Shakes grunted and spoke in a low tone so only Wes could hear him. “Don’t take the blood money. Snitching on border jumpers is for cowards. We’re no thieves. C’mon, boss, let’s do the job. Think of what we could get with twenty thousand watts. A warm bath, and not just at the hostel either, but at a real hotel. The Bellagio even. The Sweet Suite.”
“It’s too risky,” Wes argued. “We can’t all die because she wants out.” It wasn’t just about the credits. He couldn’t put their lives on the line. He knew what awaited them in the black waters, and he had no desire to see if Bradley had found someone else to do that job. If he took her out there, they would be targets, vulnerable to scavengers and opportunists, if they even made it that far, if the food didn’t run out . . . “She seems like a nice kid, but . . .” He understood Shakes’s desire to help out, he really did, but the journey was too uncertain, no matter how badly they needed the watts. “Farouk, on my count—”
“Wait! Boss, hold on, hold on, hear me out!” Shakes protested.
Farouk looked up at Wes questioningly. Wes waved off the assault for now. “What is it?”
“I heard she might have the map,” Shakes whispered urgently.
Wes stared hard at Shakes. “And you’re just telling me this now?”
His friend looked chagrined. “I know it sounds crazy, so I didn’t want to mention it earlier, but . . .” He looked around to make sure the rest of the team couldn’t hear him.
“Did she show it to you?” Wes asked. “Was it like some kind of stone or something? An opal or an emerald?”
“No. She didn’t even mention it. I was talking to Manny the other day, and he asked me if I knew what the police were looking for in Old Joe’s place when they took him. Seemed real important since they tore the place apart. Whatever it was, Manny thinks maybe she has it. He saw Joe hand her something at the casino, right before he disappeared.”
That got his attention. Like Shakes, Wes had heard that Josephus Chang had won Anaximander’s Map in a legendary card game.
The map the whole world was looking for. But there is no map, because there’s no such thing as the Blue, Wes thought. It was wishful thinking on everyone’s part. Escape to another world. Anaximander’s Map was the biggest scam in New Vegas if Wes had ever heard of one.
But Joe had insisted the map was real. The old shark was one of the best poker players in Vegas, and supposedly he’d won it from a guy who had given him a bushel of apples as proof. The genetic code for the fruit had been lost for years; there were no more apples since the Big Freeze. Wes always wondered why Joe had stuck around, why he didn’t just up and leave immediately if he had it in his possession.
So they’d gotten to Old Joe but hadn’t been able to retrieve the treasure he’d held. Now, that was something to think about. If Nat had it, she was worth much more than mere bounty money.
“How much do you think we’d get for it?” Shakes asked.
“Who knows,” said Wes.
“What do they want it for anyway?”
“Isn’t it obvious? This world is dead. If there is another world out there—with blue skies, fresh water, food—they’re going to take it. They wouldn’t even let Texas leave the union, and there’s nothing there but frozen cow dung.”
“Let’s take the map,” Shakes said. “Could solve all our problems. Keep the crew happy, keep the military off our backs.”
“I thought we weren’t thieves,” Wes said with a crafty smile.
Shakes returned it with one of his own.
“So we play the long game,” said Wes, nodding. He saw the truth in it. If he took the map, handed it to Bradley, they would have work, credits; he’d be able to run an even bigger crew, maybe set themselves up as a private security force, have a real future in Vegas. Enough begging for scraps, enough humiliation, enough of the food lines forever.
But he wasn’t a thief. If he took the map, and if the Blue was real . . . it was Santonio all over again.
Maybe it didn’t matter. Maybe he was damned either way already.
And even if this blackjack dealer did have the map, Wes didn’t think she would simply hand it over. She was too smart for that . . .
The team looked to their leader.
Wes clasped his hands. Map or not, she was still asking a lot of his men. When they joined his team, he’d promised to keep them alive as best as he could. “All right. Let’s put it to a vote. We get in and take her out, collect the bounty, or we do what she wants, do the work, and get paid.”
“Heard they’ve upped it to eight hundred a head for a jumper these days,” Daran sniffed.
Zedric nodded. That made two votes for bounty.
“How d’you plan on getting across the ocean anyway?” Daran asked.
“I’ll figure it out when we get there.” Wes shrugged. He’d never been one to plan ahead. “Shakes?”
“You know what I think.”
“Two for blood, one for life. ’Rouk?” Wes asked.
“Screw it. I wanna see the black water, why not.” Farouk shrugged.
Kaboom! This was it. Sparks flew from the Acropolis stage. The sound was deafening; even the air vibrated from the force of the explosion.
“Your orders, sir,” Farouk yelled.
“We do the deal,” he said finally. “We take her where she wants to go and we all come back rich and alive.” When it came down to it, Shakes was right, trading her in for bounty money was a coward’s move. The trip would be dangerous, sure, but in the end, they needed to work, and she had the credits. And if she had the map . . . well . . . he would keep his cards close to the vest for now.
He stared Daran in the eye. “You in? Get out now if you’re not.”
Daran held his gaze, then looked away, shrugging.
Wes nodded. Daran would follow orders like a soldier. Wes had taken the brothers on his team when no one else would—he’d heard of their reputations as burnouts but he thought he could rehabilitate them into better stuff—and so far, as surly as they were, they hadn’t failed him.
The team exhaled. Shakes smiled. Farouk began dismantling the bombs.
Wes took a comb from his back pocket and smoothed his hair. “Let’s go knock on her door.”
10
NAT DIDN’T KNOW WHAT TO MAKE OF RYAN Wesson—whether she wanted to slap him or kiss him. Slap him, definitely. He looked so smug, standing at her doorway, with his hair slicked back and his collar turned up, a gun belt strapped low on his hips, his beat-up vest shrugged off his shoulders like some kind of snow cowboy, grinning as if he’d won the fireball lottery.
She’d just left the casino that evening, only a few hours after closing the deal with Shakes, and while she had impressed upon him her need to leave immediately, she was still surprised at how quickly Wes had appeared.
“Hey there, remember me?” His voice was low and pleasantly hoarse, sexy, she thought, just like all the rest of him. Nat shoved the thought out of her mind. He’s a runner and a con man, she reminded herself. A liar.
“How could I forget?” she asked.
“Ryan Wesson,” he said, offering a hand.
“Like the gun or the cooking oil?”
His grin broadened. “What about you, Nat? Like the insect or the princess?”
“Clever,” she said. “Neither.”
“Right. Just call me Wes, okay by you?”
“Fair enough.” Nat nodded, and shook his hand.
“I believe you have something of mine,” he said. “Four platinum chips, perhaps?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she retorted. Too bad for him. She’d taken her chance when Wes didn’t.
Sucker.
“You’re cute when you’re lying.” He smiled. “But since you have them and I don’t, I guess the only way to get them back is to take you where you want to go. So hop to it, peaches.”
“I’m ready,” she said, showing him her packed bag.
He tried to hide his surprise. “Once we drop you off at
New Crete, I’m taking my boys back to Vegas. You’re on your own, no matter what we find there. We’re not sticking around after that. Got it?”
“Who says I want you to stick around,” she said tartly.
His dark eyes sparkled. “Careful, you might change your mind about that once you get to know me.”
“Doubt it,” she said, even as her cheeks flushed a little.
“Gotta say, you don’t look like someone who believes in that hoodoo stuff about some door to nirvana in the ocean,” he told her.
“Excuse me?”
“Come on, New Crete? You’re looking for the Blue, just like all the true believers.”
“I’ll keep my reasons to myself, won’t I? I’m paying for passage, not therapy.”
“All right, all right,” he said. “No questions asked, that’s our motto. Can’t help but be a little curious is all. You got the deposit?”
Half the fee. Right. She handed him two of the platinum chips.
He smiled. “Let’s go. Breaking curfew’s not going to be easy.”
She followed him out to an LTV parked in the alley behind her building. The truck was painted with a swirl of white arctic camouflage, and even its wheels were cut from a thick white rubber that rendered it almost invisible. It was a modified Hummer, with three rows of seats and a cargo hold in the back.
He opened the door and hustled her inside.
In the row behind her were a few guys dressed in thermals and gray-and-white snow camos outfitted with an impressive array of weapons. She wasn’t surprised to find the guy who’d drawn a gun on her the other day was part of the team.
“You’ve met Daran,” Wes said. “That’s his brother, Zedric, and that’s Farouk. Guys, this is Nat, our new client.”
“Well, hello again,” Daran said, as he shook her hand just a little too long. “Sorry about the thing at the Loss. All in a day’s work, right?”
She regarded him coolly. “Where’s Shakes?” she asked, looking for the boy with the friendly smile.
“Hey, Nat,” Shakes said, turning around from the driver’s seat.
She smiled, seemingly relieved Shakes was here, and Wes felt a hint of jealousy at that.
She was even prettier than he remembered, the kind of girl who could get anyone to do anything for her, he thought. A mouth on her, too, and she sure hadn’t blinked when he accused her of stealing those chips. Still, he’d been sure she would fold; her room was warm and cozy. No palace, but a place to call home. Why not use those credits for something else? He wanted to tell her not to waste it on him and an impossible dream of freedom. There was nothing out in the ocean but trash and trouble.
She seemed like a cool chick. Not that he was looking for anything in that direction right now, even with that bit of harmless flirting earlier. Just wanted to see if he could charm her was all, to get on her good side if he was going to figure out if she had the map or not. He had no need for any kind of attachment, especially after the thing with Jules ended so badly.
He helped her into the backseat and Shakes gave her a thumbs-up from the wheel, then the truck sped off into the darkness, spitting sparks into the air as they brushed icy concrete on both sides.
“How does he know where he’s going?” Nat yelled, struggling to fasten her seat belt as the LTV careened through the empty streets.
Wes tapped the infrared goggles on Shakes’s helmet. “Here, have a look,” he said, throwing his own pair her way so she could see.
She put them on. The truck was barreling through a back road that ran parallel to the Strip, where the redevelopment efforts had carved a trench in the ice.
“What about the Willies?” she asked. It was after curfew, when the only vehicles allowed in the streets were the Willie Winkie patrols or those with the right after-hours licenses, and from her tone, it was clear she didn’t think Wes had one of those.
“Let me worry about them,” Wes said curtly. “Most patrols are around the eastern perimeter, and we’re headed the other way.”
“Boss!” Shakes yelled, as the red flare of a rocket flew overhead.
Wes cursed. He’d spoken too soon. One of the heavily armored tanks that usually lumbered around the ice desert, transporting grunts to the eastern base, just happened to be in the area. “YOU ARE IN VIOLATION OF ORDER 10123: EVERY CITIZEN MUST BE INDOORS. STOP YOUR VEHICLE AND PREPARE TO SURRENDER YOUR SECOND-LEVEL INDENTIFICATION PAPERS.”
“I don’t have any,” she said worriedly.
“You and everyone else in here,” he said. “Keep going!” he urged Shakes.
A bullet shattered the rear window, the truck struck a wall of ice, and everyone was thrown forward.
“Gimme those!” Wes commanded, and Nat threw his goggles back to him as he barked orders at his team. “Farouk! See if you can track their signal and jam it. Slaine boys—take out their snipers! I’ll take care of the behemoth.” He reached for his gun even as he hoped it wouldn’t come to that. Guns were antiquated weapons for a dying empire. Wes carried one because he had to, but he’d never killed anyone with it; he’d threatened many, of course, he’d waved it around, and shot drones and trucks and who knew what else, but his hands were clean, and so were his boys’. There was enough killing in the world. He turned to Nat. “Cover me—you know how to use one of these things?” he asked, motioning for her to pick up a rifle.
She shook her head, and he stared at her for a moment. Every child in the RSA was trained to shoot; “every citizen an armed citizen” was the country’s unofficial motto . . . but there was no time to question. He called to Farouk and the boy shouldered the rifle, peered through the scope and set off a few rounds through the window. “Okay, go!” he yelled, backing down as Wes popped through the roof, rifle in hand.
Wes scanned the area, the goggles having turned the world green and black. He could see the tank coming after them a few blocks away. They were past the Strip now, close to the edge of the city, not far from the border. If he could stall it, they would be home free. There had only been one rocket.
He fired and missed the first two shots. Steady, he ordered himself. Steady . . .
Two more bullets sailed through the cabin. One nicked Farouk’s arm. “Snap out of it, boss!” the kid shrieked from the back. “Next one will be through our heads!”
“It’s the sniper—take him out already!” Wes yelled back.
“He can’t hide from me,” Daran promised, peering through his scope for the elusive shooter.
“Over there!” Zedric yelled, pointing to the top of the nearest building. “I see him!” They let off a few rounds, but the bullets continued to whiz by their heads.
A shell exploded just aft of the LTV, rattling the vehicle and sending them spinning.
“This is some escape,” Nat said, rolling her eyes. “You’re going to get me to the water? You can’t even get me out of the Strip.”
“Hey now, a little confidence would be nice,” Wes snapped. “Trying to keep us alive over here.”
“Get that tank down!” Daran yelled, while Shakes fought to keep the truck upright.
“That’s what I’m trying to do,” Wes huffed. “Patience, everyone, patience.” He wasn’t planning on dying in a firefight.
Wes popped back up through the hatch and saw that he had his first clear shot. He targeted the engine, so he could disable the vehicle without hurting any of the soldiers. He’d been in their shoes not so long ago.
But just as he was about to fire, the whole world went dark. He was blind. His finger jerked as he pulled the trigger. He missed again. He let out a string of expletives. Frostblight. He’d been ignoring it for some time now, the blurred vision, headaches, but lately it was getting harder to deny.
A bullet whizzed past his ear. A second shot blew off their truck’s left-hand mirror.
“Hurry, man,” Shakes said from the driver’s seat, his voice calm but with an edge. His hands were gripping the wheel so hard it was vibrating.
“Let me,” Farouk said, reload
ing his weapon.
“I got it, I got it, everyone relax,” Wes said, with a slightly injured air. He lifted his gun again. The tank’s sleek white hull glistened like a child’s toy in the snowy air. He focused. The behemoth was an easy target; they were made that way so that their four-foot-tall wheels could grind up the snow. But there were half a dozen holes in the armor already. Typical. The white elephants looked intimidating, but they were vulnerable. Nobody knew how to fix anything anymore. The country was living off the past—all the technology dated back to the wars before the Flood. It was as if the toxic waters had washed away not only New York and California but all the knowledge of the world as well.
His hand steady and his vision clear, Wes pulled the trigger, and this time the bullet hit the target, piercing the armor and blasting the engine with a single round.
One more and the tank was dust, but the temporary blindness had dulled his reflexes, and before he could move, a fiery round hit him square in the chest. Where did that come from—?
“Sorry!” Daran yelled.
“Got him!” Zedric whooped, as his bullet shot the rifle out of the sniper’s hand.
Wes’s body shield held, but the pain was unbearable. The Kevlar jacket caught on fire, and he ripped it off, tossing it into the snow. A hole the size of a baseball was burnt through the fabric of his down vest. Black smoke drifted from the burn, bringing tears to his eyes.
“You’ll be all right,” Nat said, helping him down into his seat. “Surface wound.”
He grunted.
* * *
Up front, Shakes swerved to avoid a second round of rocket fire. The convoy had arrived, more tanks, and soldiers on snowFAVs. But the fence was only a few blocks away and once they crossed, they were free. The army wouldn’t risk a nighttime mission into the Trash Pile; at most they would send a seeker party in the morning, but by then Wes hoped to be well into the wastelands and impossible to track.
“Gimme a hand,” Wes said, slinging an arm around Nat’s shoulder. His right arm was numb and he had to switch hands to shoot.
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