The Roadhouse Chronicles Box Set [Books 1-3]

by Cox, Matthew S.

  “Neat.”

  “Okay, Abs. Time to go to sleep.” Tris stifled a yawn. “I’ll stay with you ’til you’re out.”

  Abby smiled and closed her eyes.

  Tris waited until the girl’s breathing changed, and lingered another few minutes before standing gingerly so as not to cause the bed to bounce. She slipped out into the hall and stared at her bedroom door. Yeah right. I’m not sleeping.

  She padded downstairs to the kitchen. Kevin sat at the table cradling a cup of tea. It smelled funny, but fair bet the stuff wouldn’t be a hundred percent half a century after its ‘best by’ date.

  “Hey.” She edged up beside him.

  He put an arm around her. “Hey yourself. How is she?”

  “Okay. Bad dream.” She sat in his lap and rested her forehead against his shoulder. “It’s at least a little my fault. I should’ve put up more of an argument instead of letting them tie her to a bed… twice.”

  He put his face in the crook of his neck and inhaled her. The cold spot by his nose made her giggle. “Why didn’t you?”

  “I… guess I was afraid if I pushed back any harder on Warren, things would’ve escalated into a gunfight. At that point, those people didn’t know me at all. I worried they’d all take Warren’s side if I shot him, then Zara and I would have to wipe out most of the people we went there to save.” She growled. “Damn, that stuff is so evil. The psychological aspect of it is worse than the actual virus.”

  “Tris…”

  She leaned up to stare into his eyes. “If you ask me if I could kill you if you became infected, I’m going to stab a knife through your balls into the chair. Don’t make me think that.”

  “Colorful.” He squirmed. “That’s not where I was going.”

  “Good. I like your balls un-impaled.”

  He chuckled. “That makes two of us. But, what I was going to say…”

  “Am I sure I want to do this?”

  “Zero for two.” He lifted her chin on one finger. “Are you okay?”

  She smiled. “I got enough guilt for a small banana republic, but I’m the only one here who isn’t having nightmares.”

  “Someone had a government based on bananas?” He blinked.

  “Oh…” She laughed, muffling it into his chest. “Thank you.”

  “I’m serious.” He scratched his head.

  Tris leaned her head back and moaned at the ceiling. “Ugh, that was like ninth grade. You’re making me remember schoolwork I loathed. It’s something like a third world country with an unstable government and… they export bananas as their primary income. Lots and lots of poor people, military types are in control.”

  “Oh. Well if you’re right about no one nuking the third world, I suppose they’re not selling bananas much lately.”

  She grasped his cheeks in both hands, mashing his lips into a warped rose. “Do you think I’m being foolish?”

  “Do you?” He pulled her hands down and held them in his lap. “You do have a point. He dropped that shit on Amarillo. He can do it again.”

  “Yeah but… the idea of getting that close to them again… Should we really run off chasing a message from a dead man?”

  He ran his thumbs back and forth across the backs of her hands. “Is he dead or did he maybe vanish?”

  If I knew that, I wouldn’t be going crazy trying to decide. “No clue. Sorry about Abby interrupting.”

  He shook his head. “It’s okay. Even if you stayed in bed, a sobbing, screaming child across the hall kinda kills the mood. Poor kid’s been through a lot. All we can do is be there for her.” His expression became serious. “If you think we can do something more than just run off and get ourselves killed, I’m on board. Those fuckers deserve payback.”

  She nodded. “I don’t have enough information to make that decision, but I have this strange pull to find out. I can’t explain it.”

  “Protectiveness for Abby? Don’t want Ned to turn into a ghost town?”

  She ran her hands over her hair, fingernails raking her scalp. “Yes, but, it’s more than that. It’s like I feel it’s gotta happen.”

  “Probably a little bit of you still not quite over that whole cure thing.” He looked down for a second. “Let’s go make a phone call at least and see where that leaves us.”

  She clung to him for a few minutes, trying to make sense of everything. “I don’t understand why I want to do this so badly. It’s all I can think about.”

  “Hey…” He caressed her face until she smiled. “If I thought my dad might still be out there somewhere, I don’t think I could sit still until I at least tried.”

  “Like the way you were about Wayne?” She grimaced, regretting the question as soon as it leapt out of her mouth.

  “Nah. More. That was about killin’ some guys for revenge. Goin’ after my dad would be tryin’ to help someone… or at least finding the truth.” He looked down. “No such hope though. I saw them blow his brains out.”

  The sorrow wafting off him crushed her heart. She embraced him. “I’m sorry.”

  Kevin chuckled.

  “What about that was funny?” She sat back, peering at him with a cocked eyebrow.

  “I was four. I had long hair and pink jeans on… Dad found them in an old store. The bandits thought I was a girl and almost threw me in with the women. They asked; I said boy. ’Course they thought I was lying so they looked. One held me up; the other yanked my jeans down. I pissed right in his eye.”

  Tris laughed. “Really?”

  “Nah, I’m making up that last part. I was probably screaming like a baby, but they did check my undercarriage.”

  She kissed him for a few long, wonderful minutes. A thin trail of saliva linked their lower lips when she pulled back; the glistening thread snapped a second later.

  “I’m so glad they didn’t kill you.”

  He chuckled. “Even most slavers draw the line at kids. Either guilt or they don’t want the burden of taking care of them ’til they’re old enough to be useful. Some would’ve just left me to my own devices. The nicer assholes would drop them off at a settlement.”

  “So who grabbed Katie?”

  Kevin sighed. “You’re still pissed about that. I said ‘most’ slavers… some keep the girls ’til they get old enough to, uhh…” He looked down.

  Tris scowled, clenching her hands in fists.

  “Look. Those guys are already dead. Kid didn’t seem capable of lying about them getting ambushed by Infected.” He winked. “She knew the ‘sickers’ were in that building and didn’t warn them.”

  “I don’t blame her.” Tris scowled.

  “Well… either they were travelers who found a feral kid that kept trying to run away and wanted to force her back to civilization, or slavers.”

  “People trying to help her wouldn’t have put her in a damn crate and nailed it closed.”

  He shrugged with a ‘you got me there’ face. “True.”

  “This isn’t a bad idea is it?” She eyed the door.

  Kevin squeezed her ass. “No worse an idea than running off to Amarillo to check for survivors.”

  “Morning?”

  “Sure. What about Abby?” He fussed at her hair.

  “Stop it.” She swatted his hand.

  “I love the way your hair feels.” He persisted brushing his hand over it.

  Urges stirred down below as her cheeks warmed. “We should really get some sleep if we’re going to do this tomorrow. Bee could watch her, but I’m not entirely comfortable leaving an eleven-year-old basically alone. Not that I don’t trust Bee, but Abby needs emotional support right now that an android just can’t provide.”

  Kevin sat straighter. “Unpleasant nocturnal mind images detected. Expressing sympathy.” He mimicked a robot stroking Tris’ hair.

  She stifled laughter into his shoulder.

  “Bill and Ann can watch her. He’s already told me as much. She and Zoe are getting close. It’d be like a sleep over.”

  The idea
of Virus dropping on Ned slammed into her consciousness. They hadn’t quite been living here a full month yet and she already couldn’t bear the thought of watching this place descend into the same sort of madness that tore Amarillo apart.

  “Okay.” She bowed her head. “I have to do this.”

  “No.” He waited for her to look up. “We have to do this.”

  8

  Aces and Eights

  Ten-year-old Kevin zoomed naked through the endless, waist-high brown grass of a nightmare. Hands raised to shield his face, he ran heedless of rocks underfoot or the occasional whip of grass against his body. Despite the throng of infected behind him, the rush of his breath and heartbeat in his ears drowned out all other sound. Baleful sepia-toned light made the scene feel wrong. He knew he dreamed; yet the fear of a child took hold in his heart.

  Chased out of bed by the entire town succumbing to the Virus, he sprinted until his jelly legs refused to take another step. Exhausted, he loped to a halt and waited for the endless sea of Infected to grab him, but nothing happened. He doubled over, hands on his knees, and gasped for breath. Moments later, he looked back at an empty field. No Infected, no trailers, no sign of anything but miles and miles of endless meadow. He stood straight and shielded his eyes with a hand, scanning the horizon all around. Sometimes, the dream offered distant mushroom clouds, but aside from the unnatural color of the world, his surroundings looked peaceful.

  Wavering grass tickled at his bare stomach; he stood perplexed, wordless at the shock of being alone. Ahead of him, the sun peeked past thickening clouds, but behind him, the sky looked as dark as midnight.

  The mood in the air shifted to one of eeriness rather than blinding terror. The meadow had become alien somehow; a growing sense of no longer even being on Earth set in. Pale ochre grass stretched as far as he could see. No field so large had existed anywhere he could remember. The old trailer town sat only a few dozen yards from a highway and a shallow manmade lake.

  This isn’t home…

  As soon as the dream went ‘off script,’ Kevin’s mind seized upon a scrap of reality. His adulthood, and clothes, returned. He gripped the .45 on his belt like a little boy clutching a security blanket.

  In the east, the sky shadowed a hazy shade of battleship grey, heavy as though the storm of the century threatened to roll in at any second. Before he knew about Infected, his greatest fear had been tornadoes, and it looked like Mom Nature brewed up a bad one.

  Soft crying filtered into his awareness from the left. When he turned, a lone silver trailer that hadn’t been there before broke the monotony of shifting grass. An amalgam of his old home, it had a window from Lloyd’s trailer, a ‘one-way’ sign from his adoptive parents’ trailer, a dent from Jenny’s, and the pink plastic flamingo from old lady Reed’s. He smiled at the thought of Jenny, wondering whatever had happened to her. She had him by a few years, and hers were the first pair of tits he’d ever seen. She’d been quite eager to show them off as soon as she got them. He hadn’t been old enough to appreciate it, and remained oblivious to the clear offer she’d extended. By the time he’d gotten around to understanding what she’d suggested they do, she’d hooked up with Garret, who’d been seventeen. A couple years later when Kevin had left to start driving, the two of them had four kids. At least they seemed happy.

  Crying emanated from the trailer, filling him with a strong urge to help.

  Behind him, the clouds blackened further, a giant’s withered finger threaded downward in a building whorl. The tendril of darkness touched the grass, gathering into a spinning column of doom. Thunder rolled in the distance, and the first few pats of rain struck him.

  He eyed the approaching tornado, fearful of what it would do to a lone trailer out in the midst of an endless field. He couldn’t think of a worse scenario. No cover at all, and somehow, he knew the tornado would go straight toward it. He approached the trailer at a brisk walk, one hand still on the .45.

  The wind picked up in a brief, but powerful, gust, and died down again. Whistles and howls raced overhead. Behind him, debris clattered and smashed to the ground. He didn’t dare look; how could a tornado tearing up an open field of nothing be throwing around objects loud enough to shake the ground on impact? Kevin grasped the steel door handle and gave it a twist. The all-metal door swung open, allowing a sliver of light into a chamber of pitch darkness. Abby curled up on the floor, crying into her hands. Her sweatshirt nightdress had been ripped and bloodied in a manner that suggested a horde of Infected trying to grab her.

  She looked up at him. “They’re coming.” Again, she bowed her head into her hands and wept.

  He stared in horror at bleeding scratches on her arms and sides. His brain, rejecting the idea that she’d become Infected and he would have to shoot her, kicked him awake. The soft crying continued the same as it had in the dream. He wiped the grogginess from his eyes and found himself at home in bed; Abby had wedged herself between him and Tris. She tried to keep her tears quiet, but her face hovered inches from his ear.

  “Hey…” Kevin turned his head and almost touched noses with her. Thank whatever. Just a dream.

  “Sorry.” She sniffled. “I didn’t wanna wake you up.”

  “You didn’t.” He looked straight up at the ceiling again and yawned.

  “Bad dream?” asked Abby.

  “More weird. It didn’t get bad ’til the end.”

  Abby wrapped herself around his arm. “What happened?”

  “Saw a kid what got infected. I couldn’t do it. I got bit.” He rubbed his face.

  She rested her head on his shoulder, and kept quiet for a long moment. “Was it me?”

  He closed his eyes. “Yeah. I didn’t wanna say that. You actually didn’t bite me. Soon as I saw you got scratched, I woke up. Guess I couldn’t deal with it.”

  Abby sniffled and attached herself to his side. “Are you gonna haveta fight Infected when you go?”

  “Probably. The area we’re heading to used to have a lot of people in it.”

  “Are you takin’ militia with you?” She yawned.

  “Thought about it, but I think Ned needs them more than we do. Don’t want to make the place vulnerable if we don’t have to.” He eased his left arm out from under her and curled it around her back. “This trip isn’t something we want to do, but sometimes people have to do things they don’t want to do.”

  “You don’t have to,” said Abby. “But I guess it’s like digging out a shithouse. No one really wants to do it, but stuff gets bad if you don’t.”

  He chuckled.

  Tris laughed.

  “Good morning, beautiful,” said Kevin.

  “Morning yourself.” Tris sat up and yawned.

  Abby pushed herself up to kneel in the middle of the mattress. Kevin sat up.

  “How long are you going to be away?” asked Abby.

  “Week or two. Back up to Route 80 and west right to the coast. Probably take us three days just to get there, assuming nothing gets in the way.”

  “We could shift drive.” Tris glanced over at Abby with a hesitant look for a second before an expression of ‘oh hell with it’ took over. She stood and peeled off her T-shirt. “Gonna take a quick bath before we sit in a car for a week.”

  “Maybe on the way back. I’m not exactly in a great rush to run into the jaws of the Enclave… want to stay fresh for whatever might try to get a piece of us. I doubt we’ll find a roadhouse west of Reno… too much risk of an Enclave presence. Coming home though”―he ruffled Abby’s hair―“we have a good reason to haul ass.”

  Abby’s lip quivered. She stared at him. “Take me with you. Please! I wanna go. I don’t wanna get sick for real when they drop that shit on us.” After four seconds without an answer, she flung herself on Kevin and bawled, begging ‘please’ over and over again.

  Tris grabbed a towel from the dresser and draped it over her arm. “Abby… ugh. I don’t want to leave her here and I don’t think it’s a good idea to bring her with us ei
ther.”

  Kevin rubbed the girl’s back. “Calm down. We want you to be safe, but I don’t trust myself to be able to do keep you safe and do what we need to do out there. What if we run into a pack of Infected… or a group of raiders? Do you want to wind up like Katie almost did? Some crazy warlord’s pet?”

  Abby shivered. “No.”

  “Don’t give her more nightmares.” Tris wrapped the towel around herself and sat on the edge of the bed, fussing with Abby’s hair. “Yes, there are slavers out there, but they’re not everywhere. Most people aren’t like that.”

  “The area we're heading to, I imagine there isn’t much of anything actually.” Kevin tapped his foot. “Enclave and Infected… and Boatmen.”

  “Are Boatmen slavers?” asked Abby.

  “Not in the usual sense I think. I’ve only heard stories. They take captives, but they don’t sell or trade them. Rumors I heard drivin’ around said they force people they take to join them, or die if they can’t keep up. Not sure if that counts. Heard other stories too… just as likely to use someone for target practice as take a captive.”

  “It counts.” Tris frowned. “Right. So how do I recognize a Boatman so I know to shoot first?”

  Kevin chuckled. “Once we get near the Golden Gate, anyone not wearing Enclave stuff who doesn’t look frightened is probably a Boatman. Better odds if they point a weapon at you.”

  “Abby.” Tris grasped the girl by the shoulders. “The danger of Virus dropping from the sky here in Nederland could be minimal. It might not even happen. The Council ordered Nathan to stop wasting resources coming after me.”

  “When has being told no ever stopped an asshole like that from doing what they want?” muttered Kevin.

  Tris narrowed her eyes. “Still, it means he has to sneak around. Maybe they catch him and kick him out or kill him. We don’t know that there even is a real threat to Nederland, but we do know that there are real threats out there, and we don’t want you getting hurt.”

  “I don’t want you getting hurt.” Abby sniffed and wiped her eyes. “Take me with you? I’ll stay in the car.”