The Roadhouse Chronicles Box Set [Books 1-3]

by Cox, Matthew S.

He did kind of miss the place, but mostly because of all the work he’d put into fixing it up, and that it represented the culmination of a dream long chased.

  Fitch dropped off a pair of burgers with Sang’s signature fries at their table. “Good ta see ya again. How things been?”

  “Interesting.” He smiled. “Damn they still smell good.”

  Fitch settled into a chair. “What brings ya out this way? Thinkin’ o’ coming back?”

  “Nah. I’m gettin’ used to Ned. Got the kid to watch out for now and, well.” Kevin pointed at the wall. “See you’ve gotten some new air conditioning installed.”

  Fitch chuckled. “That Jamie’s a hell of a shot. Couple shitheads came in and tried to rob the place. Not even subtle about it.”

  “Damn.” Kevin shook his head. “Things are getting crazy faster than I thought they would.”

  “Ehh, it’s under control.” Fitch grinned. “Just means places need some muscle. Neal’s doing an okay job maintaining the panels. Ain’t quite got Tris’ touch with it, but we’re gettin’ by. So what’s got you rollin’ again?”

  Kevin took his time chewing a seasoned fry before speaking a hair over a whisper. “Got an encoded message. Something about the Enclave. We’re checking on that lead, seein’ where it goes.”

  “Oof.” Fitch held up both hands in a ‘no thanks’ gesture. “I’d sooner wave my junk at a rattlesnake’s mouth.”

  Tris stared at him. “How… colorful.”

  “Where’s Neeley?” Kevin looked around.

  Jaime, still neck to toes in full riding leathers, sat in a booth on the far right, watching the room. She looked less nervous than the last time he’d seen her, and returned a faint smile during their momentary eye contact.

  “Run ta Carver’s place. He’s thrown a couple M249s on Bull’s old 4x4.” Fitch chuckled. “Them idiots who tried to rob us left behind two cars and a bunch of ordinance.”

  “Hey, boss man.” Sang glided out of the kitchen and hurried over to shake Kevin’s hand. “Good see you.” He bowed at Tris. “You as well. How is Abby?”

  “Fine.” Tris smiled at him. “As good as I suspect anyone could be after what happened.”

  They chatted for a little while more about the day-to-day while eating. Aside from a few fights, and the one robbery attempt, things were relatively the same as he’d remembered.

  “Kinda in a hurry.” Kevin reached over to shake Fitch’s hand again. “Hate to eat and haul ass, but… Abby’s wanting us home on the sooner side of later.”

  “Understood.” Fitch clapped him on the shoulder before bowing at Tris. “You two need anything for the road? Good on ammo?”

  “Not exactly planning to get into a war, but… how’s the .45 stock look?”

  “Shit.” Tris sighed. “I’d like a couple more magazines’ worth of nine mil, and did you get anything in for an AK?”

  Fitch stood. “Let me check.”

  A few minutes later, he returned with one magazine for a Beretta 92, two thirty-round box mags for an AK47 (loaded), plus a cardboard box of fifty 9mm bullets and two twenty-round boxes of 7.62x39.

  He handed Kevin a cloth sack. “Got twenty-two rounds of .45.”

  Kevin started working out how much he’d charge for it.

  Fitch must’ve seen the math on his face; he held up a hand. “You dropped off over five grand before you shipped off to Ned. Don’t worry about it. This is still your inventory. ’House is still yours. I’m only keeping the seats warm.”

  Kevin smiled. “I can’t really see us comin’ back here… unless somethin’ happens to Tris or Ned gets wiped out.” He sighed. “May as well consider the place yours.”

  “Well.” Fitch smiled. “If you ever show up here a bitter and lonely widower, I’ll still call it your place.”

  “Fair enough.” Kevin tossed the bag of ammo up and caught it.

  “Same goes for you, girl.” Fitch winked at Tris. “This guy gets his ass shot up, and you stop carin’ ’bout if you see tomorrow, ’mon back.”

  She swallowed hard and stared at Kevin. “And on that cheerful note…”

  “Right.” Kevin downed the last of his water. “Take care of yourself, man.”

  “Don’t be a stranger.” Fitch winked.

  Kevin shook hands, patted his friend on the shoulder, and headed outside, around to the passenger side door. Tris gave him a surprised look, but didn’t hesitate to take the wheel. Kevin felt a little odd in the other seat of the Challenger, a vehicle that represented his greatest love for so long… until he’d met Tris. He leaned back and rested his eyes. Having a working telephone would be nice. That would let him check up on Abby (and Nederland) now and then. Tris had a point though; Nathan hadn’t found them at Rawlins, so he resorted to taking out Amarillo. He wanted to accept the idea that Nederland could be safe, but security edged away from his fingertips every time he tried to grab it.

  The ride west continued for several hours with little conversation, and thankfully, little in the way of bullets flying. One old beat up van tried to chase them, but barely made it onto Route 80 from its ambush hidey-hole before it faded to a speck in the rear-view screen. Kevin blinked at the small monitor.

  “How fast are you going?”

  “182,” said Tris.

  “Fuck.”

  “That would be a little awkward at this speed.” She smiled. “Relax. I’ve got dex boosters, remember? I can react faster than you to shit in the road.”

  “Right.”

  He closed his eyes. The next thing he knew, the sun hid away behind the horizon up ahead, creating a band of bright orange over the dark earth beneath an indigo sky. After a stretch and a yawn, he pushed his hands into the seat on either side of his ass and sat up straight.

  Tris pointed at a red glow up ahead. “Another roadhouse.”

  Kevin squinted into the dark. Sure enough, the neon red radiance of a Roadhouse sign cast a haunting reflection on the road surface. “Yep.” He ruffled through his map book. “Evanston. This is our bed for the night.”

  She pulled off the highway, following an approach ramp to a former truck stop. Two small nearby buildings looked abandoned, well progressed in the process of collapsing. One bore signs advertising a fortuneteller, while the one next to it, much larger, appeared to be a weapons shop independent of the ’house.

  A pair of pickup trucks, one semi cab with no trailer, three sedans, and a van lined up in front of the main building like pigs at a trough. Tris stopped the car in an open spot between a silver pickup that someone had dropped down to the ground clearance of a sports car and the van.

  Three small girls, about Zoe’s size, in old-timey off-white dresses that made them look like they’d come out of the 1800s, hung laundry on a cord off to the left of the roadhouse. All had long black hair and appeared to be identical triplets. They looked over with curiosity and unease in equal measure. As Tris stood out of the driver’s seat, they relaxed a little, and returned to their task.

  Kevin plugged in to the charging board, gave the silver pickup a ‘why would anyone do that to a perfectly fine truck’ stare, and followed Tris in the front door.

  The room held about twelve patrons. Four men played cards at a round table near the back, a woman and a man in their later thirties, both in piecemeal body armor combining prewar Kevlar with patches of steel-belted radial worked on plates of food in a booth near the front door. A few men sat alone, minding their own business while they ate.

  A boy about fourteen, shirtless, barefoot, and wearing grey shorts, worked a broom across the floor. He had the same black hair as the triplets outside and the older man behind the bar, who had to be nearing fifty. The guy had a hard, ex-military look to him—or what would have been ex-military, if not for civilization ending around the time he’d have been born.

  “Howdy,” said the proprietor as they approached the counter. “What can I get ya?”

  “Charge on twelve, a room for the night, and what’s good for food?” asked Kevin.
>
  “Chicken, squirrel, p-dog, or dust hopper, with ‘green stuff’ on the side,” said the man.

  Tris and Kevin said ‘chicken’ at the same time.

  “Ten coins for the lot.” The proprietor smiled.

  Kevin stuffed his hand in his coat, pulled out a small handful of coins so as not to give anyone in the room too many ideas, and counted out ten. The proprietor nodded.

  He added two more coins. “Water each as well.”

  “Right.” The man filled two large steel cups and handed them over.

  They took a table along the wall opposite the counter, about halfway between the front door and a stairway in the corner that led up to the second floor bedrooms. Not long after, a girl in her mid-teens, also with jet-black hair, carried two plates out of a flapping plastic door near the counter. A simple denim tube dress clung to her chest by means of a cord tied around her armpits, and covered her to a hand’s width above the knee. She lingered by the proprietor only long enough for him to point at Kevin and Tris, and padded over with their food. Kevin raised an eyebrow in alarm at her black toenails until he realized the color came from some manner of decorative paint rather than infection.

  “Oh, this is easy,” said the girl. “You got the same stuff.” She smiled and set down the plates. “Want more water? Papa don’t charge for refills on water.”

  “Sure,” said Tris.

  “Be right back then.” The girl smiled and hurried to the counter.

  “How many kids does this guy have?” Kevin chuckled. “Guess that’s one way to staff a roadhouse.”

  Tris made a ‘no idea’ face.

  The girl returned with a pink plastic pitcher and refilled their cups before zipping off again. Kevin found himself missing Wayne as he ate. The chicken-on-a-roll with fries didn’t quite live up to the burgers he always wound up craving after a long enough ride. Of course, Bee had been the one cooking them all along. All he had to do was hunt a dust hopper or two and she could make them. Granted, to get the taste perfect, he’d have to kill the dust hopper with his car.

  A few minutes later, the triplets walked in and busied themselves wiping down unused tables and chairs. They remained in a cluster, never more than a step or two away from each other. Kevin couldn’t help but watch them, mesmerized by their antique dresses, almost choreographed movements, and the steady whispery sing-song cadence of their speech to each other.

  Those kids are eerie. He chuckled to himself. I thought the same thing about Zoe.

  The girls offered polite smiles as they walked past their table to attack the one behind them. Despite their tender age, they cleaned and prepped the table like an experienced pit crew. A few minutes passed in relative silence; he found himself mesmerized by the triplets’ whispery singing, and waited for that thing from the one movie to come out of a back hallway and crawl across the ceiling.

  Most of the room looked up when the front door opened. A young blonde woman in a white jacket and tight white jeans strolled in. Her unimpressed glance around the room shifted to wide eyes when she spotted Kevin.

  “Here comes trouble,” muttered Kevin.

  “Hmm?” Tris looked up.

  Athena sauntered over and slid into the bench seat at Tris’ left. “Hey. What are you guys doing out here? I thought you, like, got old and retired.”

  “Something came up,” said Kevin.

  “Oh wow.” Athena showed off a few new scuffmarks on her armored jacket. “I’m really sorry for being a little bitchy with you. This thing saved my ass three times. It’s getting insane out there. This one asshole started shooting right inside a roadhouse near Oklahoma. Right inside! Can you believe that?”

  Tris looked worried, though her face couldn’t get any paler. “That sounds like Mac’s place… what happened?”

  “Oh, yeah. Mac’s cool.” Athena grinned. “These two idiots both tried to sign on for the same run and got into a fight. One wound up pulling a gun after the other guy kicked his ass. I guess it was kinda worth it, I got seven hundred coins for that one.”

  Kevin raised an eyebrow. “Let me guess, both of ’em died?”

  “Yeah.” Athena nodded. “Everyone in the room let them have it. I took a ricochet in the tit, but it didn’t penetrate the armor. Mac’s wife got one in the ass through the wall.”

  “Oh no… Liv…” Tris bit her lip.

  “I think she’ll be okay. She seemed more angry than worried. It hit a wall first so it didn’t do too much damage. Mac was pissed.”

  The same fifteen-ish girl approached Athena. “Hi. Can I get you anything?”

  “Sure, whatever they got… charge on sixteen and a room.”

  “Seven,” said the girl.

  Athena fished out the coins and handed them over. The teen smiled and hurried off to the counter.

  With no tables left to clean, the three maybe-eight-year-old girls sat on the floor in the corner and set to playing with dolls.

  “Bullshit!” yelled one of the card players a short while later.

  The room fell silent. Kevin glanced over his shoulder. One guy with a massive moustache stared at a smaller man with a shaved head and a white cowboy hat. The smaller man held up his hands in gesture of innocence.

  “Ain’t my fault I’m lucky,” said the one with the shaved head.

  “Fuck you and your luck, Joe.” The guy with the moustache threw his cards down.

  After another moment of tense staring, the game resumed, and seconds after that, so did the din of conversation elsewhere in the room. The proprietor whistled two sharp notes, high to low. The triplets hurried out of the room toward the kitchen area, carrying their dolls.

  Kevin kept his attention on the poker table. “That game’s either going to end in a minute or two, or someone’s getting shot.”

  “Wouldn’t someone getting shot also be the game ending?” asked Athena.

  “Heh.” Kevin chuckled. “Depends on who’s playing.”

  “So I run a couple cans of coffee to this crazy old guy out in the middle of nowhere right?” said Athena. “He asks if I take outbound runs… offers me a hundred coins to drive something to this placed called Rexburg right, and a hundred more when I bring back a note from the guy there. So I say maybe, depends what it is. He says it’s in the basement and I can take a look at it to decide. Then, he takes me to this cellar door, right, and―”

  “Please tell me you didn’t go in.” Kevin cringed.

  “I had a weird feeling. Soon as he opened the door, this girl down there screamed. Sounded like she had a gag in her mouth or something. I hesitate, right? And the guy grabs me from behind and puts a knife at my back. I guess he was like expecting me to be all like ‘oh, please don’t hurt me’ right? So I kinda caught him off guard when I punched him in the throat. He pulls a gun; I go for mine.” Athena pointed at a dull grey smudge on the white armored jacket about where her navel would be. “Dude didn’t have armor, and I carry a .45.”

  “Damn,” said Tris.

  “I know, right?” Athena shook her head. “Guy had two women chained up down there. Wasted four bullets on padlocks.”

  “Didn’t have a key on him?” asked Tris.

  Athena raised her arm, elbow on the table, and flicked her hand with a dismissive wave. “Didn’t wanna stick around long enough to look.”

  Kevin shook his head. “Maybe you should consider a settlement ’til things adjust.”

  “Okay, Dad.” Athena smiled.

  The teen who’d been waiting on their table hovered at the door, afraid to walk into the room again.

  “Wow. What’s her damage?” asked Tris.

  “Their father knows something’s about to happen. Doesn’t want them out here ’til he’s sure bullets aren’t going to fly.” Kevin indicated the poker table with a nod.

  “Oh. And nah. This is way too fun. Maybe I won’t take jobs driving out to old men living alone in the middle of nowhere again, but… I’m not ready to stay in one place yet.” Athena’s bravado faded a little to a
genuine smile. “Anyway, thanks for the armor. I don’t usually admit to being wrong.”

  “Fucking cheater!” shouted Mustache.

  “Here we go,” muttered Kevin.

  A chair scraped the wooden floor. Kevin grabbed for his .45 and whirled toward the poker table. Joe lunged up from his chair, twisting to angle a gun on his hip at the guy with the moustache. The two men fired about the same time. Joe’s shot winged Mustache in the arm as he took a slug in the gut. Joe fired again from the hip, but the bullet went high and right, shattering a dead light fixture two tables behind them. Mustache squeezed off a second round, putting a fatal bullet in Joe’s chest before the man had gotten all the way out of his seat.

  Joe’s body crumpled to the floor, dragging a chair down.

  Mustache held his weapon up to the side, letting it roll back on his finger through the trigger guard as an indication to the room he had no intention to shoot anyone else. Another man from the table slashed the sleeve of Joe’s pale blue shirt open, exposing a few cards. Mustache put his weapon back in its holster and lowered himself to sit once more.

  The man to his right dropped his cards on the table. “I’m out.”

  A woman who looked like a forty-something version of the teenaged waitress entered from the kitchen in a blue Kevlar vest over a basic T-shirt and jeans. The vest bore faded lettering across the front spelling DEA. She trained a Colt M4 in the general direction of the table, but didn’t point it at anyone specific. The proprietor dragged the dead man out the front door.

  “I mean…” Athena ate a fry. “Do you really not miss this?” She winked.

  Kevin stuck the .45 back on his belt and relaxed. “I got over the whole ‘playing with guns thing’ the first time I took a bullet. Never really was about fighting or killing. I wanted money, a roadhouse. Got tired of always moving around, never knowing if home would still be home next month. You grow up nomadic?”

  “Nah.” Athena picked up her burger. “I’m from this little boring bit of nowhere called Winifred, Montana. It’s so boring the nukes fell asleep and didn’t go off. My sisters are all quiet, do everything Dad tells them. Except for Lizzie, they’re all married already.”