Athena took the pouch with a frown. “You know this is beneath me.”
“Perhaps. But you’re here. I need this done, and your car is fast.”
She took two steps backward, pointing at him with the hand holding the pouch. “Okay, fine… but you’re gonna give me a real job when I get back.”
He nodded. “Yep.” Dammit Tris. You’re rubbing off on me.
Worry settled in the pit of Tris’ gut; whenever she lifted her head out of the electronics cabinet and looked to the west, she half-expected to see a flotilla of Enclave hovercraft leading a giant plume of dust. She sat back on her boot heels and dabbed sweat away from her eyes with her forearm. Kneeling among the solar panels on the roof, she wondered how much longer it would be before Nathan found a way to ignore the Council of Four. She glanced at a wet spot on the sleeve of her sky blue jumpsuit, and past it to her dirt-smeared hands.
A faint sizzle of electricity emanated from the components. The occasional whiff of ozone floated by in the dry air. Dense clusters of sagebrush littered the brown to the east of the roadhouse, but to the left, flat nothingness. She gathered her hair out of her eyes and turned south, gazing at the distant hint of mountains. Perhaps desolation could shield her from the Enclave… or at least Nathan’s petulant wrath. It’s not as if she had anything of value. Anyone Nathan had told his plan to probably shared a great laugh about her having The Cure in her headware. Not the actual cure to the virus responsible for the Infected, but music he’d put in as a cruel joke―and awful pun. She growled. Shooting Neon in the head to free those enslaved women had been a spur of the moment thing she felt neither guilt nor joy over. She daydreamed about killing Nathan slow, then bit her lower lip. Even an asshole like him… she was not that person.
Tris clapped dust from her hands and reached into the space beneath solar panel 5C: fifth unit in from the right side along the third row back from the front. Ten thousand of Kevin’s hard-earned coins had won him forty solar panels and the right to call this place a Roadhouse. Also, it prevented the military force in Amarillo from putting a bounty on his head for ‘copyright infringement.’
A third of the array had gone down between last night and this morning. They woke up to find a swath of the status panel in the office lit up red. The panels were wired in series, so a broken connection in 5C killed everything forward and right of it, knocking out an entire corner of the grid. Kevin commented about ‘Christmas Lights,’ but whatever that meant escaped her. Corrosion crumbled away from the contact point under her fingertips. Everything inside the relay box looked forty years old and covered in enough silt to prove it. If the panels hadn’t still had their factory plastic film when they arrived, she’d have thought them salvage.
Tris double-checked the panel’s switch was off before taking a wire brush from her toolbox and attacking the primary contacts. Her entire body shook with the effort of sawing the brush back and forth. Green-brown crud flaked off and carried away on the wind.
The front door clattered open and banged closed a few seconds later. Two men discussed a run up to Deer Lodge. Minutes later, a heavy car door creaked; she recognized Fitch and Neeley’s voices.
“Aww damn,” she muttered.
She hopped up and ran to the edge of the roof, trying to wave to them before they pulled out. Neeley, behind the wheel, caught sight of her and waved. Fitch nodded as dirt sprayed forward from four of their pickup truck’s six tires. They reversed around in a turn before taking off to the west. Tris watched for a moment, thinking that the ribbon of paving they followed had been meant for eastbound traffic. She found it hard to grasp how, before the war, driving the wrong way could prove fatal.
Had there ever been so many cars that they couldn’t dodge each other?
Tris loped back to the open panel on the south-facing side of solar panel 5C, her already worry-sick gut burdened by a sense of somber loss for the entirety of civilization. This place… this ‘Wyoming’ as Kevin had called it, looked as empty as though no one lived here even before the war. Miles in all directions of brown dotted with green, the occasional rickety structure, signpost, or long-abandoned truck visible in the distance.
She grumbled and resumed scrubbing the contact point. A few minutes later, it shined, and she reattached the wires, which fastened with spring-loaded connectors. Push in, quarter turn clockwise, and they caught on little nubs.
“Just an overdue cleaning,” she said to no one in particular.
Tris flipped the orange plastic cutoff switch to the upright position. A few tiny LEDs winked on inside the cabinet. Dull metallic clonks came from the panels ahead and right of her. The third one in at the second row made a loud buzzing noise and belched black smoke before a loud bang went off inside it.
“Shit.”
She sprinted around the row to 3B, fanning at the inky cloud, and turned the panel off. Her throat filled with the flavor of burned silicon and rubber. After opening the cabinet, she waved the smoke away some more. The inky black cloud eventually thinned enough to reveal a molten connector. Fortunately, the wire itself was intact―merely the insulation around it had caught fire. This unit also had so much dirt and corrosion, it appeared to have been in service for decades. Since the wire remained too hot to touch, she took her time collecting her toolbox and repositioned herself in front of the smoking panel array.
Curiosity got the better of her and she pulled apart the inner workings of 2B. It, too, had a buildup of gunk on the wires and a quarter-inch deep layer of dark grey dust inside.
Tris sighed. “Dammit. He hooked these all up and didn’t think this much dirt was strange?”
She puffed away some of the dust and tried to dispel a cloud that tasted much worse than burning insulation. After spitting a few times, she glared at it, searching for any clues to explain why solar panels still sealed in plastic had so much crap. Letters molded in the metal cabinet read: Manf: APR 08 2018 LOT 1852.
“Damn. These things are old.” Anger flared up in her chest and warmed her cheeks. “Bastards scammed him… Amarillo sold him prewar junk.” Rage faded to dread. “Ugh. I gotta check them all so we don’t burn the entire place to the ground.”
She cleaned the contacts in 2B, reseated the wires, and put a fingertip on the switch.
“Please don’t blow up. I promise I’ll clean you all.” Tris flicked the switch, and the faint vibrating thrum of active electronics surrounded her. She let off a sigh of relief a second before her stomach growled. “Okay, guys. I need some lunch. I’ll be back right after I eat. Please don’t die on me.”
I’m talking to solar panels. She wiped sweat from her forehead again. Maybe I’ve been in the sun too long. After tossing the wire brush back in the toolbox, she stood and made her way toward the roof access hatch. A flash of pink caught her eye by the last panel of the rearmost row, 10D. A yellow-yarn-haired rag doll in a pink dress lay bent in half by where the panel array’s leg bolted down. She picked up the twelve-inch tall toy and locked eyes with it.
“What are you doing up here?” She looked to the south. “Dammit, Zoe. I told you not to go on the roof.” Next time we visit Ned, I gotta bring this… and I’ma yell at her for ignoring me. She eyed the edge. Falling from a one-story building probably wouldn’t have killed the girl, but had the girl been hurt, Tris would’ve felt horrible.
She clutched the doll to her chest and approached the rusty metal flap over the ladder down into the building. Another glance off to the west showed no sign of approaching Enclave threats… or anything else beyond the endless open terrain. Could it be that Nathan’s fear of exile or punishment outweighed his obsessive-compulsive need to ‘tie up a loose end?’
Tris fussed with the ragdoll’s hair. Will I ever be able to stop worrying? She half-smiled at the goofy face on the toy. The place had been too damn quiet without Zoe and her brother around. Kevin seemed happy to settle in, and despite her initial doubts, he’d shown zero signs of regret at ‘not being out there’ anymore. As much as she loathed feelin
g useless in terms of ending the threat of the Virus, Kevin had a point. How much could she accomplish alone? She pictured the imposing black and steel gates of the aboveground portion of the Enclave complex, the mounted weapons, the armored guards… even if she could raise an army out here, one of their troopers could wipe out dozens before going down. While her hardware might be on par with theirs, they had more training, more experience, and better gear. One of her―perhaps two if Zara could be talked into helping―wouldn’t tip the scales.
Tears of frustration gathered at the corner of her eyes. Kevin constantly reminded her that not being able to cure the Virus hadn’t been her fault. It’s not like she’d had the real cure and lost it… she never had it to begin with. She didn’t mess up. Nathan was an asshole.
Tris chuckled. Maybe I should let go. I guess it’s nice enough here. Could I be happy? She squeezed the doll and let her thoughts drift to the echoing memory of a child’s giggle while playing. If we’re going to settle down, might as well commit to the whole settling down thing.
“Maybe…” She traced her fingers over her stomach, thinking about Zoe giggling, trying to forget what it felt like to be strapped down on a medical table for ‘routine tests.’ “If they didn’t take them all.”
A loud, squawking beep from the back room got Kevin running. He ducked into the office across the hall from the kitchen and grinned at a plywood board full of forty green lights. Relief spread over him. Not having to replace a dozen panels felt like finding a bag of 1,500 coins.
“Tris, you are amazing,” he muttered at the ceiling.
He pivoted on his boot heel and wandered into the kitchen. The air still held the essence of greasy meat and fried potatoes. Sang reclined on his bed, a thin foldaway mattress pad scavenged from an old sofa bed, reading. The old man hadn’t had much to his name beyond a suitcase of old books when he arrived. Since he’d been here, Kevin had quietly dropped word with drivers he’d expected to see again to keep an eye out for books. A couple spare coins here and there was a small price to pay to brighten the day of a man who was happy to work for room and board.
“Hey boss.” Sang looked up, smiling. “Someone order?”
“Not yet. I’m sending Athena down to Carver’s to pick up more supplies.”
“Ahh, good. Good.” Sang nodded. “We are running low on sausage and potatoes.”
Kevin glanced at the giant silver fridge they’d salvaged from the former burger place. The solar array on the roof had more to offer than charging vehicles. “Yep. It’s ordered. Since we’ve been doing okay this month, I’m picking up some extra meat.”
“Oh? What?”
“No idea.” Kevin smiled. “Whatever Carver’s got available. We’ll find out when Athena gets back.”
“Sounds―”
Wham. A heavy thud reverberated in the walls.
“Try it, asshole!” shouted Athena.
A deep male voice roared in response.
Sang nodded to the left. “Better get out there.”
“Shit.” Kevin pushed away from the doorjamb and ran to the front room.
The huge dark-skinned man Athena had been sitting with stood by a flipped-over table, hand poised over a pistol on his belt. He had his back to Kevin, gold sewn-on lettering spelled ‘Rook’ between his shoulders above a crude rendition of a castle tower in silver permanent marker. Athena hovered a few steps away in a chin-forward lean, a nascent grin still on her face. Despite the top of her head barely being even with his pectorals, she showed no sign of fear. One finger teased around the handle of a 1911 on her belt.
“Come on, Rook. You think I’m all talk? Pull that thing out and I’ll show you what a ‘little girl’ can do.”
Rook snarled. His cheeks reddened and his eyes bulged. Perhaps the mental capacity to understand firearms had left him; he seemed about to strangle her.
“What are you waitin’ for, old man?” Athena glided a step to her left, adding a sultry bat of her eyelashes. “Don’t keep a girl waiting all day. I could use the coins from selling your shit.”
“Hey,” yelled Kevin, pointing. “You kill him in here, his shit belongs to the house. You know the Code.”
Athena’s expression soured. “That’s horseshit, you damn thief. He runs his mouth into a gunfight, the shit’s mine.”
“Runs my mouth?” Rook grabbed a fistful of his hair and pulled. “Argh. You irritating little bitch. You got a lot of nerve. I oughta―”
“She’s faster than she looks,” said Kevin. “Just walk away.”
“You’re not taking my shit.” Athena glared at Kevin. “That’s bull.”
“One…” Kevin walked to the end of the counter. “It’s the same in every roadhouse from the West Coast to the Mississippi. Someone gets dead in a ’house, all their crap belongs to the ’house. Ain’t about gettin’ crap, it’s about not shooting the shit out of the place.” He waved his arm as if to indicate the room. “This is supposed to be a place of respite. Preserve the sanctity of the Roadhouse Network and all.”
Rook drew his leg back, eyeing a chair, but decided against it. He stormed up to the counter. “Whiskey double, and a room.”
“Luxury room or cot-in-a-closet?” asked Kevin.
“Small room’s fine,” muttered Rook.
“Nine.” Kevin kept half an eye on Athena while pouring some JD in a tumbler. He set it on the counter next to nine coins, a mix of nickels and pennies. After collecting the money, he fished a key out of a steel bin next to the cash box. “Room five.”
“Thanks.” Rook fired off a dire glare at the grinning blonde, and tromped past Kevin toward the small rooms.
Once he’d gone out of sight into the narrow corridor, Athena rolled up on the counter. “So…” she twirled a strand of hair around her finger, smiling. “You should give me that bigger job now. You obviously think I can handle myself.”
Kevin dropped the coins one by one into the box, not looking up at her. “If he’d wanted to throw down, he’d have shot you when you decided to give me the evil stare. You broke eye contact. Half a second is all it would’ve taken… assuming he didn’t miss.”
She narrowed her eyes.
“And at about ten feet… he wouldn’t have missed.” As the last coin fell into the cash box with a clink, he shifted his eyes up to regard her. “You may think you’re hot shit, but you’re just a seventeen-year-old with more balls than brains. You’re basically me at that age―with tits.”
Athena fidgeted and rested one hand on the edge of the counter. “Nice try, but I’m nineteen.” She showed off a strange metal holster that looked like her gun might fall out of it if she jumped. “Got a quickdraw rig. I’d have had him easy.”
“Except for the part where you broke eye contact. You kill anyone yet?”
“Yeah… of course.”
Kevin chuckled. “Outside of a car? I don’t mean lighting someone up with that .50 of yours. You ever look into a person’s eyes after you put a round through their heart, see the realization in their last two seconds of life spread across their face that they’re dead.”
“It’s not gonna work, pops. You’re not gonna scare me into going home and being a ‘good little girl.’” She threw herself onto a barstool and slapped the countertop. “Gimme a beer.”
“Not what I’m trying to do.” He filled a mason jar with some of Wayne’s homebrew. “Two.”
Athena fished out a pair of quarters and set them on the Formica. “So, what are you trying to do then?”
“I’m tryin’ not to have to carry your dumb dead ass out back and bury you.” He set the beer down and scooped the coins into his hand. “All I’m sayin’ is, don’t take stupid chances, and don’t look for fights where you don’t gotta have ’em. You run the road long enough, you’ll get more than you ever wanted.”
Athena rolled her eyes and took a sip. “I dunno how you can do it… just sit here.” She leaned back, closed her eyes, and smiled. “I can’t imagine being stuck in one place doing the same damn thin
g every day. I’m gonna be driving ’til I’m too old to walk.”
She really is just like I was.
Kevin glanced over his shoulder at a metallic thud from the back hallway. His expectation of seeing Tris soon after the roof hatch closed proved correct. She glided over and leaned against him. After a quick kiss, he looked at Athena again. “If it’s what’ll make you happy, go for it. Just remember, stupid equals dead.” His voice became Wayne’s in the back of his mind. “There’s a fine goddamn line between confidence and foolishness, and fools don’t live long.”
“Sure thing, gramps.” Athena winked. “Hey Tris.”
“Hey.” Tris leaned up and kissed him again on the lips. “There’s a problem.”
Kevin shot a look at a ragdoll in her hand. Oh shit. She wants a kid. “What kind of problem?”
Tris stuck the doll on the shelf behind the counter, under the panel full of room keys. “The electronics on the roof are almost sixty years old. All of it was manufactured before the war.”
“That’s bullshit.” Kevin glared at the ceiling. “They’re brand new… even had the plastic film on the solar plates.”
“They’re stamped.” Tris set her hands on her hips. “I’m not lying.”
“No… not callin’ bullshit on you… That Amarillo gave me salvage.”
Tris wiped her sooty hands off on a rag. “I don’t think any of it was used… probably sat around in a warehouse. I’m going to have to clean everything. It might not be a big deal that the stuff’s so old, but if we don’t deal with it now, it’s going to be a mess.”
Visions of roadhouse-in-flames danced across his mind. “Shit. Yeah.”
“Relax. I’ll get started on it after lunch, but it’ll take me a few days to go over them all.” She locked lips for a third time, wrists crossed behind his neck.
After a few minutes, the snap of a coin touching the counter made him look. Athena smirked at him.
The Redeemed Page 2
