“So what the hell are we supposed to do with her then?” asked Kevin. “Next time, she’s going to hit you in the head, not the chest. Can your Nanites fix brain tissue?”
Tris dug her fingers into his jacket. “No… Look, she didn’t really want to kill me. If she did, she would’ve shot me in the head or cut my throat without saying a word. Let her go back to the tech she loves so much.”
Kevin pumped another round into Zara’s chest. “She didn’t shoot you in the head because she’s supposed to take your implant back.”
Tris jumped. “What was that for?”
He shrugged. “Felt like it. Ain’t killing her, is it? She’s got the same nanite shit you do, right?”
“We all have it. Universal medicine.” Tris’s stomach growled. “I’m sorry I ran the wrong way. I got turned around.”
“It’s okay. I don’t have a goddamned idea where we are either.”
She looked at him with horror all over her face.
Kevin smiled, pointing the gun to the rear over his shoulder. “Teasing. We gotta go that way.” He stared at Zara. “You are absolutely sure you don’t want me to kill this bitch for trying to cut your head off?”
Tris leaned on him. “Yeah.”
“Wow. I don’t even know what to say to that.” He shot Zara in the chest again, laughing at the stepped-on goose noise she made. “This is kind of fun actually.”
Zara gurgled.
Tris pulled on his arm. “Stop that!”
“She’s either got a really low pain tolerance, or she’s faking.” Kevin aimed at her face again. “Maybe they’ll kill her for failing?”
“No way. The Enclave doesn’t have that many people. They can’t afford to lose anyone, especially anyone ‘uncontaminated.’” Tris shoved at him, trying to get him away from Zara. “She took her helmet off. She showed me who she was, wondering if I’d remember her. Please don’t kill her.”
Kevin pressed his hand, and the side of the .45 to his face, eyes closed, and moaned in his head. “So, what do you wanna do with her?”
Tris smiled. “Do ya trust me?”
43
Two Hours
Driving away from Chicago again was not bringing him any closer to clearing his conscience, though Kevin couldn’t help but feel more comfortable with each mile that went by. Chicago was undoubtedly full of Infected, so anything that delayed his arrival was welcome. Tris had the pack of jerked dust-hopper in her lap, having inhaled enough for three normal meal portions. Her leather shirt looked a bloody mess, but she seemed tired. Perhaps Chicago should wait a bit.
He glanced over his shoulder into the back seat. Zara, stripped to a black sports bra and panties, sat behind Tris, arms bound behind her back and legs tied at the knees and ankles. “Not bad, most of the bruises are already gone.”
Zara glared, though didn’t try to speak past the duct tape over her mouth.
Kevin shook his head. “I officially give up on understanding anything about women. One minute, she’s trying to kill you, now you’re like old friends… in a sort of quiet, tied up, and gagged way.”
Tris rolled her eyes. “We did go to school together.”
“Were you two friends?”
“I’m not sure anyone actually had friends. We all went home after school. No one really hung out with anyone but their parents. We weren’t allowed to socialize on school grounds either.”
“That’s only a little strange.” Kevin glanced at her. “Little creepy too. Almost sounds like they don’t want people thinking too much on their own.”
Tris remained silent, lost in thought. She took another piece of jerky out, stared at it, and dropped it back in the box. “Yeah… I think you’re right. The Enclave’s up to something.”
“So why’d they send an assassin after you if they knew the data in your head was old music?”
“Like I know that?” Tris closed the package of food.
“I wasn’t asking you.”
“Tape.” Tris shook her head and reached into the back seat. “Sorry. Quick hurts less.”
Rip.
“Ow,” said Zara, sounding bored.
“Well?” Kevin shifted left one lane to avoid a smoldering motorcycle. “So, where’s your vehicle?”
“I got dropped off by an air unit. Is it really necessary to make me sit here in my underwear?”
Kevin shrugged. “You’re the one who didn’t have anything on under the armor. If I shoot you again, I want you to die. So… since I’ve somehow been talked into not killing you, the least you can do is explain some shit.”
“I have no idea. Maybe they wanted to keep up appearances?” Zara eyed the box behind his seat.
“You wouldn’t set off a hand grenade in the car, would you? That would kill all three of us.” Kevin made a tsk tsk noise.
“She can’t. Even if she gets her hands loose…” Tris held up a roll of duct tape and grinned. “I gave her mittens. And bullshit. What illusion? It’s not like they need me to do anything anymore.” Tris shifted to stare into the back seat. “Zara… come on. You didn’t really want to kill me. What’s going on?”
The woman sighed. “I don’t really know. It’s not healthy to ask questions. Maybe they’re afraid of what your father might’ve told you.”
“My dad died when I was nine. He never told me anything strange or secret-sounding. I got reassigned to a new family, and everyone acted like he never existed.”
Kevin eyed the side door mirror. A lone motorcycle came racing up in the next lane left, the driver waving. From the high-pitched whine, he assumed it an ethanol-eater. “What the hell?”
He rolled down the window, staring at the flailing man in a flapping denim jacket. The ‘hey wait’ act came to an end as the bike pulled up alongside. The rider produced a glass jar of clear liquid with an unlit wick and raised his arm as if to throw it.
“Hey,” yelled Kevin, pointing. “Your Molotov ain’t lit.”
The rider glanced at it, blinked, and peered back at Kevin with a confused, cross-eyed expression.
“You gotta light it first,” yelled Kevin. “One sec, lemme help you with that.”
He reached up and pulled the cord over his head. With a heavy whoosh, the incendiary sprayer roared to life, dousing the biker in burning gel. The odor of ethanol and grease filled the car. A screaming fireball veered off the road and went tumbling end over end into the grass. Three spins later, either the Molotov or the fuel tank detonated in a red-orange fireball.
Kevin rolled up his window. “Moron.”
Zara shivered. Her calm veneer showed a crack. “Okay, you win. Let me go. I swear I won’t come back. I can’t stand it out here. It’s so… dirty.”
Tris took a piece of jerky out of the box and held it up. “Hungry?”
“Don’t waste food.” Kevin rolled his eyes. “That’s for us. She tries to kill you, now you wanna feed her too?”
“Well if you didn’t shoot her nine times… nanites hurt when they’re hungry.” Tris squirmed.
“Good. You should’ve let me zap her with that… that… spider zappy thing.” Kevin rubbed his chest. “That felt like my skin peeled off and I got rolled in salt.”
“Capacitive coupling based neural stunner,” said Zara. “They sync up with the electromagnetic frequency in your nerves and overstimulate them. Supposed to knock someone out for at least an hour. Armored jacket?”
“Yep.” Kevin kissed his sleeve.
Tris waved the jerky at Zara. “Say something useful?”
Kevin mouthed ‘ooh, bitch’ silently.
Tris winked at him before staring into the back seat again. “They had to tell you something to talk you into hunting me down. I saw you hesitate. You really didn’t want to do it. What did they tell you?”
“Your dad was a radical thinker. He and his associates… They wanted to break away from the Enclave. Almost started a coup. The radicals planned to reintegrate with the outside, not destroy and replace. Your father tried to stop the Phoen
ix project. He didn’t want them to let the Virus into the wild. He was sure they wouldn’t be able to control it.”
Tris stretched into the rear and slipped back into her seat without the jerked jackrabbit. Zara mumbled something.
“Hold it with your lips while you chew,” said Kevin.
Tris gave him that wounded puppy look he loathed so much.
“What?”
“My father… Nathan is that kind of asshole. He probably matched me with Dovarin on purpose knowing I’d refuse him, get arrested, and then he could use the daughter of the man who started the resistance to destroy it. And he probably picked Zara to come after me because we knew each other… sorta.”
“Wow.” Kevin raised both eyebrows. “I think I owe that man a beer. He’s raised asshole to an art form. I could take lessons.”
“Bastard!” Tris shouted and punched the dashboard, leaving knuckle dimples in the glove compartment lid.
“There’d always been a cloud of suspicion over you,” said Zara. “Sometimes people thought you knew about it and were trying to help the resistance from the inside, even though you were a kid like the rest of us. When you started spouting off about opening the gates back there, I thought they were right.”
“It’s wrong.” Tris scowled at her. “All those ‘historical documentaries’ are lies. The world out here isn’t as bad as they think. It’s not all contaminated and deadly. There are a lot of good people left.”
A little over two hours after they’d resumed driving, Kevin steered across the grass divider and into oncoming lanes of highway. He drove down the ‘exit’ ramp of the rest stop and pulled up to the same space he’d used last time. “You carry your friend.” He hopped out and plugged in the charger.
While Tris dragged Zara out of the car, he collected her sniper rifle and armor from the trunk. It flopped about like a rubber suit with rigid panels in spots and didn’t feel near as heavy as it looked. Tris should keep this. She’s too damn nice for her own good. Kevin made a funny face while mimicking her predictable reply of, ‘but they’ll know something’s wrong if she goes back without it’ in his mind.
Tris heaved Zara over her shoulder. The woman wriggled, unable to attack the rope with her hands in duct tape cocoons.
He wandered past a few empty parking spaces and entered the rest stop with Tris close behind.
“Hey, Wazzat?” yelled Kevin.
Tris blinked. “What kind of name is that?”
Kevin smiled.
The old man emerged. “Whazzat?”
“Need a favor.”
“Whazzat?” The old man put a hand to his ear.
Tris rolled her eyes. “Oh, that kind of name.”
“Need a favor,” yelled Kevin. “This one tried to kill us, but my friend here’s too nice for her own good. We can’t keep her with us, and I don’t trust her enough to let her go right away. Can you watch her for like two hours, then cut her loose?”
Whazzat flashed a toothless grin at Zara’s ass. “Ah shure kin’ too.”
Tris set the woman in a chair. As soon as she got a look at the old man, she wobbled back to her feet, face red.
“No way. You can’t leave me tied up in my skivvies with that creature.”
“Whazzat?” asked the old man.
“Oh, he’s harmless.” Kevin shook the armor at Tris. “Are you sure you don’t want this stuff?”
“You told me to get rid of the black jumpsuit because it screams Enclave.” She folded her arms. “Besides, it’s hers. If she goes back without it―”
“Yeah, yeah. The jumpsuit doesn’t stop bullets. Who cares if they think you’re Enclave if they can’t kill you?”
“Cut ‘er loose two hour?” yelled Whazzat.
“Yes,” yelled Kevin. “Give ya four coins for babysitting.”
The old man nodded.
“No. Look, you could’ve killed me.” Zara squirmed and fought the rope binding her arms. “I respect that. Really, I do. I won’t come after you again. All I want to do is go back where it’s clean and disease free and I won’t get ten infections from my bare ass touching a plastic chair.”
“You can stand,” said Kevin.
“Okay,” said Tris. “We’ll cut you out right away, but we keep the rifle and the armor.”
Zara bit her lip. “I need the armor to get home. There’s a radio in the helmet.”
Tris folded her arms, showing no sign of backing down. “You really believe they’re going to come back for you, don’t you?”
“What?” Zara squinted.
“You’re too far east. They won’t come out this far to pick you up.” Tris loomed at her until she flopped in the chair again. “Did the Council of Four send you out here, or was it Nathan?”
Zara stared at her feet. “Nathan.”
“You’re already written off,” said Kevin, sounding like he knew what he was talking about. He hid the cheesy smile before Zara looked up.
“Don’t leave me helpless. Better you killed me.”
“Two hours,” said Kevin.
“Whazzat?” asked the old man.
Kevin held up two fingers and handed Whazzat four coins.
“Cut ‘er loose in two hours.” The old man checked a wristwatch under three sleeves.
Kevin noted it hadn’t been wound and wasn’t moving… but kept his mouth shut.
“Fine.” Zara gazed with longing at her armor. “But do I have to stay out here where everyone can see me?”
“Whazzat?”
Kevin translated into yell. The old man waved and pointed into the back. Tris carried Zara into a storage room. With great reluctance, Kevin handed the armor and rifle to the old man.
“Those are hers.”
The old man shook hands and hid the stuff behind the counter.
Kevin looked at Zara again, thought of Morgan, and put his hand on the .45. She’s playing us so damn hard. I oughta settle this for good. Tris leaned on him.
“Hmm?” He glanced down at her.
She kissed him quick on the lips. “Thanks. I suppose it was about time for you to save my ass once, since I keep havin’ to save yours.”
He laughed. “You sure you trust this one?”
Tris stared at Zara. “No. No, I don’t. But… killing everyone that pisses you off isn’t the answer.”
“I tend to make exceptions when they shoot first… and use tiny metal spiders from hell on me.”
“I can’t.” Tris sighed.
“Yeah… I know.” He walked out. “She gave you almost the same look you gave me back at Wayne’s.”
She hurried after him. “I didn’t try to kill you.”
“No… no, you didn’t. Good thing too. I’m not as forgiving as you are.”
Whazzat closed the storeroom door.
Kevin rummaged a scrap of paper napkin out of a cup holder and handed it to Tris. An extra four-hour detour would give them less than two to find Zoe’s family before darkness settled in. He had half a mind to spend the night at Whazzat’s roadhouse and go in the morning, but between Zara and an odd feeling he’d have to explain to a little girl how a matter of one night’s sleep killed her family, he decided to go. Assuming, of course, her father and brother hadn’t died within hours of her leaving.
Tris took the napkin and covered her mouth while coughing. The paper came away bloody. She cringed, folded the paper over the discharge, and coughed into it again.
“You okay?”
She clamped the napkin over her mouth, coughed again, and nodded.
“Doesn’t sound like it. That’s blood.” He slowed at the sight of a black smoke trail ahead.
“Yeah.” She breathed in and out hard, triggering another few coughs. “Leftover blood in the lung. It’s uncomfortable and annoying, but I’ll be alright.”
Kevin chuckled as he stopped by the side of the road. “Damn, I need to get some of those nanites.”
“They can be problematic out here too.” She crumpled the bloody tissue in her hand and let her ar
ms drop in her lap. “Increased food requirements wouldn’t be too popular in situations where it’s scarce.” She glanced out the window. “What’s that?”
“Remember the idiot with the Molotov?” Kevin got out. “Gonna see if he has anything worth taking.”
The crash left an obvious trail in the waist-high grass, which had fortunately been wet enough not to trigger a brush fire. He found the rider’s corpse a short walk from where the bike detonated. Incendiary gel had melted the man’s clothes to his flesh, leaving them unsalvageable. Kevin grabbed a Glock-17, which went into the empty holster under his left arm. Damn, I miss that Sig. Two knives, fifteen coins, and a crowbar survived. He collected everything and headed back for the Challenger, where Tris knelt by the right front tire with the black AK.
She stood when he got back to the road, and they got in at the same time.
“If we weren’t in such a hurry, I’d start looking around for a trail or something. This guy probably had a cache of stuff… maybe a cabin out here somewhere.” Kevin accelerated hard enough to spray gravel.
Tris gave him a quizzical look.
“Don’t usually see motorcycles alone. Makes me think he’s a hermit or something, saw us as a target of opportunity.”
“Either that or he’s the prospect.” Tris chuckled.
“Heck is that?”
“Motorcycle gangs usually have an initiation period before they let someone in. An applicant that’s trying to earn favor with the club.”
“Historical documentary?” Kevin raised an eyebrow, grinning.
“Yeah.” She squinted. “Does that mean it’s fake?”
He shrugged. “No idea. His stuff was too charred to tell if he had any markings.”
“So… have you thought about how to tell Zoe her family’s gone?” Tris stared into her lap.
He exhaled, hesitated a second, and shook his head. “Nope.”
A few minutes passed, silent but for the mesmerizing drone of tires consuming road.
“Hey. You’re supposed to be the optimist here.”
She almost smiled. “Is it better to be a disappointed pessimist or a satisfied optimist?”
The Roadhouse Chronicles Box Set [Books 1-3] Page 37
