The Redeemed

by Matthew S. Cox

  Fuck. Kevin clenched his fingers into the dry wooden box. “Just like Wayne.”

  Tris hooked the door handle with her shoe and pulled it open before kicking it to the side and ducking in. “Not quite. I mean, I only heard the last parts, but it didn’t sound like they even bothered to set up a fight. They just went in there shooting. And…”

  “Redeemed?” He followed her down the hall to the kitchen.

  She set the box of meat on a steel table in the middle, between two cutting boards. “I think so. Nash said they had a white fist on their jackets. Didn’t mention a sword but… I’m not sure I’d be too observant if I was being shot at.”

  Bee entered carrying a box of potatoes. Sang hurried over and began unpacking the meat box, sorting different cuts into piles.

  “Thanks, Sang, Bee.” Kevin gave them both curt nods. “Be right back with two more boxes of ’tatoes and a big can of oil.”

  “I got it, boss,” said Bee. “I don’t get tired.”

  He smiled at her.

  “Not bad. Not bad,” said Sang. “Fresh. This’ll last a good while.”

  As the old man loaded the working fridge with meat, Kevin headed across the hall to the office. The radio remained silent, though a somber gloom hung in the air. Tris came up behind him and clung.

  “And the bad news?” asked Kevin.

  She gestured at the computer equipment. “It’s dying. I can’t really tell how much longer it’s going to last. It could fail five minutes from now or five months from now, but it’s definitely on the way out.”

  “Shit.” He took a seat in the office chair and pulled her into his lap.

  “Amarillo didn’t say a damn word.” She glared at the radio. “Nash was screaming, and they just ignored him.”

  Kevin closed his eyes, offering a moment of silence to a fellow proprietor. “That’s not how they work. They usually don’t reply; they’ll post a bounty. The radio goes between ’houses. Not like all drivers hear that and help could’ve gotten there in time.” Yeah… we’re on our own. “They’re going to download the cam data and―”

  “What if it’s dead? How are they going to put a bounty on screen snow? Amarillo answered Gertrude the other night.”

  He swayed side to side with her, feeling a bit like a child with a teddy bear. His brain refused to accept everything he’d ever believed and worked for had all the substance of a rainbow. His beloved Code couldn’t be disintegrating. The Roadhouse network had been strong for years… maybe he’d taken too long to get on board? Wayne used to say everything ended sooner or later. Spend years busting my ass for a dream. Figures it takes a shit a couple months after I get here. He pulled Tris close and held her in silence for a while. Being with her tempered the crushing dread of his life’s ambition collapsing.

  “Word’ll get out. Someone’ll look to drag some Redeemed back to Amarillo for a reward.”

  She shifted her weight, lifting her head to stare into his eyes. “Do you really believe that?”

  Kevin glanced at the computer table, the workbench, the wall, and the door to the hallway. “I used to. Couple years ago, the ’house was like… I dunno. Like a crotchety old dad that wanted to do right by his son, but wouldn’t tolerate the tiniest bit of disrespect. I’ve seen grown men turn white in the face when they dented someone’s car by accident at a ’house.” He sighed. “‘Course, I don’t got any sort of idea what’s going on now.” He closed his eyes. She’s tougher than I am. I don’t need to bullshit her. “I’m worried.”

  “I know.” She patted his thigh. “You’ve been worried for a while. All your life, you’ve wanted this, and now that you have it, you’re afraid someone’s going to take it away.” Tris studied her shoes, legs swinging free like a little girl on a chair that didn’t let her feet reach the ground. “Since I’m not going to save the world, I guess I can settle for saving one roadhouse.”

  He opened his mouth to speak, but his brain struggled to come up with something comforting to say about the whole Virus thing.

  She flashed a playful grin before he could get a word out.

  They kissed.

  “Things are changing,” said Kevin. “Maybe I oughta see if Fitch and Neeley will hire on as security.”

  Tris feigned insult. “You don’t think I can handle it?”

  “Of course I do.” He pecked a kiss on the tip of her nose. “But you have to sleep.”

  A knock at the door broke the mood.

  Bee, her arms filled with a bundle of clothes and boots, peered in. “Hi, boss. I got them bodies cleaned up. What you want me to do with the remains?”

  Kevin lowered his forehead onto Tris’ shoulder, and laughed. “Finally, something feels normal.” Just like I’m back in Hagerman.

  oonlight streaming from the window made Tris’ bare skin glow, as though she’d become a creature of pure energy. Kevin arched his back, gripping her thighs while adding quick thrusts in time with her moving up and down on top of him. Her waist-long hair swayed side to side; her fingernails dug into his pectorals.

  He slid his hands up over her hips, along her prominent ribs, and cupped her breasts. She stifled a moan as he massaged her areolae, shuddering whenever his thumbnails grazed her nipples. As much as he tried to stay focused, every time he closed his eyes, he’d see Wayne lying dead or imaginary bikers kicking in his front door.

  “You’re not in the mood.” Tris sensed his… lack of focus, and slowed.

  “I am. I just… I know it’s been quiet for a bit, but―I can’t stop worrying. If anything happened to you…” He tried to tune out the world, staring at her face.

  She bent forward; their tongues entwined.

  The entirety of her engulfed his senses: from her sylph-like curves to the warmth of her skin, the scent of her being, the taste of her, everything. He surrendered to the moment, refusing to let dark thoughts cloud his mind. At his sudden re-inspiration, her eyes shot open.

  Gasping for breath, Tris slumped off him to the side and curled up to put her head on his shoulder. She stroked her fingers across his chest hair, her warm breaths puffing over him. He raised a leg to pull the sheet and blanket up to cover them both. She snuggled in closer.

  Kevin glanced to his right at the .45 within arm’s reach on the file cabinet turned nightstand. At least with Bee here, he felt more secure. She, it, or whatever, was like having a 24/7 employee that never had to sleep and didn’t even want to be paid. If anything happened in the middle of the night, the android would at least make enough noise to wake him.

  If nothing else, spending ten some odd years on the road taught him to sleep light.

  “So what’s really bothering you?” whispered Tris.

  He reached up and held her hand atop his chest. “Still have half a mind to shoot the sons of bitches what killed Wayne…”

  She shifted to look up at him.

  “Half a mind.” He smiled. “No idea who to even look for.”

  Tris laid her head back on his chest. “I understand.”

  “Wayne was like the asshole father I never had.” He tapped his foot on nothing. “Maybe more like the begrudging uncle. I’m still not sure why he decided to take me under his wing when I got it in my head to be a driver.”

  Eyes closed, she cuddled tight against him. “How’d that happen? That you wanted to drive.”

  “Guess ‘cause I’d been workin’ on machines for as long as I could hold onto a tool. Hemi did most of the fixin’ for the settlement before we left. After they took me in, he got to teaching me things. I think I might’ve been thirteen when I found this old e-conversion Impala. Thing was in such bad shape it took all four of my friends plus a horse to pull it back to town. Spent a couple years rebuilding it for fun. Almost burned down the work shack a few times.”

  Tris emitted a soft half-asleep chuckle.

  “Electrical fires suck.” He rocked his shoulders and settled into the mattress. The pocket of trapped air under the blanket reached perfect coziness. “Back then I had no idea
’bout roadhouses or anything. Driver came in to drop somethin’ off for Grizzle, guy who ran the only store in town. He made it sound like the kinda life a boy dreamed about. Freedom, adventure, playing with guns. Decided to take a stab at it when I turned seventeen. Hemi figured I’d be back in a couple days, but I guess I got lucky. First run, five cans of coffee. I pocketed almost 250 coins. Gave 200 to ‘Mom an’ Dad,’ and like magic, they both decided driving was good for me.”

  “Now you wanna stop getting shot at for a living?” muttered Tris, a hint of smile on her lips.

  “I ain’t seventeen no more.” He sighed. “Immortality doesn’t last forever.”

  She took almost a minute to reply, her voice slurred with tiredness. “If you had one wish, what would you use it on?”

  He rolled a heavy marble of thought around inside his skull for a few minutes. “Well… if you were an ordinary sort of woman, I might be tempted to wish that nothing ever hurt you.” He kissed the top of her head. “But, you’re actually kinda hard to kill. I think I’d wish for the Virus to stop. Oh hell. It’s a wish. I’d wish it never happened. The whole war.”

  Tris lifted her head again, tears in her eyes. She didn’t say a word, just stared at him with a heart-melting expression for a long moment before hugging him. He put an arm across her back, holding her. One of her tears trickled over the side of his neck.

  Soon, she slipped off to sleep, leaving him staring at the ceiling again. Too much went on out there for him to merely sit here and hope things sorted themselves out. Things never sort themselves out, said Wayne’s voice in his head. Sortin’ things out usually takes slappin’ idiots upside the head. Sometimes it takes shotguns.

  “Yeah, you’re right on that, old man,” whispered Kevin. “Maybe I should take a ride to Amarillo.”

  ate morning sun sent shimmering beams of dust particles among the tables. A murmuring din suffused the room from scattered conversations maneuvering around food. Two of the three drivers he’d sent on a run, Roy and Kira, quibbled about the payout… their buddy Pills didn’t come back. They didn’t seem too upset. Probably told him to get lost. Two tables over, a massive, dark-skinned man with black leather pants, armor-plated boots, and no shirt sat next to a giant sword. The guy reminded him of an old movie. Heh. Post-nuclear Conan.

  A large group from a bus packed all five tables nearest the window. Aside from his ‘escape from Chicago’ run, Kevin couldn’t recall ever seeing another functional bus. Apparently, this guy Darius and his sister Rebekah (with a K, as she’d pointed out at least six times during their conversation) found one and decided to start up a one-bus line, transporting people between settlements. Tall and lanky Darius had a complexion like creamed coffee. His sister, shorter by a full head, wore a huge mass of butt-length dreads and was perhaps the darkest-skinned person he’d ever met. Aside from her neurotic fixation on the spelling of her name, she struck him as one of those too-sweet people who’d be easy to take advantage of. Granted, her rapid retreat when Tris walked over and put an arm around him forced him to look away instead of laugh.

  He grinned at the almost-full room. I’m gonna have to hit Carver’s again soon. Has it already been a week? Contentment died a few seconds later when he wondered if any of these people might get it in their heads to thumb their noses at the Code. Wayne could’ve stared down anything without a scrap of worry showing on his face. Kevin thumbed the back end of the .45 on his belt, hoping he’d be fast enough.

  Tris had gone up to the roof again to double-check the panels. She’d mentioned something about the inverter worrying her, and wanted to make sure it didn’t burn out or worse―start a fire.

  Sang appeared in the kitchen pass-through, sliding a tray of plated fried potatoes toward him. “Too many order to cook at once. Rest be out in a few minutes.” He peered around. “Where’s Tris?”

  “On the roof.” He took the tray. “Something about AC from DC and lots of fire.”

  Sang’s grey-black caterpillar eyebrows shot up. “Oh. That does not sound good.”

  Bee retrieved the tray, smiled at Kevin, and headed over to the bus people.

  Kevin edged back from the counter, talking low so only Sang could hear. “Been some hardware issues at a couple of roadhouses lately. She’s triple-checking everything.”

  “Aye. Good idea.” Sang nodded. He patted the linoleum in the wall gap. “Ah well. Need more fries.”

  ‘Conan’ got up and approached the counter. Kevin didn’t bother to un-lean from the back wall, preferring a little distance.

  “Hey man. I hear you’re the one ta talk to ’bout movin’ stuff.”

  Despite his imposing pectorals, the man’s calm demeanor let Kevin relax. “That’s right.”

  “How’s this thing work?” Conan gestured around at nothing in particular.

  “Depends a bit on the circumstance, but usually the sender leaves the cargo here. I find a driver willin’ to take on the job. They bring said cargo to the destination, collect payment, and bring it back. I’d hold the coins ’til you come an’ get ’em. Cost for the run’s based on distance and danger. If you’re movin’ somethin’ everyone an’ their mother’s going to come after, it’ll cost more.”

  Conan leaned two meaty hands on the counter, tapping one finger for a little while in thought. “Got a guy in Glimmertown workin’ for me. Settin’ up a place. Found a stash of magic muscle powder.” He flexed his chest; muscles Kevin hadn’t known existed before undulated under the giant’s skin. “Need somethin’ the size o’ that bus ta move it all, and even that thing’d need a couple back and forths. Thing is, I know you gonna charge more an’ I got for movin’ that much right now. Lookin’ ta get an idea on cost. I’m takin’ couple bottles at a shot myself, but I’m getting all kinds-a nervous leavin’ the place empty with that much product sittin’ there.”

  Kevin raised an eyebrow. “Magic powder? Drugs usually cost more on account of risk.”

  Conan grinned. “Ain’t drugs. Pre-war muscle powder. Vitamins, protein… crap like that. Takin’ that stuff and keepin’ active’ll give you a body like this.” He pointed both thumbs at his chest.

  And who has time for that? He smiled. “Well… I can’t think of anyone runnin’ a big rig around here, at least one set up for cargo hauling.” He gestured at Darius and Rebekah. “They’ve got a bus, course they’re transporting people. Closest I can think of is a van. Couple of them out there. This guy Henley’s probably your best bet. Vans aren’t exactly nimble, but he’s got a pair of bikes riding escort. Only seen him down here twice in the past six months. Usually haunts Jenny’s ’house, on 90 east of Gilette.”

  Conan pursed his lips, apparently lost in thought for a few seconds. “So how’d that work?”

  Kevin moved away from the passé-plat as Bee came to collect the next plate of fries. “Well, you could go up there ask around for Henley… or I could put the word out on the Roadhouse net for him. Might cost a few more coins to have him come down here, but if you’ve got that much shit to move, and it turns into a regular sorta gig, they might not care.”

  “Aight.” Conan nodded. “Im’a head back an’ keep an eye on my stuff. You do that ‘puttin’ the word out’ thing, and I’ll be back in a couple days.”

  Kevin shook hands with the giant.

  Bee tottered over to the bar. “Need five beers, boss.” She dropped ten coins on the counter.

  He filled glasses, set them on a tray, and swept the coins into his hand as the android carried the drinks off. As sane and normal as this feels… why do I think something’s going to blow up?

  The door opened a few inches and stopped. He reached for his pistol, but relaxed when Athena pushed it in the rest of the way. He couldn’t help himself but grin at seeing her wearing the armored jacket he’d given her. His smile flattened as she approached, a little too stiffly, and a little too lacking in her usual attitude. The blonde ‘angel in white’ wore a face of determined calm, like she forced herself stoic.

  She reached the c
ounter and rested her left forearm across the edge. “Hey. Lemme get a burger, fries, beer, and a charge on number nine.”

  “Alright. Got the sack from the Spring Creek run?”

  “Oh. Yeah.” She gripped the counter edge while slipping her right hand into the armored jacket and extracting a dingy cloth pouch. The clatter of coins attracted a few curious glances from the room, but nothing severe enough to get Kevin on edge. “There. Twenty like you said, right?”

  “Right. This is for the job. ’Nother ten for food an’ charge.”

  She swung her right arm back and forced her hand into the pocket of her tight white jeans. “Ten’s a little steep, ain’t it?”

  “Fries are three now. Demand.” He winked.

  She closed her eyes, letting the counter hold her upright while picking a bunch of nickels and pennies out of her pocket and dropping them one after the next on the wood.

  “Something wrong, kid?”

  Her right eye opened a sliver. “Other than getting gouged on potatoes and you calling me ‘kid,’ no.”

  He stared at her chest, specifically at the dark grey scuff two inches outside and south of her left breast on the white jacket. Kevin smacked his lips, looked down, and counted the coins into his waiting palm by sliding them off the counter two at a time. “How bad is it?”

  “What?” She leaned both arms, crossed, against the bar.

  “That bullet you took.” He gestured at the scuff.

  A little trace of her usual pride returned, though she broke eye contact first. “Lucky ricochet. I’m okay.”

  He smirked, feeling the echo of a handful of similar past wounds. “Want someone to check it? Sang’s got some experience with that sorta thing. Used to be a medic for his village. Probably where he learned how to work a knife.”

  Athena raised a hand. “I’m good.”

  Kevin put two coins back on the counter. “Humor an old man?”

  “Thought you had a chick?”

  He smirked. “I’m not tryin’ ta see your tits. You look like you can barely move. I’d feel all sorts of bad if you died in your sleep in my roadhouse.”