The Roadhouse Chronicles Box Set [Books 1-3]

by Cox, Matthew S.

  “I’m gonna kill him,” muttered Tris. “Cover me.”

  Abby gasped and shrank down in the bench seat.

  Another man entered behind them, a bit older, dressed in army green complete with a Kevlar vest and helmet, also with an assault rifle. He had a muscular build and skin of deep, dark brown. As the first man walked away from the captured child toward the counter, the one in army green gave Kevin a ‘hey man, what’s up’ sort of nod.

  Ben’s face blanched as pale as Tris. The look he gave the new arrivals said he shared the same expectations about the men’s intentions toward their captive, but had frozen in fear.

  “Do they think she’s infected?” whispered Abby.

  “No, sweetie.” Tris grabbed her Beretta. “They’re not going to be thinking much of anything in a second.”

  Kevin reached across their adopted daughter to hold Tris’ weapon down. “Hang on. Don’t go starting a gunfight while you’re sitting right next to Abby.”

  Tris narrowed her eyes at him, muttering, “I wasn’t planning to start a gunfight; I’m planning to kill a pair of goddamned slavers preying on a child.” Her face reddened in anger. “Look at her. How could anyone do that to another human being, much less a little girl?”

  “Wait.” Kevin squeezed her hand. “There’s two kids in here and I don’t want either one of them catching a stray bullet. Got a feeling Twitchy McTwitcherson behind the counter is going to go crazy if something happens. That guy looks like he’d start throwing bullets everywhere.”

  The red haired girl raised her legs, set her heels on the edge of the chair, and fussed at the steel around her ankles with a demeanor more annoyed than desperate to escape. For a short while, the metallic rattle of her restraints held the room in rapt silence. Ben stared vacantly at the man in tire armor, oblivious to what he’d said. A woman in her early forties started out of the hallway, stopped short staring at the bound child, shifted her gaze to the man in tire armor, and backed away, eyes wide with fear.

  “Yo, you alive?” asked the raider.

  “Y-yes,” Ben stammered, leaning away as if expecting to be hit.

  “Enough.” Tris started to stand, but Kevin held her down by a hand on the shoulder. She shot a glare at him. “What?”

  Kevin watched the girl. Too thin, too dirty, far too casual about her situation. She barely gave either man any notice, continuing to fuss with the cuffs. “Gimme a minute…”

  The dark-skinned man in army green sat in the chair next to the feral girl, showing little concern at her halfhearted attempt to free herself. Either he didn’t care if she got loose, or knew she couldn’t. Kevin squinted at her. She’s more irritated than frightened. The kid sensed him watching and raised her head to make eye contact. He mouthed ‘are you okay?’ at her. She blinked, stared at him a little longer, and raised her hands before tugging the cuffs apart as if to ask if he could get them off her.

  “This is exactly what I was talking about,” whispered Tris. “That guy behind the counter is just going to stand there and let them make a slave out of a little girl. Look at him. He’s scared shitless. What if this was our Roadhouse? What would you do if this walked into our place?”

  “Hang on.” Kevin patted the table. “Something’s not right.”

  “No shit.” Tris glared at him. She pulled at the Beretta, but he held her hand down again. “Slavery’s horrible enough, but that’s a child. Disgusting. A bullet in the face is too fast for anyone who would do that.”

  Abby slipped off the seat and curled up in a ball on the floor below the table.

  “I don’t think this is as bad as it looks like. Their body language is all wrong.” He eased himself to his feet. “The kid is too calm. I’m gonna do the same thing I’d have done if this walked into our place—talk to ’em.”

  “What’s to talk about?” Tris continued to glare while squeezing the handle of her Beretta. “They haven’t put anything on her but handcuffs.”

  “Look at how long her hair is and how filthy she is. The kid’s probably feral. Maybe she bit them or they’re trying to take her to civilization and she kept running away. They found a feral back home when I was like fifteen; a boy, a bit younger than that kid looks. Took them six months to get him not to rip any clothing they put on him off in seconds, and they had to lock him in his room for a month to keep him from running back into the Wildlands alone. She doesn’t seem afraid of them. She ain’t even seriously trying to get free. That kid’s more annoyed than scared. Got a feeling she’s been stuck in them things a good while. Maybe these two found her like that. Give me a minute before you shoot two guys who might not deserve it.” He paused. “’Course, if you turn out to be right, I’ll tackle the one in green.”

  Tris nodded.

  The man in the tire armor carried three plates of dust hopper burgers over to the table. He set one in front of the girl, who ceased chafing at the handcuffs on her legs and stared at the food as though it glowed with divine light. She managed to get a grip on it with both hands despite the metal on her wrists and jammed it into her face, snarling and chomping on it like a stray dog. The man in green leaned back in an overacted show of fear that he’d get caught up in her feeding frenzy.

  “I don’t wanna be a slave,” whispered Abby from the floor. She looked back and forth from the other girl to Tris. “Are they gonna take me too?”

  Tris started to raise the Beretta again. “No. They’re not.”

  “Just… give me a minute.” Kevin pushed the weapon down. “I don’t think they did that to her. She’s not trying to get away or screaming for help.” Kevin flashed a wry grin. “Or offering anyone money.”

  Tris glared at him. “That’s not funny.”

  “Stay with Abby a sec. Watch my back.” Kevin hurried over to their table.

  The red-haired girl gave him a wary look as he approached, hovering over her meal defensively.

  Kevin raised his hands. “Easy, kiddo. I’m not gonna take your food.”

  The men looked up from their burgers.

  “Somethin’ I can do for you?” asked Green.

  “Howdy. Interesting group you’ve got.” Kevin smiled his most disarming smile. “I, uhh, couldn’t help but notice the girl and… well, my lady friend back there’s a bit touchy about the whole slavery thing. Mind if I ask what the story is before she does something violent?”

  Ben got even paler and swayed on his feet. His fingers twitched over the gun on his hip.

  Finished with her food, the girl let her hands drop in her lap and stared up at him, swishing her feet back and forth. Small scratches and smears covered her skin everywhere, suggesting she hadn’t worn clothing in a rather long time. Unnatural red-orange spots in the grime on her chest and thighs made him raise an eyebrow. The discoloration didn’t look like blood, or anything he could remember. Some kind of chemical? What the hell?

  “Aw, shit.” The man with the armor made out of tires chuckled. “Yeah, I figger this don’t look so good. We found the little thing like that. She don’ talk much ’cept to ask us to get them things offa her. We was south a ways from here, scavvin’, an’ find this strip mall looks in good shape, so we start with the left side, figurin’ we work our way across.” He made a chopping motion with his hand in the air as if to indicate several discrete spaces. “First spot’s this ’lectronics place, but there ain’t nothin’ useful there. When we walk out, this one comes hopping up to us from a grocery mart two spots over. After we checked the place out ta make sure she’s alone, we put ’er in the truck and started headin’ home right away. Oughta get there like two ’er three t’morrah.”

  “Name’s Ray.” The man in olive drab offered a hand to shake. “That’s Larry… we ain’t get no name outta the little one yet. Think the only words she knows are ‘take bad metal off.’”

  The girl tugged at the cuffs on her wrists. “Bad metal. Want off.”

  Ray let out a resigned sigh. “Best I figure, she’d been livin’ on her own for quite a while. Had to be h
undreds of empty cans in that market. She had a little nest built up inside the shelves made outta sleeping bags an’ stuffed animals. Probably two or three years livin’ there based on the number o’ cans.”

  “Hey.” Kevin waved at the girl. “Are these two telling the truth?”

  The girl stopped fidgeting and stared at him. Dark green eyes radiated worry and frustration in equal measure. She stared at him for what felt like two solid minutes of silence, before the anxiety in her expression faded to hope. “I ’lone. Live by self. Angry mans catch me when I outside ’sploring.” She raised her arms and rattled the handcuffs. “They chase. Hold down. Put bad metal. Hate bad metal. Angry mans take me away home. Put me in box an’ go to bad place. Sickers get ’em. They not come back. Angry mans sickers now. I kick box. Break box. Go home.” She snarled at the cuffs on her legs. “Hate bad metal. No run. Slow walk. Hard eat.” The girl twisted and pulled at both pairs of handcuffs until she got angry to the point of crying. “So hate. No want bad metal. Can’t break. Try lots.” She stared at him for long pleading moment before continuing in a quieter voice. “Scared people. Hide many lots. I…”

  “Poor kid,” said Ray.

  She leaned into the man in green. “Not scared Ray. He laughing smiles. He not bad. He take ’way bad metal. Promised.”

  “Wow,” said Larry. “That’s more words come outta her in that minute than since we found her like five hours ago.”

  The girl hooked the cuffs on her wrists over one knee and pulled at her arms until her hands turned red, then slouched and gave up with an annoyed sigh. “Hate angry mans for do this me. Good they sickers.”

  Kevin rubbed his chin. “How long have you been alone?” He glanced at Ray. “She probably hasn’t talked much in a while.”

  The girl looked confused, opened her mouth, and furrowed her brow. “I ’lone lots days. Mom Dad went ’way ’an I little. ’Lone…” She tried a few non-words on for size before scowling. “Years.”

  “She just sat in the back seat curled up like a cat the whole ride.” Larry stifled a laugh. “Kid doesn’t understand blankets. Thought we were trying to hurt her.’”

  “Itches!” yelled the girl, shivering.

  Ray chuckled. “Pulled a spare shirt over her head, but she didn’t like having her arms pinned either. Took that shit right off.”

  The girl pouted at her lap. “Ray said help. Hate bad metal. I happy sickers got angry mens.” She snarled. “They ’zerve be sickers.”

  “We ain’t got the tools ta cut them things with us. Takin’ her back up ta Douglas Grove. Nice ol’ settlement there. Get her loose once we get home. Paulie’s got a set of bolt cutters oughta work.” Ray gave her an apologetic look. “A night here and a couple more hours on the road, an’ we’ll get rid of them things.”

  She grasped her knees and stared down, seething with obvious discontent. “’Kay.”

  Kevin looked at Tris and waved for her to come over. “I think we might be able to help now if you want us to try.”

  The redhead growled, pulling at her arms and kicking her legs, rattling. “Hate bad metal! Make gone now!”

  Ray gestured at the girl in a ‘be my guest’ manner.

  Tris jogged over.

  “They found her like this.” Kevin put a hand on Tris’ back. “Sounds like this kid’s been avoiding people for a couple years. Someone grabbed her while she was out exploring, but she got away. She’s been stuck for a while. Still got your lockpicks?”

  “I hide.” The girl leaned into Ray. “Scared. Not want ’lone, but people bad. See home and come wanna steal, but I hide next a food in wall hole. No steal. My food.” She frowned at the floor, looking ashamed. “Maybe people help, but I scared. Hide. Now hate bad metal more ’an scared bad people. Can’t run ’way bad people, so hide all people. Hear Ray laugh. Not scared Ray. Ray nice. Ask help.”

  “Oh, you poor thing.” Tris took a knee and opened the compartment in the sole of her left shoe. “Hi sweetie. What’s your name?”

  The girl stared at her as if deep in thought.

  “You have a name don’t you?” Tris looked back and forth from the girl to Kevin, before glancing at the men. “What did people call you? She’s got enough language to have had contact with people at some point. She couldn’t have been on her own too long.”

  “Mom Dad went ’way ’an I six.” The girl’s lip quivered. “Sickers took ’em.”

  Tris scowled at the floor. “I’m sorry…”

  The child grimaced while trying to wriggle a hand out of the cuff. “Not talk… longs time. Uhh.” She stared with rapt attention at a thin sliver of metal in Tris’ hand. “Name Kay-bee.”

  “Kimmie, Kadie, Kimberly?” asked Tris.

  She shook her head.

  “Kaylee? Katie?” asked Kevin.

  The girl’s expression lit up. She nodded. “Kay-tee. Mom Dad call Katie.”

  “Katie it is.” Tris grasped the girl’s hand and turned her arm over. “She’s been stuck in these long enough to grow. They’re way too tight. Hold still, okay? I’m going to get these things off you.”

  “Pease!” Katie trembled with anticipation; she cried, but the tears seemed borne of frustration. “Want off. Make angry. Hurt. Hard eat. No run. Fall lot.”

  Tris raised the girl’s arm to study the cuff, poking at it with the shim.

  “Maybe whoever caught her was just a cruel son of a bitch and tightened them too much?” asked Kevin.

  “I’m gonna see if that guy has anything that’ll fit her.” Larry unbuckled his tire armor and left it on the table. “Before he passes out thinkin’ we’re gonna shoot his place up.”

  Ray chuckled. “Tellin’ you man, ditch that steel belted crap. Makes you look like a bandit.”

  “You do kinda look like a raider,” said Kevin past a grin.

  “I need armor.” Larry stood.

  “That’s not armor.” Kevin winked. “Any real gun’d go right through it.”

  Larry held his arms to the sides, smiling. “Yeah, but most people use swords and shit.” He walked backward a few steps smiling, turned, and strode up to Ben.

  “There’s all kinds of dirt packed inside. This is going to be pain in the ass.” Tris scraped the shim about, using it to clear crud from the mechanism. “How long have you had the bad metal?”

  Katie sat so still she seemed to have stopped breathing, watching Tris work. “I got catched ’an it hot. Got cold, an’ now hot ’gain. I try everything break, but bad metal no go ’way. Swim not fun. Try all break bad metal. Rock hit. Not work. Then put”―she gestured as if smearing something around her wrists―“white slippy. Not good. Not break.”

  “Summer to summer? A year?” asked Kevin, eyebrows up. “You’ve been alone for a year?”

  The girl shook her head. “I ’lone from six. Much long than have bad metal.” She tugged her legs apart to make the chain rattle. “Had bad metal year.”

  “How old are you now? Nine?” Tris emitted a triumphant squeak as the cuff popped open.

  “Yay!” Katie bounced in her seat. “I dunno old. I not six.”

  “She looks about nine or ten.” Kevin jumped at a sudden touch from the side.

  Abby clung to him, her gaze locked on Katie. She seemed terrified at the sight of the handcuffs, as if they’d somehow leap off the redhead and fix her to a bed while Infected swarmed in. Kevin put an arm around Abby.

  “Don’t figure she’s got much of a concept of time passing,” said Ray. “She had to be living there a couple years, but could’a been early fall to now. Couple months… who knows. Seems kinda unlikely for a kid to survive so long on her own, but she had a perfect setup in that store. Like some kinda squirrel, she’d put all the canned food in the vents where no one could get to it but a kid.”

  Tris shimmed the cuff off the girl’s other wrist after a moment of scraping black crud out of it, and tossed them on the table. Abby leaned away as if they emitted lethal radiation. Katie stretched her arms out to the sides, beaming. She leane
d over to Ray and grabbed at him, clinging to his arm. He pulled her into his lap and turned her to put her feet up on her former chair to make it easier on Tris. The cuffs around her ankles had more damage than the others, like she’d worked them over with rocks and hammers. Mud, paint, oil, and a few traces of cooking lard lurked inside the mechanism.

  Larry returned with a brown army-style T-shirt. He tried to pull it over her head, but she whined and pushed at it. He shrugged and set on the table. “He ain’t got nothin’ kid-sized. That’s the best I could find.”

  “Damn. She beat the shit out of these.” Tris bit her lip and tried to force the shim into place. “Can’t say I blame her.”

  “Openin’ locks… That’s a handy skill to have,” said Ray.

  “Yeah well.” Tris grasped Katie’s foot to hold her still. “I got a whole lot of skills I didn’t think I’d need. This is much easier when they’re on someone else.”

  Kevin raised an eyebrow.

  Ray went to pull the shirt over Katie’s head again, but she flailed and whined, so he gave up.

  Katie hissed and tried to tug back on her leg. “Ow.”

  “Sorry.” Tris paused. “I… can’t imagine spending a year locked up like this. I’d have gone crazy. VR was bad enough, and that was only an hour.”

  “Kinda strange. Who’d they think would grab you that you’d need to learn how to escape those things?” Kevin scratched his head. “Why would Nathan load you up with that sort of skill set?”

  Tris looked at him. “How should I know why that bastard does anything? Why’d he give me hand to hand training?”

  “So you could survive to get to the resistance probably.” Kevin chuckled. “If he believes those historical documentaries too, he’s gotta think the world out here’s a lot worse than it is.”

  “Pease!” yelled Katie. She grabbed the chain between her ankles in two hands and pulled at it. “No stop.”