“Semi-automatic shotguns, no pumping, just pull the trigger. And the frigging cannon is a hoot,” Officer Long said with a laugh. “I can’t even imagine how he did it.”
Jasmine grinned and said, “He is the master of weapons, that’s for sure.”
“And anything for his Jasmine,” Long continued in a jealous tone.
She laughed as she pulled on a jacket often worn by gypsies. She then spun around, and as she turned, she pulled both shoulder guns and pulled the triggers. Two loud clicks echoed. She then shoved the shoulder guns back into their holster, whipped out both Glocks and pulled the triggers. Then, while shoving the Glocks into their holster she kicked over Jim’s head.
“Like frigging dancing, babe. You move like a frigging gypsy dancing around a camp fire.” She hugged him. “But I’d feel better if you took me with you.”
“I know you would, but you’re the only one who knows who Baul and Doori are, and they’re not getting any younger.” She kissed him. “I need you here, and I want you here when I come back. Besides them, I need someone here for me to come back to.” She looked at him for a long moment. “I need you to want me to come back as well.”
He grabbed her and held her so tightly he almost felt like he was going to break her. “How could it be any other way?”
Although she had insight, she never imagined that this would the last time she’d ever kiss Jim.
Chapter 5
Sitting at the dinner table, Dooriya turned over another tarot card. She mumbled a faint, “Huh,” two times before she turned over the next card. She looked up and said, “I think it’s a family… go out of your way to help them, they’ll remember.”
Jasmine nodded.
“Hmm. A Knight… There’s a young man—.”
“Oh, no. No young man. That would break Jim’s heart.”
“He’ll survive. I don’t like the little whiny ass anyway. You can do better,” Dooriya said with a chuckle, swiping her hand as if shooing away a fly. “You’ll need that family later. Understand? They’re a key to this whole thing… I don’t know why but it’s important.” Jasmine nodded. “Oh, shit, your uncle’s home. Not a word. He was so pissed when he got home last night I thought he was going to have a coronary.” Jasmine sighed. “He doesn’t want you to go, Jaz, and I don’t blame him. I’m scared to death.”
“I’ll make it.”
“Honey, the cards aren’t in your favor. That death over the nine of swords shows you’re surrounded, and you’re… you’re down on the floor, and… And, believe me when I say this, I love you as much as he does. You shouldn’t do this… You’re also the only person I know who has inherited your grandmother’s gift,” she chuckled, “And puts up with my weird crap.”
Jasmine smiled as she dropped her chin on the crook of her elbow, falling into deep thought. Even though she knew her odds were extremely low that she’d be back, she had to try. The bounty was at ten million dollars in US credits and a choice of five acres of land and a home built to any desired specifications, anywhere in the planned reconstruction of the US. She had heard the Hawaiian Islands, although nearly devastated during the impact and subsequent volcano eruptions, had safe places to live. She wanted so much to have a small villa built, a place for her, and her aunt and uncle. She wanted to feel the sun on her face, and she knew Baul’s health was slowly deteriorating. He was nearing underground life expectancy and had a year, maybe two to live.
In his usual noisy fashion, Commander Baul Herne came barging into the dining room, hauling another large box under each arm. He looked at Jasmine, then over to Dooriya, and then back to Jasmine before saying, “I got maps, pictures, and a close proximity to where they believe the pharmacist and his factory is located.” He put the boxes on the table. “You did hear me say, believe, right?”
He slammed down in a chair and popped the top off the first box. He then dug out a map enclosed in plastic and laid it on the table. “I highlighted the possible route in yellow. It’s the old state highway 75. Unfortunately there isn’t one frigging bridge standing between here and Dallas, so crossing the Red River is going to be a bitch.”
Jasmine traced her finger lightly over the route he highlighted. SH 75 to SH 121. It looked simple enough. “What’re the red circles?” Jasmine asked, looking at approximately thirty red circles from Kansas to SH 121.
“Rebels and other above-ground dwellers that have banded together over time and have been doing a lot of killing and damage. The purple circles are cannibals.”
She sat up, looking at Baul.
“People gotta eat, sweetie, even if it’s each other…”
They stared at each other for a moment until Baul blurted, “Damn it, Jasmine. You’re a top cop, the best in this department, in the sector, maybe in the state, but going after the pharmacist is a suicide mission.” Jasmine didn’t reply; she merely looked down at the table. “We won’t even talk about the elements. Every goddamned bounty hunter is out there looking for him, as well. Not only will you have to find a man no one has ever seen, you’ll have to fight every goddamned piece of slime from here to Dallas just to get the opportunity to catch him.”
He caught his breath, muttered something, then withdrew another large stack of pictures and laid them on the table. He lightly spread them across the table as a dealer would a deck of cards. He then pulled out a three-by-five notebook and dropped it next to the pictures. Without saying a word, he flipped it open to a marked page. On it was written a single name and address. Nothing else. Out of the other box, he removed a survivor backpack that was designed to accommodate her shotgun and cannon. It allowed her to let the guns ride up a little higher but hide them from anyone’s view. Inside the backpack was a water compartment with a well-hidden rubber tube used as a straw. Compartments to hold food, sparse pieces of clothing, additional ammo and survivor gear.
“Tank designed the pack to be as light-weight as possible, but you’re going to want to wear it for a few days to get used to it. I’d recommend filling it with as much weight as you can and wear it from the moment you get home to when you dress for work,” Baul said with hesitance. “Water is heavy and you’ll want as much as you can carry.” He then coughed and fingered something from his eyes. “I’m not telling you when to leave but I will tell you the wind season—” He laughed. “We used to call it tornado season. Anyway, the wind season is coming and it is not pretty. It’s not uncommon to have hundreds of tornadoes—ten, fifteen at a time—drop out of the sky with no warning.” He slid a picture across the table. “Tandem tornadoes, two by two, crisscrossing each other and ripping up every goddamned piece of garbage in their path, and that’s where you’ll poke that pretty little head of yours out of our fair cities. Right smack dab in the path of the old tornado alley, which is a hell of a lot worse now than then; and, then it was a bitch.”
“When do you recommend?” Jasmine asked.
“I’d wait until the near-end of the wind season. There’ll be enough wind to give you cover but not quite as dangerous. Five, six months from now. That’ll also give you time to get used to all this gear and clothing. Give you some time to train with all that crap on your back.”
He slid a key card to her. “For the officer training center. Fill the tank with water, then as much weight as you can squeeze into backpack. Run, jump, hop, scale, crawl, dance, and shoot. Every day until it’s time. Get the feel of everything you’re taking with you.” He looked at her standard issue boots. “Get rid of those goddamned things. They won’t last a week. Go see Tank, get him to design and make you a pair… He has a crush on you and will make anything and everything you need.”