The Roadhouse Chronicles Box Set [Books 1-3]

by Cox, Matthew S.

  Tris leaned forward over her bowl, keeping her eyes on him while stuffing her face. Something lurked at the tip of her brain, a thought she evidently didn’t want to say aloud.

  “I know what you’re going to say.” Kevin stirred eggs until the smell of it got him hungry again and he ate a forkful. “How long will nine grand last? Do I need a roadhouse at all? Why don’t we go to New Dallas?”

  She stared into her bowl, wearing a slight blush. “I thought it, but getting a house is your dream. I don’t want you to give up on it for me.”

  “Mmm. Why are you blushing?”

  “Oh, I dunno.” She stirred her food. “You said we. As in ‘we go to New Dallas.”

  Kevin chuckled. “You still owe me 980 coins, gonna be ‘we’ for a while.” He felt guilty at the look she gave him. The line between serious and kidding blurred, even to him. As shock began to melt into hurt, he winked.

  Tris narrowed her eyes.

  “Be right back.” He took the bowl with him and wandered to the bar, eating along the way. “Yo, Wayne.”

  “Damn shame about the Challenger.” Wayne shook his head. “Only a true malcontent would put bullets in such a fine machine.”

  “Think we got ‘er back. Barely notice. Got any runs?”

  “Not since I trusted a case of refried beans from Arnold. You see that sumbitch, you pop him for me.” Wayne’s ice blue eyes glimmered as he laughed. “Yeah, couple o’ postal runs. Farthest of ‘em goin up ta Kennewick.”

  “What’s the pay?” Kevin slowed down, trying to make the eggs last longer.

  “Driver’s cut’d be forty coins.”

  Kevin scowled.

  “If you’re willin’ ta play chicken with Infected, there’s a run payin’ the driver five hundred.”

  “Define ‘playing chicken.’” He set the empty bowl on the counter. “Damn fine eggs, Wayne.”

  “’Preciate that. Juanita dropped off some sausage two days back. Run’s goin’ to little hole in the side of the mountain they call Nederland.”

  Kevin racked his brain. “If it’s small…”

  Wayne swiped the empty bowl. “With that machine you got, you ain’t goin off road, at least not up in the foothills. Best way inta the place is gonna be ta ride north and then take 119 west. Fastest for your speed demon to get there is takin’ 25 north through Denver and cuttin’ over on 95 toward the area what used ta be Boulder. Terrain’s a bit rough if you’re thinkin’ ‘o skirtin’ ‘round.”

  “Oh, shit.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed. “Denver’s teeming.”

  Wayne nodded. “Aye. Last word out says so. ‘Course, not like you gotta stop.”

  He glanced at Tris. She smiled. “What’s the cargo?”

  “Well… s’posed ta be confidential.” Wayne hovered close and lowered his voice. “Since I know the odds o’ you stealin’ is slim to shit, I’ll let ya in on it.”

  Kevin put on a flattered grin.

  “Three thousand rounds. Mix ‘o 5.56, 7.62x39, 7.62x51. ‘Bout half is 9mm para.”

  “Fuck.” Kevin coughed. “Where the hell did all that come from? Ween can’t make that much that fast.”

  “Ask your friend.” Wayne gestured at Alamo. “Says they found it in some smashed up heap what had fans ‘stead o’ wheels.”

  Goddammit. Kevin closed his eyes, thinking back to the little black dot of a hand grenade disappearing under the skirt of an Enclave hovercraft. I should’ve gone back for salvage. That much ammo, I could’ve owned Wayne… and a roadhouse. He punched the front of the counter.

  “Easy.” Wayne chuckled. “The Marauder is gone. Ain’t nothin’ you kin do ‘bout it.”

  Kevin grumbled. “Nah. When I was runnin’ Tris up to H-burg, we got jumped by pair of Enclave land boats. Didn’t stick around to check for salvage. Son of a bitch.”

  Wayne held his arms out in a ‘what can ya do’ shrug. “You got that look in your eye. I’ll write you in for it.”

  “Yeah… yeah…” He walked back to the booth where Tris occupied herself with a cup of black coffee. “Got a job.”

  “Okay.” She took another sip. “Where’s it rate on the scale of stupid things to do with a car?”

  He flopped onto the bench seat, making her bounce. When Bee looked over, he pointed at her cup and gave the android a thumbs up gesture. “Pretty high, but no drugs.” Kevin laced his fingers together to keep them still. “Might be a few Infected.”

  “Infected?” She grasped his hands. “How bad? You don’t need to do it if it’s too dangerous.”

  Kevin smiled at Bee when she dropped off a cup of coffee. “Probably not as bad as it sounds. We won’t need to be on foot around them.” He explained the route Wayne suggested. “We could try and go around Denver and come in on Boulder from the north, but that area’s full of bandit caravans. At least six or seven of ‘em, and they’re usually shooting at each other… and everything else that gets too close.”

  Tris picked at the rim of her mug. “Well, Infected don’t shoot back.”

  “And the nomads might leave us alone if we don’t look like we’re making a run on them.”

  She gave him a skeptical eyebrow lift. “You don’t sound like you believe that.”

  “If the Infected are only supposed to last three months before the Virus kills them, maybe Denver’s empty. Risky to run nomad territory.”

  “Are you sure the roads in Denver are even passable?” asked Tris. “If there are still Infected there, a blocked street could―”

  “Be a pain in the ass.”

  “Okay, let’s go around.” Tris clung to his side. “You’re almost as white as I am. Don’t do it to yourself. Phobias aren’t funny. Whatever you saw…”

  “Naw, it wasn’t quite like that.” He swirled coffee in his mug. “The bandits dropped me off in this little camp. A pair of survivalists, Eva an’ Hemi, took me in. When I was about eleven, they decided to move. I still don’t know why.”

  Tris frowned. “I’m sorry.”

  “They’re fine.” He smiled. “As far as I know, they’re in a settlement bout forty miles north of Topeka still. Place is too boring, even for Infected. Anyway… When they got in their head to move, we joined up with this group caravanning east. Infected came after us one night. We’d camped too close to some big ass city. No nukes had hit it, so up ‘till the Virus came, there had to be a couple hundred thousand people still there.”

  “Evil.” She stared into her coffee as if it could give her absolution for the sins of her ancestors.

  “This guy they called Thorn, he got a piece of one up close. Punched its jaw right off. Must’ve nicked his knuckle on a tooth or something. I saw it, but I kept my mouth shut. Stupid thing ta do, but seein’ Infected at all scared the hell out of me. I watched Thorn get sick. By the time they figured it out, he’d gone manic.”

  “Stage one… still some faculties left, but an overwhelming aggression takes over.”

  Kevin took a long swig of coffee. “Yeah. Shot up the camp. Dunno how he managed not to kill anyone before they put him down. Two young guys from the caravan we hooked up with went ta bury him. Guess they got blood on their hands and wiped their eyes or something…” He set his coffee on the table. “I don’t think they were even seventeen yet. Soon as they realized they didn’t have the flu, the boys said goodbye, walked off, and shot themselves.”

  “Oh, no.”

  “They had to tie their mother to the bus to keep her from running after them.” He looked at her. “So yeah. It left a mark. Sometimes, I think the dreams are worse than what really happened.”

  “Maybe Nathan was reckless to really put the cure in my head.” She spoke in a half whisper. “He knew I had the bomb. What if he was afraid someone would check the data first?”

  Kevin frowned and set the cup down. “I’m not gonna bank on the Enclave being reckless.”

  She let her hands fall in her lap.

  He stood, and approached Alamo’s table. “Hey.”

  The m
an looked up from the silver revolver he had open for cleaning. Tris walked up on Kevin’s left.

  “Took your run. Ammo to Nederland? Never figured the News would sell ammo or have someone else drive it.”

  Alamo shook his head while chuckling. “We’re only selling about a quarter of it. Operating expenses. B’sides, the people of Ned are in a bad way. And they’re decent folks.”

  Dammit. That should’a been my ammo. “Decent folks… Yeah well. Let’s get this shit loaded.”

  “I’m not sure I trust them,” said Tris. “These guys tried to grab me twice.”

  “Old management.” Alamo braced the revolver with a thumb and slid in a .44 round. “Since I took over, I found some things.” Another round fell in with a click. “Raphael had some dealings with Neon in Glimmertown. Seems he wanted exotics to sell.” He dropped another bullet in place and turned the cylinder with his thumb. “Not what we stand for.”

  “You’ll have to forgive us if we don’t trust easy, but I’m willing to give it a shot. So, where’d you find all that ammo?”

  Alamo smiled as he loaded round number five. “So much for confidentiality. Suppose Wayne figures you won’t steal since it’d cause too much bad rep for a ‘house owner.”

  “Yeah, I’m a real fuckin’ boy scout.”

  “Li’l north of Pueblo settlement. Big ass ol’ Enclave transport flipped. We slipped in while the crew mopped up the bandits.”

  Hmm. Not our kills. I should head back there… “Slick.”

  Alamo flicked his wrist, seating the chamber with a click. “Always. Come to the Bobcat.”

  Kevin nodded and walked out, jogged down the steps, and headed for the charging panel.

  Tris went to the passenger side door. “Bobcat?”

  “An old store. Probably used to be a food market.” Kevin unhooked the cable and put it away. “News took over the building.”

  “Oh. If they pull any shit, this time I’m not gonna go easy on them.” She yanked the door open and got in.

  Kevin grinned, muttering, “I wouldn’t expect anything else.”

  The ride north from Hagerman proved exhilarating, far more so than he’d expected. The Challenger purred along at 135 mph effortlessly. Tris had really gotten it straightened out. Still, the threat of an unexpected situation kept him cautious. Temptation gnawed at his brain, causing him to push it to 170 for a few short stints.

  Tris occasionally held a hand up and stared at it, as if trying to see through her skin. Sometimes, she’d sit near motionless with her gaze aimed off to the right at the passing nothingness. For a little over six hours, amid the constant vibrating hum of e-motors, Kevin wrestled with the choice of routes. Images of streets swarming with decaying bodies traded places with his daydreamed battle against dozens of little ethanol buggies and feral nomads with axes. Maybe they’d get ‘lucky’ and run into the smarter ones, the ones with a black flag bearing a single white star. They have snipers.

  Back and forth, he debated.

  “I’m surprised there’s anything left here,” said Tris. “What with NORAD and all that infrastructure in Cheyenne. You’d think half the nukes used in the war would’ve been pointed here.”

  Kevin raised an eyebrow. “NORAD?”

  She nodded. “Yeah, it’s in a couple historical documentaries.” Kevin rolled his eyes. “It was like the brain of the old military.”

  “Overstated. Was ramped down a lot a couple decades prior to the war. Everything got decentralized.”

  “How could you possibly know that? You weren’t even born yet.” She smirked. “The Enclave has all the his―”

  “Movies, Tris. They’re movies. Fiction. They all built that place up to be some kind of military superbrain. Never mind it’s so far underground a nuke wouldn’t touch it.” He shifted his weight, pressing his back to the seat. “Stuff a guy hears running all over the place. People talk. Couple old men with a little hooch in them and all of a sudden, they’re right back in the crap… and they talk.”

  She glared at the road sliding under the hood.

  After a few minutes of silence, he squeezed the wheel. “It’s running better than ever, like you worked magic.”

  Her expression softened. “Well… I’m not even all that good at electronics. Every kid gets taught a bit in school. I got a little more training with the resistance before they smuggled me out.”

  “School?” He blinked.

  Tris rubbed her forehead. “You don’t know what that is?”

  Kevin glanced at her and shrugged. Without thinking about it, he kept going straight on the highway, past the turn that would’ve taken them far around Denver.

  “It’s a place where kids go, grouped by age, and learn stuff. Science, math, technology, engineering and stuff. Some start on medical training or advanced sciences when they hit eighteen.”

  “What did you advance in?” His fingers tightened on the wheel as he realized he drove right at the heart of Denver. Deep breaths. Don’t gotta stop. Don’t gotta get out of the car.

  “I didn’t go.” She plucked a bit of lint from her tank top and flicked it. “I was going to, but when I realized how much of an asshole Dovarin was, I refused to accept the pairing assignment. Instead of university, I got put in Detention.”

  “I’d feel sorrier for you, but you had food and a clean bed at least.” He winked.

  She poked him in the side. “Yeah, and an eight-foot hexagonal cell with lights that never turned off. I like it more out here.”

  Kevin smiled at her, though his mood dropped into his lap. Beyond a gravel patch with train tracks and a slight incline covered in wild grass, the husks of ancient houses stood sentry amid a whirling cloud of ash. Shadows seemed to move in the windows. People? Infected? A trick of the mind? He leaned on the accelerator, pushing the car to 152 as he swerved to avoid taking an off-ramp. At that distance, he’d be long gone before the disease-riddled brains of Infected could process that he was there. Snipers, on the other hand, opportunistic scavs, worried him more, especially on the deteriorated patches of road that slowed him down.

  He glided left into the next lane, but jerked to the right again in seconds. Tris wobbled in her seat and put her belt on, giving him a look.

  “Thought I saw something moving in those houses. Don’t wanna risk getting shot.”

  Little remained of power lines on the occasional still-standing poles they passed. Scavengers, the war, or who knows what, had long since stripped the wiring. Dead cars littered both shoulders as well as the central median, many scorched or half-melted and layered with grey silt. The rad meter picked up a steady 024 reading, making him think most of them had been caught on the road when war arrived.

  “What would make people leave all those parts lying around?” He slowed to sixty when the road grew more debris-clogged. A grass berm came up along the right side, separating the highway from a smaller street.

  “Uhh.” Tris ran her fingers through her hair. “They look melted. Think people were afraid of rads? Maybe no one dared getting this close to Denver because they heard stories of Infected?”

  He stared at a four-wheeled buggy made of aluminum tubing with huge rear tires and rusty armor plates. It looked undamaged, parked by a prewar pickup truck with a substantial lift. “Or the Infected got everyone that did try.”

  Tris swiveled in her seat to look at the buggy as they shot past it. “Not gonna stop for salvage?”

  “Might be Infected.”

  She glanced at him. “I don’t see anything.”

  “Nomads wouldn’t have abandoned it. There might be Infected blood on it.”

  “I could check―”

  Kevin squeezed both hands on the wheel, all his focus dedicated to swerving between smashed cars at sixty-four MPH. “Not stopping. Might be a trap. Don’t care. It’s been sitting there long enough to collect ash. There’s a damn reason no one’s scavved it.”

  A dark figure emerged from a cloud of grey fog up ahead, too close and too fast to avoid. With a sq
uishy thump, half a human body slid up the hood to the windshield and smashed cheek-first against the glass. Mottled patches of wrinkled skin in purple and brown and a complete lack of hair left the gender up for debate. Black ichor leaked between its teeth as the car’s increasing speed crushed its face flatter. Despite being ripped in half at the waist by the Challenger’s bumper, the Infected raked and scratched at the windshield.

  Kevin stared at it, paralyzed.

  Tris slapped a hand down on his arm and yelled, “Kevin!”

  His eyes focused on the wreckage of a delivery truck lying on its side coming up fast. He slammed on the brakes and swerved. The gurgling Infected flew off to the left, vanishing into the grey mist. Tires squealed as the Challenger skidded sideways. He corrected, fishtailing the end out. The car passed within inches of a lift gate dangling off the rear end of the truck. Another two Infected bounced off the front end. Bones bumped along the undercarriage.

  Ten seconds passed in relative silence, save for a dragging scrape.

  Kevin glanced at the floor, picturing a body clinging to something on the underbelly. “Oh, shit.”

  “It’s… following us.” Tris stared into the back seat. She blinked, and opened the center console flap to expose the hole for dropping grenades to the road.

  A wheezing moan came from the opening.

  Tris gulped back a scream and ripped the Beretta out of the holster. Kevin yelled ‘fuck’ a handful of times as an upside-down city bus emerged from the fog. He made a hard two-lane shift to the left, trying to see past the roiling grey.

  “Is it gone?”

  Blam!

  The report of the Beretta inside the car left his ears ringing. Brass bounced off the windshield and settled on the dashboard. A second later, the rear wheels bounced over something.

  “Now it is,” yelled Tris.

  Kevin stuck his pinky into his right ear and wiggled it. “Shit, I’m deaf.” A wall of human silhouettes clarified out of the aerosolized ash particles up ahead. “Fuck this place!”

  He flicked the master arm and held down the trigger for the forward-facing M60s. A side-side wiggle of the wheel sprayed the mob. Orange light smears streaked off into the gloom. Stumbling Infected made no effort to evade, and collapsed where they stood.