“You sure you’re okay? You look like you got run over.” Kevin checked him out, as much as the old man would tolerate. “Where’s Athena?”
“Gave her stuff for pain, think she still sleeping.” Sang swatted at his hands. “Is good. Let me rest. You find the man you wanted to kill?”
“It’s complicated. I’ll tell you the story when you’re not tenderized. What happened to Nevada?”
“She run to Cahvah’s place. These bandits didn’t go into the rooms yet. Only been here ’bout an hour.”
“You sure you’re okay?” Kevin patted him on the shoulder.
“Yes. Good. Sleeping.” Sang rolled on his side and pulled a blanket up.
Kevin peeked at the office, finding it rifled through, but more or less as he’d left it. When he returned to the main room, he collected the weapons from the two dead men and left them in a pile on the counter after unloading them. “Okay. You three are gonna take pube-face here and that other guy out back, collect everything off their bodies, then bury them. Play it cool and I’ll skip takin’ your stuff that ain’t a weapon, and maybe Fitch here will change his mind about the rope.”
Fitch wagged the shotgun. “Alright, you heard the man. Hop to it.”
“Tut tut.” Neeley relieved the leather-clad woman of two handguns.
Kevin walked off as the trio grunted and groaned trying to carry two dead men outside, heading back down the hall to the storage room for the ‘store.’ They’d made a go at picking the lock, but only managed to get a thin metal rod wedged in the doorknob. That’s going to be a pain in the ass to open, but at least they didn’t get in. He grumbled across the hall to the office and grabbed the mic. That ‘Snow’ was aware of him having a roadhouse made him grateful for Tris’ instinct not to talk about herself too clearly over the radio.
“Breaker. This is Kevin. Has anyone seen my other half?”
“Nein,” said Gertrude after a moment. “Ve have been vaiting for her to tell us vhat has happened in Amarillo. Ze damned site inspector has still not shown up.”
“Haven’t seen her,” said Mirabel.
“Yo, Kevin!” yelled Mac. The excitement in his voice made the entire table vibrate. “Your lady left here a little while ago. She tried to get you on the box before, but no dice.”
“Yeah. I just got home. Had a roach problem.” Kevin grumbled.
“Sure, sure,” said Mac. “I think they’s gonna stop by some place… Ned? Drop off a bunch o’ people. Amarillo is gone. Infected wiped it out. Nothing left.”
Harold, Clive, Mirabel, Gertrude, Jenny, and Enrico all tried to talk at the same time, likely yells of “What?” or “Shit.”
“Whazzat?”
Kevin laughed himself to tears.
“Whazzat? Not hearin’ yas!” yelled the old man.
“Yeah all,” said Mac. “We’re on our own now. No more Amarillo, but there’s a shitpile of solar panels there if anyone’s got the balls to go after them. Couple hundred Infected around too. Anyway, your lady should be gettin’ on back to you real soon.”
Kevin leaned back in the chair, feeling a wave of relief. “Thanks, Mac. Owe ya one.”
“Nah, we good.” Mac’s smile all but formed on the front of the radio. “You guys don’t owe me a damn thing. You did right by me already. More than.”
He sat for a while not really listening to the radio chatter, which consisted mostly of ‘now what the fuck are we supposed to do,’ and stared at the wall. All he wanted was Tris to come walking in that door, and couldn’t care less about anything else that had happened. For so long, all he’d ever wanted was a roadhouse to call his own, but for her, he’d give it away without a second thought.
The chatter died down after an hour, and he made his way to the front room. He couldn’t explain it, but standing behind the counter didn’t feel like what he ought to be doing anymore. The whole room had changed somehow, less of a shield and more like a little hill in the middle of a battlefield that made a guy an easy target. He brushed Bee’s hair about, staring at her, it, or whatever. How could a damned machine make him feel sad? Well, he’d been pretty worked up over the Marauder when that red-haired she-devil Morgan took it… He brushed his fingers over the B-10-C printed on the back of Bee’s neck. Comparing her to Snow was like comparing a golf cart to the space shuttle, but… he’d miss her like a person. Kevin hoisted Bee off the counter and propped her up in the chair Tris usually sat in. The plastic and aluminum head lolled back and to the right. Two of the bullets went all the way through her, leaving finger-sized holes in her chest.
“I suppose I should thank you for trying to protect the place. Bet they came in acting like customers, didn’t they. Got you in the back when you weren’t looking.” The scene played out in his head, and perhaps because of what the brown-haired woman said, he imagined pube-face doing it all before the others could stop him. Meh, those women would’a sided with whoever won. The way the leather-armored one had cringed away from Pube convinced him she hadn’t quite gotten over being ordered around like a slave. From thirteen… dammit. Is that something anyone really can get over? Dad reared his head, and Kevin felt like an asshole all over again for threatening her.
He leaned one elbow on the counter, staring at Bee, trying to make up his mind if he should bury her or leave her there like some kind of strange statue as a tribute. It felt sacrilegious almost that people died in the ’house, and Bee wasn’t running around collecting their shit.
Not too much later, the three squatters came in. The topless woman carried a bundle of all the dead men’s gear; the other two had their hands up. Fitch and Neeley walked in behind them, rifles still trained. The trio looked as though they’d gone for a roll in the dirt, which had become mud due to the amount of sweat they’d worked up.
Kevin looked up. The former slave appeared exhausted and vulnerable, mousy brown hair loose over her face, puffing out with each breath. Wayne for sure would’ve made the three of them strip, tied them together, and left them to walk the road until justice found them. Sure made it a hell of a lot less likely they’d come back in the middle of the night and shoot him in his sleep. Course a man did tend to make enemies that way. Send a person off bound and naked into the desert, if they don’t die, they tend to remember that shit for the rest of their life―and payback is a bitch at that time of the month.
“Okay, fine. You three can take off. Keep your clothes.”
“Rope?” Fitch’s eyebrow wiggle suggested he teased.
“Nah. Caught me at a weak moment.”
“Uhh.” The woman in the denim skirt and flip-flops sidled up to the counter. “Any chance I can get my swords back? Those things weren’t easy to find. I don’t mind fuckin’ all three of you if I have to.”
Neeley cheered, then looked self-conscious and folded his hands behind his back while coughing.
“Apologies for any misunderstandings,” said the man. “Our… associates were a rather violent sort, and they had a rather loose grasp of the concept of personal property. I assure you, we’ll be no further trouble.”
Kevin eyed the woman. Her armor was half motorcycle Kevlar and half dust hopper. “You were serious about tellin’ Fitch to shoot you.”
She stared into his eyes. “Yes.”
“Not sure if this guy’s useful at all”―Kevin gestured at the man―“but if you got nerve like that, and your friend here was this close to running at me with goddamned swords when I had gun on her.”
“That could’a been dumbassery.” Fitch chuckled.
“She did duck.” Kevin smiled. “Things aren’t quite as they used to be. Place like this could use some more hands around. Hands who ain’t afraid to get bloody if we get another influx of idiot.”
The women exchanged glances.
Topless tilted her head. “So you went from kill us to send us on a death march to offering us a job-slash-home?”
“It’s been a crazy few days… but yeah. More or less.” Kevin leaned on the bar, trying to do his best
Wayne.
“I… could probably help out with the computers in the other room or the solar panels on the roof.” The man smiled. “I’m Neal. That’s Lissa”―he pointed at Topless―“and that’s―”
“Jenny…” The other woman looked into nowhere. “No one’s called me that since I was little.” She made eye contact again. “Alright. I accept.”
Lissa shrugged. “That works. Uhh, can I get a shirt or something though?”
“Aww,” muttered Neeley.
Neal offered a cheesy smile.
Kevin glanced at Fitch who tried not to laugh. “Well, Neal… I’ll give you a shot see if you’re useful enough to pay.”
“Very good, sir.” Neal bowed.
“You three look worn out.” Kevin handed them each water in a jar. “I dunno about you two”―he smiled at Neeley and Fitch―“but I’m damned hungry.”
They nodded.
Sang moaned.
“I got it.” Kevin headed into the kitchen. “You rest.”
A short time later, Kevin carried a plate of steaks (animal questionable) into the room and joined everyone at a table formed by two smaller ones pushed together. “Some asshole got a shiv stuck in the storeroom knob. I’ll see about a shirt as soon as I can get it open.”
Lissa whistled innocently.
He laughed. “Well, at least you’re a bad thief. Hope you’re better with your swords.”
“Yeah, that I’ve done before. Pickin’ locks is kind of―was kind of a new hobby.”
Nevada walked in with a large crate, gave Kevin a ‘welcome back’ nod, and disappeared into the kitchen. “Oh, shit. What happened?”
“You, bad timing,” said Sang, his voice laden with moan.
Later, after showing the three new ‘employees’ to their rooms, Kevin leaned against a column, once again staring at Bee. Nevada resumed her ‘guard’ station at a table after agreeing to take that seed run despite the relatively low pay for such a long drive as a make-up for her lousy timing… not that he blamed her at all.
Fitch and Neeley walked over. Fitch gestured at the liquor, which had taken a visible hit from the two dead morons. Kevin nodded. Sure, why not. Feels like I’m going down with the ship already.
“You okay, man?” asked Neeley.
“Yeah. Fine. Gotta thank you guys for helping out, even if that was a colossal goat fuck of a waste of time.”
“All good,” said Fitch. “Was worth it for the variety, even if I did haveta waste three damn rounds outta Mama.”
“Cool.” Neeley stood. “I, uhh, gotta check on something.” He headed off to the corridor full of rooms.
“Hope she’s not a screamer.” Fitch downed a shot of something. “So, what’s with the haunted look? You ain’t seemin’ too happy to be back.”
Athena wobbled in from the hallway, looking a far cry from a badass driver in a pink nightie and bright red pajama pants covered in white stars. She braced her right arm across her chest, clutching her ribs, and dark circles lined her eyes. “Hey… Is Sang okay? He didn’t check on me.”
“Had a little issue…” Kevin got up and helped her to a seat. “Hungry?”
“Yeah.” Athena nodded, cringing. “Feeling a little better actually. Not thinking about shooting myself so it stops hurting anymore. Sang gave me some shit… I don’t think I’ve ever slept that hard in my life. I still kinda feel like my head’s going to float off into the sky.”
Kevin gave her right shoulder a gentle squeeze, and headed to the kitchen. After cooking up a burger for her, he carried it back out and explained the little drama she’d missed. “Tris ought to be back soon.”
Fitch and Neeley raised their water in toast.
Where is she? He glanced out the window. Clouds of dust swirled in small cyclones that danced among the scrub. After a moment, he swallowed an odd sense of worry something had happened to her. All the years he’d busted his ass for a roadhouse, and it struck him how little he’d hesitate to give it up for Tris. I never should’ve gone off without her. “Yanno, I think I’ve just figured out the worst part about chasing a dream.”
Fitch refilled his shot glass and gave him an expectant look.
Kevin stared at the empty road, fidgeting from a sudden sense of worry. “Catching it.”
34
Contagious
Jerky rocking invaded the nothingness in which Tris floated. She tried to scream, but couldn’t figure out how. Rocking became up and down shaking.
“Tris,” yelled a distant, echoing voice. Female, it had an odd sense of familiarity. “Tris!”
The sound and light of the world exploded into being; Tris shot upright, sucking in a great breath of air. Pain like a red-hot metal spear lanced through her chest paralyzed her. Mouth agape, she could only sit on the dirt and stare at a length of road leading off into heat blur.
A cute blonde about her age with grime smeared on her face―the kind of woman who gets thought of as ‘the kid sister’ but never called ‘hot’―held her by both shoulders. “She’s alive!”
“C-Cassie?” Tris coughed; her mouth filled with a pungent metallic flavor that tingled like soda. Ugh, I hate the taste of nanite blood.
Dazed and disoriented, Tris squinted at the blinding glare of the sun and the indistinct people-shaped blobs nearby. A childlike voice cheered while another sobbed. She focused on the direction from which the crying emanated. A blur moved, and a thin body plowed into her, knocking her flat on her back. Gasping sobs, laced with a wheezing cough filled her right ear.
Abby… Emilio… Warren. “Oh, shit.”
Tris let out that scream she’d been thinking of as the army of pins and needles outlined her ribs around her left lung. She shuddered through it while Abby coughed and gagged. Once the concept of moving became something her brain didn’t crawl into a deep, dark place to avoid, Tris sat up and patted Abby on the back.
“He killed him… Warren killed my Dad.” Abby burst into tears again.
To the right, Zara kept watch over the others. Jose appeared calm. Kristen oscillated between looking ready to cry and giggling to herself out of neurotic fear. Tom stood a few feet away, holding Isla back. The little one appeared to have been crying too, but aside from wet lines down her dusty cheeks, her face radiated joy at Tris. Lloyd stood off by himself, muttering about idiots.
“We’re good,” said Zara. “No one else wants to shoot anyone.”
“What are we gonna do with them?” asked Tris.
Zara looked at her like she’d been shot dumb. “Drive them to Ned.”
“No, I mean the dead.”
Abby tried to squeeze the air out of her.
“Hey, hey… I’m okay. Just… wow. Hungry. Someone please grab me one of those meat strips?”
Tom nodded and headed to the van.
Isla ran over, gawking at Tris. “You’re shot and you didn’t die.”
Tris patted her on the head. “Told you we’re tough.”
“Did it hurt?” asked Isla.
“Oh, yeah.” Tris prodded her side, wincing. “It hurt a lot.”
Zara sighed. “We don’t have the tools to dig in this kind of ground. We don’t have anything to start a fire with.”
Tris glanced at the bodies, noting Warren and Zack lay arranged in parallel, cleaned of useful items. No doubt, Zack’s armor sat in the van. Abby leaned back as if to speak, but as soon as she looked at Tris’ face, tears overwhelmed her again and she bawled. Tom handed her a large strip of jerked dust hopper, likely an entire rear leg.
She devoured it, hardly leaving room for air between bites, terrified the nanites would start breaking down her internal organs in fatal ways without protein to work with. It made her think of when Kevin first fed her. He’s gotta be okay. He’s gotta be okay. She stood, holding Abby. “We gotta get going.” Tris raised her voice. “Does anyone have a problem with us taking Emilio back to Nederland for a proper burial? I have no issues leaving that other jackass out here. Anyone particularly fond of Zack?”
&nb
sp; “S’pose’n you ain’t, seen as how he shot you,” said Lloyd. “I don’t think it personal. Just reacting to you firing on Warren.”
“Warren killed an innocent man because he was a paranoid bastard.” Zara glowered.
“Not sayin’ that was right.” Lloyd looked around and grumbled. “We shouldn’t leave Zack out here for the buzzards.”
No one raised a serious objection.
Tris rubbed her chest where a bullet hole and dried blood marred her shirt. The skin beneath remained tender, probably would for a few days. Dull pain in the lower part of her chest worsening in time with each breath made her think some blood settled in her lung that the nanites hadn’t quite reabsorbed yet. She held the wheel steady, pushing the van a little hard at 72 MPH.
Abby sat again on the floor between the front seats, leaning toward Tris with her arm and head resting on the cushion. The smell of sick hung in the air, and sweat covered her. Isla huddled in the well by Zara’s legs, having wanted nothing to do with the dead bodies in back. At least she’d stopped asking if they were going to get up.
Tris focused on the road, arguing in her head over Abby’s condition. Most of what she observed implied the girl had a simple (though severe) cold or perhaps flu. The tiniest sliver of doubt remained, replaying in her thoughts with Sang’s voice. This girl wasn’t related to her at all, but the idea of having to kill an eleven-year-old made her heartsick. Sang’s son had been nineteen. Awful, but less so than the idea of having to shoot a child. Jae-Yong had gone off scavenging and gotten himself in trouble. Abby had trouble dropped on her quite literally from overhead.
Despite how much of a shit the man had been to her, she didn’t truly hate Warren, or blame him for Emilio’s death. That, she reserved for Nathan. None of this had to happen. Tris wrung her hands on the wheel. The Council of Four wouldn’t have bothered with Amarillo so far east. And if they did worry about them as a threat, it would’ve been a recon drone first and they would have noticed the fake soldiers. Some new recruit at a desk with a joystick would’ve had a good laugh, and they wouldn’t have wasted a Virus drone on such a small number of people. What they dropped on Amarillo would’ve been enough for a city with hundreds of thousands.
The Roadhouse Chronicles Box Set [Books 1-3] Page 83
