. No gunfire unless it's necessary. If a herd or scavengers show up and we can't stop them, Karen and Julia will join us in the parking lot and we all get in the cars and get the hell out of here."
"Wait a minute. You want us to leave our stuff here?!" Frankie asked.
"Okay," Rick ordered with his hands raised for calm. "If a herd or scavengers force us inside the casino, we'll be trapped in here. I'd rather all of us got out of here with nothing, instead of sitting on all the supplies and waiting for the doors to be knocked down!"
The El Dorado group looked at Sora, who gestured for them to step back; they lowered their heads and followed his orders.
After waiting a few moments for his orders to sink in for the casino group, Rick said "Harold."
Sora's second-in-command raised his head and looked at Rick.
"While we're in the parking lot, you should look for a vehicle that can carry your group."
Harold drunkenly pointed a thumb over his shoulder. "But, my truck—"
"We can't take your semi; it's too loud and attracts too much attention."
Harold threw his hand down to his side, huffed, and tried to keep his balance.
"Any questions?" Rick asked.
The three groups looked around, but nobody replied to Rick's question or raised a hand.
"Okay, let's get to work," Rick said.
•••
Two pairs of the eight glass doors were opened and their stops were set down. Daryl, Michonne, John, and Sora stepped outside with their weapons in hand. After walking across the courtyard, they took strategic spots in the parking lot, and kept lookout for threats of any kind.
Rick, Carl, and the others walked out next. Karen, armed with her M4A1 rifle, and Julia, armed with her Ithaca 37 "Stakeout" shotgun, guarded the casino's open doors. When the El Dorado group looked at the fountain in the courtyard's center, they saw the mangled, dead walkers Rick had run over with his truck last night; their complexions turned white and hands covered their mouths to prevent themselves from vomiting what little food was in their stomachs.
Floyd saw his Berretta 92FS pistol that Michonne had kicked away last night; he walked over to the pistol and picked it up.
"Floyd," Rick said.
The retired postal worker looked at Rick.
"Remember what I said last night: if you ever aim a gun at one of my people again, I'll kill you myself."
Floyd nodded fearfully and stuck the pistol inside his waistband.
The El Dorado group watched Rick confront Floyd; Harold chuckled in amusement, while the others eyed the sheriff's deputy fearfully.
Rick led everyone to his group's trucks; they took the empty gas tanks and siphon tubes from the truck beds, and walked onto the parking lot. From there, they split up into teams of two, broke open the lids to the gas tanks of several vehicles, and began siphoning the gas out of them.
Several minutes into the work, Harold said in a drunken voice, "Hey, officer."
Rick—who was siphoning gas from a BMW 325i sedan—turned around and saw Harold standing in the next row of parked vehicles.
"Yeah, Harold?" Rick asked.
"I think this Dodge Grand Caravan will carry my guys," Harold answered, as he patted the vehicle's hood.
"That's good, Harold," Rick replied with a nod. "Just leave it alone until we've loaded all the supplies. We can't risk the engine attracting any attention."
Rick went back to siphoning gas from the BMW, while Harold laid his elbows on the Dodge's hood, put his head in his hands again and muttered, "Fuck you, psycho."
Nearly an hour later, the gas tanks were filled and the trucks and Daryl's motorcycle were refueled. The gas tanks and siphon tubes were placed back in the truck beds and Rick led the three groups back into the El Dorado.
•••
"Karen, Julia, keep watching those doors." Rick ordered.
"You've got it, Rick," Karen nodded.
Rick, Carl, and Sora walked across the lobby, with the others trailing behind them.
"Is it true you built an armory here?" Rick asked Sora.
Sora nodded. "Indeed, compliments of the Atlanta Police Department."
Rick stopped walking and turned around. Everyone else came to a halt and awaited their orders.
"Michonne, John, Nate, Frankie, and Tyreese, go with Sora to the armory and gather up the ammo. Daryl, Alonso, Juan, Floyd, and Sam, go to the pantry and gather up the food. Both groups will bring the supplies to the lobby. After that, we'll load the supplies onto the trucks, and head for the prison."
"We're not taking the guns?" Frankie asked incredulously.
"We have plenty guns at the prison," Rick answered.
"Hey, what about me?" Harold whined, his voice sounded hurt.
Rick looked Harold over, the truck driver's eyes were bloodshot and his balance was wobbly.
"Lie down on the sofa, Harold. It'll take a while for all of us to gather up the supplies."
Harold staggered towards one of the lobby's sofas, lied down, and fell asleep immediately.
Sora glared at his drunken second-in-command and shook his head. "Americans," he said in disgust.
Rick looked at the giant clock with Roman numerals above the front desk. "All right everyone, let's get back to work."
"These two groups will need moving equipment," Sora said. "I suggest you all follow me."
Karen and Julia returned to the main entrance, while Daryl's and Michonne's groups reluctantly followed Sora through the vaulted doorway to the right of the stone staircase, Rick and Carl were now alone in the lobby.
"Uh, what are we going to do, Dad?" Carl asked bewilderedly.
Rick put his hands on hips looked around the lobby. "Well, I did leave my rifle and pistol in our room, so we better go upstairs and get them."
Rick walked across the lobby, but instead of going toward the elevators, he went to the hotel map that was bolted onto the wall.
"Is that all?" Carl asked as he walked hurriedly to catch up with his father.
Rick studied the map for a few moments, and then he looked down at Carl and grinned. "No, we'll clear out the infirmary. It'll probably just have aspirin, cough syrup, and bandages, but we've got to take all of it with us."
"Okay," Carl nodded.
A grin appeared on Rick's face. "Wait a minute: you still have to find that guitar for Beth."
"Ugh, Dad—"Carl grumbled as he pulled the brim of his battered Stetson down over his face to hide his reddening complexion.
"The theater is on the first floor, past the roulette room" Rick announced as he tapped the map with his index finger. "You'll find a guitar there."
"Great," Carl mumbled.
Rick patted Carl on the shoulder and father and son walked away from the map and through the vaulted entrance that Daryl, Michonne, and the others went through minutes before.
"Do you want to stop at the gift shop and have the guitar gift wrapped?" Rick teased.
Carl mumbled again and Rick smiled.
•••
Michonne and Sora walked along a hallway to one of the storage rooms; Daryl and his group, along with Michonne's group were following them.
"You have no right to wield that sword," Sora said as he looked straight ahead.
Michonne glared at Sora. "Excuse me?" she asked.
"The samurai sword; it is a noble weapon, perhaps the noblest weapon to ever be crafted in history. A Black American woman has no right to wield it."
Michonne's hands balled into fists, but she kept calm and looked at Sora's clothes. "A Japanese man has no right to wear an Italian tailored suit," she said.
Sora turned his head towards Michonne, his eyes burning with anger and his teeth barred. Michonne wasn't intimidated by Sora's display of anger. Behind Michonne, Daryl snorted in amusement.
Sora looked over his shoulder at Daryl, who didn't hide his grin.
A few moments later, Sora and the two groups stopped at a storage room. Sora propped his katana against the wall, dug into his pocket, and pulled out a key ring with a dozen keys looped through it. Sora selected one key, placed it in the lock, and turned it. A click was heard and Sora withdrew the key and stepped away from the doors.
"Mr. Tatum," Sora said.
"Yes, sir," Nate said as he stepped forward, opened the doors and reached inside. Another click was heard, and a light came on from storage room's ceiling to reveal the interior: chairs stacked into columns, folded tables against the walls, storage shelves holding cardboard boxes and loose items, but what caught everyone's attention were the hand trucks and flatbed carts.
Tyreese patted John's shoulder and said, "Come on."
Tyreese and John stepped inside the storage room, followed by Alonso, Juan, Frankie, and Sam. A few moments later they all stepped out wheeling a hand truck or a flatbed cart.
Frankie looked at Sora, who was removing two keys from the key ring.
"Aren't you going to help us, boss?" Frankie asked.
"I am helping," Sora answered. "I unlocked the storage room door, and now I am handing out the keys to the pantry and the armory."
Sora underhanded tossed the keys to Michonne and Daryl, they caught them.
"Be careful that you do not strain yourselves lifting all those supplies," Sora said as he picked up his sheathed katana and walked past the two groups. "I will be in the lobby, meditating."
"He's just like the Japs that put the factory I worked in out of business," John grumbled as he watched Sora fade from view.
"Forget about him," Michonne said comfortingly. "Let's get those supplies."
•••
The prison group, the Woodbury group, and the El Dorado group pushed or pulled the hand trucks and flatbed carts along the courtyard; these carts were loaded with cardboard boxes filled with the casino's meager medical supplies and boxes of various calibers of ammunition and firearm cleaning supplies.
"I've got one! I've got one!" Carl said happily as he walked into the lobby while carrying a heavy acoustic guitar case with both hands.
Rick smiled at his son's enthusiasm. Rick had his M4A1 rifle slung over his shoulder, and in his left hand he carried a tote bag that he found in the gift shop with the El Dorado's name and logo printed on it; inside the tote bag was Carl's aluminum baseball bat suppressor, and his Glock 19 pistol, but Rick had removed its Maglite suppressor.
"He's wanted to play the guitar for a while huh?" Michonne asked Rick as her hooded cape snapped in the light mid-morning breeze.
"Eh, I think he's too young for that," Rick quipped.
"Huh?" Michonne asked.
Carl blushed and groaned with embarrassment. He tried to lift the guitar case into the Dodge Ram's truck bed, but it was too heavy. Rick placed his rifle and the tote bag inside the truck's cab, and then he stepped to the side, gently took the guitar case from his son, and placed it inside the truck bed.
"All right, let's get the medical supplies loaded onto the trucks," Rick ordered. "Put the ammo in the bread truck; there're no gas tanks in there."
"It'll take a few trips to clear out the pantry," Daryl said as he watched the highway for a herd of walkers or a group of scavengers.
"We'll clear it out or put a dent in it," Rick said as he put his rifle and the tote bag inside the Dodge Ram's cab. "We need every morsel of food we can take back to the prison."
"What about our stuff?" Frankie asked angrily.
"We'll load the supplies first. Then we'll break open the Dodge, load up the luggage, and get the engine started," Rick answered.
The casino group looked at their leader Sora, who wore a black trench coat over his black suit. Sora raised a hand to signal a halt, and his group nodded their understanding.
•••
For nearly an hour, the three groups worked on emptying the El Dorado's pantry: the hand trucks and flatbed carts were now loaded with cardboard boxes filled with canned foods, boxes of cereal, breakfast and dinner meals; bags of potatoes or rice, and cans of powdered milk. Daryl, Michonne, John, and Sora resumed their sentry duties in the parking lot, while Karen and Julia stood guard at the El Dorado's open doors.
Daryl, his poncho draped over his shoulders like a cloak, watched the highway. His eyes narrowed, and then he whistled. It was a whistle Rick and Carl knew well from their group's nomadic winter: a warning.
Rick looked over at Daryl, and then he looked at what his second-in-command was staring at: a large herd of walkers staggering up the highway from Atlanta.
"Oh my God," Rick whispered in shock.
The others in the parking lot realized that Rick was looking at something on the highway, and they looked in that direction too.
"It's the geeks!" Frankie shouted.
"Oh, shit!" Sam added.
"All right, don't panic," Rick said as he stepped forward with his right hand in the air to signal calm.
In the parking lot, Sora turned around and began walking across the courtyard; John followed him.
"No shooting!" Rick shouted. "The gunfire will draw their attention!"
Karen and Julia abandoned the El Dorado's front doors and ran across the courtyard.
"It's the geeks! The geeks are coming this way!" Julia shouted.
"We've got to get out here!" Karen added.
"We will," Rick agreed. "But we can't panic. That herd is at least ten minutes away from us."
"And they might've not seen us," Michonne added as she and Daryl ran onto the courtyard.
"Right," Rick nodded. "We can drive out of here easily if we're calm and quiet."
Sora and John walked onto the courtyard. John stood alongside his group, while Sora kept walking until he stood in front of Rick.
Harold, get that Dodge open and hotwired! Julia, Nate, and Alonso, get the luggage!"
Sora looked at the four members of his group that Rick had given orders; they didn't move.
Rick blinked. "Why are you all just standing there?"
Sora gave an angry scream and punched Rick in the stomach, knocking him to the ground.
Rick coughed and tried to sit up, but Sora stepped on his chest, forcing him on his back again.
"My associates take orders from me, not you," Sora said.
"Dad!" Carl shouted. He ran to help his father, but Sora grabbed the boy and tossed him towards Julia, who wrapped her left arm around his throat, knocking his battered Stetson off his head in the process. As Carl struggled to break free, Julia dropped her Ithaca 37 "Stakeout" shotgun and drew the boy's own Beretta 92FS pistol before he could get it.
Daryl started to raise his Stryker Strykezone 380 crossbow to his shoulder, and Michonne started to unsheathe her katana, but the casino group was faster.
"Drop the fucking crossbow!" Harold ordered as he aimed his assault carbine at Daryl.
Daryl stopped but held onto his weapon.
Michonne had her sword partially drawn, but stopped when she saw Nate aiming his AR-15 rifle at her.
"It sucks to be caught with your pants down, huh?" Nate quipped.
Michonne looked at Daryl, who looked at her, both were uncertain as to what they should do.
Tyreese started to run forward, but he came to a halt when a body leapt into his path.
"I'm sorry, Tyreese," Frankie said as he aimed his HK UMP45 submachine gun at the former football player.
Karen started to raise her M4A1 rifle to her shoulder, but stopped when Alonso aimed his M16A4 assault rifle at her.
John began to draw his Colt M1911A1 pistol out of his holster, but Juan grabbed his arm.
"No! Don't get involved!" Juan pleaded.
"What the fuck are you doing?!" John shouted as he tried to push Juan away.
"This is for the best and you know it!" Juan replied as he tightened his grip on John's arm.
Floyd and Sam dropped their pistols and raised their hands in surrender.
"Hey! You guys have a problem with Rick Grimes, not us!" Floyd cried.
"Yeah, look at what that son of a bitch did to my face!" Sam shouted as he pointed at his bruises.
Sora looked over his shoulder at Floyd and Sam and said, "Silence."
Floyd and Sam nodded and obeyed Sora's order.
Sora took his foot off Rick's chest and stepped back. "Tell your people to drop their weapons," he said.
Rick sat up and looked at Carl, being held captive by Julia. "Let go of my son!" he ordered.
Sora wrapped his hand around the handle of his sheathed katana. "I will not ask you a second time," he warned.
Rick lowered his head in defeat and said, "Drop your weapons."
Daryl dropped his crossbow, Karen dropped her rifle, and John dropped his pistol. Michonne returned her partially drawn katana to its scabbard, unslung it from her back, and dropped it to the ground.
Rick looked past Sora and at the herd staggering up the highway; they were so close he could hear their growling. "We've got to leave now," he said firmly.
"Indeed, but not with you," Sora said.
Sora drew his katana and the mid-morning light reflected off the sharp blade. He pointed the katana's tip at Rick's throat.
"Dad!" Carl screamed in fright as he struggled to break free from Julia's grip.
"Goodbye, Officer Grimes," Sora said.