Day 199: 16 Feb 2011
I'd just gotten back from work tonight -- late flight into Vegas, 20 minutes in traffic -- when Black called. I hadn't even put down my fucking keys yet.
"Cassie, it's Jason Black," he said, though I knew his voice cold by now.
"Is Travis with you?"
He was, and I said so.
"Good. We're getting more seismic readings. We need to investigate."
"Dude. I haven't even had dinner yet, yo."
"Sorry. Can't be helped. They're extremely localized this time, and they're in town."
"Here in Vegas?"
"Right under The Strip. Las Vegas Boulevard and Flamingo Road. Jared and I are on a chopper right now."
"Fine. We'll meet you there," I said, sighing.
"What's up?" Travis asked as I hung up the phone.
"Work," I said, shrugging. "I'll explain on the way."
Twenty more minutes in traffic -- The Strip was packed tonight. We finally just parked near Harrah's. Walking was going to be quicker, anyway. As we got closer to the intersection Black had indicated, the crowd thinned out just a bit. And as we made it to the street, we saw why.
There, standing in the middle of the road, was a man with his arms outstretched. He looked familiar -- big black guy. I knew I'd seen him before. He was missing his right eye.
"Holy shit," I managed to cough.
"New Orleans. He led me up to Thule, but he turned on us. He was a. . . uh. . . what do you call it? Worshiper of the God of the Land."
"He got away?" Travis asked.
"No," Jason Black said, walking up behind us. "I shot him. Right in the fucking face with an M4. He should be dead."
"He is dead," Jared said quietly, rolling up next to Black. "Very dead."
"Then how --" I started, but Ronan turned to us then and smiled widely.
"Hello, friends," he said, his voice low and raspy. Like his throat was filled with gravel. He dropped his arms back down to his sides, and the ground started to shake around us. Windows shattered, and car alarms went aggro.
"What the fuck is happening?" someone yelled.
Ronan stared right at us.
"He is coming," Ronan said, barely holding in his laughter.