The Roadhouse Chronicles (Book 3): Dead Man's Number

by Cox, Matthew S.

  “Oh.” Zoe blushed. “Duh.”

  Abby rolled flat and stared at the ceiling again. “Now I’m scared the drones will come here too.”

  “What’s a drone?”

  “It’s like a machine that flies. Too small to carry a person.”

  “You don’t gotta be scared now.” Zoe sat up and pointed. “’Fected can’t climb ladders.”

  “Or open suitcases.”

  Zoe nodded. “I don’t wanna get in a suitcase again. I like ladders more.”

  “Girls, go to sleep,” murmured a male voice from beneath the floor.

  Abby cringed again.

  “’Kay,” said Zoe at normal volume. After a conspiratorial wink, she closed her eyes.

  Abby let a long, slow, silent sigh out her nose. She stared at the ceiling for a while, wondering how long it would take her to fall asleep, and if she did, how bad the nightmare would be.

  Arms folded across her chest, face hidden behind wild hair, Abby sat on the leftmost end of a dingy sofa. She stared at the red, blue, and orange embroidered lines covering the grey fabric by her feet, which she half sat on. She didn’t want to be here. Though nice, these people weren’t her parents. Zoe’s brother kinda bugged her too, the way he stared at her whenever they wound up in the same room. Over breakfast, and later at lunch, he’d spent the whole time watching her from across the table. His blank-faced expression could’ve been anything from thinking her cute to jealousy to wanting to punch her in the nose.

  It’s okay if he doesn’t want me here. I don’t wanna be here.

  The sofa faced a bookshelf, which had replaced the television set once mounted to the wall. One working TV existed in Amarillo, in the main Roadhouse where visitors and guests went. She’d heard people say that before the war, they existed in every house. Sometimes people even had more than one. She didn’t believe that though… probably only them telling stories to mess with kids.

  “Has she been like that long?” whispered Pete, somewhere behind her.

  “Most of the morning. Didn’t want to go outside with the other kids,” whispered Ann.

  Abby frowned, thinking of Zoe trying to talk her into going down to the lake and swimming. Not like Nederland offered much else to do, and the children didn’t have to go to school during summer. No one could remember why school didn’t happen in the summer, only that it had always been that way. She didn’t have any interest in playing or having fun, not with her new parents’ lives in danger. She felt better being alone.

  “Kid looks like some kind of patient in a mental ward, hiding in the corner of her padded cell.” Pete sighed. “I hope those two burn the whole thing down. The world could tolerate another nuke to get rid of the Enclave.”

  “No kidding.” Ann walked up behind the couch. She leaned over and tickled at the bottom of Abby’s bare foot. “Hey, kiddo. You all right?”

  “Yeah.” She squirmed to move her foot away.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” Ann tilted her head. “¿Quieres hablar acerca de ello?”

  Abby glowered. “I don’t understand Spanish. Just ’cause my last name’s Padilla doesn’t mean I know it.”

  Ann gave her a sympathetic look.

  “Sorry.” Abby looked down.

  “You’re worried, and that’s fine.” Ann smiled. “I’ve seen Tris take on some bandits. She’ll be okay.”

  Abby nodded. “Thanks for letting me stay here. Sorry we kept you awake.”

  “Zoe’s excited to have a friend sleeping over.” Ann squeezed her shoulder. “It’s bound to happen at your age.” She chuckled. “Though I’d appreciate it if you two didn’t make a habit of staying up all night talking.”

  “We won’t.” Abby picked at the sofa cushion by her knee.

  “It’s about time I got started on dinner. Would you be a dear and go fetch Zoe and Cody from the lake?”

  “Okay.” Abby sat still for a little while longer before dragging herself to her feet.

  She didn’t bother going back up to the loft for her moccasins, and headed outside. Avoiding the gravel road by way of a narrow strip of dirt and grass beside it, she walked around the bend, following the trail deeper into Nederland. She’d been to the lake only a few times, but remembered the way. Of course, in a town this small, it would almost take more effort to get lost than go where you wanted.

  Near the center of town, she turned left and followed a strip of paved road for a while before heading off to the right and up a grassy hill. At the crest, she had a clear view of a too-blue manmade lake about sixty yards from end to end. Zoe, Isla, three other girls she hadn’t met, and two boys lounged about in the grass near the shore next to their clothes, evidently drying off before getting dressed again. About nine boys continued to play in the water; four had shorts on.

  Cassie sat on a bright green folding chair. Her oversized hat looked like it had been an umbrella in a former life, and though she held a book, she spent more time watching the kids in the water than reading. She kind of reminded Abby of Zoe grown up; they had the same shade of blonde hair and both had blue eyes. Of course, Abby couldn’t look at her without thinking about the basement of that store. Still, she liked the woman. Cassie had been one of the friendlier people there, and if she hadn’t fixed the radio, Tris and Zara never would’ve shown up in Amarillo.

  Abby made her way down the gentle slope of the grass facing the lake, and stopped near Zoe. The girl squinted up at her and grinned.

  “You changed your mind!” She leapt to her feet. “Come on. Let’s go back in the water.”

  “Ann said it’s time for dinner.”

  “Oh.” Zoe looked disappointed but offered no protest as she grabbed her dress and pulled it on. Facing the water, she cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted, “Cody! Dinner!”

  A brown-haired head off to one side in the lake rotated toward them. Cody stood out of the water and tugged a soaked pair of black jean shorts up a little. He trudged, dripping, onto the grass. For the briefest of instants, he smiled at Abby before returning to his usual glum self.

  “Imma swim more!” yelled Isla. The seven-year-old sprang upright and ran back to the lake, trailed by a laughing Chinese girl closer to twelve.

  The others who had been drying off in the grass gathered their clothes and dispersed back toward town.

  Abby turned on her toes and walked up the hill.

  Zoe raced to catch up and fell in step at her right, flicking bits of grass off her arms. “Still sad?”

  “I’m not sad; I’m scared.” Abby studied the ground.

  “Of drones?” Zoe held a hand over her eyes and scrunched up her nose as she scanned the sky.

  “Yeah. And them not coming back.”

  Zoe’s cheer diminished for a few minutes. “I think they’ll be okay… but you can stay with me if something bad happens.”

  Abby glanced at her, biting her lip to stop from shouting. The girl meant well, after all. “Thanks.” She plucked a blade of grass from Zoe’s cheek and flicked it.

  “They kicked ass in Chicago,” mumbled Cody. “I don’t think where they went is gonna be worse than that.”

  Zoe’s eyebrows climbed; she stared at her brother for a few seconds in mute surprise.

  “Amarillo was pretty scary too. Infected chased us down the street.” Abby glanced to her right at Cody, who averted his gaze as if afraid of being caught looking at her. “One got almost close enough to grab me, but Tris killed it.”

  Cody mumbled, “Wow. That had to be scary.”

  “It was.” Abby slid in single-file behind Zoe as they stepped onto the narrow dirt path alongside the gravel road. “It’s okay to have bad dreams. Even Kevin does, and he’s old.”

  “Really?” asked Cody, behind her. “He’s like… so tough.”

  “Infected scare everyone.” Abby frowned. “Even old men who wanna kill little girls because they have a cold.”

  “Huh?” Cody moved up into the thicker grass so he could walk at her side. “Someone wanted
to kill you?”

  “Yeah. They were scared like little boys. Some of the men even cried when they thought no one could see them,” said Abby.

  Zoe raced in the front door of the house and headed right for the table. Cody looked at Abby for a while, gave a nod of thanks, and went inside. He hurried down the hall to his room, likely to change into something dry.

  Abby plodded over to the table and sat facing Zoe. Ann chased the girls into helping out with the last bits of table setting. She trusted Abby with a knife to cut up an onion while Zoe scooped taco meat and beans onto plates. It almost didn’t smell like ground dust hopper.

  Eventually, Bill and Pete showed up, and Cody emerged from the back in a white shirt and khaki shorts with oversized leg pockets. Ann and Bill chatted about militia things as well as the town’s primary farm. The woman kept referring to it as the ‘garden,’ but as far as Abby thought, anything that big ought to be called a farm.

  After dinner, Pete and Bill approached Cody with the idea of going to the range and practicing shooting. His near-instant “okay” and move to follow them left the men without words until they’d made it out onto the street. Abby and Zoe washed the dishes while Ann set to doing some kind of paperwork at the kitchen table.

  “Tracking seeds and production for the garden,” said Ann, catching Abby staring at the logbook. “Trying to work out how much to plant based on how many people we’ve got and how fast we’re going through food.”

  “Oh.”

  With the last of the dishes dried and put away, Zoe took Abby by the hand and led her back to the loft bedroom. She broke out a bunch of old dolls in much newer handmade clothes. The too-skinny plastic women had stains and scuffs from fifty or sixty years of being unwanted trash, but Zoe didn’t seem to care. Abby felt a little too old to play with dolls. Hell, she’d lost interest in them by Zoe’s age, but she went along with it.

  After a while, Zoe ran off to the bathroom, leaving Abby alone with the dolls. She knelt in the middle of the room, smirking at them as well as the powder blue walls. Aside from the toys and a lone small nightie hanging from a nail by where the angled ceiling got low enough to reach, the loft room looked like an elderly woman had decorated it. She fixated on a few bullet holes by the window, as well as a handful of spent casings on a cushioned cabinet in front of it that resembled a cross between a bench and a bookshelf.

  Abby knee-walked over to the shelf and plucked one of the brass casings out of a well in a battered red cushion. Splinters in the fabric suggested the holes in the wall as recent. The window looked out over a small field populated with boulders and brown grass, as well as a few tiny trees no bigger around than a man’s arm. One of the larger rocks had a red-brown stain on it.

  “That’s my spot,” said Zoe, sounding informational. “It’s where I guard from.”

  Abby held up the casing. “You?”

  “Uh huh.” She grinned. “Ann don’t like it, but Bill thinks I’m a good shot.”

  “Y-you’ve shot people?” Abby let the casing drop from her fingers, frozen in shock.

  Zoe nodded, making her blonde hair bounce. “Yep, but I don’t kill ’em. I hit ’em in the leg.” She poked Abby in the thigh. Inspiration bloomed in her expression. “Idea!”

  Abby stood as Zoe darted to a pair of louvered closet doors a few steps to the right of the window. The doors looked strange when they opened, with different heights and angled tops to match the lay of the roof.

  Zoe pulled out a squarish olive-drab box with rubber caps on both ends, a little bigger than a thick book. A black lanyard swayed from it as she handed it to Abby. “Here.”

  She took the bizarre object, which weighed more than she expected. “What is this?”

  “Noculars.” Zoe leaned into the closet again. “Lets you see far.” She took a step back and pulled a black nylon strap over her shoulder, with four rectangular pouches about the size of bricks along its length. It hung down to her calves, seeming heavy.

  Abby gasped when Zoe ducked back into the closet and emerged holding a military rifle that had a magazine in it. The nine-year-old made a deliberate show of checking the safety before slinging the weapon over her other shoulder. The butt almost touched the floor.

  “That’s a gun.”

  “Duh,” said Zoe. “Bad words or ‘please don’t hurt me’ don’t work on raiders.”

  “You’re gonna get in trouble.” Abby blinked. “Your dad lets you have a gun?”

  “Yeah, but I’m only s’posed ta touch it if we’re in danger.”

  Abby stared at her, hands on her hips.

  Zoe put on serious-face. “We are in danger. C’mon.” She headed to the window on the other side of the loft room, by the foot end of the bed. “You wanna rifle too? We can get one from Bill’s room.”

  “Uhh… no. My dad only taught me how to use a little gun.”

  Zoe scrunched her nose. “Okay. Bill can teach you later. C’mon.”

  The little one shoved the window open and climbed out, bandolier rattling.

  That’s more bullets! “Uhh, where are you going?” Abby crept up to the window.

  Zoe padded up a narrow section of inclined roof, heading left, and disappeared over the top. Reluctantly, Abby hung the ‘noculars’ around her neck on the lanyard and climbed out. We’re both going to get in so much trouble.

  “Zoe? Come back inside. We shouldn’t be out here.”

  “Come on,” yelled Zoe from up above.

  Clinging to the siding at her left, Abby walked heel-to-toe over the sun-heated shingles. After ten steps, the wall became shallow enough to see over. Zoe perched on the flat part over the middle of the house, a space about as big around as the living room with a slight downward angle toward the front driveway. It didn’t look like enough of an incline to be frightening, at least no more frightening than being on the roof of a two-story building.

  Zoe set the bandolier of ammo down and flipped open the tops of all four pouches. Each held three magazines identical to the one in her rifle, all packed with bullets. As Abby nervously pulled herself up and over the ledge onto the rooftop, Zoe removed the loaded magazine from the rifle and counted bullets.

  “… fifteen, sixteen… seventeen.” She put it back in. “Eighteen shots.”

  “Eighteen?” Abby crawled over to her, too terrified to stand up.

  “There’s one inside already.” Zoe replaced the magazine and smacked the bottom a few times.

  “What are we doing up here? We need to go back inside before we get caught.”

  Zoe pointed at the roof next to her. “Sit.”

  Abby shifted from crawling to sitting. Zoe grabbed the ‘noculars’ and pulled off the rubber things on both ends, which dangled on little elastic cords.

  “Look through it at the sky. Watch for drones. You look that way.” Zoe pointed and scooted around to face the opposite direction. “I’ll watch this way.” She set her feet flat on the roof and balanced the rifle over her right knee before peering into a small scope.

  “Are you sure we’re not going to get yelled at?” Abby raised the ‘noculars’ and saw only a blur that hurt to look at. She cringed away, face scrunched. “How do they work? I can’t see anything.”

  “You got ’em backwards,” said Zoe. “Look in the side wif the rubber eye holes.”

  Abby flipped them over and held them up again. She recognized a distant treetop, almost. “Better, but still blurry.”

  “Wheel on top.”

  She felt around until her finger met a plastic wheel. Spinning it changed the image, and after a bit of back and forth, she zoomed in on the lake. Cassie appeared to be chasing the boys out of the water and sending them home for the night. Abby panned back and forth, watching people in town for a few minutes before Zoe poked her.

  “Watch the sky. We’re on drone patrol.”

  “Oh.” Abby set her elbows on her knees to absorb some of the weight of the ‘noculars,’ and stared into the endless blue of the west.

  “You e
ver see one?” Zoe broke the silence about fifteen minutes later.

  “No, but I know it doesn’t look at all like a bird.”

  Zoe shifted a little left, using her scope to scan the sky. “Does it look like a car?”

  “I guess. Maybe a small car.” She avoided pointing the noculars anywhere near the fading sun, and gazed at the clouds sweeping by as she moved. A speck of black caught her eye and almost stopped her heart, but before she could make a sound, it flapped wings. She exhaled. Just a bird.

  “Clear.”

  “Huh?” Abby turned away from the noculars to stare at Zoe.

  “I said ‘clear.’ That means I don’t see anything dangerous.”

  “Oh.”

  Zoe lowered the rifle and looked at her like a tiny version of a militia soldier. “How’s your sector?”

  Abby peered back through the noculars at empty sky. “Uhh, clear. How long are you going to want to stay up here?”

  “’Til it’s dark an’ we can’t see.”

  How does she go from playing with dolls to sitting on a roof with a real gun? Abby grimaced at the thought of a girl younger than her with an assault rifle. Tris wouldn’t let me have one. I’m only eleven. Emma bugged Kevin for certain. That girl was older… thirteen as far as Abby could remember. She didn’t act like it though. She might’ve been small and ‘cute,’ but she carried herself like an adult.

  Abby sighed. This is boring. She debated dragging Zoe inside, but for one thing, didn’t want to wrestle with an armed child, and for another, the tiny twinge of worry that the bad people would try to repeat Amarillo here wouldn’t let her get up.

  Again, she raised the noculars and swept the sky. Back and forth over clouds and ever-darkening blue. Off to the right, boys traded shouts of ‘coming’ with mothers, fathers, and caretakers calling them by name. She twisted left for the umpteenth time, and a smear of something dark against the blue shot past.

  What? No… no… Abby frantically tried to find the spot where she thought she’d seen something, biting her lip in the hopes she’d imagined it. After a few seconds of furious back and forth, she caught sight of it again.