Page 2 of Lawless
Finally.
"Yeah, hi. I'm trying to get my nursing license registered."
A pause stretched on for just a few moments too long.
"What's your name?"
"Mariposa Wilder."
Another pause.
"I'm sorry. I can’t. There's nothing I can do."
"What?" I pulled the phone back from my ear and looked at it like something wasn't working. "What do you mean? I graduated from Northwestern Medical College this morning. Ineedthis license to be able to work." Why I had to explain this to someone whose job it was to process licenses was beyond me.
"I'm sorry," the person on the other line repeated, their voice cracking with emotion. "I can't. They'll shoot me if I do."
My heart squeezed in my chest like a cruel fist had wrapped around it.
"They've already gotten to the capital?" I squeaked, my voice lost in disbelief.
"They decreed it not even a half hour ago," the voice answered, seconds away from sobbing. “In the Republic of Texahoma, women are forbidden from holding any kind of medical license."
One
MARIPOSA
Three Years Later
The van lurched to a stop. I grabbed my pack like it would slip away from me before sliding my arms through the straps. The driver's eyes in the rearview mirror told me enough. He wouldn't be driving any further west.
I waited for the half dozen other people hitching a ride to get off before rising from the back seat. As I approached him, I pulled a small baggie from my pocket and held it out to him.
"For your trouble," I muttered.
He just scowled as he snatched the single tablet of valium from me. "You're a fool to come out this far west. The biker gangs eat girls like you alive."
"I'll survive." Those words have been a mantra I've repeated for years. So far, it proved to be true so I wasn't about to doubt it yet.
"After they get their hands on ya," he shook his head, "you might be wishin' for death." With that, he shooed me off his vehicle and drove off in a cloud of dust and exhaust.
I took a moment to observe my surroundings. The first thing I noticed was the fucking heat. This used to be Phoenix, Arizona. Now, like everywhere else, its name and borders changed depending on who was in charge. The latest I heard it being referred to was Old Phoenix.
Creative, these tyrants.
Miles of dry, dusty desert surrounded me in all directions, with the occasional saguaro cactus standing tall like soldiers. A mountain range stood off in the distance, the only not-flat part of the landscape. It would have been pretty and majestic, if anybody could bring themselves to feel good about anything these days.
The van driver dropped his passengers off in front of a service station, which had once been a hotel. Now, these places provided everything from temporary shelter, food, cheap hookers referred to as service girls, and if they were lucky, medical services. Which was what I hoped to provide.
Gripping the edges of my bag straps, I headed for the building that had seen better days. Weeds grew tall, choking off the once charming landscaping. Dust and mud caked the exterior walls and the glass front door, which was also scarred with a few bullet holes.
But I had to count my blessings. There were no motorcycles parked outside. At least not yet.
The smell of must greeted me as I stepped inside. No one bothered to clean anymore, not when gangs and deviants tore through homes and places like these to ransack goods. Even in the twenty-second century, humans still got the urge to pillage and loot.
With the lobby completely empty, I bypassed the front desk and headed straight for the kitchen. Not that I was hoping to run into a biker gang, but the quietness of this place unnerved me. People usually flocked to places like this once their homes were no longer theirs.
Crossing the dining area, I pushed open a swinging door to find a remarkably clean, stainless steel kitchen. And three people cooking.
