“I guess that depends on what his excuse is. If they locked him up, can’t really put the blame on him.”
She frowned before turning to pluck a pouch from a shelf behind her labeled ‘French Roast.’ “He’s obviously out now… why didn’t he make contact?”
“Could be that he just got out… and you’ve been away from the Enclave.”
Tris sniffed at the top of the package and put it on the shelf where she found it. “That’s been sitting outside… maybe there’s some in the back.”
Kevin shrugged and walked along behind her as she headed to a door behind the counter. A small employee break area sat next to a storage room with shelves and a couple of industrial freezers. Handprint smears on the door made him picture infected groping around, but thankfully no trace of blood or other bodily fluids marked anything.
Tris opened the first freezer and recoiled in an instant, kicking it closed. She backed up, waving a hand past her face and coughing. “Those sandwiches are… expired.”
Kevin stood in the doorway between the break room and the main area, eyeing the windows for anything moving. Aside from a tiny bathroom, the only way out of the back appeared to be a steel door with a push bar. Feeling confident nothing could ambush her, he returned to the front and took a seat at one of the tables.
Well, pops. We’re here. If you’ve got a hand, play it. Ain’t gonna sit here all damn day. We’re out before sundown.
Tris emerged in a little while with another plastic pouch, this one opened. She ran back and forth to the car, returning with a canteen, and carried it behind the counter.
“What are you doing?”
She paused long enough to smile at him. “This place’s panels still work. I’m making coffee.”
“Seriously? That stuff is fifty years old.”
Tris held up the bag. “It’s been sealed… probably going to be a bit weak, but I’m dying here. I used to have like four cups a day in high school. They didn’t let me have it in Detention, and well… out here.”
“Mostly instant, yeah.”
She shivered.
He rested the AK across the table and tapped his fingers on it for a while. Eventually, the scent of coffee wafted by, and he looked up. Tris hovered over her pet project, grinning like a schoolgirl.
“Smells okay.”
She braced her hands on her hips. “I’m kind of remembering it stronger than this, but… it’s not exactly fresh.”
A machine near Tris emitted a sputtering gurgle. She reached forward and clicked something before pouring coffee into a pair of mugs. After clipping the canteen to her belt, she carried the mugs to the table and sat.
“Looks decent.” He picked up the mug and sniffed, shrugged, and took a sip. “Well, I’ve definitely had worse than this. Spose it’s gotta mean something if it’s drinkable after so long.”
“Mmm.” She cradled the mug in both hands, savoring it. “Yeah.”
“Yanno, if we didn’t pack the car full of kid clothing, this would be worth a damn fortune.” He sipped again. “If I still cared about coins.”
She grinned. “Oh, there’s room for a couple bags of beans.”
They sat and sipped coffee in the middle of a blown-out Starbucks in the middle of a blown-out city. Kevin tried to picture people in the seats around them, reading, or doing whatever it was people did in a place like this while drinking coffee.
Sure expected there to be more Infected here. He considered Kwan’s statement about them thinning out. Maybe all the symbiotes wound up stuck in the pool and the poor fucks died off like they should have?
Tris picked at her empty mug. “You think he’s coming?”
“Figure we give your old man maybe an hour to show up? I really don’t want to be inside the city when it gets dark.”
She cringed as if engaging in some internal tug-of-war. “I understand. I’m not sure what’s got me on edge more. The possibility of seeing my father again, or worrying about Abby.”
Kevin squinted out at the sky. “Nathan really is that kind of asshole, isn’t he? You really think we’re going to accomplish something? Stop them from dropping that crap on our heads?”
“Yes.” She shifted in the chair. “I… can’t tell if it’s that overlay making me feel that way, but my dad is a damn genius. If he thinks I can do something, maybe I can.”
He reached across the table to hold her hand. “All right. We give it a day? See if we can hole up on the roof for the night.”
17
High Alert
Huddled against the wall with a ratty teddy bear clutched to her chest, Abby shivered. She scuffed her feet back and forth on the carpet in Zoe’s closet, trying to get her toes under some of the clothes lining the floor. She didn’t want anyone to see her crying, much less clinging to a stuffed animal as if it might actually do something to protect her. It did help a little, even if she felt foolish acting like a child half her age.
Why did they have to leave? She sniffled and closed her eyes. Her Dad often asked Jesús for things when he got scared. It didn’t make much sense asking a tiny card tacked to the wall for help. The image of a longhaired man with his heart outside his chest, holding up two fingers lingered in her memory, as did the peeling drywall to which her father had pinned it. Yet, whenever things turned rough for him, he’d always talk to the card… or if they weren’t home, to the sky.
Dad always said Jesús is watching… but if he’s real, why didn’t he protect him from Warren?
The Enclave had killed her father. They’d killed everyone back home, and now Tris and Kevin had gone to them. Sick with worry, Abby curled tighter and sobbed into the bear’s head. It smelled like fruit, a child’s perfume or candy or some such thing. Zoe had evidently not ‘needed’ the bear anymore, hence her finding it in the closet.
Maybe she had it in the suitcase and it makes her sad. Thinking about Pete handing Abby over to strangers on the bus, not knowing if he’d ever see her again made her Dad’s death hurt ten times more. She worried that she’d never see Tris again. A powerful shiver rocked her body, though from cold, sadness, or fear, she couldn’t tell. Kevin wasn’t such a bad guy. He’d said he’d had a nightmare about her being one of the Infected, but couldn’t shoot her. In fact, the idea of it had bothered him so much he woke straight up. Abby smiled to herself. Hearing him say that had changed him in her mind from ‘the guy who lives with Tris’ to someone who cared for her too. She’d had her doubts at first, only because most men she’d seen come through Amarillo―the drivers―had no patience for kids, and one had even tried to convince her to go into his room at the Hotel.
Don, the manager, had overheard him. He came running over and pulled her away from the driver. A little later, Dad showed up and—as far as she knew—shot the guy once some of the soldiers had whisked her out of the building. He’d warned her to stay away from drivers because she was ‘getting near that age now’ and shouldn’t trust men, especially strange drivers. But Kevin didn’t scare her like that. She’d come to trust him, and, like Dad, he would probably also shoot a guy who tried to make her go alone with him into a room. Maybe someday he’d even explain to her why her father had gotten so angry. As furious as Dad had been, he couldn’t bring himself to talk about it. Kevin couldn’t replace Dad, but she found herself wanting him there. Not many grown men would admit to being afraid, or having nightmares. In that, they shared something―complete terror about Infected.
Please come home. She broke down again, crying for a few minutes in the dark. Maybe if she stayed in the closet, the Virus wouldn’t find her. She glanced to her left at the M-16 leaning against the wall. Being that close to a loaded firearm added another layer of fear. Unfortunately, Zoe’s loft bedroom had nowhere else to hide. The bed sat right on the floor without a frame, and both of the white dresser cabinets touched the wall so she couldn’t get behind them. Despite the presence of the weapon, the closet offered the greatest sense of security.
She pressed her right shoulder into th
e wall, even another millimeter more space between her and the rifle felt like a good idea.
A sudden buzzing noise outside almost released her bladder, but the sound sputtered off into the recognizable chop of a small ethanol-powered motor… probably some manner of handheld farm tool.
Not a drone.
She let go of the bear with one hand long enough to pull a pink and white child’s T-shirt over her bare feet. It looked too small even for Zoe to wear, though Isla might be able to squeeze into it.
The closet door swung open.
Abby stifled a scream into the bear’s head.
Zoe, in her favorite denim dress, leaned back with her eyebrows up. She lifted and dropped her toes a few times while her expression changed from surprise to confusion and at last, to sympathy.
Abby blushed, trembling.
“It’s okay,” said Zoe in a half-whisper. She crept closer and sat on the floor, her legs curled to her left. “I used to hide in here too when I was scared.”
“The drones are coming.” Abby wiped at her face. She cringed inside, waiting for Zoe to make fun of her for holding a teddy bear.
The younger girl tucked a lock of blonde behind her ear. After watching her shiver for a little while in silence, Zoe scooted closer and put an arm around her. “I used to be scared all the time, too. An’ mad. I was mad at my dad for puttin’ me on that bus alone. After Bill took me here, I’d spend all day in this closet, thinkin’ Infected were gonna come in.”
Abby relaxed a little, letting her feet slide forward until her legs lay flat. Head bowed, she mumbled at the bear. “Why did they have to go? I’m so scared they won’t come back.”
Zoe stuck her hand in the pile of old clothes and fished out a six-inch tall action figure that resembled a furry man with a bear’s head and a drill sergeant hat. “This is Bear Ranger. He used to protect Fuzz.” She pointed at the stuffed bear in Abby’s grip. “Fuzz was always scared.”
Abby picked at the matted brown fur in her hands. “That one’s smaller. He’s not even half as tall as Fuzz.”
Zoe held the plastic bear-man up and smiled. “But he’s tougher.” She tapped it with a fingertip. “He’s not very good for hugging, but he’s brave. Sometimes big people are scareder than little ones.”
“You’re making that up, aren’t you?” Abby sighed. “You’re littler than me and I’m acting like a big baby.”
“Fuzz was scared longer than me.” Zoe bit her lip and put the plastic figure down. She took hold of the M-16, but kept it pointed straight up. “Would you shoot a bad person?”
Abby shied away from the weapon. “Do you have to hold it? What if it goes off?” She squirmed. “I don’t wanna shoot anyone.”
Zoe put the rifle back against the wall. “Guess you’re like Fuzz then.”
The nine-year-old’s voice held no trace of mockery. Abby looked at her. Despite having a two-year lead in age, she didn’t have half the other girl’s nerve. Zoe had shot people. For real.
“H-have you killed anyone?” whispered Abby.
“No. Killing’s not nice. I shoot the bandits in the leg so they can’t hurt us. Sometimes they call me mean names.”
Abby tapped her feet together, thinking for a moment. “How often do they come?”
Zoe grinned, adoration sparkled in her blue eyes. “Used’ta be like every two weeks, but Kev an’ Tris beat a whole group of ’em. Been pretty quiet a while now. I like it better not bein’ shot at.” She looked down and picked at a toenail. “Ann always gets upset when there’s shooting.”
“She doesn’t want you to get hurt. You should hide.” Abby relaxed a little more and shifted to put her back to the wall, facing Zoe.
Zoe’s expression melted to a look of distant detachment. Her voice came monotone. “Infected kicked and tossed me inna suitcase. They almost got me. I’m not afraid of normal people.”
“Sorry.” Abby looked down.
“It’s okay.” Her eeriness dissipated as fast as it had set in. She grinned. “Kev and Tris are too tough for those Omclave shits. They’ll come back.”
Abby blushed. “My dad said kids shouldn’t say those words. ’Specially little girls.”
Zoe gave her a meek look. “Sorry if words make you sad, but sometimes a girl just needs to say shit.” A mischievous smile played across her face. “Ann really doesn’t like it if I say f―”
“Zoe?” yelled Ann. “Abby? Come downstairs. It’s time to eat.”
Abby gawked at her.
Zoe stuck her tongue out. “Flock.”
Abby furrowed her brows. Is she teasing me, or does she think that’s a dirty word?
“’Mon.” Zoe leapt to her feet and dragged Abby by the hand to the edge of the loft.
Zoe ambled down the steep wooden ladder facing forward. Merely watching her sent a twinge of unease up Abby’s spine. She turned her back and climbed down. By the time her foot touched the hallway floor, Zoe had already taken a seat in the kitchen. She bounced, swinging her legs.
“Come on Abby,” said Ann.
“I’m here.” She hurried down the hall and took the chair catty-corner to Zoe.
Ann set a plate in front of each of them. Two sandwiches each contained three small slabs of pan-fried meat. Abby lifted the top piece of bread and examined the strips laid across the sandwich, browned and seasoned. She couldn’t tell if she looked at fish or chicken. Ann returned to the counter, sliced two more pieces of bread off the loaf before covering it with a towel, and sat across the table from the kids with her lunch.
“It’s rattlesnake,” said Ann.
Zoe tore into it without hesitation.
Smells okay. After a test nibble confirmed it tasty, if not a bit tough, she took a real bite.
They ate in relative quiet for a little while.
Around the time she had half a sandwich left, Abby glanced at Zoe. “Do I have to join the militia too? Will they make me carry a gun?”
Zoe shook her head. “Only if you want to.”
Abby stared worry into her lunch.
“No one is forced to join the militia,” said Ann. “When you’re fourteen or so, you’ll be expected to do some kind of work though. ’Til then, only school is required. Your parents aren’t farmers, so you probably won’t have to work before that.”
Zoe, still holding her food in two hands, brushed her leg with a foot under the table. “It’s okay if you’re scared. You’re just a little girl.”
Abby smirked. “I’m older than you.”
Zoe shrugged. “If you say so.”
“Ooh.” Abby stuck her tongue out.
Zoe giggled.
Abby looked down. “I don’t wanna shoot people.”
“Okay.” Zoe winked. “I’ll shoot ’em for you.”
Ann bit her lip, worry clear in her eyes.
Without much else in the way of conversation, they finished eating a few minutes later. Ann shooed the girls upstairs, offering to deal with cleanup herself so they could play. Zoe started to race off to the ladder, but Abby lingered.
“I’ll help. It’s okay. You’re letting me stay here ’til…” Ann called them my parents. A lump swelled in her throat.
“Oh, it’s all right dear.” Ann squeezed her shoulder. “You’ve a lot on your mind. Go on and be a child for a bit longer. This world is sad enough without rushing into being all grown up.”
Abby started to nod, but froze at the thump of boots on the porch.
Someone knocked, firm, but not the pounding of threat or warning.
Ann went over to answer. Abby backed into the countertop, ready to run.
“Yes?” asked Ann.
“Mornin’, ma’am,” said a man. “Mayor Wade’s called a town meeting. Askin’ everyone to head down by the circle. Jes’ be a few minutes.”
“All right.” Ann left the door open and walked closer to the inner hallway. “Zoe? Come here please.”
Again, the little blonde sprite raced down the ladder like a stairwell. Abby looked away, imaginary pa
in twinged in the bones she expected to break from falling if she ever tried that.
“There’s a town meeting.” Ann took each girl by the hand.
“Do I need the rifle?” asked Zoe.
“No. It’s a meeting, not a muster.” Ann shot her a pointed look. “And you are not militia yet, sweetie. You’re only nine. You have to be at least sixteen.”
Zoe whined. “But, Gran’ma… Emma’s only thirteen.”
“Emma’s an exception… and one your father won’t ask for.” Ann shook her head muttering in Spanish.
Abby caught enough to grasp the woman wanted Jesús to talk some sense into the child. She twisted back to look at the loft ladder; her moccasins remained upstairs. She opened her mouth to ask if she had time to go get them as Ann pulled her out onto the porch. Neither she nor Zoe wore shoes either. Not wanting to be a whiner, she kept quiet and followed.
She kept her gaze on the ground as they walked along the road for a little while. At the din of numerous voices murmuring up ahead, Abby looked up at something on the order of two hundred people milling around a wide intersection. A pathetic little traffic circle, barely twelve feet (if that) across stood at the front of the crowd. A middle-aged white guy in a beige dress shirt and jeans stood on top of a folding table facing the crowd, with a few older people around him, though not on the table. Zara sat on the table facing the crowd, and Crystal, the woman Tris referred to has her ‘boss,’ waved at the crowd in an effort to quiet them and get them to pay attention.
Abby’s brain shut down at the size of the crowd. She clung to Ann’s side, trying to hide her face. Already, she imagined everyone turning to stare at her with accusing glares, wondering if she’d bring the Virus down on them. Would they all think her sick too?
Ann paused to look at her. “It’s all right, Abby. Come on now. You’re too big for me to carry.”
She relaxed her grip and walked a little faster, though still kept her head down. When they finally stopped near the back edge of the crowd, she stood behind Ann so no one could see her. Zoe tugged on the belt of a man in militia camo at her right.
The Roadhouse Chronicles Box Set [Books 1-3] Page 108
