Homefront: The Voice of Freedom (21 page)

Salmusa bristled at the announcer’s depiction of his people.

“You know, folks, that just goes to show you that Americans are not going to just lie down and let those cowardly, slimy, emotionless, cold-hearted
bugs
that crawled out from under a rock run over us. Those Norks may think they’re winning, but I’m hearing more and more accounts of the opposite.

“Say, I hear they call Kim Jong-un the ‘Brilliant Comrade.’ Well, from now on, on this radio station, he’s going to be known as the Idiot Comrade. Did
you know he comes from a long line of mutant baboons? His father was a baboon, his grandfather was a baboon, his entire family … baboons! Oh, I’m sorry, maybe that’s an insult to the rest of the baboons. Heh heh, I got that one from Groucho Marx. I tell you what, faithful listeners. Let’s have a contest. Whoever sends me the worst insult—or maybe I should say the
best
insult—for Kim
Dung-
un, I’ll deliver it on the air and we can all have a good laugh at the Idiot Comrade’s expense.”

Fuming, Salmusa felt the blood rushing to his head. He had to stop this disrespect and dishonor. Now.

“I’m sorry, folks, I tend to get a little emotional. And here I am about to play music that’s all about peace and love. Maybe that’ll calm me down. Up next is John Lennon’s solo masterpiece, his album from 1971,
Imagine.
”

The music began and Salmusa glanced at Byun. The young assistant shook his head and made a “tsk tsk” sound. Salmusa turned to one of the operators. “Do you know where that signal is coming from?”

“Yes, sir,” the technician replied. “We’ve used signal interceptors and triangulating signal positions to pinpoint where it is. Las Vegas, Nevada.”

Salmusa nodded. He pushed past Byun and went back to his office to make a call to Kim Jong-un. He had known for months that the GKR’s work at Hoover Dam provided Las Vegas with luxuries other occupied cities did not enjoy. As there was never any reason for the Koreans to waste time and resources with that useless community in the desert, they had reluctantly and carelessly left the city alone.

It was now apparent that Sin City had to go.

JANUARY 24, 2026

The anniversary of the Korean invasion gave people cause to reflect. On the evening of January 16, hundreds of Las Vegas citizens gathered on the Strip, lining the blocks from the old Mandalay Bay Resort to downtown. Several ministers, a priest, and a rabbi from various congregations in the city conducted a candlelight vigil just after sunset. Walker and Wilcox attended; in fact, Walker was asked to say a few words, as he’d become something of a celebrity in town. He politely declined.

Ever since that somber occasion, Walker began having nightmares. He’d wake in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, alarming Kelsie, but unable to remember the dreams. All he knew was that they were premonitions of something bad about to happen. He didn’t know what was coming, but he suggested to Wilcox that they stay prepared. They packed backpacks with emergency supplies—water, food, first aid—and fashioned a carrying case for their jury-rigged radio transmitter/receiver. The antenna was designed to collapse, umbrella-style, to the size of a ruler. Unfortunately, the generator was too heavy and cumbersome to consider taking in haste.

But the days passed without incident and life in Sin
City went on as before. Walker continued his DJ Ben broadcasts, and he and Wilcox carried on as if they were married.

Then, just after midnight, on the twenty-fourth, Walker’s forewarnings came true.

The couple was asleep in their room. The cool January breeze blew through the open windows and made their home in Caesars Palace quite comfortable. Street noise was nonexistent. All was quiet and peaceful, until the low hum of airplanes woke Wilcox. She opened her eyes and listened. The community was used to a Korean-controlled U.S. military aircraft flying overhead every now and then, usually headed east or west. This sounded more ominous. There were
many
planes.

“Ben, wake up,” she nudged.

“Hmm?”

“Wake up. Listen.”

“What?”

“Planes.” She got up and looked out the window. At first she couldn’t see anything, but then the blinking lights in the sky caught her attention. “Ben, there’s a bunch of planes coming this way.”

Then a massive explosion rocked their world. Wilcox screamed. Walker jumped out of bed and joined her at the window.

Another detonation, this one much closer.

“My God, what’s going on?” she cried.

“We’re being bombed!”

They scrambled to get on their clothes. Wilcox rushed into the bathroom and gathered a few necessities while Walker grabbed the M4 and ammunition.

Another explosion. This time, they felt the hotel lurch.

“Kelsie, we gotta run! Grab your backpack. We have to get outta here!”

They saw flashes of bright light through the window. Fires burned in the distance. Walker paused long enough to see an American F-35 drop its payload right on top of Harrah’s, right across the street. He felt the impact’s sonic boom as a fireball engulfed the huge hotel. Glass and steel flew out from the impact.

“Go!” he shouted.

They scrambled out the door with their backpacks and other things. Dozens of residents were already in the hallway, panicked and confused.

“Everyone get out of the building!” Walker shouted. They headed for the stairwell with the rest of the crowd, but there were too many people. The exit became bottlenecked, forcing the desperate ones to push and shove.

Amidst the screams were shouts of “Take it easy!” “Keep calm!” “Stop pushing!” “Get out of the way!” Walker and Wilcox felt crushed as they squeezed through the stairwell door. The stampede carried them to the stairs, where things grew more precarious.

Another explosion jolted everyone off balance. Dozens fell down the stairs to the next landing. The ones who got to their feet first trampled on the people who couldn’t get up in time.

Mass hysteria.

Walker and Wilcox were aware they were stepping on human beings but there was nothing they could do. The swarm had a life of its own and there was no fighting it. If they could simply remain upright, the mad charge would do the rest.

When the throng reached the second-floor landing, chunks of plaster rained from above. Several residents were hit on the head and collapsed, causing those behind them to trip and fall. Another wave of
bodies crashed down the next set of stairs as the pandemonium increased in intensity. Wilcox was almost sucked with them but Walker quickly grabbed her by the waist to keep her from plummeting. At the same time, however, the mass behind them kept pushing forward, which created an avalanche of people. There was nothing to do but ride the surge, locked between arms and legs and torsos. Walker gripped the M4 as tightly as possible with one hand while holding on to Wilcox with the other. A foot slammed into his face, busting his lip, just as the rolling accumulation of humans smashed into the wall at the bottom of the stairwell.

At least the descent was over. Those that were able stood and ran into the lobby, leaving the injured piled on top of one another, struggling to break free.

Another explosion. The stairwell actually
shifted
, causing larger concrete pieces to drop on the helpless heap. Walker saw that Wilcox was dazed—she must have been hit by something or someone. He squirmed out of the stack of writhing bodies, managed to stand, and pulled on her arms. She slipped out just as the entire stairwell caved in, burying the stragglers.

They ran into the casino, which was ablaze in several spots. The couple zigzagged through the maze of flames as portions of the ceiling collapsed around them.

Yet another explosion. And another.

A wall of heat and flames erupted from the building’s core and rushed at the crowd of civilians, racing them to the exits. But just as Walker and Wilcox reached the main lobby, the floor buckled and swept dozens off their feet. The couple collided into a glass display case, shattering it to bits and lacerating Wilcox’s arms and legs. It saved their lives, for the lobby ceiling completely collapsed behind them, killing everyone else.

“Can you get up?” Walker whispered.

She was in tears and frightened out of her wits, but she nodded. As he helped her out of the mound of broken glass, Walker saw that he, too, was cut badly in several places. They were both covered in blood.

Outside, the city was another Dresden. Frantic citizens filled the street, running for their lives. The swarm headed south, the closest way out of the city. Walker looked up in horror as he saw the F-35s make way for a squadron of B-2s that began circling and dropping their deadly consignment. He knew it wasn’t going to stop until the entire city was rubble.

“Can you run?”

She nodded.

They followed the exodus, which from the sky likely resembled frenzied insects fleeing exterminators. Buildings all around them were partially or fully demolished and burning. The boulevard itself was an obstacle course of flaming chunks of debris. Charred and broken corpses littered the road. Every few seconds Walker saw someone on fire, screaming in agony, running blindly toward a private hell.

Miraculously the couple made it to the intersection of Las Vegas and Tropicana Boulevards. Sheriff Mack stood in the middle, waving the evacuation southward. Half of his uniform was blackened; his left side and face were badly burned, yet he continued to do his duty.

“Mack!” Walker shouted. “Come on, don’t stand here! They can find their way, there’s no other place to go!”

The man shook his head and yelled back. It was difficult to hear over the screams, the bomb blasts, and the crashing of buildings. “I’m the captain! I go down with the ship!”

“Don’t be daft! There’s nothing you can do!”

“Go on, Walker! If I see you again, great. If not, it’s been real nice knowing you!” He leaned over and kissed Wilcox’s bloody cheek. “Kelsie, take care of him.” He looked at Walker. “And
you
take care of
her
! Go! Go!” He pushed them on; the couple couldn’t afford to stand there and argue. They left him in the intersection and continued south.

More explosions behind them. Walker didn’t dare look back. He knew the bombers were now targeting the fleeing civilians. Up ahead, the fiery remains of the Excalibur and Tropicana Hotels spilled onto the Strip. Black, debris-filled smoke blanketed the streets, making it extremely difficult to see and breathe. Getting around the ruins was a challenge; too often people blindly ran into pieces of buildings. Fireballs and stone fragments continued to soar through the air, hitting the ground haphazardly. Repeatedly a human was in the way.

Eventually they made it to McCarran Airport, which was also in ruins. Another mile or two to go and they’d be out of the city limits. Despite the lack of oxygen, their wounds, and exhaustion, the couple didn’t stop running. But just as they reached the I-215 overpass, another bomb struck the road in front of them. Walker tackled Wilcox and covered her body with his own as a gale of combustion and wreckage shot toward them. Hard, hot fragments of pavement pelted their backs, but the worst of the blast gushed over them. The unfortunate ones who hadn’t hit the dirt were killed instantly.

They laid there for a minute until the rumble diminished a bit. Walker looked up and squinted through the smoke. The overpass was destroyed and there was no way they could get through to continue south.

“We have to take another way. Come on.”

Wilcox went to stand, but as she got up she grimaced in pain. “Ow! Fuck, my ankle. I must have sprained it.”

He helped her move toward a golf course on the left. Some of the greens were ablaze, but there seemed to be a safe passage leading east. A few people followed their lead and trailed behind as the couple half ran, half limped across the ground. Walker and Wilcox ducked reflexively at the roar overhead as the bombers turned for another pass. It was at this point that he laid eyes on the annihilation that spread to the north. He had never seen anything like it. Even the aftermath of the EMP in Los Angeles was nothing remotely similar to the tragic display in front of him. Las Vegas was gone. In its place was a burning, smoking mass of devastation that most likely had buried thousands of human beings. He knew then that he and Kelsie were among the lucky ones. They weren’t out of danger yet, but areas farther south that led to the edge of the city limits were untouched.

“Come on, Kelsie, you can make it.” She moaned in pain as he helped her along. “We have to keep moving.”

Putting weight on her injured ankle, she nodded. “I’m okay.” Only then did she get a good look at him. “You’re covered in blood.”

“So are you, sweetheart.” He kissed her. “Come on.”

They maneuvered out of the golf course and ended up on Sunset Road. This led them to the intersection of Gilespie Street, from which there appeared to be a clear thoroughfare under I-215 going south. They moved toward it as quickly as possible, deathly afraid the bombers would return to finish them off. Once they got to Warm Springs Road, they turned west toward Las Vegas Boulevard to follow it out of
town. After what seemed to be an eon of running, Wilcox had to stop at Pebble Road. She sat on a curb and nursed her leg.

“You were lying about your ankle,” Walker said. “It
is
bothering you.”

“Shut up. I can make it. Just give me a sec.”

“We don’t have much farther to go. A couple of miles maybe.”

“Great. Then we’ll be in the desert in the middle of the night. Oh, Ben, how could this happen? Why did they do this? Why leave us alone for a year and suddenly decide to kick the shit out of us? What
good
does it do them?”

“It’s so they can show us who’s boss. They did it because they
can.
”

After a couple of minutes, she let him help her up. She tried her ankle again and said, “It’s better. It really is. It’s probably just bruised, not sprained. Let’s go.”

Exhausted and demoralized, they walked the rest of the way toward the southern end of the city where civilization faded into wilderness. There, they joined a group of a hundred people or more that stood in terrified silence, watching the once majestic, controversial, and historic city they loved burn to the ground. No more casinos, showgirls, circus acts, comedy teams, high-rollers, gangsters, or tourists. No more jackpots, royal flushes, or dreams of fortune.