Jasmine started to speak but Dooriya slid a picture over to her. “That’s a picture of your grandmother. Dress like her, wear your hair like her, act like her, be her, and maybe, just maybe people will believe you are a gypsy. They thought she was a gypsy when she came up here from Dallas and then Oklahoma City.”
“Uh, Aunt Doori, grandma was a Gypsy.” She chuckled. “We’re Rom, we’re all Gypsies.”
Dooriya then slid the tarot cards over to her. “Who cares? People seem to think gypsies are non-confrontational, some even believe they have that special foresight—” She grinned, looking pointedly into Jasmine’s eyes. “That’s the only picture I have and I want it back, okay?”
Jasmine nodded, but inside she was becoming both excited and frightened. Since her father was murdered, she wanted to go after this guy. He was the world’s largest producer and distributor of illegal drugs. The same drug the junkie was on when he cut her father’s throat. The method of distribution was so well guarded the police failed at every attempt to insert a plant or even to learn where the drugs entered the city. They literally did not have a clue as to whom or how.
“Your mother would be proud of you,” Dooriya said while taking Jasmine’s hand. “She was like you, wanting to right all the wrongs.” Dooriya stopped and blew her nose. “She was supposed to leave Pakistan a week before the impact but was called back… No one imagined that the cities would implode on impact…”
“Hell,” Baul said, “No one knew it was going hit where it did. Every one believed it was going to be a direct hit into the Indian Ocean.” He shook his head. “A mathematical error. Of all things…”
Jasmine looked at the pictures, the map, and finally the small notebook. “Friend of yours?” She asked, flipping the page, looking for anything else that might have been written on the page.
“His name is Owen. That’s all I know… He owns the majority of the gangs, uh, the red gangs. Kill him first.”
Chapter 6
Although it took Jasmine over a month, she had a relatively easy trek through Kansas. The entire Kansas Gendarmerie police force was rooting for her and helping her along the way. She traveled on a refurbished Electro Glide that looked worse than what it really was to prevent theft. Something a poor gypsy might own. Something no one else would want to own. In Kansas, she had monetary credits to afford a room in a hotel or contacts to stay in the barracks or another police officer’s home. The Gendarmerie police kept her secret. There wasn’t one who would betray her or wasn’t behind what she was trying to do. However, in front of her were fifty bare miles between the Kansas exit and the Oklahoma entrance. Fifty miles and three rebel camps to cross before she could return to safety, before she’d meet up with the Oklahoma State Gendarmerie force. They knew she was coming but did not, and would not send an escort or anyone to protect her. They wished her well and supported her but she was on her own.
Through her binoculars, Jasmine saw the spikes that held several skulls in different stages of decay. The newest was a woman’s skull. Her hair, although mostly clotted with blood, blew north, most strands completely horizontal. Her expression was still frozen in the middle of a scream. Seeing this, it was hard to believe people still snuck out. Obviously, leaving underground was worth the risk of dying.
The first rebel camp was maybe five miles from the spikes and she’d have to come close to them in order to stay in the few remaining trees left. Trees that had somehow survived the impact, then the years of torrid weather, and finally the people that lived above ground and generally took a tree to survive starvation and freezing. Owen and his rebels lived and roamed midway between Kansas and Oklahoma. If she took Owen out, it was believed his small rebel forces would most likely turn on themselves—sheer chaos—and then go after the other rebel camps until they all but collapsed in the heat of battle. However, many had tried and, like the Last Pharmacist, Owen was elusive and well protected. He was the wall between Kansas and Oklahoma and further unity. The lack of air support and additional police and army forces kept each state its own entity. He was also one of the walls between her and the Last Pharmacist. A wall that she would tear down brick by brick and body by body; nothing was going to stop her.
Out of habit, she pulled her scarf down on her forehead and adjusted her goggles, then climbed out of the moat that surrounded the South Kansas entrance. She had been here once as a child, when her parents and an entire platoon drove the fifty miles at top speed from Oklahoma. An entire platoon; that was something she wished she had now. Something the Kansas or Oklahoma Gendarmerie force was not willing to give her. She chuckled. Uncle Baul tried, but was laughed out of his commander’s office. Although other Gendarmerie forces would accommodate her, the moment she left Kansas, she was no longer a police officer; she was merely a citizen or, worse, a bounty hunter. A bounty hunter accepted by the government and the Gendarmerie, but still entirely on her own while outside.
Her jacket flapped violently against her taut stomach, but she pulled herself out of the moat and moved farther into the darkness. When she had come out the door, she immediately went to the right, away from the floodlights, and lay in the darkness waiting for anything to attack. She had lain there for over thirty minutes before she moved deeper into darkness and across the moat constructed to capture water and to help keep out unauthorized entry. The moat was drained two days before her scheduled departure to keep Owen and his rebels from becoming suspicious, which was close to the normal monthly schedule but if they were paying attention they would know it was a couple of days too soon. She didn’t want to wait.
The cameras didn’t follow her for fear if someone was watching they would notice the movement and come after her. She had another ten minutes before the cameras activated and immediately sensed her movement.
She crawled several feet from the moat—expecting something, but hearing nothing—and slowly stood into a crouch position. Finally, she drew in a breath and stood, and was nearly knocked down by the wind. Uncle Baul was right, she thought. The wind season was lasting longer than usual, which meant more violent storms and gusts that were above seventy miles an hour when calm.
“Damn,” She uttered, barely able to breathe, and immediately pulled up her mask. It matched her scarf in color but was a modified surgical mask guaranteed to stop the smallest of particle and filter in clean, breathable air. She had two in her pack for fear of losing the one she wore. Another one of Tank’s creations. She’d have to personally thank him when she got back. Maybe even add a house to her villa. He certainly took care of her.
Then the freight train came barreling toward her, and just as she turned to race back to the moat the tornado twisted left and went due north.
She stopped, caught her breath, and just as she started south across the barren stretch, a pistol touched her temple.
“Can’t trust those got-damned tornadoes. They’s swivel ever which way,” A voice followed the gun from the darkness. “You don’t look like much but Owen will be proud I found him a scavenger who was able to escape the military dictatorship we’re forced to live with.”
Jasmine started to turn.
“Nope. You don’t wanna to do that. Owen likes’ em alive before he cooks’ em.” He looked her up and down. “I don’t know what’s under that piece of shit pants but I’m sure he’ll wanna fuck you. Might even keep you fer breed’n if yer hips are strong.” He shoved the pistol against her temple, pushing her head back. “Let’s get walking a’fore that damned tornado da’cides to go south and carries us with it.”