She put a hand on top of his. “Nightmare. I was like eight or nine again… the day they took me away from my dad. Only they didn’t put me with that creepy couple who acted like my father never existed… I wound up getting dragged out into the desert and left tied to a pole. I barely got loose before Infected came out of nowhere… lots of running and I got cornered. That’s when I woke up.”
He squeezed her shoulder. “Ouch. When I was a kid, I used to have dreams kinda like that… getting chased by Infected. Only, I always run across the grasslands outside the settlement where I lived as a kid. In the dream, I wake up and everyone around me is Infected. Like to say I shot them all, but… nah. I ran like a little girl.”
She poked him. “Not all little girls are the scream-and-run type.”
Kevin chuckled. She smiled at him for a moment before standing into a kiss, not bothering to pull her sweat pants up. Kissing and pawing at each other, they made their way back to the bed. She walked out of the sweats, leaving them in the hall. All the pent up energy he’d devoted to worrying about her burst in a waterfall of passion. A good half hour of lovemaking culminated with him on his back, Tris riding cowgirl, until she collapsed as out of breath as he felt.
After a long while of lying in each other’s arms, he got up and dressed. She followed suit, and trailed after him downstairs to the front room.
Fitch and Neeley, having returned from their run, occupied one of the tables in the back. At Kevin’s entrance, they both began a slow clap. Three other men, each at their own tables, joined in. Tris’ cheeks turned pink as Kevin rendered a stageman’s bow.
“You want food, right?” yelled Sang. “You work up good appetite.”
“Yep.” Kevin smiled.
Her stomach growled. “Oh yeah. Extra toast for me.”
She sat on her old office chair behind the counter while Kevin leaned on it. Fitch scratched at a grey streak along the left side of his afro and stood. He approached with a hesitant look, not quite making eye contact.
“What went wrong?” asked Kevin.
“Oh, run was fine.” He dropped a pouch of coins between them. “No trouble with it.”
Kevin dumped the coins out, counted them, and took his six percent. He put his part in the box, the seller’s part back in the pouch, and pushed Fitch’s share back to him. “So what’s with the mug? You look like you’re about to tell me something I don’t wanna hear.”
Neeley fidgeted a bolt around his grease-stained fingers, staring at the table where he remained a good fifteen feet from the counter. The sinewy, scrawny man also seemed afraid to make eye contact.
Sang set two plates in the hole between front room and kitchen, smiled at Kevin, and returned to his cot.
Kevin put the plate with double toast in front of Tris, then leaned over his scrambled eggs and sausage. “Okay, out with it.”
Fitch picked at his shirt. The man had to be getting close to forty, and had Kevin by two inches in height, but gave off a feeling like a kid about to get yelled at. “Uhh, we stopped in Hagerman.”
Kevin froze.
Tris glanced at him, worry in her eyes. “Wayne hasn’t said anything on the radio in a while.”
“Was a fucking horror show in Hastings.” Kevin prodded eggs with his fork. “Infected.”
Fitch’s eyebrows climbed, though he brightened up. “No signs of anything like that. Place just looked abandoned. Maybe he’s doing a run himself?”
“What for?” asked Kevin. Hunger overwhelmed worry and he shoveled a huge forkful into his mouth. “He’s… mmm…” He chewed more and swallowed. “He’s set. Gets all the coin he needs from the ’house.”
“Dunno, man.” Neeley stood and wandered up to the counter, hands in the pockets of his grey workman’s pants. “Bee ain’t even there. Don’t feel like Wayne ta leave the place empty.”
“No… No it doesn’t.” Kevin squinted at the door. Road trip time. He looked around the room. His Roadhouse. His dream… Any time he left the property, he might come back to ruins at worst or an idiot with a gun at best. Everything he’d ever wanted was right here. Wayne could take care of himself. Wayne taught him everything he knew about the road. The thought that the old man had been ‘kinda-sorta’ a father figure brought on guilt. Fitch was right. Wayne wouldn’t just up and leave. “I’m gonna check it out.”
Fitch and Neeley nodded in unison. “Sounds like a good idea.”
“When are we leaving?” asked Tris.
Kevin put a hand on the back of her head and pulled her cheek to his chest. “You wanna stay here and watch the place? This’ll be a couple days out.”
“Sang?” She looked up at him.
“Yeah?” asked Sang.
“Damn he’s got good ears.” Kevin chuckled. “Nothing, man. Just talking about takin’ another road trip.”
“Ah. Okay,” yelled the cook.
Kevin let go of her so she could keep devouring her food. “We just left him alone for a day… it’s a lot to manage this place alone.”
“What… the ‘little woman’ stays home where it’s safe?” Her smile took much of the accusation out of her tone.
“No… That’s not it at all. Though, I like the sound of you staying safe.”
She knocked a playful punch into his shoulder. “Want me barefoot in the kitchen too?”
“Huh?” Kevin looked at her. “What’s barefoot have to do with being in the kitchen?”
“Oh.” She held up a bit of sausage on her fork. “Right. You didn’t study history.”
Confused, he continued to stare at her until it became clear no more detailed explanation was coming. “You guys interested in running down to Ween’s? Got a big ol’ box of brass. At an eyeball, probably three or four hundred coins’ worth. Need someone to run it down there and see if the old coot’s willing to buy.”
Fitch scratched at his beard stubble. “You know I could watch the place for you. Neeley could handle a run like that solo. Say twenty percent of the take on the brass?”
Neeley nodded.
“Never knew you wanted a ’house, Fitch.” Kevin chuckled.
“Well…” A deep, bass laugh bounced off the walls. “Been an idea, but I ain’t never had the patience to save up no ten grand.”
“The building near Hastings is open.” Tris winked.
“Infected?” Fitch held up one finger. “In the immortal words of Socrates: fuck that.”
Tris furrowed her eyebrows. “I don’t think he said that.”
Neeley snorted, laughing.
Kevin held an appraising glance on Fitch while pondering the idea. Of all the drivers who’d come through on a regular basis, he was the most pragmatic. Easily one of the oldest. Neeley had a habit of being a little skittish, but the two worked well together. Perhaps the younger man’s energy is what kept Fitch from ‘settling in’ with his own ’house. Both respected the Code, so it struck him as unlikely he’d risk getting on the wrong side of Amarillo by ripping Kevin off. “Alright.”
Fitch offered a handshake, which Kevin accepted. “Done. Anything particular I should keep an eye out for?”
Kevin gestured at the corridor right of the counter. “If someone wants supplies, charge whatever you think’s reasonable. Got a truck, SUV, I’m lookin’ to offload as well. If anyone’s interested, tell ’em 3500 coins, but I’d let it go for two. Don’t commit to anything ’til I come back. Jobs can wait a couple days. Oh, Athena might show up before I do.” He flipped open the marble notebook and pointed the entry for the run she’d taken.
“Got it.” Fitch patted the counter twice. “Go on and put yer coinbox somewhere secure. I ’preciate the trust, but don’t want it on me if somethin’ funky happens.”
Kevin smiled. “That’s the change box, not my vault… but if it makes you feel better, I can lock it up.”
“Never get too far away from what you ain’t willin’ ta lose.” Fitch winked.
Kevin smiled at Tris. “That’s a good philosophy.”
Her chee
ks tinged with a little blush.
“When you two headin’ out?” asked Fitch.
“Where’s that brass?” Neeley perked up and looked around behind the counter.
Kevin penned in an entry to the ledger regarding the shipment of empty brass to Ween, wrote ‘300-400 coins’ in the value box, and added ‘Neeley’ as the driver. “Be right out with it.”
“I’ll get started on unloading that stuff from Hastings.” Tris set the empty plate in the kitchen hole as she got up.
“’Kay. I’ll be there as soon as I get Neeley on his way.” Kevin gave Fitch a nod and jogged to the back storeroom by the office where he’d put the footlocker.
7
No Road Leads Home
Enough time had passed since Kevin laid eyes on Hagerman, New Mexico, that it felt strange to see the place. The quiet streets, dust clouds, and tumbleweeds looked like something out of a fond dream, a peek at a time that no longer existed. All the time he’d spent here, daydreaming about saving up enough money to buy a Roadhouse of his own, yet it felt somehow wrong to be there again. Like he desecrated an old, sacred memory.
A couple of News hung out among their bikes in front of the Bobcat market.
Tris still had the same look on her face she’d had leaving Nederland earlier that morning. Considering the trip’s midway point roughly landed nearby, and Tris insisted, they’d spent the night with Bill and Ann. Zoe had been thrilled to see them again, and happier still to get her doll back. Cody, her brother, was more subdued, but given how their exodus from Chicago had gone… Kevin would’ve been worried had the kid not been affected by it somehow. Zoe’s mild whine that she hadn’t gotten to shoot any raiders lately unnerved him, as did the reason she hadn’t being no raiders had attacked―not that she’d been deemed too little. Her father didn’t seem to have a problem with a nine-year-old helping to defend the town.
Kevin wrung his hands on the steering wheel. Guess he figures being shot is better than being taken by bandits.
“What’s got that look on you?” Tris sat up and peered out at the passing city. “I don’t see anything out there.”
“Just thinking about Zoe. Aside from you, I’m not used to people being that happy to see me.”
“Well, you did bring her brother and father back alive.” Tris smiled. “And I know you hate that they let her carry a gun.”
“It makes her a target. Anyone with a weapon, even a kid, will get shot at.” He turned onto the road leading to Wayne’s Roadhouse. The sight of his former haunt chilled him. Not a single car sat out front and no lights were on.
“You make it sound like she’s charging into battle.” Tris smiled. “I think it’s cute that she aims for legs so she doesn’t kill anyone.”
Kevin glanced at her. “You’ve got a pretty strange idea of cute.”
The car came to a halt in his beloved space, the same parking spot he’d gotten into fights over. He hopped out, walking on autopilot around to the charging panel to plug in. Tris stood with her arms crossed, waiting. Once he’d connected, he started for the door.
“No rifle?” asked Tris.
He looked back at her. “I…” He glanced at the building. “Never even thought of walking in here as even close to dangerous.”
“Has it ever been this quiet?” she asked.
“No.” He pulled his armored jacket away from the .45 on his hip and crept up onto the porch.
“Hope I don’t break the railing again.”
“I’ll laugh later.” Kevin pushed the door aside and entered the old, familiar room. A trace of gunpowder hung in the air, though weak enough not to make him worry right away. “Wayne?” He approached the counter. “Bee?”
Tris, Beretta drawn, cut left and went around behind the counter. “Couple of .45 brass on the floor back here.” She leaned down and reached for something. A click preceded a weak electric hum. “Turned on the port to charge. Panel’s green.”
He nodded and swiveled to check the back corner, around the table where he’d killed the bandits who’d abducted her. His memory of the indignant look she’d given him when he’d refused to untie her almost pushed a smile out from under the heavy blanket of worry. He spun at the scrape of a curtain sliding on a rod in time to catch Tris ducking into the back office past a hanging wall of camouflage cloth. I’m too jumpy. Kevin let out a mental sigh, and headed for the corridor by the bathrooms.
Wayne’s old beat-up brown armor, a Kevlar vest married to a duster coat, remained untouched in its display case between the bathroom doors. Someone had added arms and a smile to the sharpie-markered penis on the men’s room door. The throat-scalding awfulness in the air proved Bee still refused to go in there and clean it.
“Wayne?” yelled Kevin. “Bee?” He pushed open both bathroom doors, but found no one other than the fuzzy black mass growing out of the toilet. “Something’s wrong.”
A short burst of automatic gunfire came from behind him, followed an instant later by a sharp yelp of surprise from Tris. He pivoted on his heel and sprinted into the main room, finding no trace of her or anything else.
“Tris?” he yelled.
“Downstairs!” Her shout sounded equally strong below the floor as it did from behind the camouflage curtain.
Hearing her alive got his heart beating again. He ran through the curtain into the back room, almost wiping out on a bunched up throw rug. Inches from flying face first into an open rectangular hatch about the size of a normal doorway, he caught himself on the side of a desk. Tris curled up in a ball on the floor at the bottom of a handmade wooden stairway, covered in a light dusting of splinters. The steps had blood all over them, continuing in a trail past Tris into the underground space. A matching bloody drag trail continued deeper into the room past the hole in the floor, to a door that opened to the outside along the left side of the building.
“Shit,” he muttered before raising his voice. “Wayne’s got auto-turrets down there.”
Tris looked up at him. “I noticed.”
He hadn’t seen inside the back room of Wayne’s except for once when he’d been seventeen and too ballsy to care going in here might get him shot. As best he could remember, the place hadn’t changed at all. The concealed stairs, however, caught him off guard. He’d known Wayne had a basement, but had no idea where the access was. He’d expected something sneakier than a trap door under a rug from Wayne.
Tris sat up and ran her fingers through her hair. She looked up at him, her face drawn with worry. “I think Wayne’s in there…”
Kevin eased himself down the stairs, took her hand, and pulled her upright into an embrace. “What happened?”
“I don’t know. Didn’t get much of a look before my neuralware kicked in and I had to duck. If I wasn’t boosted, I’d have been dead. He’s behind the turrets. I think he’s hiding from something.”
The stairwell led down to a small room about the size of a prison cell with a corridor to the right at the corner. Cinder block walls covered in moisture and moss flavored the air with dirt. A scattering of shell casings littered the ground, most of which appeared to be 9mm. He started toward the corridor, but Tris yanked him back at the same instant he noticed the bullet-gouged wood support column at the corner.
“Don’t poke your head out there or it’ll get shot off.”
“Is Wayne alive?”
Tris offered only a helpless look.
Dammit, Wayne… what the hell? “Did you see enough to get an idea how to shut it off?”
“Aside from shooting them?” She stooped to pick her Beretta up.
“What if we kill the master circuit breaker?”
Tris raised her arms and let them flap against her sides. “If I designed turrets like that, I’d make damn sure they had battery backups. Killing the power is the first thing anyone would try.”
Kevin leaned up to the corner but didn’t go past it. “Wayne?”
Tris came up behind him. “I’ll shoot them out. If he’s hurt, we can’t waste time.”
“Don’t get shot.”
She smiled. “Now that I’m ready for it, I’m good.”
“If I have to choose between you or Wayne, there’s no choice. You don’t have to do this.”
Tris sniffled. “I love you, too. I’m not… too worried.”
He shrugged off his armored jacket and held it up, open. “Just in case.”
She put it on, looking smaller for wearing it. “When I hit the ground, drag me back.”
Kevin took a knee by the corner.
After a psych-up breath, she blurred sideways into a leap. The Beretta burped like an automatic weapon, a blinding/deafening flash, and she landed on her side. Dust exploded from the wall behind her at the corner. Kevin grabbed her ankles and yanked her away from the corner while flinching from a cloud of cinder block bits and dirt spraying around them.
“Damn!” shouted Tris. She sat up clutching her right arm. Blood oozed between her fingers.
Sputtering servo noises and the buzz of electronics came from the deeper portion of the basement. One .45 slug stuck to the jacket over her hip. He peeled her hand up enough to look at a fray of Kevlar fibers sticking up from the red leather sleeve. A matching hole on the back of her arm was cleaner, as though a drill bit had made a perfect circle.
“Five-five-six,” said Kevin. “It hit the armor segment and glanced.”
She sucked air between her teeth. “I don’t think it hit bone. It’ll heal. Oh, damn this burns.”
“Maybe a tracer?” He brushed the jacket off her shoulder and eased her arm free. A clean through-and-through wound in her bicep had already shrunk to a pin dot; the bruising around the spot looked worse than the actual penetration.
She winced at it for a second before biting his shoulder and grumbling. “Ugh, the small wounds always sting the most.”
“I need me some nanites.” He kissed her on top of the head.
Laughing, Tris got to her feet
Kevin took a small satchel from a nail on the underside of the stairway and waved it at the corner. When nothing shot at him, he risked looking.
The Roadhouse Chronicles Box Set [Books 1-3] Page 53
