Rogue State (Fractured State Series Book 2)

by Steven Konkoly

  Blake nodded and headed to the SUV for the gear. Nissie watched him leave, quickly shifting her attention to Stuart. She was terrified of them, which was exactly how he wanted to start their relationship. Fear was a powerful motivator, and more importantly, a mighty deterrent. He had big plans for Keane, but first she had to demonstrate that she was 100 percent on board with her new contract.

  “You ready for a road trip?” he said.

  “Do I have to wear these the entire time?” she said, turning and extending her hands to expose the black zip ties binding them together.

  “Until I’m convinced that you won’t try to kill one of us or make a run for it, you get to wear plastic.”

  “Haven’t I already proven myself? You have the keys to the kingdom thanks to me,” Nissie said. “Flagg would kill me if he knew what I gave you.”

  “Flagg was going to kill you anyway. He’s in damage-control mode right now, which isn’t his area of expertise. Guys like that are only comfortable running smooth operations. When things go bad, they turn to scorched-earth methods, burning everything and everyone in the process.”

  “Like the motel you burned down?”

  “You can thank me for that whenever you’re ready. Not every day you get a fresh start in life.”

  “I wouldn’t exactly call this a fresh start.”

  “Better than a fresh grave,” he said, nodding at the ground.

  She didn’t look amused by the comment. “You owe me some new metal.”

  “What? You mean, like, in your face?” Stuart asked. “You’d look a lot better without all of that shit poked through it.”

  “And through the other parts,” added Blake, who had returned from the van with a towel and spray bottle to wipe the shovels clean.

  “I bet you enjoyed that,” she spat. “Fucking pervert.”

  “Clit and tit rings ain’t my thing, sweetie,” he said, tossing the bottle and towel at her feet. “Not into tatted skanks either.”

  “Wipe up your own fingerprints,” she said, kicking the plastic bottle at him.

  “This is going to be a fun trip,” said Stuart.

  “He started it,” she said.

  Blake shook his head. “Do we really need her?”

  “We do, and I prefer that you wipe down the shovels. I’m not familiar with Miss Keane’s work ethic yet, and I’m not willing to put more of our friends in jeopardy over a sloppy cleaning job.”

  “Got it,” he grumbled, swiping the bottle from the grass.

  “And you,” he said, addressing Nissie. “Keep your nose clean during the ride to Vegas, and I’ll treat you to all the metal you can poke through your face, or wherever. Deal?”

  “That was the plan, anyway, but I’ll take what I can get for free.”

  “Might be the only payment you receive for this job.”

  “I’m not doing this one for the money,” she said quietly, with a touch of defiance.

  “Good,” he said. “Neither are we.”

  CHAPTER 54

  A hot gust of wind whipped across the two-lane road, rattling pebbles and dust against the SUV while Nathan emptied the last of the fuel from one of the red plastic containers into the gas tank. Owen stood next to him, blocking as much of the wind as his small frame could manage.

  A second, stiffer blast of wind drove another sheet of rock and dust into them.

  “Hey, bud. Why don’t you get inside? It’s getting crazy out here. I’m almost done, anyway,” said Nathan, patting his shoulder. “I appreciate the company.”

  “Are we gonna make it before the storm hits?”

  “I don’t know.” Nathan looked over his shoulder at the rapidly disintegrating horizon. “I think this is one of those microbursts Jose was talking about. The big storm is still a few hours away.”

  His son started toward the passenger door.

  “Owen. Get in on the other side. The door might slam shut on you, and your mom might not be too happy getting a face full of sand.”

  “OK, Dad.” On his way around the front of the SUV, Owen high-fived David, who carried a rucksack taken from the car ahead of them.

  “Nathan. I found your pack. They must have stuffed it in the lead vehicle,” said David, stopping a few feet away from him. “Are you sure you don’t have the satphone in your vest?”

  “I’ll check again. The last time I remember seeing it was in the Motel 6. I think I put it down to pick up the radio. I honestly can’t remember what I did with it. Everything moved at light speed in the room.”

  “I thought maybe Keira grabbed it,” David said, “but she checked all of her stuff.”

  Nathan nestled the gas can into the back of the SUV, while David found a place for his pack. He checked the pockets of his tactical vest again, not finding the phone.

  “Dammit,” he said. “I should’ve stuffed it in my pocket when I grabbed the radio.”

  “I should’ve been tracking it,” said David. “That was the first time the phone wasn’t in one of my pockets or hands since Colonel Smith gave it to me. I need to check in with my dad. They have to be worried.”

  “They should be halfway to Vegas by now.”

  “So should we,” said David. “I hope this isn’t the main storm.”

  “I don’t think it is. We’d see it building on the horizon. You ever been in one of these sandstorms?”

  “A few times in Afghanistan. It’s pretty insane. Day turns to night. Scary enough when we were under cover on base, but out in the field? Like a nightmare.”

  “We left Tucson after getting hit with five in one summer,” said Nathan. “Big ones, too. Air quality goes to shit for days.”

  “Let’s get moving. I can tell Jose is nervous about our progress,” said David, grabbing the lift gate.

  He shut it, and they both walked down the driver’s side to get into the SUV. When Nathan closed the rear door, he still felt the warm wind blowing through the vehicle. The permanently open, bullet-resistant windows funneled the desert air and a steady flow of sand through the car. That was the only drawback to Jose’s bulletproof-car design. They couldn’t close the windows, rendering the SUV’s air-conditioning system effectively useless. The backseat had AC vents built into the center console, which kept them from dying of heatstroke, if accompanied by generous amounts of water. Warm water. Because everything in the car had warmed to body temperature or higher.

  “Start the car and kick up that AC,” said Nathan.

  “Life support systems activated,” said David, turning the ignition.

  Owen chuckled. He’d really taken to David, which made Nathan happy. His son needed all the friends he could get right now. So did Nathan.

  “Jose. How are we looking?” said Nathan, leaning forward between the seats.

  Jose was busy listening to his satphone and scribbling on a notepad.

  “Sorry,” said Nathan, sitting back.

  “One second,” said Jose, saying something into the phone before putting it down. “All right. I just spoke with Vegas about the weather situation. This is one of several microbursts that have popped up between Tucson and Flagstaff ahead of the wider storm. We’ll be dealing with high winds the whole way.”

  “What about the big storm?” said Nathan.

  “It’s moving fast. Getting to Kingman will be tight. We’re about two hours out.”

  “Easy for two hours to turn into three out here,” said Nathan.

  “It’s really a straight shot from here. We’ll intersect with US Highway 93 in about thirty-five minutes. We take that all the way to Interstate 40. If we can get to 40, we’re good to go. The road is regularly patrolled by the Arizona National Guard and heavily armed militia groups aligned with the state. The cartel is not welcome up there. It’s kind of the unofficial cartel demarcation line in Arizona.”

  “And the route is clear?” asked David.

  “That’s the only good part about falling behind schedule. The scout teams reported no unusual cartel activity between Interstate 40 and
our upcoming highway intersect point. I’m tempted to send them through again instead of waiting for us.”

  “It’s not a bad idea,” said David. “Thirty minutes gives us plenty of time to make an adjustment if they run into trouble.”

  “All right. I’ll send them ahead and have them wait for us at Interstate 40. They have extra supplies.”

  “Good, because we’re running low on water,” said Keira, drinking from her CamelBak hose.

  “A few more hours, and we’ll be out of this mess,” said Jose, sounding exhausted. “I know the ride sucks.”

  “Jose,” said David, “can I borrow your phone for a second, to check in with my dad? He has to be pretty worried by now. I told him we’d call first thing in the morning. I think we left ours behind at the motel in all of the confusion.”

  “You want me to drive?” asked Jose, handing him the phone.

  “No. I’m just gonna check in and give him a quick update,” he said, pressing the numbers.

  “You forgot the eight after the four,” Nathan pointed out.

  David paused for a moment before starting over. “I think this heat is frying my brain.”

  Nathan put his hand in front of the AC vent. The faintly blowing air felt warm. It wouldn’t start to cool down until the car was moving.

  “Dad. It’s David,” he said. “Everyone is fine. We ran into a little trouble, but we’re on the way. How is everything on your end?”

  David paused to listen.

  “About two hours from Kingman. We’re not going to make it to Vegas tonight. There’s a massive sandstorm moving in. I’ll call you when we’ve settled in for the night. I gotta go.”

  He nodded a few times. “I really have to go, Dad. See you soon.”

  David ended the call and handed the phone to Jose. “We’re good.”

  “They’re all right?” said Keira.

  “Sounds like it. They’ll get into Vegas around midnight,” said David, putting the car in gear.

  The SUV in front of them rolled forward, David following closely.

  “We have a nice setup in Vegas,” said Jose. “Very secure.”

  “I thought the city was a cartel-free zone?” said Nathan.

  “You won’t find marauding bands of cartel soldiers shooting up the streets, but they can still flex their muscle in Sin City. It’s not as safe as the primetime commercials boast, but for the average tourist? Hard to find a cheaper room with that many amenities.”

  “I’d like to push north, out of the Wastelands,” said Keira. “Our luck has been consistently bad down here.”

  “Vegas is the perfect place to turn your luck around,” said Jose.

  “You sound like a craps dealer,” said Keira.

  “What’s a craps dealer?” said Owen.

  “Someone that sells bullshit,” said Keira. “Sorry, buddy.”

  “Hon,” said Nathan, shaking his head discreetly.

  “Sorry,” she said, taking a sip from her CamelBak. “The heat must be getting to me.”

  He stole a glance at her, receiving shrugged shoulders and her patented “What?” look.

  “It’s been one of those weeks,” said Jose. “Just keep an open mind when we get to Vegas.”

  “I’d consider a trip to the moon to get away from this,” said David, clearing the uncomfortable air.

  Owen laughed again.

  “I think you have a future as a stand-up comic,” said Nathan.

  “As long as we can clone a few hundred Owens.”

  “Sounds like a Twilight Zone episode,” said Jose.

  “I love The Twilight Zone,” said Owen.

  “They still show those?” said David.

  “You can stream them for free.”

  “I didn’t know that,” replied David.

  “My son watched all of them. He’d binge-watch them with his sister,” said Jose.

  “Where are they now?” said Owen.

  Nathan tensed. He remembered what Jose had shared with him in Mexicali—his family had died in the 2030 Albuquerque firestorm. He guessed that Jose had been out of town on business or working in another part of the city at the time of the fire. The fire’s death toll had eclipsed that of any US natural disaster to date. Half the city had burned to the ground within an hour as a massive forest fire, fanned by hundred-mile-per-hour winds ahead of a historic New Dust Bowl storm, had swept down from the Sandia Mountains. More than a hundred thousand had died in the firestorm, and hundreds of thousands more were hospitalized with burns.

  Albuquerque ceased to exist as a functional city after that. The Albuquerque fire started the great migration out of the Southwest. Within a year, several million residents of New Mexico, Arizona, and southern Colorado had fled. A year after that, the term Wastelands was coined by the media. The term was fitting. With the people gone, the Southwest wasted away.

  “They’re in heaven with their mom,” said Jose, staring straight ahead.

  “I’m sorry,” said Owen.

  “No. Don’t be sorry, Mr. Owen. They’re with their mom. That’s what matters now.”

  Nathan looked at Keira, who wrapped an arm around Owen. That was all that ever mattered.

  CHAPTER 55

  Stuart Quinn lowered the phone and muttered an obscenity. He hadn’t been able to do it.

  David had been pretty adamant about hanging up—but no, that was just an excuse. He just couldn’t tell him about Jon.

  Why have it hanging over their heads for the entire drive, though? What good could come from that?

  No. More excuses.

  “You made the right call,” said Blake. “They need to focus on getting to Vegas in one piece.”

  “What do you think, Nissie?” said Stuart. “Would you want to know your father had been murdered if you had a long drive ahead of you—with more murderers trying to kill you?”

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t know how many times I need to say it.”

  “Save your breath. You’ll never convince me by saying it,” said Stuart. “I need to see it.”

  “I don’t even know what that means.”

  “You will,” he said. “For now, it means you play nice.”

  “I am playing nice.”

  “I didn’t say you weren’t.”

  A few miles passed on Interstate 15 before Blake broke the silence.

  “Where are they now?”

  “A few hours out of Kingman, but it sounds like they’re racing a sandstorm.”

  “If they can stay ahead of it, they’ll be fine,” said Blake. “Kingman is safe, mostly.”

  “Nowhere is safe,” said Stuart. “Not until we put Cerberus out of business.”

  A thought came to him. Major General Nichols had mentioned that his Marines could be running patrols through western Arizona by tonight. Kingman was in northwest Arizona, where David’s battalion might be in a position to lend a hand. It was worth a call to the general to pass that information along. He started to dial the number.

  “For what it’s worth,” said Nissie, “you did the right thing. I wouldn’t want to know.”

  She looked like she might start crying behind her thick black eyeliner. There was more to Nissie Keane than met the eye. Something dark, tragic. He just hoped it would work in their favor—and not blow up in his face.

  PART VI

  CHAPTER 56

  Sergio Morales sat deep inside an abandoned restaurant along Highway 93, drumming his fingers on a sand-covered table. The wind battered the outside of the rickety building, the old timber frame creaking and groaning with each powerful gust. The constant airflow through the restaurant’s main salon did little to ease the sweltering heat. A satellite phone and digital tablet lay in front of him. To his right sat Jorge, who closed a laptop and shook his head.

  “The drone’s down,” said Jorge. “Sorry.”

  Sergio hadn’t expected it to last very long with the storm this close. An expensive sacrifice. The RQ-16 Whisper represented the latest in short- to medium-ra
nge military drone technology, and his boss wouldn’t be happy to hear that it was out of commission.

  “What was their last location?”

  “Approaching the town of Nothing.”

  “Nothing? For real?”

  “Not kidding,” said Jorge.

  Sergio shook his head. At least the people who named that town had a sense of humor. Nothing was right. He touched the tablet screen and used the digital mapping application to make a few quick calculations. Their target was now roughly twenty-six miles away, putting them at the primary ambush point in twenty minutes, maybe more depending on the road conditions.

  The dust storm had intensified at an alarming rate over the last half hour, arriving ahead of predictions. At this point, his crew would have to weather the storm in Wikieup. He didn’t see any way to avoid it. The closest inhabited town was Congress, and that was halfway back to Phoenix. No. They’d get to spend the next several hours hiding from the wind in Wikieup, another nothing town.

  The front door banged opened, ushering in a swirl of sand and wind. Three men wearing red bandito scarves and sunglasses stepped into the restaurant. Sergio motioned them to approach. The guard watching the parking lot from the outside reached inside and closed the door. Sergio’s team leaders trudged to the table through the deep layer of sand covering the floor.

  “Good timing,” he said, standing up. “They’re about twenty minutes out.”

  “You sure you want to go out there, boss?” said Marcos, one of the team leaders.

  Marcos shrank from Sergio’s sharp look. Under normal circumstances, a question like that might have earned him a bullet, but today Sergio genuinely believed his loyal subordinate meant no disrespect. US military drone strikes had risen steeply over the past few weeks, particularly in western Arizona. The worst of it was down south, but they’d recently lost a few high-ranking members of the organization on the northern roads. The fear was real, not a symptom of cowardice. Still, it didn’t help his reputation to hide inside while his soldiers took all the risks. That kind of caution led to resentment.