The Roadhouse Chronicles Box Set [Books 1-3]

by Cox, Matthew S.

  He looked back and down. “Hello, Zoe.”

  “I can’t see back here. Can I go up?” She reached toward him as if asking to be lifted.

  After a nod of assent from Ann, the militiaman crouched and let Zoe climb up to sit on his shoulders. He stood, and Zoe waved at Zara, who smiled.

  Abby closed her eyes and pressed her forehead into Ann’s back. Only the fear of being seen and yelled at kept her from running off back to her room in her parents’ house.

  A short while later, a man called out, “Thank you everyone for assembling on short notice. I’ll be as brief as I can. As some of you may know already, Nederland has likely become a target for the Enclave. We strongly doubt that this will result in any manner of direct assault from individuals like those who attempted to raid us several months ago. If they decide to attack us, it will be by drone.”

  “What the flyin’ shit is a drone?” yelled a woman somewhere to the left.

  Mayor Wade waited for an upwelling of murmuring to die down. “I’m getting to that. A drone is an automated flying machine like this.”

  The crinkle of a tarp brought silence to the assembly. Abby’s knuckles widened, clutching the back of Ann’s dress. Gasps swept over the crowd.

  “This is a mockup of a reconnaissance drone,” said Zara, loud but not shouting. “Little Zoe managed to shoot one like this down about a half mile away from Nederland. It’s unlikely the operator spotted anything before the drone crashed, but they will probably send more to find out why they lost one.”

  “Why’d you bring the goddamned thing into town? Isn’t it gonna kill us?” yelled a man.

  “This is only painted wood to give everyone an idea what they look like,” said Zara. “However… if anyone sees anything that looks like this flying around, shoot it down.”

  Mayor Wade cleared his throat. “On that point. Until or unless the drone threat is proven to be gone, I am hereby asking all residents of Nederland twelve years of age and older to carry a firearm at all times. Preferably a rifle. Anything in the air not recognized as a bird, take it down. Also, if anyone manages to down one… do not go near it.”

  Abby, trembling with dread, peered around Ann.

  Zara lifted herself up to stand on the table. “That’s my job. The dangerous part of the drones is if they are carrying the viral agent. I’m inoculated against it, so I cannot get sick. Please, if anyone sees any suspicious broken bottles, stay away from them. Don’t touch any green slime or broken glass lying out in the open. If you see anything like it, hold your breath and get away as fast as possible.”

  Murmurs of alarm rose in the crowd.

  “How d’we know if we dead?” asked an older man.

  Zara’s expression hinted at a smartass remark wanting out. “Depending on the wind conditions, a ruptured capsule can be infectious at anywhere from ten feet to hundreds of yards in a narrow path if there’s a stiff breeze. The agent must make contact with your eyes, open wounds, or be inhaled to set in. If anyone sees a smashed glass capsule with green liquid, stay upwind of it and get away as fast as you can. Cover your mouth and nose.”

  The crowd’s silence fanned the fires of Abby’s terror.

  “I realize that some of you may not be entirely comfortable with so many weapons being out and about, but it is only for the time being.” Mayor Wade held up his hands in a placating gesture. “The militia will still be responsible for the primary defense of Nederland, and we are in the midst of constructing more elevated positions to allow for a greater range of engagement. If anyone sees anything suspicious on the ground, get away and notify the militia immediately. Thank you. Any questions?”

  Many hands went up.

  Abby struggled not to let her rattlesnake sandwich slither back up her throat. Fear made her sick. At her trembling, Ann turned and embraced her. She whispered soothing things into the top of her head, though none had meaning more than comforting sounds and warm breath in her hair. Abby stared transfixed at the black oblong shape of a fake drone sitting on a wheeled cart next to the table. Its elongated airframe resembled a motorcycle without handlebars or wheels. Four ‘fan shrouds’ about the size of car tires stuck out from the corners, front and back. She thought back to the other day when Zoe had fired off more than twenty bullets before the drone went down.

  Image after image of broken capsules on the streets of Amarillo played a slideshow in a waking nightmare. The air in her lungs grew heavy; sweat rolled down her back under her dress. All the voices in the crowd trading questions with Zara and the Mayor became a terrifying roar she had to escape. She pushed at Ann, squirming, trying to run.

  Find a hiding place.

  Get out of sight.

  Stop breathing.

  Abby shrieked and squirmed. When she couldn’t get away from Ann, her legs gave out and she collapsed in place, curled in a ball.

  I’m gonna die… I’m gonna die… Mommy!

  A blur of Ann’s face swept past her vision as the world spun into a smear of color.

  Everything went black.

  Abby came to on the sofa of Ann’s house, a warm blanket wrapped around her to the waist. She lay sideways with her back against Ann’s chest, and the woman’s arms around her. Zoe sat cross-legged on the floor nearby working on a jigsaw puzzle in the middle of the living room. The light outside remained strong, though she felt like she’d slept for a whole day.

  “You’re safe, Abby.” Ann stroked her hair, peering down at her with an expression of concern and relief. “You fainted.”

  “I’m sorry.” Abby couldn’t summon the urge to move.

  Ann rocked her. “Nothing for you to be sorry about. Pobrecilla. You shouldn’t have had to see the things you’ve seen.”

  Zoe jammed a piece of the puzzle in. Abby looked at her.

  Ann chuckled. “She’s angry because the militia won’t let her patrol.”

  “I’m a good shot!” yelled Zoe. “I killed that drone when it was way far away!”

  “You’re nine.” Ann sighed at her. “No one wants you getting hurt.”

  Zoe leapt to her feet and stomped, making puzzle bits bounce. “Drones not gonna shoot at me ’cause I got a gun. They just fly. I don’t wanna let stupid Omclave kill us! I’m gonna watch on the roof and you can’t stop me.”

  The little one ran off to the loft.

  Ann shivered. “Zoe! Come back here right now. Don’t you dare put me through that worry.”

  “Aww, Gran’ma…” The girl stopped halfway up the ladder. Head hung, she trudged back to the living room and fell seated by the puzzle.

  Abby squirmed.

  Ann pulled the blanket snug around her. “Don’t be afraid, Abby. The militia will keep us safe.”

  “Amarillo had soldiers too.” She looked up, her expression and tone blank. “They didn’t help.”

  18

  Resistance

  Worry raged like a tornado in Tris’ gut. She’d thought Nathan couldn’t find them in Ned, but he already had. A whole group of Enclave soldiers had ambushed them there once. If not for Zara and her rifle… No, Nathan damn sure knew where Nederland was. Maybe he didn’t know that they had decided to live there permanently yet. He could still be scouring the Wildlands trying to find them, but a good chance existed that the bastard knew Nederland held some value to them. Nathan had wiped out Amarillo without hesitation, even thinking the place had ten thousand or so people.

  All to get at her.

  While the few hundred who’d died there because of him were a far cry off the tens of thousands everyone believed had lived in Amarillo, she still bore some of the guilt at what had happened. She had no way to know he would do that, no way to stop it (aside from bringing the cure to Doctor Andrews, which turned out to be a lie), and… at least until an hour or so ago, no way to avenge them.

  I have to do this. For them. For Abby… for everyone in Ned. Everyone left in the world.

  Weakening light outside the dead Starbucks put Kevin on edge. Part of her agreed with him th
at only an idiot would stay inside San Francisco after dark. Yet that bit of her that had latched on to Abby, some nascent urge of motherhood that had come out of nowhere in high gear, wouldn’t stop gnawing on her brain. The mere thought of Nathan harming Abby made her blood rush, flooding her cheeks with heat. She covered her mouth and nose, breathing into her hands to calm down.

  “Tris?” Kevin drew her name out long. “Your face is red. Am I hanging out of my pants or something?”

  She barked a short laugh. “No. I’m feeling overprotective of Abby all of a sudden. I want to rip Nathan’s head off.”

  “Count me in on that action.” He stood. “I’m gonna walk outside and look for some place to stash the car. If we’re going to be here overnight, I don’t want some drone going overhead and spotting it.”

  Something scraped in the back room.

  Shit. Tris spun in the chair and pointed her AK at the door.

  “What?” He followed suit.

  “I heard something,” she whispered. “A scratch.”

  Kevin crept sideways to the right, rifle raised, and took cover behind a brick-faced column by the former window to the parking lot. Tris slid off the chair to kneel and edged to her left to a more defensible position behind the barista counter.

  The door to the back room swung open. A man in his middle twenties with paper-white skin like Tris and a matching white brush-cut walked in, his stride casual. Beneath a tattered green poncho, the shimmery black gleam of Enclave body armor caught the fading sunlight. The pieces of his suit had differing levels of scuff, suggesting he’d assembled it from multiple sets. He carried a boxy rifle like the one Kevin had in the car, a 4mm caseless.

  At the sight of Tris, he froze. His eyebrows climbed together, his mouth opened a touch.

  Another man, darker-skinned than Fitch with a short-cut afro, bumped into him from behind due to the abrupt halt. He also wore Enclave armor that had a piecemeal look about it, except for his right leg, decked out in Kevlar panels.

  “What’s the hold up?” asked a female voice behind the second man.

  “Holy shit,” said the white-haired man. “What’s one of those doing here? We’re fucked.”

  The dark-skinned man eyed Tris with the look of a gunslinger about to throw down, though dread fear shone clear in his eyes.

  “Wait,” said Tris. “You’re clearly not Enclave… at least not anymore.”

  Kevin lifted his aim to their heads, realizing the AK wouldn’t penetrate that armor.

  A woman with a snow-blonde bob squeezed past the men. While shorter than both men, she still had Tris by an inch or two. Beneath a dingy brown cloak made from a blanket, a newer suit of Enclave body armor fit her too well to be scavenged. Thin silver hexagons glistened from the polished black surface as she advanced into a patch of sunlight.

  “Who are you?” asked the woman. Though she contained it well, her body language betrayed no small amount of fear.

  “Is that coffee?” asked the white-haired man.

  Tris studied the trio for a few seconds more. Their gear is too dirty. They’re not Enclave. “Can everyone stay calm? I’d rather not get shot.”

  “That doesn’t tell me who you are,” said the woman.

  “I’m not a Persephone. I just look like them for some damn reason.” Tris lowered her rifle a few inches and stood. “You’re Resistance, aren’t you?”

  “This is the contact?” asked the dark-skinned man.

  “That’s…” Brush Cut stepped forward. “Tris?”

  She relaxed a little more. “Yeah.”

  “Damn. We got a message months ago saying you were on the way. What the hell happened?”

  “That’s a yes by the way,” said the dark-skinned man. “We’re Resistance.”

  “We’d given up on ever seeing you.” The woman’s tension ebbed a bit as well.

  Brush Cut offered a hand to shake. “Printer spat out another message saying a contact was coming here with some data that’s absolutely vital to our efforts. Name’s Zoryn.”

  The guy’s height made her feel like a tween standing in front of him and looking… up. “Hi.”

  “Uther,” said the dark skinned man. “Before you ask, no it’s not supposed to be Luther. My mother’s got tons of books.”

  “Pendragon?” asked Kevin. “I think I read that… or at least a wad of paper I found in a Roadhouse once.”

  “Yeah, that.” Uther nodded.

  “I’m Naomi.” The other white-haired woman approached and shook Tris’ hand. “So are you here by chance, or did that message tell us to find you?”

  “Are you sure we can trust these three? They came out of an empty room.” Kevin stepped away from the brick-covered column since it offered no cover from their angle now that they’d walked into the room.

  “Maybe this will help.” Naomi held up a hand in a ‘wait’ gesture, and reached into a hip satchel. Kevin twitched. Despite his almost raising the AK at her face, none of the three reacted. She removed a folded paper and handed it out to Tris.

  Kevin relaxed.

  Tris opened the paper, which contained a color printout of a photograph. She turned it right side up and gasped. A tiny white-haired girl in a plain white dress sat on the floor by a desk. Circuit boards, wires, and tools littered the rug around her bare feet. A man with frazzled light brown hair smiled at her from the desk chair, wearing a lab coat and radiating a kindly, almost befuddled presence―the scientist who everyone assumed ‘got lucky’ whenever anything worked, but masked true brilliance with a blasé attitude and a sense that having fun was every bit as important as getting results.

  Dad.

  Her lip quivered and she found herself crying in silence.

  “Tris?” Kevin lowered the AK and ran over, putting an arm around her back. He glanced at the paper. “Is…”

  “Me and my dad… I think I’m five here… maybe six.” She traced her fingers over the paper. The office around them looked like it belonged in a school or something; a thought backed up by a Stanford banner half out of frame. All sorts of techno-clutter lined the walls; robot parts, mostly transparent plastic over thin aluminum. The robotics, early, early prototypes, made Bee seem like alien-level technology by comparison. She looked up at Naomi. “Where did you get this?”

  “It came out of the printer… right after the message saying we should expect to meet a contact here with information. Didn’t expect you to beat us here.”

  She folded the paper. “Can I keep this?”

  Naomi glanced back at Zoryn, who shrugged. “Yeah, sure. So what do you have?”

  Tris returned to her chair. She sat with the AK between her knees, stock on the floor, and pushed it back and forth between her hands while explaining about the music files, the hidden data, the phone number, the call… and waiting here.

  The three listened, nodding intermittently.

  “Dad said he needed me to get inside. I’m supposed to help him with something he can’t do on his own.”

  “Wait. Inside?” Kevin stared at her. “You want to go… inside the Enclave? How’s that going to work? They’re kind of trying to kill you.”

  “Maybe we can help with that.” Zoryn peered out the window. “It will be dark soon. Get in your car and follow us.”

  Kevin’s expression said he still didn’t trust them.

  “I believe them.” She took his hand. “The same way I knew the vaccine would protect me; I know these people are the right way forward.”

  “The overlay.” He bowed his head, eyes closed, and sighed through his nostrils. “Are you sure?”

  Tris leaned against him. Rational-brain screamed at her to run back to Nederland. That’s what pre-Detention, pre-VR training Tris would do. Something threatened her, she’d hide. As much as she’d have loved nothing more than to race home, dread that faltering now could kill Abby (and everyone else there) in the most horrible way imaginable, made her choice―albeit terrifying―the only one she could make.

  “Yeah. I’m sure
.”

  19

  Amaranth

  Driving the Challenger at walking pace felt wrong in every way imaginable. Too vulnerable, an insult to a car built for speed, boring. Had they not packed the back seat up with shopping bags, perhaps the supposed resistance people would’ve climbed in and they’d be wherever they wanted to go by now. He debated tossing the stuff, but Tris had been so happy to find such a pristine stash of children’s clothing, getting rid of it would feel like kicking her dog.

  The sun continued to slip off to the west, fanning the fires of his worry. Tris at least appeared to share in his concern, as the darker it got, the more she kept twisting around to watch for Infected.

  At long last, some twenty minutes after leaving the Starbucks, Zoryn gestured at a right turn. The overall design of the buildings around them had gone toward commercial properties: old warehouses or unlabeled large, plain structures. Signs of warfare remained: barricades, bullet strikes, scorch marks from explosives. The damage could’ve happened in the immediate aftermath of the war when chaos ruled, or yesterday.

  He’d heard plenty of stories from elders in his days running jobs for Wayne. Once people believed no more nukes were on the way, those who hadn’t died went crazy. Some ran about raiding things they could never have had in organized society: expensive cars, boats, fancy clothes. Others got testy about more practical concerns like food, clothing, and shelter. Degrees of violence varied depending on population, but he’d heard some horrible stories.

  Hate groups, long restrained from overt acts of criminality, ran amok with the collapse of order. People shot each other for silly things like skin tone, believing the wrong mythology, or speaking with an accent. Of course, not everyone needed an excuse. Some simply enjoyed killing. It hadn’t taken long for the ‘flares to burn down’ as Wayne said. The idiots burned hot and fizzled out fast, leaving the ‘honest folk who just wanted to live’ behind. So began the people Kevin thought represented the bulk of humanity. Everyone trying to survive, willing to help others who weren’t shitheads.