“Where’s the second bike?”
“Over there in the field somewhere. Got him in the head.” She pulled the magazine out of the Beretta to count bullets. “You hit?”
“No, you?” Kevin looked at the console. Nothing turned yellow. He almost smiled. “Heard a few hit the car.”
“Abby?” asked Tris.
Silence.
“Abby!” Tris screamed and leapt between the front seats. “Abby! Come on, sweetie, you’re okay… You’re alive.”
No… please don’t do this to her. Kevin shoved the door open, got out, pulled his seat forward, and crawled in over the girl.
She lay on the floor in front of the back seat, motionless. He didn’t see any obvious blood, so his heart agreed to move again.
“Hey, kiddo.” He grabbed her arms and pulled her upright.
Whimpering and sniffling, Tris pawed at her, searching everywhere for a bullet wound.
Abby opened her eyes and looked around, disoriented. “W-where am I?”
Tris clamped onto her and burst into tears. Kevin wrapped his arms around them both and held on, a lump in his throat too large to talk past.
“I… What happened?” Abby squirmed, but couldn’t move.
Kevin swallowed worry. “Are you hit?”
“Someone hit me?”
“No, I mean a bullet. Did you get shot? Does anything hurt?”
Abby stared at him for a few seconds with a disoriented expression. “No… I’m dizzy.”
Tris finally let go and slid back into the passenger seat with her hands on her face. “She probably fainted… or hit her head on one of those turns.”
“I… could’ve let that idiot riddle us with bullets. Figured turning hard was the better option.” He picked Abby up and carried her outside. “It’s over, kiddo. Get some air.”
“I didn’t mean it like that.” Tris gave him a wounded stare. “Sorry.”
“I…” Abby put a hand to her head. A second later, her eyes shot open with panic. “A bullet almost hit me! Fluff came outta the seat by my face.”
She fainted. He rocked her side to side and patted her back. “Can you stay with Tris for a bit? I’ll be right back.”
“Okay.” Abby sat sideways in the driver’s seat, feet on the road.
Kevin pulled the .45 and stormed over to the wreck of the pickup and the turtle car. He walked up on the driver’s side window and put a bullet through the head of the driver, who may or may not have died in the crash. Red ooze spattered all over the interior, as well as the thin leather-clad woman in the passenger seat. He pointed the .45 at her ski mask, but didn’t shoot. A neat hole almost in the center of her forehead proved it a useless gesture.
He checked on the pickup truck driver, who’d taken two of Tris’ 9mm rounds to the back of the head, leaving the windshield a wash of blood. A quick walk out into the grass ended with him putting two rounds into the back of one of the bikers. The man had a .45 as well, but a Glock instead of a 1911. He took it, and three spare magazines, two combat knives, and the boots. He didn’t have much use for a battered leather jacket on the verge of falling apart, and less interest in taking the pants from a dead man.
Kevin carried the items back to the car, keeping a wary eye on Tris and Abby heading off the road a bit to relieve themselves. He dropped the salvage in the trunk, watered the grass on the opposite side of the road, and found a few hundred 7.62 rounds in an ammo can in the pickup truck’s bed, as well as the remainder of the belt in the weapon itself. He unloaded the weapon and added the ammo to the can, popped the M60 from the post, and carried both back to the car.
Militia will probably get some use out of this.
Abby walked up to him. “Why did they shoot at us?”
“Where’s Tris?”
“Over there by the crash.” Abby pointed to her left. “She said I should wait here. I’m not supposed to look at dead people.”
Her flat tone almost made him laugh. “Seems silly doesn’t it, after everything you lived through in ’Rillo.”
“Yeah.” Abby looked down. “She doesn’t want me to have bad dreams, but I already do. Why did they attack us?”
He looked at her. “Pirates. They see a single car out this far alone and they figure it’s carrying something valuable. People hire drivers from the roadhouses to transport stuff, and they’re hoping to steal it. Either that or they’re batshit crazy and like to shoot at anything that moves.”
Tris returned with two MAC-10s and a bunch of loose bullets in an improvised flannel shirt sack. She dropped everything in the trunk. “While I find your chivalry somewhere between cute and foolish, that car was full of needles and pills. I don’t think either of them qualified as fully sentient human beings anymore.”
“Huh?” asked Abby.
“Just say no to drugs,” said Tris. “Like the historical documentaries say.”
Kevin fought the urge to laugh. Abby caught his shaky lip and gave him a look of ‘what’s so funny?’
“What?” asked Tris.
“Most of those documentaries are made up.” He guided Abby to the car. After she climbed in, he pushed the seatback into place and flopped in behind the wheel.
“This wasn’t like that.” Tris jogged around and hopped in. “It was a message to tell everyone how dangerous drugs are. So if someone tries to give you some, all you have to do is say no.”
He shut down the targeting system and leaned on the accelerator a little too hard. “And you think people who liked getting high saw those ads and said ‘oh shit, this stuff’s bad for me. I should stop’?”
“Well, no, but… those who hadn’t started yet.” She sighed. “I’m being silly, naïve, and optimistic, aren’t I?”
He grinned. “Maybe a little.”
She’s wound up about something. Doesn’t have that usual sad face she makes whenever she has to kill someone.
The next hour and change of driving passed without any additional pirate ambushes. Tris and Abby discussed random things about the town. Abby was gradually making friends with the local kids, and even looked forward to organized school starting in another month or so, something the town elders decided a good idea. His little trailer-park childhood home hadn’t had enough people to warrant any kind of group education, but Hemi didn’t do a bad job, even if most of his ‘learning’ had been about fixing cars and some other machines. Kevin could read, he could repair most mechanical things, and somewhere along the line, he got stuck with an unbroken moral compass.
He glanced back at Abby for a second before slowing to take an off ramp. We should’ve left her at Ned. At some point, Route 80’s signs had changed to 680. He remembered the turnoff they’d taken last time, and turned onto the same road that circled around the northeast portion of Omaha straight to the airport without going into the city proper. He didn’t even want to know how many Infected dwelled inside the downtown district. All big cities, at least as far as his brain would believe, brimmed to bursting with them.
The same rusting cars sat like barricades before a bridge of hulking green ironwork. Eight or nine months hadn’t changed the place, though it didn’t feel as if that much time had passed. A collection of derelict cars blurred by the window, congregated in the grassy patch between two lanes. They’d been there so long scavvers had even taken the seats out of them.
Shit. We’re going to get back home and find the place fucked from the air. He wrung his hands on the wheel again, fighting back the urge to get angry and despondent over the idea of Nederland falling victim to a Virus attack. His nightmare of Zoe shambling after him made his foot heavy. Tires chirped as he turned past a sign for Eppley airfield. The road led them around in a curve that descended, putting the same bridge they’d crossed a moment before high and left. He whipped through a right turn past a sign that read ‘John J Pershing.’
“Slow down,” said Tris. “What are you so pissed at?”
“Nathan.”
“Oh.” She scowled. “Me too.”
&
nbsp; “Think he did it?”
Tris looked away, out her window at a huge warehouse type building. “I…”
Abby shivered. “Are they gonna kill Ned too like they killed Amarillo? Is that why you let me come with you, even though you didn’t wanna?” She leaned into the front.
“I don’t think he’d be able to do anything so soon after Amarillo.” Tris put her hand on Abby’s where she gripped the seat. “He’s not operating with the permission of the Council of… I mean the government. He’s just being an asshole.”
Grass as high as the car’s roof passed on the right; when the red and white gas station went by, he thought of Tris’ reaction to Twinkies. He glanced at the little rad meter on the dash, the red LED display reading 000. Anticipating the radiation spike from the old quonset hut on the right, he floored it. He pulled 165 past a parking lot full of half-molten cars next to an office building that had definitely seen better days. It looked like it had collapsed in on itself even more since last time. He slowed and turned across the empty oncoming lanes and drove onto the tarmac, still squeaking the tires from speed.
Abby grabbed the ‘oh shit’ handles on both sides, bracing herself against bouncing around.
“Yeah. That doesn’t mean it’ll never happen.” He drummed his fingers along the top of the wheel. “I hope this guy’s got something real for you.”
Tris smiled at him. She lit up as though a burden fell from her shoulders. Perhaps he hadn’t meant to commit himself as much as she had to somehow stopping Nathan, but she’d sensed it in him. Again, Zoe. The little blonde girl hadn’t even asked him to do this like she’d asked him to bring her father and brother back from Chicago. The mere thought of the Enclave’s virus hurting her lit his blood on fire.
They rounded the corner of the terminal building. Abby gasped and whispered “wow” at the sight of the huge pile of techno-scrap stacked behind the airport in mazelike rows. A line of airplanes parked near the building got an even more awestruck stare.
“What are those?” She asked in a small voice, seeming afraid of them. “Dead dragons?”
Kevin tried not to think about Nederland at the moment; he put on a grin for Abby. “Airplanes. They don’t work anymore.”
“Air… plane?” Abby tilted her head.
“You know what a bus is, right?”
She nodded.
“Well, they’re like buses, only they used to fly.” He pointed up.
“They’re big and scary,” said Abby.
He brought the Challenger to a stop by a pack of baggage carts parked outside the door to Terminal A9.
“You don’t need to be afraid of them.” Tris patted her on the hand. “They’re machines. We’re gonna go inside one.”
Abby bit her lip, eyes wide.
Kevin shut down the car and opened his door. “I’m guessing you wanna talk to him first, then go hunting for parts?”
“Yeah.” Tris got out, faced the building, and folded her arms. “Now I’m afraid of going in there.”
Abby squinted at her. “I told you they’re scary.”
Kevin shoved his door closed with a thud and walked around to put a hand on Abby’s back. “It’s not the airplane she’s afraid of… it’s the information inside it.”
5
Nothing is Everything
Anticipation built to a point where Tris couldn’t make herself take a step forward into the baggage processing room. This place held pain. Here, she’d learned her entire mission had been a lie topped off with the cruelest of puns. Inside, Abby climbed up on an old conveyor belt and walked along still holding Kevin’s hand.
Tris took a deep breath. The last time she’d set foot inside this place, she’d been so crushed she lashed out at Kevin and almost lost him. How did I go from wanting to kill him to feeling like I’d be lost without him? Going through that door could potentially give Nathan another victory. Maybe he’d hidden some other useless thing in the music file, something he figured she’d find only to raise her hopes to once again dash them.
I’m not going to know if I keep standing here.
She walked in and let the door close behind her.
Abby twisted around at the abrupt change in light. As soon as she realized Tris had closed the door, she resumed walking. “Did those men wanna check that girl for bite marks?”
“Katie? No, they found her like that,” said Kevin.
Abby got down to crawl into the port of an x-ray machine, but Kevin plucked her from the conveyor. Giggling, she squirmed in playful protest. “Hey.”
“Don’t go in there. I don’t want you getting hurt.”
Abby stared at the machinery, the dead monitors, dark buttons, and boxy housing. “Who made her get undressed?”
“Her parents died years ago,” said Kevin. “Maybe she’s never had anything.”
“Like ever?” asked Abby, blinking. “Why did people just leave her alone?”
“Well, she did spend most of her life hiding. Sounded like she had more than one chance to be found, but decided to stay out of sight.” Tris jogged to catch up. “If she wasn’t so tired of those handcuffs, she probably would’ve grown old in that grocery store… at least until the canned food ran out.”
“That’s stupid.” Abby rolled her eyes. “It sucks being alone. If it was me, I’d have been screaming for help as loud as I could. How could she stand being locked up for so long?”
“No options,” muttered Kevin. “People do a lot of stupid crap out of fear. And, uhh, well, sometimes making a lot of noise isn’t a great idea.”
Infected have good hearing. Tris bit her lip.
Abby seemed to catch on from the look she must’ve given her. “Oh… right. They can hear.”
Kevin opened the door to the concourse, and slammed it. “Umm. After those raiders grabbed her, she probably figured all adults were dangerous. And it’s not like she could check them out and run away if they turned out bad.” He pointed at the door. “Maybe we should let Abby wait in the car.”
“Shit.” Tris rubbed her forehead. The airports full of skeletons.
“What? Why?” Abby’s voice took on a tone of nervousness. She grabbed Tris. “Don’t leave me alone.”
“There’s umm… dead people out there.” Kevin cringed. “From the war.”
Abby shook her head. “Don’t care. I don’t wanna be alone.” She glanced at the door. “Are they nasty?”
“Bones. Just bones at this point.”
“Oh.” Abby’s fear faded away. “I can deal with bones.”
“There’s a lot of them.” Kevin pulled the door open again. “If you wanna keep your eyes closed, I can carry you.”
“I’m eleven, not five, and―” Abby stared at the airport hallway.
The red tiled corridor remained packed with skeletons, swept against the walls like dead leaves lining the grave of a dried-up river. Most still wore the clothing they’d died in, stained in rotted gore. A few humanoid shapes, lighter than the wall, near the windows hinted at where some had been vaporized by the blast. Where the waiting area faced the tarmac, once-molten glass ran like a maple syrup spill onto the floor. Tris guessed that all these skeletons, those who hadn’t been near a window, had died in minutes from radiation.
Abby held on to Kevin’s right arm with both hands, taking cautious baby steps between spots where tile showed through dried, dark gunk. “Whoa. I am so happy you got me shoes.”
“We hadn’t exactly expected to be taking you on an expedition.” Tris patted her on the shoulder.
Kevin walked with a brisk stride past the security checkpoint and a few boarding areas before heading down the retractable ramp toward the 747 that Terminal9 made home. Tris followed close, eyeing the dead.
Kevin said not all the historical documentaries are real. They’re not going to get up.
The air grew hot and stagnant in the flexible tunnel, which tinted the world ochre from the sun beating on the plastic walls. What’s this guy going to do when his AC runs out?
Kevin approached the metal box beside the door and wiped dust off the small five-inch screen before jabbing at the largest (and only round) transparent button. It lit up in a few seconds, and a sallow face broken by scrolling raster lines appeared in monochromatic green.
“Got your message,” said Kevin.
Terminal9 leaned closer to the camera, filling the screen with eyes for a second. “Oh. Hey. Right.” The door emitted a heavy clank. “’Mon in… and close the door once you’re in.”
Kevin pulled the entryway open, releasing a blast of cool air into the stuffy boarding tunnel. Tris followed Abby inside, and both of them let off a gasp of relief at the same time. Tris pulled the door shut.
“How is it cold?” asked Abby.
“The man who lives here got the air conditioning working,” said Tris. “Used to be pretty common before the war, and it’s still used by the Enclave.”
“A winter machine? Or magic?” Abby looked around in awe at rows upon rows of empty seats. She touched a few. “I wish we had chairs like this at home. They’re so soft.”
“No, it isn’t magic.” Tris mumbled an explanation of air conditioning as they walked out of the first class cabin into the back, and to a spiral stairway.
Kevin kept his hand near his .45 as he led the way up the stairs. Abby shivered at the cascade of even colder air wafting down the metal corkscrew. She tried to tug the hem of her dust-hopper hide dress down farther than the middle of her thighs.
“It’s so cold…” Abby’s teeth chattered.
At the top of the stairs, Kevin took off his armored jacket and held it open for Abby. She eagerly thrust her arms into the sleeves and let him close it around her. It didn’t go much past the dress, but at least it covered her arms and shoulders.
“Heeeeeyyyy,” said Terminal9. He walked out from behind a blue curtain in a pair of Hawaiian shorts and flip-flops, no shirt. The man appeared even thinner, every rib showing clear beneath his skin. “Glad ta see you got the message. Wasn’t sure if that ’bot of yours would make it.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Kevin.
“’Mon.” Terminal9 headed back through the curtain. “Means I heard some shit go down over the radio. Someone shot her… it… whatever.”
The Roadhouse Chronicles (Book 3): Dead Man's Number Page 7
