Divided States, page 12
“It’s complicated,” he says, “but Lori is a part of my covert operations. What you’ve been seeing is me working her for information. I actually don’t like her that much. But I need her.”
She blinks, forcing tears to stream down both cheeks. “Like you need me?”
Eric steps to her. “No. I told you, it’s not like that.”
“So you haven’t slept with her?”
Two more strides gets Eric so close Rita has to look up to meet his eyes.
“No.”
Before he can react, Rita grabs the nape of his neck and presses her lips onto his. He kisses her back, grabs her ass and lifts her onto the counter. They only have a few minutes before the others will wonder how slow his coffee maker is. After that, there’s Phase Two of MANIFEST.
As he unbuttons his jeans, Eric glances at his watch.
Forty minutes.
24
JEREMIAH
Love’s Travel Stop, Guthrie, Capital Province
Republic of Oklahoma
Though INSTA rigs are outfitted with bleeding-edge tech advanced enough to protect nuclear material, they still require diesel. Diesel requires payment, which usually comes from the agency’s gas card, which is usually somewhere on Mac’s person—at her request and with approval from Daniels after Jeremiah lost one years ago.
Now?
“How’re we paying for this?” Mac asks as all four hop down from the truck.
They have personal credit cards valid across the Divided States, but Jeremiah pulls out a sandwich baggie filled with a short stack of cash. The bills are American greenbacks, a pre-secession holdover deemed too costly to destroy and replace.
“Compliments of Novak. He said we need to use it for anything we buy this trip, so feel free to splurge.”
Dom and Zeus give each other a hell yeah high five and wait to receive their share. Jeremiah smiles and tosses the bag to Mac.
“Sorry guys, she’s still in charge of the money.”
“Be nice,” she tells them, “and I’ll let you both get two packages of jerky each. The biggest ones they have.”
The boys mumble under their breath and start for the glass doors below the red-and-yellow heart.
“Eighty bucks should top it off,” Jeremiah tells Mac as he lifts the nozzle. “If not, it’ll be more than enough to get us to Cushing.”
Jeremiah usually got within half a gallon, especially now that the price of gas had stabilized across the Divided States. For a few months during and after the secessions, it swung so wildly and so often he needed a calculator. He was told the cost of a gallon of gas was related to the price for a barrel of oil, but that didn’t always seem to make sense. When crude was worth negative thirty-seven dollars in 2020, gasoline didn’t become so valuable that only the one-percent could fuel their limos.
The nozzle clicks off with the meter showing $79.18. Novak and his people—whoever they are—can afford to donate the balance.
Jeremiah feels odd in the moment. It’s almost the same as a hundred others from The Before Times. He’s never been to this Love’s, but it’s the same as a dozen others along his usual routes.
Except, it’s not.
This one’s in The Republic of Oklahoma. The exterior hasn’t changed much, but as Jeremiah walks to the glass doors, he reads the loitering and alcohol consumption notices. They now cite Oklahoma national law, not state law.
Changes on the inside are just as subtle. The shelves and refrigerated sections are the same, but the composition of the items they display aren’t. As part of their secession agreement, Oklahoma convenience stores can only sell items from companies based in Oklahoma or Texas. The selection is smaller, but only noticeable if you favor Brand A over Brand B. Take the jerky stocked in this store. Shelf space that would’ve been devoted to Slim Jim and Jack Link’s now belongs to Edes Meats from Amarillo and Clint & Sons from nearby White Deer.
Zeus and Dom pick up a package of each to go along with their energy drinks, chips, and an assortment of travel snacks. They don’t care about the new junk food lineup. What’s the difference?
The changes were subtle enough that many folks in the plains states saw no major disruptions to their daily lives. Governments had never run as efficiently as when they facilitated the migration of unhappy residents and produced new citizenship documents for those eager for the separation. For most in these parts, everything’s the same, save for a minor round of rebranding.
Except, it’s not.
Jeremiah grew up pledging allegiance to the flag of the United States of America. One nation. Indivisible. He saluted that flag while serving the republic for which it stood and protected its liberty. But with the strokes of a few pens, those serving in his home state were now saluting the flag of the Republic of Texas. Anyone who wanted to keep serving under the Fifty Stars were allowed six months to move to the new USA. Few did.
Serving under one star means more time at home. They’re not off fighting other people’s wars. The Republic is now the most well-defended Allied Nation and is unable to be dicked around with.
Except, it’s not.
Whoever Novak works for has found a loophole. Scratch that. They think they’ve found a loophole. But this war game won’t work with Jeremiah and Mac at the wheel.
Well, not literally.
“Dom, take over driving,” Jeremiah says as he and Zeus pile their purchases next to the register.
“Wilco,” Dom says before asking the clerk to add four cheap stogies from behind the counter to their order.
Mac pays for them and for her Texas spring water. “Getting anything?”
“Give me the cash and I’ll meet y’all out there.”
Jeremiah expects her to balk, but she zips up the bag and tosses it to him. “Don’t take too long. We’re still trying to outrun the weather.”
He nods and turns toward the aisles. There used to be a dedicated shelf space in convenience stores for trucker electronics like Bluetooth headsets, GPS systems, and prepaid cellphones. He finds the section, but it has everything a driver could want except the thing he needs most.
Jeremiah grabs a can of Sonic-brand cherry limeade and approaches the exhausted cashier. “You don’t happen to keep any prepaid phones back there?”
She studies him for a moment. “Who’s asking?”
Jeremiah’s not sure how to respond, but the cashier reads the situation before he can ask a stupid question.
“You’re not from here, are you?”
He shakes his head.
“How many you need?”
“Three.”
The cashier nods and shuffles toward an employee-only doorway. Jeremiah’s never bought a burner phone, but he never imagined it would be this much of a hassle.
She emerges a minute later with a cardboard box with the logo of a food distribution company. “Two hundred. They ain’t new, but they’ll get you out of a jam.”
Jeremiah whistles at the steep price but starts counting the bills. “I take it burner phones are illegal in Oklahoma now?”
“The government says these aid drug dealers, and I tend to agree.” She pockets the cash and sits the box on the counter between them. “And I don’t sell to no drug dealers. Usually women escaping abusive men, that kinda thing. Now, you ain’t that, but you ain’t dealing, neither. Not round here, at least. Plus, with whatever’s gonna happen after those shootings, extra cash sounds mighty good right about now.”
Smart woman.
He crosses the parking lot toward Mac, who’s standing beside Blue’s passenger door, sucking on her vape pen. INSTA employees are given insurance incentives to quit smoking and all but Mac had done it, save for Dom’s victory cigars, which even Daniels said didn’t count. She lodged a complaint a few years ago, arguing she should get half-credit for switching to e-cigarettes, but they cited popcorn lung and other complications. She brought up the cigars, which were also deemed acceptable because the higher-ups were all former officers and refused to be denied the pleasure of fine Cuban tobacco.
Mac pockets the device when she sees him and flips her left palm skyward, pointing to the watch with her right index finger. He gives her a quick sorry and climbs up into the overhead with Zeus.
“Why don’t I ever get to ride shotgun?” he asks.
The answer is nuanced. Were this a normal transport on a normal day, Jeremiah could joke and say it’s because Zeus is smallest. A more neutral answer would be that Zeus brings no expertise in terms of driving ability or communications training.
But on this morning, with the team on edge and out of its comfort zone, Jeremiah picks the answer that’ll feed Zeus’s ego.
“Our secret weapon won’t be very secret if he’s riding down there.”
Zeus’s smile lets Jeremiah know he chose correctly.
“Thanks. And thanks for not sending me home because of the”—he mimics tipping back a bottle—“I’d’ve felt like shit, leaving you and Dom hanging.”
“Hey, it was a selfish decision.” Jeremiah slaps him on the shoulder. “Without you, I might be dead or in jail right now.”
Zeus pats his rifle. “It was nice to let Roxie stretch her legs. Maybe she’ll get to eat later.”
Zeus had never fired her outside of the range, but Jeremiah put the chances of Roxie breaking her fast at sixty-forty.
With a pause in the conversation, Jeremiah had an opportunity to discuss something sensitive but necessary before they got there.
Just rip it off like duct tape.
“Do you have a problem with Mac?”
Zeus dismissed her earlier and didn’t list Mac as someone he’d almost left hanging. Jeremiah hopes he’s doing it on purpose. He could deal with a known problem. Ferreting out a hidden issue, however, isn’t in his wheelhouse, and they don’t have time for a therapy session.
“It’s not her. It’s my wife.”
Jeremiah tries to piece it together, but after a few seconds he gives up. “I don’t follow.”
“Sarah Grace’s pissed at me. That’s why I came in even though I was hammered.”
“But weren’t you two …”
“We’d just finished when they called. Sarah Grace saw it was the plant and asked if Mac was coming in, too. It got pretty bad from there, so I called them back, chugged a few more and got out of there.”
Jeremiah puts an index finger to his lips and leans in. “So she’s jealous of Mac? You’ve been working together for almost a year now.”
Zeus was the newest member of the team and the only one to serve under the Fifty Stars and the Lone Star. He’d been a military contractor until the secessions. They moved back in with Sarah Grace’s parents and were in bad financial shape when Daniels finally hired him.
“Yeah, well, she’d never seen Mac until the Christmas party, and I never told her what Mac looked like.”
“Oh.”
One word rarely says so much. But, in this case, it says that, on the day Sarah Grace met her, Mac was wearing an elegant, emerald green dress with a slit up the side that was a few inches too high for a work function. It also says Mac was in high heels, which brought her height up to more than six feet, while Sarah Grace was five-four in hers.
And, though it has nothing to do with her looks, it also says Mac drank a bit too much and kissed a very married Dom below the mistletoe before stumbling out of the party.
But Jeremiah doesn’t remember Mac making a move on Zeus.
“You’ve served with women,” Jeremiah says. “Has she ever been jealous before?”
“Yeah. Calls it her crazy lady brain.”
It’s inappropriate, but the phrase strikes Jeremiah right and he chuckles. He expects Zeus to get upset, but instead they end up echoing and feeding off each other until Mac yells up at them to quit giggling like schoolgirls or share with the rest of the class.
Jeremiah collects himself and motions for Zeus to huddle up again. “We all bring our personal stuff to the job, I get that.” He leans in just a bit closer and lowers his voice to a whisper. “But being shitty to Mac because your wife’s jealous isn’t fair to her, and it puts us all at risk.”
Silence and a nod are apology enough for Jeremiah.
Time to troubleshoot.
“Sometimes,” he whispers, “acknowledging another woman’s beauty and the bond that comes with working together is a good first step. When you talk to Sarah Grace, let her know she’s your wife and Mac is becoming more like a sister.”
One corner of Zeus’s mouth ticks up. “I probably shouldn’t bring up sisters, either.”
How messed up is his marriage? Then again, Jeremiah’s not one to judge another man’s matrimonial issues. Before he can respond, Zeus’s expression turns to embarrassment.
“That came out wrong.” He says, eyes wide. “I mean, Sarah Grace and my sister don’t get along, so bringing up Lexi would just piss her off.”
“Why’s that?” Jeremiah’s never had a sister-in law, so he’s honestly curious.
“Sarah Grace hates Lexi. Thinks she’s disloyal to me and our parents.”
He probably wants to leave it there, but Jeremiah can’t help but look confused, so Zeus continues.
“Lexi’s always been an ambitious hot shot and pretty much disowned our parents a long time ago. She lives in Pennsylvania and could’ve helped me out when I lost my job, but she wouldn’t. She got to keep her old cell number, so we still talk sometimes. We just have to keep it on the DL.”
Jeremiah nods. He can infer the rest. It wasn’t universal, but the policy of sponsoring relatives during the migration was a purity test for many families. Return to whence you came, and you were a member in good standing. Refuse the offer, and you were one of them.
Tension like that could fester and infect the rest of the team, so Jeremiah considers further discussion. Then he remembers where they’re going. This may be everyone’s last trip, one that was brought about by Jeremiah’s complicated relationship with Lori.
They sit in silence for a moment, and in the quiet Jeremiah hears sleet battering the roof of their compartment.
Zeus looks up. “I know I just said I’d stop dissing Mac, but isn’t it her job to steer us around this?”
Under normal circumstances, he’d be right. Jeremiah would be hollering down to ask if Mac needed help or get an explanation for their route. Instead, he’s faced with a decision. Jeremiah and Mac can keep Zeus and Dom in the dark. Or, he can have Mac find a place to pull over, read everyone in, and use their collective brain trust to improve on the flimsy plan he’s formed over the last two-hundred eighty miles.
He climbs down. “Guys, there’s a turnoff for Old State Highway 33 coming up. Take that and pull into the first empty parking lot you can find.”
Dom glances his way.
“What’s wrong?”
25
LORI
FAST offices, Cushing, Northeast Province
Republic of Oklahoma
People think they can hide their affairs.
They can’t.
Take Fowler and Clarke, acting like they didn’t just have a quickie when everyone can smell it on them. That’s why Lori and Jeremiah meet at one of their apartments. No dates. No taking each other as plus-ones.
Lust mimics romance when it escapes the bedroom.
Or when someone—Clarke, in this case—lets it out.
She was polite when handing Boudreaux his coffee, but the overt come-ons were gone. She was also nicer to Lori. Not quite pleasant, but far removed from the rom-com villainess she impersonated before her break-room release.
Fowler, meanwhile, entered unchanged. He didn’t invite Clarke to stay. Didn’t react when she announced her departure from his office a bit too loudly. Didn’t watch her leave, instead choosing to engage with Boudreaux while her angry steps filtered in from the hall.
Then Clarke returned to Fowler’s office less than twenty minutes later, asking to see something on his computer while leaning over him to see the monitor.
“Thanks again,” she tells him. “I can’t believe I accidentally deleted that phone number. We’re lucky you know how to recover files.”
What a load of crap.
“No problem.” He backs his chair away from the desk and Clarke stumbles out of the way. “And since you watched me do it, now won’t have to rely on me next time it happens.”
Translation: You’re being transparent. Now go.
She doesn’t.
Instead, Clarke turns to Boudreaux. “I forgot to ask you …”
Lori drifts away from the conversation while she waits for Boudreaux’s modafinil to kick in. He’d said it was like washing down Adderall with an energy drink, then chasing it with a shot of epinephrine. He also gave her two pain pills courtesy of his pilot friend, which makes her thankful for the safe landing.
She still hears everything and will record the bad soap opera unfolding in front of her. But Lori can think over the conversations and find what’s relevant in the background in the unlikely case she needs it. While Boudreaux and Fowler reminisce about an op in Brazil, Lori thinks about Jeremiah. She feels sorry for him. Truly. She never loved him and is 90 percent sure she’s incapable of feeling that way about anyone.
