The Roadhouse Chronicles Box Set [Books 1-3]

by Cox, Matthew S.

  28

  Circling the Drain

  Kevin awoke to the sensation of warm breath at the crook of his neck. At some point while he slept, Tris had moved from the upper bunk to under his blanket. She lay on top of him with her head at his chin. He gazed down at the field of snowy white inches from his chin. The way she clung in her sleep made her seem frightened. Not surprised. Out of her perfect little Eden. He smirked. Awake, she’d seemed far from afraid. She’s either good at hiding it or this is my Dad coming out. Having her body so close to his made the effect of morning even harder.

  He slid a hand up onto her back, over a thin strip of cloth at her hip and smooth skin the rest of the way.

  Tris smiled. “Is that a gun in your belt or are you happy to see me?”

  “Gun’s under the pillow.” A strange feeling made him turn his head to the left. Tommy, crouched at the side of the bed, peered at him over the edge, eyes and half a nose visible.

  “Hi,” said the boy.

  “Morning.” Kevin yawned. Consciousness spread from one region of his brain to the next. His hand flew under the pillow, and he calmed at feeling the .45 right where he’d left it.

  “Did you make a baby?” Tommy stood. “You said I can see your car.”

  “Need a minute, kid.” Kevin rubbed his face. The more he tried to think about calming his erection, the more determined it seemed to be to remain.

  Tris stirred. She seemed to lose the desperate clinginess her posture had given away in sleep and slid off him toward the wall side. “I promise you can see the car. Can you give us a little privacy?”

  “Okay,” said Tommy, not moving.

  Kevin tried to ignore the images his brain gave him of Tris in only her panties and focused on how much he wanted to beat the hell out of Tyrant. Having a five-year-old stare at him helped kill the mood the rest of the way. He scooted to his left, sliding out from under the blanket while ensuring it continued to cover Tris. Seated on the edge of the bed, he stared at the boy. “Go on, we’ll be a few minutes.”

  “Okay,” said Tommy.

  After it became clear the kid wasn’t going to leave, Kevin grasped him under the arms and carried him across their cubby to the other side. He set the boy down inside the tall steel cabinet and closed the doors. Tris flung the blanket off, hopped out of bed, and grabbed her shirt and jeans from the top bunk.

  “You’ve got a way with kids.”

  “Yeah.” Kevin scratched himself. “Usually it involves not being around any.”

  She offered a playful smirk while she dressed. He shook his head and reached for his pants. Tris seemed to think he wasn’t serious. That’s what got Dad killed. Feeling sorry for women and kids. With a grumble, he put all thoughts of his father out of his mind and got the rest of the way dressed. He patted himself down once he’d put his armored jacket on, making sure everything was where he’d left it.

  “You look surprised,” said Tris. She pulled the last Velcro fastener closed over her right shoe. “Expecting something to be missing? The kid’s only wearing a tee shirt… he’s got nowhere to hide anything.”

  “I’m not a stealer.” A little voice echoed inside the empty metal cabinet.

  Kevin opened the door. Tommy stood exactly as he’d been placed. “Yeah, well… A guy drives all over the place, you get a little used to bein’ taken advantage of.”

  The boy trailed them through the tunnel to the food counter, where Paula offered the three of them toast slathered with raspberry preserves. After thanking her for the food, Kevin made his way back to the mall area. Conversations filled the open concourse, everything from patrol schedules to one woman complaining about being put on a ‘rest list’ due to having taken in too many rads, to a crowd of older teens discussing ways to optimize the garden’s dispersion of sunlight.

  Kevin finished off his toast halfway across on the way to the garage. Fortunately ‘straight across the big tunnel’ was easy to remember. New Dallas appeared much larger than he ever could have imagined. Despite the radiation overhead, and being stuck underground, the thought that no Infected could exist here got an idea bouncing around his head of possibly returning at some point. He dismissed it as soon as the Challenger came into sight past a row of Humvees. There weren’t many Infected out in no mans’ land either, and he couldn’t see spending the rest of his days hiding from the sun.

  The older man behind the desk looked up. “Howdy there. You must be the driver.”

  “Yep.” Kevin walked up to a desk littered with handwritten ledgers.

  Tris stood at his side.

  Tommy squeezed between them and grabbed the edge of the desk, pulling himself up on tiptoe. “They made a baby.”

  Kevin chuckled while Tris gasped.

  Sergeant Ralston frowned at her and shook his head at the boy. “Doubt it, son.”

  Tommy looked up at her.

  Tris frowned. “What?”

  “Can’t knock up a toaster.” Ralston gestured at her. “White hair’s a dead giveaway. Right before it all went to crap, the Air Force was experimenting with artificial intelligence and androids. They tried ta make ‘em look as real as possible… but the first-gen batch was all given white hair so they could be easily identified.”

  Tris shivered.

  Kevin put a hand on her arm. “She’s not an android. I’ve seen an android before, and they don’t bleed.”

  “Civvie models, sure.” Ralston opened a drawer and took out a dented lockbox. “Military intelligence had ones that could bleed. Wouldn’t be any good to fool people if it was obvious.”

  “Are you a robot?” asked Tommy.

  “No.” Tris scowled at Sergeant Ralston. “If I was, would I have memories of being a kid and growing up?”

  The sergeant offered the lockbox to Kevin. “Maybe… maybe not. Depends on what the mission params were. Can’t see why they’d bother to trick their own machine though.”

  She clenched her hands into fists.

  “Of course, you won’t mind if I count it?” Kevin smiled.

  “Go right ahead.” Ralston fell into his chair and tucked up to the desk. “I know you driver types aren’t the most trusting sort. No sweat off my balls.”

  Tommy ran off toward the Challenger.

  Tris tapped her foot for a few seconds before shifting her weight. “I’ll go watch him, make sure he doesn’t touch anything.” She jogged off.

  Kevin opened the lid and got to counting.

  “So where’d you find that unit?” asked Ralston.

  “She ain’t an android. I’ve been under the hood.” Kevin squinted, thinking back to the shot she’d made with her hands tied. The woman was strong enough to kick a man through Wayne’s railing… twice. Nah. If she was an android, she’d have broken the rope. She eats. She pisses. She fucks. “Body heat. Bleeds.” She can’t be… He looked up from the coins. Tris had Tommy in one arm, balanced on her hip, and seemed to be pointing at various parts of the car. No… no way.

  “Looks like I hit a nerve.” Ralston grinned. “Ah well. Whatever floats your boat.”

  Kevin finished counting under a little black cloud. His count wound up being 1804, but he didn’t feel like repeating it since the error went his way. More than likely it was 1800 and he overcounted due to feeling distracted. He closed the lid, shook hands with the quartermaster, and jogged over to his car with the burdensome payment under one arm.

  A muscular, twentyish woman with an M4, full camo, and Hispanic features jogged in, hurrying after him. “Hey…”

  “Yo.” Kevin stopped. “What’s up?”

  “What’s with the boy?” She gestured at Tommy.

  “Oh.” Kevin laughed. “He demanded to see the car. We ain’t trying to take him. Hell no. Kid’s pushy enough for one night, can’t imagine having to live with him. Little bugger even wanted me to go nail his mom.”

  “Oh?” The security officer cocked her eyebrow.

  He resumed walking. “Yeah. When he asked if I was going to be making a kid, I
figured the next thing he’d say would be some kind of ‘got a kid?’ ‘No.’ ‘Want one?’ routine. Threw me off when he suggested I go ‘make a kid’ with his mother… Guess she works on her back and found a new way to advertise.”

  The soldier coughed.

  Tommy, still attached to Tris’s side, looked up from the car and waved. “Hi, Mom! Can I see inside?”

  Kevin halted five feet from the trunk. “Shit.” He glanced to his right with an overacted, sheepish smile.

  After a momentary hard stare, the woman’s gaze softened. “Well, I suppose being called a whore is better than you two trying to abduct him. He’s a little forward and a lot fearless.”

  “Hey… I…” He raised his free hand. “Sight unseen… assuming.”

  “No harm done.” She slung her rifle over her shoulder and walked around to where Tris stood, and collected the boy.

  Kevin packed the lockbox of coins in the trunk. Tris unplugged the charging line and let it spool back into the fender before closing the hatch. Kevin tolerated a few minutes of a five-year-old crawling around and asking “what’s that do?” about three dozen times. Both Kevin and the boy’s mother denied his request to go for a ride.

  “Aww, but why?” whined Tommy.

  “You’re not old enough to go outside yet.” The woman dragged him out of the car by a fistful of tee shirt at the back of his neck. “There’s bad stuff up there, and you’re too little.”

  “I hate radiation.” Tommy pouted at his bare feet.

  “Me too, kid… me too.” Kevin shot an apologetic glance at the mother before pulling his door closed. “Me too.”

  Tris hopped in. “Money good?”

  “Yeah.” He ran his thumb across the row of switches, each one lit azure with a click. “You’re not an android.”

  She folded her hands in her lap and looked down.

  “If you were an android, you wouldn’t be ready to cry about the thought you might be an android.” He looked around to make sure no one was behind them and backed into a K-turn between two columns. “Besides… you’re from the Enclave, not the Air Force.”

  “A lot of people there have white hair.” She looked up at him. “Almost half.”

  He drove up to the massive door. “Well, there you go.”

  Two rifle-toting men in camo approached the window. The closer one, name patch ‘Clarke,’ waved. “Quick in and out, just the way my wife likes it.”

  “Bullshit,” said Kevin. “No girl likes it quick.”

  The sentries both laughed.

  “Any lady who’s gotta smell Clarke’s breath does,” said the other man, earning a middle finger.

  Clarke pulled a metal tube from his left hip pocket, the kind of thing a cigar might’ve been shipped in. He twisted off the end cap and poured two pills into his hand before offering them. “Here, you two might wanna take this. Iodide. Helps protect from the rads topside.”

  “Thanks.” Kevin accepted the pills, handed one to Tris, and reached for the canteen behind his seat. “Since I know you’re here now, I might be inclined to do another run back this way if there’s a need.”

  “Be safe.” Clarke waved at his partner, who clapped his hand over a button that set the huge doors in motion.

  “That’s my dream…” Kevin hit the button that rolled up the window.

  Once the doors opened wide enough, he eased the Challenger past them and up the quarter-mile ramp back to the surface. Early morning sun, after hours spent underground, left him unable to look out the window for a few minutes. Fortunately, the flat, barren area allowed him to drive with one eye closed and one barely open. He had the car up to ninety-four miles per hour within seconds of his eyes adjusting.

  The Rad meter had leapt from zip to 051 as soon as they reached the end of the ramp, and proceeded to decline tick by tick with each passing minute they traveled north. Tris kept quiet for the better part of an hour, alternatively gazing out the passenger window or sending a morose stare into her lap.

  Kevin found himself humming Fortunate Son, the song the old man had been strumming, tapping his fingers on the wheel as the Challenger devoured mile after mile of wide-open desert. A shadow of paving ahead lined up with his approximate memory of where Route 70 ran west. If not for legends of millions of Infected in Oklahoma City, he’d have gone straight for Route 40 and a smoother ride…

  “Fuck Infected.” He slowed to take a gradual left onto Route 40.

  Tris looked over at him. “I wouldn’t suggest that. The Virus is likely transmissible in all bodily fluids, not only blood.”

  He opened his mouth to retort, but closed it. Not worth it.

  “That was supposed to be a joke.” She gave his arm a light shove. “I’m trying to cheer myself up.”

  “You’re not an android.”

  She stared at him.

  “They raided your ovaries. You eat. You piss. You’re awesome in bed.” Tris hid her face behind one hand. “You had a damn bomb inside you. Lot of blood there, and I saw… squishy bits too.”

  A laugh blurted out of her. “The egg thing could be a false memory… same with my childhood. Nanites can process food into other materials. They extract iron and metals from food, as well as scavenge ‘dead’ nanites to keep making new ones.”

  “I don’t know how those nanite things work, but that doesn’t prove you’re a”―two large shadows from the right caught his eye―“shit.”

  Tris gawked. “I’m a shit?”

  “Incoming!” he yelled.

  A quick cut of the wheel launched them off the paving of Route 40 seconds before a ripple of sand geysers traced the path of a machine gun. He jammed up on the parking brake to cause the ass end to fishtail around and lined up the nearer shadow with the front-mounted M60s. A pair of near-identical black SUVs, probably rebuilt Excursions, roared over the desert at him, belching blue flames from exhaust ports along the underside between the wheels.

  “Ethanol. Fuck.” He flicked the master arm switch and a green laser projected a targeting crosshair on the windshield. “Hold on.”

  Kevin risked three seconds of driving straight at one while firing both guns. Sparks danced across black armor paneling on the front. Even the windshield had steel plates over it, with only a narrow slit for the driver to see.

  “That’s not good.” Tris pulled on her seat belt. “Grenade trick?”

  The second truck broke away, drifting off to the left while the one he’d fired on continued on a ramming trajectory. A turret on the top of the distancing vehicle swiveled to aim at them. Kevin stared out of the corner of his eye at what had to be a single-barreled 20mm machine gun. Sweat ran down his head.

  “Goddammit. This is what I get for going cheap and not getting the .50 Cals.” He slammed on the accelerator and turned to the right.

  The Challenger slid around in a circle, kicking up a wall of sand. He straightened out in the general direction of west and stomped on the accelerator. A tremendous repeating boom boom boom went off somewhere to the rear and right, answered by a series of sharp snaps much closer.

  Explosive rounds.

  “Who are they? Why are they shooting at us?” yelled Tris.

  He flicked the toggle to activate the rear-facing guns and lined up the second vehicle on the little targeting monitor. “You see any insignia or markings on them?”

  Tris twisted around to look. Kevin’s thumb touched the fire button, but he didn’t press it hard enough to activate the guns. What the hell am I doing? The ‘60s bounced off… these won’t do shit.

  “No markings.” She righted herself. “I think… inch-thick plate on the front and sides. Grenade trick won’t work; looks like they got plows or something with spikes.”

  “Crap. Night Riders. They’re looking for target practice. Bunch of complete psychos.”

  “Wasn’t that a little tiny car?” She looked confused for a second until bullets clanked all around. She screamed.

  “Goddammit!” Kevin swerved to the right, pushing the acceler
ator as hard as he could as a triplet of small explosions hit the ground next to them. “Where the hell did tiny car come from?”

  Sand washed over the hood, spraying up onto the windshield.

  Tris pressed herself into her seat, staring wide-eyed at him. “Historical documentaries. The car had an AI inside it that helped the driver.”

  “Never heard of it.” He scanned the dash looking for any warning lights or signs of major damage. As soon as he dared to feel relief, both rear wheel status indicators went yellow. “Fuck.”

  “What?”

  “Anything you wanna say before we die?”

  Tris grabbed his arm. “What!”

  “We lost two motors. We’re not going to be able to outrun those ethanol-chugging monsters. These little pop guns aren’t gonna do a fuckin’ thing to an inch of armor. If I ever see that bitch again… So much for speed being an advantage.”

  She unhooked her belt and rolled her window down. “Hold me so I don’t fall out.”

  “What the hell are you going to do? Flash your tits and hope they take up slaving?”

  Tris punched him in the thigh, hard enough to numb the leg. “No. Asshole.” She pulled the Beretta off her hip. “Gonna try for the viewport.”

  “Ow, son of a…” He reached to rub the leg, but seeing the gun coming back around, wound up with both hands on the wheel, throwing the car into a right turn that sucked Tris back inside.

  Another row of dirt geysers passed on the left.

  “Use the .357; it’s got a longer reach. More accurate too.”

  She dove between the seats, reaching for the back.

  Kevin swerved in as erratic a serpentine as he could manage. The Excursions came around and pulled in close with each other before their engines roared. The Challenger’s speed bled from eighty to seventy and kept going down. Front wheel status went orange, indicating the motors were getting too hot. He glared at the speedometer as enormous black forms tipped with rows of welded spikes engulfed the rearview screen, engines roaring.

  Tris slid back into her seat with the silver revolver in her hand. She grabbed Kevin’s right hand and slapped it onto her belt. “Don’t let me fall.”