Devin, who sat in a crumbling building, wretched and hurting, mostly blind, probably scared, while Joe got a thrill-ride hard-on.
The ground leveled out, and Joe watched renewed rain patter against his hands until he got his breathing and his body under control. He had a vague notion that Iowa State lay to the west, but they were headed north, roughly parallel to the highway.
“Thanks for helping us,” Joe said. “We need to get to the university. Are you a student there?”
“Graduated last year. Got a company all my own now. Name’s Rip.”
“Great. So if you could drop us off —”
“Nah. Me’n my buddy Belton are gonna take care of you.” Rip turned his head and looked up at Joe. The bike swerved. “I heard Derangered Rick back there say you need some pills.”
“My friend got hurt, and we need medicine.”
“I got the hookup.”
The road sloped upward, and Rip followed it into a parking garage at the base of a mammoth black metallic glass structure. He wound through the garage, dodging crumbling pillars and wrecked self-driving vehicles, before stopping abruptly at an elevator.
“VIP entrance,” Rip said.
“How do we know we can trust them?” the bell-ringer, Belton, asked. His deep voice gave Joe shivers.
“We’re not Feds.” Joe wanted to make that clear. Whatever fear of the government had set off the scraggly group outside wasn’t something he wanted a part of. He didn’t want a part of this, either, but he didn’t have much choice.
Rip produced a key, unlocked a panel on the elevator, and placed a hand on the small of Joe’s back to usher him inside once the doors opened. With four people and the two bikes, the fit was tight, but not tight enough to explain why Rip stood so close.
“Oh, sugar baby, I know you aren’t Feds. Government wouldn’t send someone with a sixty-year-old gun. Plus you’re too young and skinny.” Rip’s hand drifted from Joe’s back to his ass, the touch light, before his fingers slipped under Joe’s shirt and skimmed up and down his hip.
Joe turned to the side to break the contact. “You said you have medical supplies?”
Rip smiled and pointed to the square access hatch in the ceiling. “We gotta climb.”
Fabulous. Joe glanced at Peter, who looked like he was hanging on by a thread. At least Belton wasn’t anywhere near him. “Lead the way.”
“Nah. I think you should go first, then me, then your boy, then mine.”
No way was Joe letting Peter out of his sight with either of these men. “How about Belton goes first so he can open things up, then my associate, me, and you?”
Rip smiled like he’d gotten exactly what he wanted. “You’re the customer.”
The ascent on the access ladder was slow and tricky. Most of the steps were solid, but every so often, Belton hit one that creaked under his weight. He climbed nimbly for a larger man, and thank God, Peter didn’t seem to be afraid of heights. On the fourth floor, Belton jimmied open a doorway grate and led them into a corridor lit dimly with emergency lights.
“What is this place?” Joe asked.
“Hospital,” Rip said. “Used to be the largest in the Midwest ’til shit went bad, according to my pops. So what’s your story, morning glory? Not enough thrills in the dome? Slumming it for kicks?”
Rip thought Joe was from the dome? What an asinine conclusion. Wet, filthy, and skinny, Joe was hardly the picture of privilege. But he wasn’t about to admit where he’d really come from. “You get a lot of us?”
Rip shrugged. “Some. Mostly punks on Vespas and shit, looking every bit the big old mess you do, trying to see if it’s really as bad out here as mommy and daddy said.”
“Is it?”
“Look around, rich boy. You saw the scags and scrags out there. Those people aren’t junkies ’cause they have something better to do.”
They rounded a corner and Joe’s suspicions were confirmed. Walls and shelves of medicines stretched back into the darkness, some of it clearly medical — neatly labeled and factory sealed — but the rest was pills and syringes and plants in vacuum sealed baggies with handwritten titles.
Joe squelched his curiosity. He’d never met more than a small-time drug dealer, and he was dying to know how Rip and Belton, who hadn’t shown any intelligence whatsoever, were able to commandeer such a huge pharmacy and make it their base of operation. But more than anything, he wanted to get back to Devin. “I need a nanotech kit.”
“Ooh, you weren’t kidding about having a medical emergency.” Rip’s eyes darted to Peter. “What’s wrong with him?”
“Not him. Another in our group. He’s waiting for us outside the city.”
“Nanokits aren’t cheap. I hope you came prepared.”
“How much?”
“What do you have?”
Joe fished in his pocket and pulled out a wad of old American money. Sticky and dirty, it clung to his fingers.
“Nuh-uh. We’re not animals.” Rip flipped a switch and the lights went up. A powerbank lined one wall, and on it, an alcove lit in neon green announced the drug dealers had a chip reader. Rip gestured to the wall. “Step on up, dome daddy.”
“We agree on a price first.”
“What do you have in mind?”
Joe hesitated. He had no idea how much nanotech cost. He had no idea how much anything cost, really. He turned to Peter.
Still wide-eyed and white-faced, the way he’d looked since the tornado, Peter said, “They cost around fifty thousand at home.”
Joe nodded. “Thirty-five.”
Rip laughed. “That is not the way it works.”
“You get a lot of customers for nanotech in Ames?”
“I do all right.”
Joe didn’t doubt that. Rip had a whole addicted population down on the streets. He had access to the university crowd, and if he really had graduated last year, he’d probably built his business as
