Tris looked up at the horizon. No dust. No Challenger. No Kevin.
With a lethargic shove, she shifted around and climbed onto the ladder. Chain and aluminum tubes rattled as she made her way to the ground below the plane. I eat. Nanites needed raw materials. Maybe whatever she didn’t need came out? An ‘infiltrator model’ would have to pass as human in every way.
She remembered her first bath with Kevin. Her first time with him. Tears blurred her vision. I’m such an idiot. Why did I call his dream stupid? She sniffled. He was only looking for an excuse to get rid of me… I didn’t have to make it so easy. Shame fell heavy on her shoulders as she imagined his horrified expression. Every memory she had of making love to him changed as if she’d turned into Bee in the middle of the act. The look of utter repulsion on his face drove her deep into sobs.
When no more tears came, she stumbled to her feet and trudged in a random direction that brought her into one of the corridors formed by stacked junk. Microwaves, computers, monitors, security equipment from the airport, X-ray machines, and android parts surrounded her in rising walls that felt as though they could fall in and engulf her at any moment. She wandered the maze for a little while, until she found a dead-end ringed with arms, heads, and legs. Some resembled Bee, a few looked more advanced―though none were as high-tech as her. Not one of them would fool even the most idiotic dweller in the Wildlands into thinking it was a real person.
These are my ancestors. She walked over to a small body that resembled a tween girl, with a bundle of wires hanging out of its open mouth. Plastic eyes lolled back in its head like one of those dolls whose eyes closed when you tilted it back. Rich black hair fell in curls around a face marked with thin seams. She traced her fingers over the cheek. Hard. Lifeless. Artificial.
A few feet away, an artificial torso made to look like a twenty-something man jutted out at a horizontal angle. Blond, short hair sat atop his head like a sponge, impervious to the world. He wore only the smile one might expect from a person trying to sell something to someone for more than it was worth. Fortunately, no attempt had been made to include all parts. He remained as featureless as the department store mannequin he resembled.
Tris sat on the mound of junk and slipped a hand down her pants, surprised at not feeling smooth nothing. She got no thrill from the contact, only revulsion at the thought she’d been made too real. A memory of Kevin’s scruffy face sliding around between her thighs brought another wave of sniffling.
She withdrew her hand and curled up on her side. The couple to which she’d been reassigned at nine years old treated her like their own daughter. They never once spoke of the man she thought of as her father. To them, she’d always been theirs. Had they been right? Was the old man a daydream?
Why did she have memories of being little and having such an old man for a caretaker?
Why did she want to run home to those ‘parents’ who may not have even existed?
Why did she feel terrified at the thought she couldn’t go home because Nathan would kill her.
A vague memory of a bedroom, a child’s safe haven, came and went. Did she cease existing to them as her real father had the minute she’d been detained?
The Enclave wasn’t my home.
She crunched herself up in as tight a ball as she could manage, and closed her eyes. Androids didn’t need food or water… or anyone to love.
I’m where I belong. Another broken machine no one wants.
38
A Thousand Coins
Mile after mile of road slid under the Challenger’s nose. Kevin hadn’t thought about much but driving. Tris’s shouting voice played in his brain, running an endless loop. All I ever cared about… He snarled. Yeah, I’m an asshole. So what? People who don’t chase their dreams lose them. Am I wrong? For some reason, he still headed north. Two thousand coins to give some idiot a ride out of Chicago. He grumbled. Guy is probably dead already. I could kill a few days, go back, and say I couldn’t find him. He flicked at the wheel, imagining the horrified look Tris would give him for suggesting that.
“Damn women.” He shook his head. “All she wanted to do was get that damned data out of her head. I told her it was bullshit.” He gestured at the windshield. “I told her it was a lie. Did she believe me? Nooo. Of course not. I’ve got a dick. I know nothing.”
He huffed.
Five minutes later, the weight of the empty seat to his right gnawed on his mind. Whenever sunlight flickered off the passenger side mirror, he glanced at the flash, expecting to see white hair.
“Fuck it. Wayne’s alone. He’s happy.” Kevin shifted in the seat. “She told me to go away.”
Five minutes later, he glanced at the empty seat again.
“I didn’t even want to go to Chicago. I know this is a damn suicide run.” He slapped at the wheel and tapped his left foot, attempting rhythm―poorly. An imagined Zoe pouted at him. He sighed, feeling even more like an asshole.
Red light caught his eye up ahead. A roadhouse sign. Kevin eyed the charge meter, a little over forty percent. Better to be sure. He took the off-ramp to an old highway rest stop. That’s a damn good idea. I wonder if there’s any abandoned rest stops up on 80 I could take over… He parked by the front and hooked up the charging cable, noting the numeral 2 over the plug.
A skinny old man who looked like beef jerky bestowed with sentience clung to the back of a glass counter inside. Wild grey hair exploded in all directions from his scalp and face, somewhat contained by a floppy, wide-brimmed leather scrap that resembled the bastard love child of a sombrero and a ten-gallon hat.
Above him, an old menu bar listed various items, mostly fried chicken and burgers with prices. Kevin’s eyes almost popped out of their sockets. This old bastard better not ask me for 599 coins for a burger.
“Need a charge on port two, and do ya got any hot eats?” Kevin leaned on the counter.
“Whazzat?” asked the man, hand by his ear.
Kevin repeated himself, at a shout.
“Ah, got ya. Too much shootin’ ya know. Ears ain’t what they used to be.”
“No problem.”
“Whazzat?”
Kevin sighed. “How much?”
“Two fer’a charge. Got some hopper skewers. ‘Nother two.”
“Done,” yelled Kevin.
The proprietor shuffled to a circuit breaker box to the right of the counter and threw a switch. Every light in the place dimmed for a second. Kevin glanced over his shoulder at the window, terrified he’d find the Challenger on fire… but it looked okay. As the man teetered off to cook, Kevin pulled out four coins and set them on the glass counter. Old red and white paper buckets lined the topmost shelf, though they were empty of everything but dust.
‘Whazzat’ returned in about four minutes, with a pair of metal skewers loaded with flat bits of meat basted in a dark sauce. Kevin pushed the four coins over the glass and took his food. The fragrance of barbecue sauce―or something making a decent attempt at it―flooded his nostrils. He walked to a tiny red table by the window where he could watch his car and settled in a plastic ass cup someone had the nerve to consider a chair.
He nibbled on the dust-hopper, and couldn’t help thinking about Tris going savage on the one he’d cooked the first time they’d camped. For most of that day, he expected she only wanted to get him off guard long enough to steal the car. Untying her ankles had been sheer laziness, since he didn’t want to carry her. Cutting her hands loose had been a matter of survival. He couldn’t drive, dodge a machine gun grenade launcher, and drop a hand grenade through the slot at the same time.
Even after they’d stopped to sleep, he couldn’t settle down. He remembered the sorrowful face she’d given him when she offered to let him tie her again so he could feel safe enough to sleep. Tris hadn’t flinched when he grabbed rope. She’d even talked him into taking his armored jacket off and given him a back rub. He closed his eyes as phantom fingers kneaded his muscles.
I’m a sucker, just like
dear old dead Dad. He gnawed on the tough, stringy meat. She didn’t steal the car.
“She’s too whiny.” Chomp. “Soft-hearted… that gets you killed out here.” Chomp. “Probably is a damn android. Humans aren’t that caring.”
His newer daydreams haunted him. Working the counter of his own roadhouse while Tris waited tables… or he waited tables and she cooked. Or he cooked and she worked the counter… or they worked on cars for people together―in his roadhouse. Their roadhouse.
Not alone.
Kevin dropped the empty skewers on the table. It’s Morgan all over again. I got too attached.
He caught a catnap at the table until a sharp buzz from the circuit breaker startled him awake. ‘Whazzat’ ambled over and flipped the switch. Kevin waved, stood, and made his way down the length of the rest stop to one of the bathrooms. After adding a little more stench to a urinal that hadn’t seen running water in fifty years, he returned to the car.
For a few minutes after getting back in, he stared at the fake bricks a few feet in front of the bumper. His gloves creaked on the wheel. He pressed his thumb down on the main power switch and swiped it across the five others in a practiced gesture. Within seconds, the Challenger was ready to drive. The battery meter read 98%; the rad meter showed 000.
He backed around in a semicircle and stopped with the car pointed at the exit to the highway. Another two minutes of staring through the windshield passed. He dreaded what waited for him in Chicago. A look to the rear seat at the bundle of jerked dust-hopper and a handwritten letter slapped him with guilt. He grasped the corner of the empty passenger seat and squeezed.
“I am an asshole.”
Kevin stomped on the accelerator and took off―headed back to Omaha.
Two hours and eleven minutes later, the Challenger skidded to a halt under the tail of Terminal9’s 747. Hard driving had left him covered in sweat from more than a few close calls with wrecks, curbs, and grass-covered islands. He flung the door open with one hand while shutting down the car with the other.
Kevin made it three steps into a jog for the baggage room door when he spotted a chain ladder dangling from the far side of the plane, nearer the tail. Marks in the silt collected on the tarmac led into the junkyard.
Oh, shit. What did she do?
He ran as fast as he could while keeping one eye on the footprints. Countless tons of tech junk passed on both sides. Left turn, thirty yards straight down a row of computerized coffee makers, right turn, unrecognizable high-tech crap―probably from aircraft―surrounded him. Gold panels, little dish antennas, and circuit boards blurred as he sprinted along her tracks.
Android parts became more prominent in the mess by where her footprints took a turn. He whirled around the corner and skidded to a halt on his heels. Tris curled up amid the trash, as if she’d made a nest. A few strands of her hair wavered in the breeze, though she seemed asleep. From the red around her eyes and water on her cheeks, she’d cried herself out.
I am such a dick. He crept closer, taking a knee and grasping the edge of the shelf of debris she lay on. Seeing her alive chased away the fear that had dogged him the whole ride back. Each time he thought she might have hurt herself, his worry added another fifteen miles per hour. One-ninety-eight… and it didn’t rattle apart.
“You did good work.”
She stirred. Her eyes opened. Tris gasped.
“I’m an asshole.” He gazed down. “You’re ri―”
Tris jumped on him. Slender arms with too much strength in them forced all the air from his lungs as she hugged him. Her cheek against the side of his neck felt warm. She gave a final intense squeeze and leaned back to stare into his eyes.
“Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that… about you not caring about anything. It’s not true. I thought you didn’t want an android around.” She sniffled. “What are you doing back here?”
Kevin flashed a pirate’s grin. “I can’t leave you here… you still owe me a thousand coins.”
She clamped both hands over her mouth and laughed past her fingers. He slipped one arm under her knees, one behind her back, and lifted her. Happy tears rolled down her face as she clung to him.
“You left the rifle behind…”
He glanced in the direction of the tailfin protruding up over the wall of debris. “Yeah. Hope ol’ Term isn’t thinking he’s keeping ‘em.”
“Hey.” Tris pointed. “Look. That’s the same type of android as Bee.”
Kevin set her on her feet. Tris hurried to the wall and dragged a half-body out of the pile. A bit of metal spine, hips, and most of two legs clattered to the ground. Not much remained of the fake skin, though the inside parts appeared to be in good condition. Tris examined the mechanism.
“We should bring this back to Wayne. I wonder what he’d pay us to fix Bee’s hip for good.” Tris winked.
Kevin chuckled. “Probably not all that much, but Bee would be grateful.”
Tris lifted the part with ease. “Least we can do… a roadhouse man needs his android.”
He stared at her, took a step closer, and cradled her head in both hands. Forehead to forehead, he gazed into her sapphire eyes. “I don’t for a minute think you’re an android.”
She leaned up and kissed him.
39
Watering the Bushes
Kevin glared at a plastic bag dangling from the glove box, filled with empty camouflage-green bottles. The road wound through a pastoral expanse of trees, the last thing he ever expected to see so close to a huge city like Chicago. Tris reclined in the passenger seat, right foot up on the cushion, head back, staring up at the sky over the passing branches. She seemed strangely happy given the revelation the data she’d hung so much hope on had turned out to be not only useless, but a cruel twist of the knife.
Pressure between his legs grew too strong to ignore. He glared at a couple of empty plastic bottles on the floor. “Damn these L-rations.”
“If you hate them so much, why do you buy them?” She smiled.
“Wayne sells them cheap.” He shifted, unable to get comfortable. “Military came up with them so soldiers didn’t haveta shit so much out in the field. Easier to piss… even if you’re doing it every ten goddamned minutes.”
Tris frowned. “Easy for you to say.”
“You could turn one of the towels into a loincloth.” He winked. “Maybe go topless while you’re at it.”
She slugged him in the arm.
After a brief silence, they both laughed.
“Almost there…” She leaned forward to peer ahead. “I still don’t see any skyscrapers. Hey… you know pissing sounds like a good idea.”
“Done.” He slowed and stopped.
Kevin got out and walked to the side of the road a few paces from the car. Tris headed into the trees. He shot her a quizzical look as he let fly. “Wandering off? You weren’t shy about much last night.”
She paused, deep enough in the shrubs that only her head peeked out. “That’s entirely different. This is… just… no.”
“Be careful,” he yelled.
Kevin closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling of unburdening his bladder.
Tris pushed through the thick underbrush until she could no longer see the road. Kevin’s idiotic muttering, what he called singing, remained close enough to add to her feeling of safety. Confident she had no audience, she slipped her jeans and panties down and assumed the position. The awkwardness of finding a way to situate herself to keep her clothes dry made her scowl at the clouds. If humanity had been created by something it still had yet to understand, why had taking a whiz in the wilds been made such an ordeal for women? She scowled. I haven’t worn a dress since I was… fifteen? The feeling of relief from a shrinking bladder couldn’t be anything programmed into an AI. Why would they bother? Software had no conscience unless it was programmed to have one. If an android needed to impersonate a human, why would the people who made it have to fool the android into believing it was human? It could lie without remorse.<
br />
The simple act of urinating left her brimming with hope.
I’m alive.
Finished, she grabbed the bundle of cloth and made to stand. A rock rolled out from under her heel as she wobbled in an ungainly duck walk in an effort not to step in wet.
Hiss.
Something whizzed past her head.
Boom.
Tris landed on her back, as a distant rifle report echoed in the trees. A split second later, she flipped over onto her hands and knees and crawled, pants still around her shoes.
Boom.
An explosion of splinters showered over her from the right. Rocks and twigs ground into her knees. Low hanging vines pulled at her shirt and scratched her bare legs.
“Tris?” yelled Kevin.
She wanted to yell, but whoever was shooting at her might hear it too. Her fingers dug into moist soil and dead leaves in a desperate hurry to find somewhere safe. As soon as a downward grade opened to the right, she dove for it and rolled flat on her back. Dew-laden foliage caressed her ass with icy fingers. In the momentary reprieve, she shook debris out of her pants and pulled them up.
“This is supposed to be a damn metaphor,” she whispered.
Another shower of tree bark and wood rained on her, followed a split second later by a heavy bang. She crawled farther down the hill and scooted behind a cluster of big rocks, huddled as low to the ground as she could get. Several minutes passed as she listened. Leaves and twigs crunched behind and to the right. Hoping it was Kevin, she peeked. A figure in light black armor, similar to that worn by the Enclave emissary, pointed a five-foot long rifle in her direction.
The Roadhouse Chronicles Box Set [Books 1-3] Page 35
