Redzone (11 page)

After a quick breakfast Lee made her way to the main drag and a lane marked
BORDER CROSSING
. There was quite a backup—and that was to be expected. Because while mutants weren't allowed to
live
in Pacifica, they could apply for visas, and cross the border to conduct business. Once they were in-country the mutants had to comply with a long list of strict health regulations. Meanwhile, very few norms wanted to risk their lives by entering the red zone. That meant 99 percent of the vehicles in front of Lee belonged to mutants.

The line jerked ahead in fits and starts. In between Lee had plenty of time to inspect the businesses that lined both sides of the main drag. Most were straight-up stores unlike the seedy bars, strip clubs, and dance halls Lee had seen west of town. There were still lots of soldiers walking the streets, but they were mixed in with dependents and the townsfolk who made their livings off the military.

Eventually, after a half-hour wait, Lee arrived at a concrete hut and the striped drop arm that blocked all further progress. She'd been through the process before and knew what to expect. It began with the look of amazement on the soldier's face as he peered in through the driver's side window and saw her ID. He had to be at least eighteen to join the army but looked two years younger. “A cop? You must be shitting me.”

“Yup,” Lee confirmed. “A cop. Let's get on with it, shall
we? You're going to call for an NCO. He or she will take a look, say something stupid, and summon an officer. So let's start with the officer. What do you say?”

The soldier said, “No.” It seemed that privates weren't allowed to send for officers. Only a sergeant could do that. So the situation played out exactly the way Lee predicted it would. And after fifteen minutes of waiting, an officer appeared. Lee had been ordered out of her vehicle by that time and searched. The fact that she was carrying two pistols seemed to confirm the private's belief that she was up to no good—even though the police ID should have been sufficient to put his concerns to rest.

The officer was a dull-eyed specimen not much brighter than the private. But he knew that it was perfectly legal for norms of every description to enter the red zone. And since there was no “stop and hold” order out on Detective Cassandra Lee, he had no legitimate reason to bar her way.

So he asked Lee to sign a release that would prevent her from suing the government of Pacifica should she be infected with
B. nosilla
, raped, or murdered while out of country. The implication being that all three possibilities were likely. Once that was out of the way, he ordered the private to return her weapons and tossed a casual salute. “Have a nice trip,” he said. “And good luck.” The
you're going to need it
was left unsaid.

Lee got into the truck, started the engine, and eased her way forward. That was when she saw an equivalent security post waiting up ahead. It was unmanned. The overhead sign said,
WELCOME TO THE REPUBLIC OF TEXAS
. The red zone took her
in.

LEE PASSED UNDER
a steel bridge as she left East Primm and saw the remains of an old roller coaster next to the road. It was a symbol of sorts—a monument to better times.

A jagged mountain range could be seen on the horizon. It, like the rest of the landscape, was an unrelieved beige color. It looked as though every drop of water that had ever fallen on the state of Nevada had been absorbed by the thirsty sun. And the air grew steadily warmer as the fiery orb continued to rise in the east. Lee turned the AC on, or tried to, but the only thing the unit produced was an impotent whirring sound.

Lee rolled the window down but couldn't reach the one on the other side of the truck. So she pulled over to the side of the road, got out, and circled around. The passenger-side door made a creaking sound when she pulled it open. A package of flesh-colored antibacterial masks was sitting on the seat, so she took the opportunity to put one on. Not for the purpose of protecting herself from
B. nosilla
, not yet, but as a disguise. Because even though the muties weren't
required to wear one in the Republic of Texas, some chose to do so. Not to protect themselves from a disease they already had—but as a way to hide a badly disfigured face. And that was the impression Lee hoped to convey.

Lee checked the mask in an outside mirror, liked what she saw, and pulled a baseball cap onto her head. It had the initials
LA
on it and looked like she'd been wearing it for years. The hope was that most people would mistake her for a man or a boy. With her disguise in place Lee circled the truck, slipped behind the wheel, and pulled away. The slipstream was warm and buffeted her face.

The occasional truck passed her going in the opposite direction. And a car went by ten minutes east of Primm. But most of the vehicles she saw were riddled with bullet holes and had been sitting next to the road for months if not years.

Had they been shot up with people inside? Or used for target practice after being abandoned? Both scenarios were possible because the roads belonged to bandits during the hours of darkness—and anyone foolish enough to travel them was taking a chance.

That's why long-haul truckers formed convoys just before sunset and paid mercenaries to escort them from one city to the next. Could the bandits operate as mercenaries? And vice versa? Of course they could. And did.

It didn't have to be that way. The Republic's citizens could hire more cops. But then they would have to pay more taxes and increase the size of government, which most of them were loath to do. So the people who lived in the red zone got what they deserved. Or so it seemed to Lee.

Lee had been waiting for the turnoff that would take her to the town of Goodsprings. When the road split, she stayed to the left and drove generally north. She saw occasional signs of life, including a white contrail, a patch of green tucked in between two hills, and a wild horse standing on a rise. But such sights were few and far between.

Lee had just passed a burned-out truck stop when she
heard the familiar rumble of motorcycle engines. She glanced at her rearview mirror, saw a column of bikers coming up from behind, and felt a sudden stab of fear.

As she watched, the column split in two so that a line of bikes could slip up along both sides of the truck. Some of the riders wore helmets, including football helmets, but most didn't. The gang members were dressed in a wild assortment of clothing that included a lot of denim, leather, and bits of metal. Most rode alone, but there were deuces too . . . And, as the lead biker pulled level with the truck's cab, his passenger was close enough to thump the door with a club.

Lee considered swerving to the left and right. Both columns of bikers were so close that at least some of them would be killed. But what about the rest? Could she outrun them? No. Could she kill them with her pistols? Hell no. So she held the wheel steady as the chopper on the left fell back and the driver stared at her. A spiral horn was protruding from his forehead, and his lips were pulled back to reveal rows of rotting teeth. Was that a smile or a grimace? It was impossible to tell.

At that point, Lee heard a shout and turned her head to the right. A woman with slits rather than a nose was peering in through the passenger-side window. Lee waved as if to say, “Hi,” and saw the biker flip her off. That seemed ominous, and Lee figured things were about to get ugly, when horn head opened his throttle and surged ahead. The rest of the column followed.

That was the signal for the riders on the shoulder to pass the truck as well—and Lee felt a profound sense of relief as the gang merged and pulled away.
Luck,
she thought to herself.
I got lucky.
Although it was likely that the unassuming truck, the ball cap, and the mask had been helpful as well.

It wasn't long before the Pahrump sign appeared. As the highway split, Lee veered left onto Highway 160. Mountains rose to the right and there were places where hills hugged
the road. There wasn't much traffic at first, but when Lee hit a long, sloping hill, it was necessary to pass three semis before arriving on the flats beyond.

From that point forward the trip to Pahrump was uneventful. As she approached the town, a series of signs appeared. All of them said the same thing:
PREPARE TO STOP. ENTRY FEE 20 NU.
Nu being the currency of choice in the red zone even though it was issued by Pacifica.

This was something Lee hadn't seen before. Apparently, the folks in Pahrump had chosen to raise funds by taxing travelers rather than themselves. Could she go around the town? Drive cross-country if necessary? Maybe. But the effort wasn't worth it. And the citizens of Pahrump were counting on that.

Half a mile later Lee was forced to slow down and stop at the end of a relatively short line. It jerked forward until Lee was level with a wooden shack where a man with a saggy face and a couple of two-fingered hands took her money.

From there Lee drove into town. She was hungry and was on the lookout for a Mexican restaurant. Not having seen one she pulled into the lot that fronted Bob's Barbecue.

She got out of the truck, locked it, and went inside. The walls were lined with boards that might have been salvaged from an old barn—and the picnic tables were covered with checkered tablecloths. The place was about half-full, and as far as Lee could tell, none of the customers was paying special attention to her. So far so good.

Lee went to the counter and ordered a brisket sandwich, fries, and a Diet Coke to go. There was no other choice since she couldn't eat inside the restaurant without removing the mask and exposing herself to
B. nosilla
.

As Lee waited for her order, she noticed that most of her fellow customers were wearing pistols. That was the way of things in the Republic, so no one would question the fact that she was armed as well.

After they called her name Lee paid the cashier, took her
food out to the truck, and went in search of some shade. She found it under a tree two blocks away. The brisket was tender, the fries were greasy, and the Coke hit the spot. Thus refreshed it was time to find the town of Heartbreak.

It wasn't necessary to pay on the way
out
of Pahrump, but Lee decided to stop at the station on the edge of town, and top off the truck's oversized tank. Fuel was a nice thing to have out in the desert.

Once on the highway, with the hot air pummeling her face, Lee felt a rare moment of happiness. Freedom really . . . And a sense of anticipation. Things had gone smoothly so far, and even though her emotions had a tendency to vacillate, Lee was looking forward to meeting her mother.

Nearly featureless desert stretched off in every direction as Lee followed the badly faded white line north. Highway 160 to Highway 95, where, according to the map, she should take a right. Eventually, if she continued east, Lee knew she'd wind up in Las Vegas.

A railroad track paralleled the highway on the left. And, judging from how shiny the tracks were, it was used frequently. After fifteen minutes or so, she spotted an intersection in the distance and slowed to read a large sign.
HEEVY MINING. AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY. TEN MILES.
An arrow pointed to the left. That was when Lee saw a smaller sign that read,
HEARTBREAK HWY
, and knew she was in the right place.

It was necessary to wait for an oncoming car to pass before Lee could turn left. There was a slight rise where the track crossed the side road, and she felt a couple of bumps as the truck rolled over the rails and entered the narrow passageway that separated the hills on the left from the hills on the right. The Heartbreak Highway took her north.

Lee drove for ten minutes or so. Then, as she rounded a curve, the checkpoint appeared. It was located at a natural chokepoint between two sleep slopes. The guardhouse was painted an eye-searing white, was topped with a
HEEVY
MINING
sign, and straddled both lanes of traffic. All for what purpose? To keep bandits out? Or to keep people
in
?

Lee had no choice but to slow down and come to a stop in front of a striped drop bar. A uniformed security guard was sitting on a stool in the strip on the east side of the guard station. There was no sense of urgency in the way he got up and ambled over to the truck. He looked normal except for the goiter that was growing at the base of his throat. According to the name badge clipped to his shirt pocket the guard's last name was Tuel. “Good afternoon. Do you have a pass? If so, please place it on the inside surface of your windshield.”

“I don't have one,” Lee replied. “I'm here to visit someone.”

Tuel shook his head. “Sorry . . . The company doesn't allow visitors except on Sunday—and you would need a guest pass to enter then.”

Lee felt a growing sense of frustration.
Sunday?
That was three days away! “How would I go about obtaining a pass?”

“You'll need to apply for it,” Tuel answered. “The company has an office in Indian Springs. You can submit a request there.”

“How long will the process take?”

“About a week,” the guard replied. “A car is waiting behind you. I'll raise the arm so you can circle around and go back the way you came. Have a nice day.”

Lee had no choice but to follow Tuel's instructions. She drove the truck around the guard station, waited for the southbound arm to lift, and let the clutch out. The truck jerked ahead. Lee felt a mix of disappointment, frustration, and anger as she drove back to Highway 95.

Why hadn't her mother warned her? Where was she anyway? The address on the letter was care of someone else. And then there was the Heevy mining company. A business that operated much like a government. And a dictatorial one at that. The whole thing was strange to say the least.

Lee took a left on Highway 95. Was there a back way into the town of Heartbreak? No, that was ridiculous. The
people who had gone to such lengths to close the highway off weren't likely to leave a secondary route unguarded.

But Lee had to go somewhere while she thought things over. The obvious choice was to turn around and go home. But her mother was dying . . . And Lee wanted to see her for a variety of reasons. It would be a chance to reach some sort of closure where the mother-daughter relationship was concerned, and if she was lucky, get a chance to get a fresh perspective on her father too.

Such were Lee's thoughts when she spotted a driveway up ahead and an unexpected splash of green back behind it. It was a place to turn off so she did. Then she saw the ruins of a house and the outbuildings beyond. Was the place deserted? If so, she could pause there and decide what to do.

Cautiously, in case the house was occupied, Lee drove up the drive and turned into an unpaved parking spot located behind the sagging house. The farmhouse had been occupied by squatters judging from the graffiti and piles of trash. But they were gone, and the house made the truck impossible to see from the highway.

As a precaution Lee pulled wide and backed into the parking place so that she could depart quickly if necessary. It was an old trick practiced by patrolmen everywhere.

Lee took a bottle of water off the passenger seat and carried it with her as she got out. The grove of palm trees she'd seen from the road hinted at the presence of a spring and explained why the house had been built there. Lee made her way into the shade, blew a layer of dust off of an old bench, and sat down. The water was warm but wet.

Bees were buzzing around the wildflowers that had taken root in and around the old garden, and the occasional cricket could be heard, but that was all. With nothing else to do Lee took her phone out and turned it on. Maybe an important message would be there waiting for her. Something that would help guide her actions. But there was no service in that part of Nevada. She put the device away.

An old path led past the garden and wandered uphill. Lee followed the trail past an old chicken coop to a fence. The gate was long gone, but the path continued up along the side of the hill.

Lee knew that Heartbreak Valley lay what? About five miles beyond the top of the hill? Yes, that was a reasonable guess. So what about hiking up and over? She had her pack, plus the camping gear purchased back in Primm, and some exercise would feel good. Not in the sun, however . . . No way. Such a journey would best be carried out at night.

But what if she ran into more security?
I'll turn around and return here,
Lee thought to herself.
And that will put an end to it.

Lee made her way down the side of the hill. The more she thought about the hike the more she liked it. And by the time she returned to the truck, the idea had morphed into a plan. She would sleep if she could, eat dinner, and leave just before sunset. As for the truck, well, it would be there when she got back. Especially since she was going to disconnect the ignition coil. Could someone make the proper diagnosis and hot-wire the vehicle? Sure, but it was unlikely.