I can see the stars…
22
Little Red
An inch of water sloshed in the bottom of a highball glass as Tris slid it back and forth between her hands. Every few minutes, she looked up at the window and searched the dark street. The rhythmic sound of glass sliding over whatever synthetic material covered the table seemed to drown out the rest of the world.
“Refill, hon?” asked a kindly middle-aged woman holding a bubble-shaped coffee pot full of water.
“I guess.” Tris let her glass stop.
“What’d you two fight about?” The woman poured. “Shame ya let a cutie like him get away.”
“Oh…” Tris stared at the water until the bubbles stopped swirling, and glanced out the window again. “We didn’t fight that bad. He’s coming back.”
“Hope you’re right, sweetie. You g’won and lemme know if you need ta talk.” The woman shuffled back to the counter.
Tris’s focus traded blur between her reflection and the street. The dirt road outside twinkled wherever bits of silica or broken glass caught the incessant glow from the main spire. Pale blue numbers floating at the lower left of her vision read 23:18. The two dots blinked in a slow cadence, marking the passage of seconds. She closed her eyes, but the clock remained superimposed over the black. Somewhere inside her head, little wires fed it directly into her optic nerve… or at least that’s what Nathan told her.
I don’t remember going to the bathroom once while in Detention. I had to have, but why can’t I picture where the toilet was in my cell? Lines drawn in memory appeared in her thoughts. Octagonal grey room with floor-to-ceiling chrome strips at every corner. Tiny table on the south wall. Gel-filled mattress on the north wall. Door on the left. Education terminal on the right. Gloss-black floor icy underfoot.
Tris sighed and rubbed her fingers into the sides of her nose. She thought back to the look on Kevin’s face when she’d taken out Neon’s bodyguards. To her, everything had seemed to stop when her boosters kicked in. She’d pulled guns from a pair of mannequins and shot them in the head before they even knew she’d gotten their weapons. The predictive targeting system embedded in her brain stem painted thin lines out of the front of any gun she held, estimating the bullet path. Reflections in the fish tank let her hit the two other thugs behind them without needing to turn around.
He looked at me like I was a… machine. She shivered. They can implant memories. Months of combat training in two real weeks. What else did they feed me? A handful of fleeting glimpses of her father, an oldish man with snowy white beard and hair. He’s so old. How can that be my father?
She picked up the glass. “I’m drinking this. I can’t be an android.”
“You need something, hon?” yelled the diner owner.
“Fine, thanks. Just talking to myself.” She chugged the entire glass in one breath.
If I’m a machine, I’m about to short out.
Again she looked at the street. Dammit, where is he? I should’ve thrown that stupid box over the wall. I never should’ve let him go alone.
She stood, slung the katana across her back, and rushed out. Four steps into the street, she stopped, unsure which way to go.
“Hey,” yelled the woman. “You forgettin’ something?”
“Oh.” Tris turned. “Sorry. I gotta find him. What do I owe you for the water?”
“Just one, sweetie.” The older woman smiled, and let go of something in the back of her belt.
“Sorry.” Tris handed over a dime. “I was too pissed. Did you notice which way he went?”
The woman pointed left. “Toward the bad part of town.”
“There’s a bad part?” Other than everywhere?
“Oh, ho…” The woman shook her head. “You’re still new here. You’ll find out. Little thing like you might wanna come on back inside and wait for him.”
“I’ve already waited too long.” She squinted into a breeze blowing in from the west. “I got a bad feeling.”
“Pity if anything happened to a pretty face like yours. Be careful.” The woman ambled back into her diner.
Tris thought about marking a waypoint. A faint beep sounded in her ears and a directional arrow, in the same shade of pale blue as the clock, appeared next to the numbers. She followed the road for a few minutes before it dead-ended in a cul-de-sac with three brothels. The last possible right turn led past a row of private residences that used to be passenger vans, small cargo trucks, and a few made from welded-together dumpsters. All manner of sounds emanated from within. Snoring, sex, and everything in between.
She fought the urge to start shouting his name. Urgency hastened her stride and she proceeded to jog in a regular back and forth sweep pattern. One side of Glimmertown to the other, up one block, then reverse. The second time she reached the farthest east point before the walled-off end, a flash of red caught her eye to the left. A wisp of a teenaged girl had Kevin’s armored jacket. How many long-sleeved, red, ridged jackets are there in the Wildlands? She pivoted on her heel and ran up behind the girl.
“Hey, kid.”
“I’m not your kid, blanca.” The girl kept walking in a wobbly gait that made it seem like she’d fall over at any second.
“Nice jacket.”
The girl narrowed dark green eyes at her. “Fuck you, it’s mine.”
“Where’d you get it?” Tris grabbed the sleeve.
“Offa me!” The girl whipped her body around to jerk her arm loose and fell on her ass. She grabbed Tris’s wrist and pulled, unable to move her. Fear widened her eyes. “Fuck do you care?”
“I really want to know.” Tris squatted, draping her elbows over her knees. “Where’d you get it?”
“Offa some dead guy.” The girl made a sour face.
A wave of lightheadedness came on and passed. By the time Tris returned to the here and now, the girl was upright and half a block away. No… Kevin.
Tris stood and yelled, “Show me where.”
The girl shrieked something incomprehensible and took off at an ungainly sprint. Tris bolted after her, gaining ground with ease. She got close enough to shove the teen with two hands, knocking her forward into a tumbling roll. After a somersault, the girl curled on her side, clutching her right knee.
“Ugh, bitch.”
Tris pulled the Beretta off her belt and pounced on the girl, holding the gun against her cheek. “You’re going to show me where you found that jacket. If you move faster than a calm walk, I’m going to blow out both your knees. Got it?”
The girl stared at her, lip quivering as if about to burst into tears.
“Don’t give me that bullshit.” Tris leaned back and stood. “Get up.”
“I’m Stacy, but everyone calls me Fix.”
“Don’t care.” Tris wagged the Beretta at her. “Get up.”
“Please don’t shoot me, I’m only twelve.”
“You’re at least fifteen. Get the hell up.”
Stacy rolled onto her hands and knees and crawled to a stack of tires someone likely intended as a ‘crash absorber’ at a street corner. She pulled herself upright and leaned on it. Tris closed to within two steps.
“Alright, alright.” Stacy pushed off the tires and flailed her arms to keep balance. “You torched my fucking knee, gimme a little slack.”
“Sorry. It was that or shoot you.”
Stacy fixed her with a dark look, half pout and half venom. “He’s over by Tyrant’s, on the tracks.”
“I’m still waiting.”
The girl limped on. “Stay quiet. Tyrant’s crew’ll fuck you up if they hear ya.”
“They leave you alone?” Tris raised an eyebrow.
“Yeah.” Stacy raised and lowered her arms as if pantomiming a bird. “They don’t mess with payin’ customers. If you’re not there to buy, you’re there to steal.”
Tris followed her as she hooked a right turn between a pair of rotting buses. “Seems like a bad way to get new customers. You sure they won’t try talking first?
”
“Not to you. You’re like stupid hot. Crazy white bitch, beyond white. They’ll try to sell you to Neon, like that other chick.” The girl stopped at the front end of the bus, holding on to the metal to support herself as she peered past it. “Shh. He’s right over there.”
Tris wagged the Beretta.
Stacy grumbled, still scowling, as she trudged across a field of loose gravel. Four parallel sets of train tracks filled a wide channel between two sections of rebuilt city. Metal creaked and whined in all directions, keeping time with the rise and fall of a breeze. About a hundred yards ahead on the far side of the rails, Kevin lay in a pile of weeds and trash against a slatted chain link fence.
Shit! Tris grabbed Stacy’s right wrist and pulled her up to a sprint. The girl stumbled on the rails, but didn’t fall. Once they reached open gravel, she set her heels, though Tris dragged her along anyway. A few steps from Kevin, she shoved the girl to the ground. Stacy scooted away and cowered with her back to the fence.
“Don’t move.” Tris aimed at her for a second, before guilt and worry overwhelmed her caution. She hurried to his side and took a knee. Blood oozed from his nostrils, mouth, and a cut on his forehead. “Kevin?”
After transferring the gun to her left hand, she felt for a pulse. The instant she sensed one, he groaned. Tris let her head sag with relief.
Scratch.
The gravel shifted to her left. A blur of motion got her attention and her hand flew up to intercept something coming for her face. With a slap, she caught Stacy by the wrist. Tris stared past trembling fingers holding a one-inch square derm patch at a terrified teenaged girl. Her fear didn’t seem quite as fake now.
Stacy’s button-shaped nose, a little wide for her face, and her large green eyes made her look young. She offered a weak, apologetic smile, though any color her skin might have had drained away.
“H-holy shit… W-what the fuck was that? How did you move that fast?”
Tris glanced at the derm for a second and back to the girl. “What’s that?”
“Nothing bad. Just some sleepy time.” Stacy looked down, lowering her voice. “I thought you were gonna kill me.”
“Bullshit. You were gonna pick me clean.”
When Stacy didn’t offer an immediate protest, Tris shoved. The quick thrust overpowered the girl with ease, smacking the derm patch onto her cheek.
“No! Please don’t!” Stacy fell over backward. She tried to claw the derm off her face, but already had lost too much coordination to grab it, and flapped her arms like a wounded bird. “Don’t leave me here unc… un…”
Tris pushed the girl’s fingers down on the chem square, deforming the teen’s cheek. “You were gonna leave me here unconscious… and probably naked.”
Stacy moaned. She attempted to squirm, but seemed barely able to move. Her eyes rolled up and her head lolled to the side.
After holding the girl down for ten more seconds, Tris holstered the Beretta. She crept back to Kevin’s side and jostled him. He moaned. She patted him on the cheek until his eyes fluttered open.
“Tris…” Blood seeped out of his smile.
She poked and pressed around his neck and sides, making him wince. “I don’t feel anything broken.”
“Ugh.” He breathed hard for a moment before raising his hands to stare at them. “Shit.” He patted his empty holster and sat up. “Fuck.” His eyes crossed, and he flopped onto his back again, moaning. “My .45?”
“I don’t know.”
“Drugs?”
“Not here.”
Kevin snarled and struggled to his feet. “Where’s my fucking jacket?”
Tris grabbed his arm and pulled him upright. “There.”
“Little rat.” He staggered over to Stacy, squinted at her, and glanced at Tris. “You offed a kid?”
Tris frowned. “No. Look at her cheek. She tried to sneak me with a derm.”
Kevin growled past clenched teeth as he bent down to grab his armored jacket. “I suppose you’re gonna tell me I should let her keep it.” He peeled her out of it, exposing a ratty tank top as thin as toilet paper and nothing underneath.
“Nah.” Tris helped him into it before pulling his arm across her shoulders, steadying him on his feet. “She’s not as innocent as she looks. Come on.”
Kevin grabbed his side and winced as she supported most of his weight.
She eyed the chain link fence, peering at faint hints of fires burning a couple hundred yards in. He’d probably be okay for a few minutes… but what if something went wrong. Revenge never came with guarantees.
Tris hefted his arm and tucked into his side. Not worth it. “Let’s get you to bed.”
23
Had it Coming
Pain flared in Kevin’s chest each time his boot struck the ground. Tris had a vice grip on his wrist, causing her bony little shoulder to jab him in the armpit as she helped him walk. His free left arm wound up swinging limp at his side, covered in throbbing bruises. Whenever he tried to put weight on his left knee, it tweaked out, but didn’t feel broken. Flashes and glimpses of mocking grins and blurring fists came and went. Somehow, they’d focused most of their attention on his chest.
He reached up and grasped the jacket. I love this thing.
Droplets of fluid moved deep within his nose. The maddening tickle overwhelmed rational thought and filled him with the irresistible, uncontainable urge to make it stop. He clamped his palm over his face and rubbed side to side, before sticking his finger up to the second knuckle and setting off an atomic bomb of a migraine.
“Shit, you’re bleeding again.” Tris pushed something soft under his nose. “Hold that there. I think it’s broken.”
“Ng.” All he wanted at that moment was for the pain to go away.
Tris gathered his arm over her shoulder again and pulled him. “Come on… Don’t make me carry you like a baby.”
He chuckled. “Ow.”
Gravel crunched.
Kevin waved his arms around, gritting his teeth from the agony as Tris whirled away from him and let go without warning. He managed not to fall to his knees and looked up at her. An angry scream stalled in his throat at the sight of the huge guy from Cloud 9. Even without the sledgehammer, he struck a menacing silhouette. Tris already had her Beretta leveled at the giant’s face. White cloth around his thigh soaked red where Tina had shot him.
“Wait.” He raised his hands. “Not lookin’ for any trouble. I wanted to warn you.”
Tris didn’t lower the gun. “Warn us?”
“You could’a killed me and didn’t, so I felt like I owed you at least something.” He stepped closer.
“Easy.” Kevin wheezed. “She’s got a little issue with slavers.”
“Hmf.” Tris smirked.
The man gestured toward the tower. “It got back to the boss you offed Neon. He ain’t too happy ‘bout it.”
“I thought Neon was the boss,” said Tris.
“Naw.” Kevin coughed. “He’s the face. A smart boss doesn’t show himself to any idiot that walks in from the road.”
“Somethin’ like that. Cloud 9 was Neon’s thing, but Glimmertown belongs to Mr. Petersen.” The big man lowered his arms. “Look, I ain’t here to start shit. Mr. P wants someone’s ass bent in ways asses ain’t made to bend on account of havin’ his town shot up. He took it as an act of disrespect.”
“I’ll give him an act of disrespect.” Tris lowered the Beretta… a little.
“He’s got a pretty good idea what you look like. Most of the people in the place, ‘specially the ones you forced to strip got good memories.”
“That wasn’t even us. The girl with the shotgun did that.” Kevin shook his head. “We should’ve finished what we started.”
“What, killed them all?” Tris sighed. “Then we’d be worse than Neon. Stupid damn people. How’s it okay what Neon did to those women, but taking clothes―”
“Easy.” Kevin coughed. “Aw, shit this hurts.”
“So where d
o you fit into all this?” Tris pulled Kevin’s right arm across her shoulders and braced her left around his back.
“Not much choice for me. Back to work. If we meet again, I’ll be expected to do something mean to you. Course, with the pain from my shot leg, my vision ain’t too good. I’d probably wind up wasting bullets over your heads.” The big man took two steps back and wandered away into the dark.
Tris waited a minute more before securing her grip on him and resuming their walk. Being upright let him feel his ribs sliding around. She guided him ahead at a slow pace for several minutes. Details slipped in and out of his consciousness; one street blurred to the next. She stopped to let him catch his breath, and he dozed on his feet. A loud whump startled him into looking around at a small room with a plain bed, dented metal desk, one chair, and a tiny door that likely led to a bathroom.
“Where―” Words became a grunt of pain as she carried him across the room and set him down on the bed. “Are we?”
“A cheap hotel.” She tugged his boots off and set them on the floor nearby. “Sorry.”
Kevin reached a leaden arm up and rested his hand over his face. “Ugh. What for?”
“I shouldn’t have let you go alone.” She sat on the side of the bed, head forward, face hidden behind a cascade of arctic white hair.
He peered at her between his fingers. “If you were there, it would’ve been worse.”
“Worse?” She glanced at him.
He tried to laugh, but grabbed his side and cringed. “More guns would’ve been involved.”
“They might not have been so quick to steal from you after a show of force.”
Kevin moaned. “Where are those women? We should get our asses out of here.”
Tris helped him out of his armored jacket. “Different hotel. Didn’t want to lead any of Neon’s thugs there in case we were being followed.”
“Petersen’s boys.” He gritted his teeth and went limp, letting her do all the work of undressing him.
“Easy enough to fix that problem.” Her voice sounded cold. She opened his belt and pulled his jeans off.
The Roadhouse Chronicles Box Set [Books 1-3] Page 18
