The Roadhouse Chronicles Box Set [Books 1-3]

by Cox, Matthew S.

  “Straight ahead door is the bathroom. I’ll see about some hot water. Trade’s good for one batch, so’s ya can share it or take turns. Up ta you.” Brian pushed open the door to the right. “Kin sleep in here.”

  Kevin shook Brian’s hand again. “Thanks.”

  The older man nodded and went to the kitchen. Kevin stepped past the doorway, holding it for Tris to follow. The size of the old bed and military aircraft posters on the wall implied the former owner had been a boy.

  Tris paused by a dresser full of little league trophies, examining them with a somber expression. “I wonder if he survived.” She slipped around him and took a seat on the end of the bed. “Poor kid, he must’ve been terrified.”

  Kevin approached the dresser. All of the trophies had the name ‘Brian Werner’ engraved on them, and seemed to be from third or fourth grade. He held one up for Tris to see. “I think he made it.”

  She chuckled. “What are the odds it’s the same Brian?”

  “I dunno.” He dropped the plaque back where he found it. “If he was nine or ten when the war happened, he’d be in his early sixties now. Could be.”

  “Umm, hello?” asked a child’s voice. The girl from the sofa leaned in, using one bare foot to push the door open wider. She carried a green bowl in each hand, filled with some manner of stew and a protruding spoon handle. “Gran’pa asked me to bring you food.”

  Kevin waved her in and sat on the edge of the bed. “Thanks, kid.”

  “Hannah.” The girl walked up to the bed and handed the bowls over, staring at Tris.

  A scent reminiscent of gumbo with sausage absorbed his attention. Six spoonfuls later, he looked up at the child, who remained in the same spot, toes clenching and releasing the rug. Her tee shirt dress looked at least three times her age, patched, sewn, and re-patched. Though she had the disheveled appearance common to settlers, she seemed healthy enough.

  “What’s on your mind, girl?” asked Kevin.

  Hanna tilted her head to the right. “Why is her hair white and she’s not old?”

  Tris smiled. “It’s always been this color. I don’t know why.”

  “Same reason yours is black.” Kevin winked.

  “I’ve seen lots of people with black hair, but no one ever has white hair.” Hanna took a step back. “Did you grow up near radiation?”

  Tris shook her head. “Nope.”

  “Hannah,” yelled a woman. “Stop bothering our guests.”

  “I gotta go.” Hannah backed up to the door, where she lingered for a few more seconds before darting out of sight.

  An older woman leaned in and smiled. “Sorry about that. She’s curious, like her mama was at that age.”

  Kevin waved her off. “No problem. I don’t know what this is, but I’d drive for a week to have another bowl.”

  “Oh, you.” The woman winked. “You’re too kind. Ain’t nothin’ but an old recipe of mine. Brian’s sick to tears of it.”

  “Impossible.” Kevin scraped at the bowl.

  “Well, you let me know if you need anything. I’m Jean. My daughter’s Caitlin.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.” Kevin bowed his head.

  A minute or so after Jean walked off, Tris looked at him. “You’re not at all worried?”

  “Nope. Most people are pretty friendly. Wayne says it’s like it was hundreds of years before the war, when horses were still how most got around. People were a lot nicer t’each other back then.”

  “I’ve seen historical documentaries about the Wildlands when I was in school. I know what happens to women out here.” She shivered. “They’re probably acting nice until we’re asleep. That girl is creepy. I bet she tries to cut my throat in the middle of the night.” Her eyes shot open wide. “Oh, no! What if this is people we’re eating?”

  Kevin smirked. “What ‘historical documentaries’ did you see?”

  Tris glanced up in thought for a second. “Umm, Mad Max, Damnation Alley, Cyborg, and Escape from New York.”

  He burst out laughing.

  Tris scowled. “What?”

  Tears flowed out of his eyes. He cradled the precious bowl so he didn’t drop it until he got control of himself. “Historical documentaries? Really?”

  She growled. “What!”

  “Those are old-ass movies. Fiction. Pre-war stuff making up what it would be like after a nuclear war.”

  “Doctor Gaurav said the Enclave had surveillance drones out in the Wildlands, and they recorded those images.”

  “Holy shit.” Kevin leaned forward, still chuckling. “Tris, it’s bullshit. Have you ever heard of Hollywood?”

  She stirred her food. “Yeah. It was one of the first major population centers struck by nuclear weapons. The enemies of the old United States attacked it as a symbolic gesture against capitalism and Western ideals.”

  “Right. Do you know why they felt that way?”

  Tris squinted.

  “They made movies there. All those ‘documentaries’ they showed you are fictional. None of it is real. Humans don’t all degenerate into mindless savages the instant there’s no longer organized law. Where do you think organized law came from in the first place?”

  She stared at the rug. “Umm…”

  “There’s something about disasters and living with the constant threat of imminent death. It awakens some instinctual need for people to come together and help each other. Most settlers you run into out here are good people.”

  “I’m not sure I believe you.” She sniffed a spoonful of stew. “Why would the Enclave lie about that?”

  “If you have to ask that, you’re a lot more clueless than I gave you credit for.”

  A knock at the door preceded Brian peeking in. “Bath’s hot.”

  Kevin glanced at her. “You go first.”

  She smiled for a few seconds before nervousness overwhelmed her.

  “Course, if you don’t want to be alone.”

  Tris made her sad-eyes at him and looked back and forth from him to the door. “If you want.”

  “Do you?” He smiled. “It’s been a little while for me. I might touch something I’m not supposed to.”

  Her cheeks and nose went from porcelain to pink. “I trust you.”

  Well, shit… she’s offering. Who am I to say no? “Lead on.”

  He stood, shrugged out of his armored jacket, and removed his boots. Tris kicked her shoes off and padded out the door. The bathroom, two steps from the bedroom, had already filled with steam. He followed her in and nudged the door closed before locking it. Tris pulled the leather shirt off over her head, causing a cascade of cottony white hair to spill down over her back. Kevin set his .45 atop the toilet tank in easy reach of the bathtub and pulled his shirt off as Tris worked her way out of her jeans, pushing them and her panties down at the same time.

  Kevin momentarily forgot how to work a belt buckle.

  Tris looked over her shoulder at him. He couldn’t reconcile the thought of a woman with such a slender figure kicking a man hard enough to smash a railing. Gazing at the little heart-shaped gap between her perfect thighs brought a grunt of discomfort as his interest struggled to break out of his jeans.

  What is she up to?

  She tested the water with a toe before smiling and lowering herself in to sit. “It’s perfect.”

  He discarded the rest of his clothes and hopped in facing her. Two seconds later, every muscle in his back locked.

  “Shit! It’s hot!” His teeth chattered.

  Tris took a bar of soap from a recessed cubby in the wall. “I wasn’t expecting this place to feel so… normal.”

  It took a minute for him to settle in, millimeter by millimeter as his skin adapted to the temperature. He stared at her breasts, large A-cups or small Bs, hovering a few inches over the steam-shrouded water. Her blasé demeanor raised his guard, a too-sudden shift from modesty to not caring.

  “I’m telling you.” He eased himself against the tub wall, trying to acclimate to the water. “Most peop
le are normal.”

  She worked the soap up and down her arms and over her chest. He couldn’t pull his gaze off wherever her hands moved.

  “We shouldn’t stay here long.” She aimed a nervous glance at the door. “Turn around. You are filthy.”

  He did and rested his elbows on his knees. She rubbed the soap over his shoulders and into his hair. As Tris leaned in close enough for her nipples to graze across his back, his ‘little warrior’ sprang to attention again, forgetting how hot the water was. Kevin groaned.

  Tris whispered at his ear. “If these people are nice, I’d prefer we get out of here before the Enclave comes for me. I don’t want them to get hurt.”

  Kevin reached up and grasped her hand, which rested on his shoulder. Eye contact. Her face hovered close enough to kiss. “They think you’re dead.”

  “I’m not.” She bit her lower lip. “Because of you.”

  Kevin twisted sideways and ran a finger over the spot he’d cut. Not even a scar…

  She shivered and squirmed, evidently ticklish.

  “Yeah, don’t get used to it. I’m usually an asshole.” He smiled. “Rare attack of conscience.”

  Tris covered her mouth to mute a giggle. She brushed a soapy hand over his forehead and worked her fingers through his shoulder-length hair. Droplets hit the water in front of him, exploding into small clouds of grime. “When you said it’s been awhile, did you mean a bath or being with a woman?”

  “Yes.”

  “I can tell.” She smirked at his crotch, and at how grey the water had become.

  “You don’t have to do this as some kind of thank you.” You’re an asshole, not an idiot. She’s offering. Take it. “Really.”

  “What if I want to?” She leaned closer, pushing him backward until he lay almost flat, with only his head above the water. “Do you want to?”

  “I could be talked into it. But it might take a bit of do―” He closed his eyes as she lowered herself to kiss him.

  Water lapped at the sides of the tub as they writhed, joined at the lip for several minutes. She pushed up, gasping for breath and smiling. The soap bumped his shin, bobbing in the water, forgotten at the other end. He ran a hand up her thigh and over her hip.

  “I’ve only done this a couple of times before.” She put on a demure expression he wasn’t inclined to trust. “But I’ve seen a lot of historical documentaries about it.”

  Kevin muffled a laugh into the crook of her neck. She giggled.

  A patch of moonlight glowed on the wall past the foot end of the bed, a skewed rectangle taller on the right side. The silhouette of an old combat aircraft, a ‘Raptor’ according to the poster, lurked in shadow near the corner. Kevin let his gaze wander to the ceiling. Tris lay flat on her back next to him, using his right bicep as a pillow, her head turned toward him. More relaxed than he could ever remember being, he closed his eyes and waited for sleep.

  Scattered gunfire went off in the distance.

  Tris shot upright, staring at the window.

  “It’s not the Enclave.” He put a hand on her shoulder and tugged. “Relax.”

  “I thought you said people are friendly.”

  Kevin yawned. “There’s always the exception. Besides, they might be shooting at a dust hopper or coyotes.”

  Soft, rapid thumps vibrated the floor with the cadence of a child running. A door out in the hallway opened and slammed.

  Two more shots split the silence with sharp cracks. A woman’s voice yelled something like “Over there.”

  “Aren’t you going to help?” She leaned over him, trying to peer out the window. After a few seconds, she lay back down.

  “Whoever it is ain’t shooting at us.” He closed his eyes again. “Ammo’s expensive.”

  18

  Glimmertown

  The Challenger devoured miles of road in relative silence. A pervasive rattle seemed minor enough to dismiss for the time being, but constant enough he couldn’t stop wondering about it. If the nozzle for the incendiary chem sprayer had been knocked loose, using the weapon could send a stream of flames onto the back of his head. If the noise came from one of the rear-mounted rifle mechanisms, it presented less of an issue. Inaccuracy didn’t kill… at least not right away. Can’t be drive train, sounds too light.

  He glanced sideways at Tris. Since the sun had gone down after a full day of driving, she’d settled in the passenger seat and closed her eyes. Fleeting memories of last night in the bathtub played a slideshow in his head, punctuated by scenes of what she’d done to the News. Crossing that line with her left the aftertaste of a guilt cocktail boosted with dread in his mouth. Guilt as though he’d taken advantage of an innocent girl in need mixed with fear he’d slipped further into a bog he’d not be able to get out of. Not that he had much of an attention span to spare in the midst of it, but she had seemed to be enjoying herself… not merely waiting for it to be over.

  With the exception of Zephyra’s working girls, only one other woman had offered sex so soon after meeting him―and she stole the Marauder. Kevin missed everything about that truck, from the chromed skull gearshift knob to the two-inch armor plating. That old war-wagon got me through 8320 coins. It wasn’t fast, but it didn’t need to be. He tried to figure out what her motivation was. Maybe it’d been some kind of desperation play to make him want to protect her. Perhaps nothing more than a ‘thanks for saving my life.’ He shrugged. Maybe she just wanted to get laid.

  Pitch black horizon held no answers to his wandering gaze.

  Kevin sighed, making Tris stir. She looked at him with half-open eyes, stretched, and sat up with a yawn. A swath of artificial light simmered along the horizon, filtering among innumerable tangled iron girders and struts. The unmistakable radiance of Glimmertown set him on edge. This was as ‘civilized’ as the Wildlands got, which meant it wasn’t civil at all. His own voice replayed in his mind, telling Tris most people were friendly.

  Okay, bit of a white lie there. Most people… except the ones in Glimmertown.

  “Salt Lake?” Tris looked away from a green blur passing outside her window.

  Kevin chuckled. “Not anymore.”

  “Are you sure?” All traces of sleep faded from her eyes. “Wasn’t it a major population center. Infected?”

  Kevin shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. Glimmertown’ll chew up and spit out anyone that doesn’t have money… Even Infected.”

  “What are we walking into?”

  He shrugged. “Gambling, drugs, prostitution… When I was little, they weren’t much different from a pack of bandits. They shot up settlements, took slaves, chased down drivers like me. Eventually, there were so many of them, people moved in on their own. They didn’t need to raid anymore ‘cause they got all they needed comin’ to them.”

  Tris scowled. “I already don’t like the place.”

  Gravity lessened for an instant as the Challenger crested the top of a small hill in the road. Up head, a blinding light source hung in the air above a walled-in settlement a few miles square. The glare came from a forty-four-foot scaffold tower bedecked with hundreds of headlights, light bulbs, stadium gas lamps, and anything else they could find. An expanse of buildings, many made from old vehicle parts, surrounded the spire. Outside the walls of Glimmertown, the ruins of old Salt Lake City sprawled over the earth. The war had pulverized many of the prewar structures into a bed of rubble reminiscent of a Japanese Zen garden. A handful of tents and small trailers stood around the outskirts, casting long shadows in the glow from the central spire.

  Kevin slowed to thirty along a cracked-but-navigable stretch of highway. A half-mile from the edge of the rebuilt city, dividers sat horizontally across the road, alternating left and right. Reflective flakes embedded in the concrete flickered in his sweeping headlights. The back and forth route around the barriers forced the Challenger down to a slow creep.

  “We could walk faster than this,” said Tris. “I feel like a target.”

  Kevin kept his gaze on the men
with rifles watching them from the safety of nooks nearest the ends of each switchback, clad in tattered leather and old military body armor.

  “That’s the point. Welcome to Glimmertown.”

  “They don’t look happy to see us,” said Tris.

  Kevin locked eyes with one and offered a nod of greeting. The man didn’t react. “I don’t think they’re happy to see anyone.”

  The gauntlet ended at a courtyard framed on all sides by fifteen-foot fences capped with razor wire, which connected to the city’s outer wall. Traces of curb hinted that the open space used to be an intersection between two huge streets. To the left sat a long yellow and red building with six garage doors and a window full of old hubcaps sandwiched between yellowing blinds and glass. A brothel took up most of the right wall, judging by the suggestive nature of the spray-painted figures adorning it and a cluster of half-dressed women by the door. Straight ahead, in the center of the reinforced fence, a person-sized opening led into Glimmertown proper.

  “Guess we walk from here?” asked Tris.

  Kevin pulled up to the garage. “Yeah. In a town where everyone’s trying to screw each other over, the last thing they want is wheels. Makes it too easy to get away I guess.” He opened his door. “Do me a favor? Watch the car.”

  Tris pulled the Beretta out and smiled at him. “Okay.”

  Kevin trotted to a garish pink door between the window and the garage bays and walked in. Behind a desk covered in wood paneling, an Asian man, shirtless save for a black leather pistol harness, looked up from a functioning flat panel monitor. He flashed a broad grin, making his jawline almost a perfect square. Tons of color printouts of naked women adorned the wall to the man’s left, their poses varying degrees of ‘artistic.’ On his right, a similar collage of nude men papered the other wall.