One More Run (Roadhouse Chronicles Book 1)

by Matthew S. Cox

  A few patrons glanced at the entrance.

  “Help! Please, someone!” screamed the same girl. “Let me go!”

  Men snarled and grumbled. The door opened with a crash, revealing the steel-toed boot that had kicked it. Kevin stared over the bun at the mirror behind the counter. Everyone had turned to look, except Wayne, who didn’t seem to care much about the ruckus beyond frowning at the man who’d punted the door.

  Three men dressed in a random assemblage of mismatched garments loped in. Tee shirts, army coats, jeans, camo pants, and road dust covered them. Two carried a squirming, bound woman in a clean black jumpsuit as if she were a bundled carpet. Long, pure white hair waved about as she fought to get free. She had a lithe, delicate build, and seemed young―between seventeen and twenty. Cloud-white hands, tied behind her back, peeked out every few seconds as she futilely tried to grab her abductors. Her outfit looked far too clean to have been outside long.

  Kevin returned his attention to the food and took a bite. The room went back to what they were doing as well. Wayne pulled the journal away, flipping it around. “Looks like one of the moles poked her head out.”

  “I heard them moles is pale, but damn.” Kevin finished chewing. “What you figure’s goin’ on there?”

  Wayne flashed an appraising smirk. “Don’t know. Don’t care so long as they don’t break any o’ my shit.”

  “Surprised the News didn’t try to poach the bounty.” Kevin took another bite of the burger. “Got any jobs waitin’?”

  “Three on four ain’t the kinda odds the News like ta pick.” Wayne leaned on the bar and offered an expression of sincerity. “You might wanna do more than one run, kid. You spend all your bits on a Roadhouse up north, you won’t have anything left to buy stock. Gonna make for some real lean times if all you got ta sell is chargin’.”

  The woman groaned and grunted; scuffing wood added to the din.

  “I got a damn trailer full of crap to sell.”

  “What about food? People come here more to eat than anything else.” Wayne un-leaned from the counter and snapped the book shut. He started to say something to Kevin, but looked up as the girl’s pleading and cursing ended with the slam of a sliding chair. “Hey, easy on the furniture.”

  “Decent burger. Scav the meat yourself?”

  “Yep. Picked it out of my grille yesterday.” Wayne winked. “I’ll add this ta yer balance.” He pocketed his part of Kevin’s money and re-bagged the remaining eighty-seven coins. He tossed it up and caught it. “Nah, few young bloods sell what they find on the short runs. Lot of dust-hoppers a little ways west.”

  Kevin lifted the burger to his mouth again; the scent of barbecue sauce and six different forms of road kill ground together swirled in his nostrils. He glanced over the bun at the mirror behind the bar. Wayne and his mirrors. The newcomers had taken a table in the back, near a small corridor that led to the bathrooms. He shuddered. The bathrooms of Wayne’s Roadhouse were truly a haven for the desperate. Even Bee refused to clean them, and she had no sense of smell. The android wobbled up to the edge of the newcomers’ table, taking orders while the captive squirmed. One man on either side kept the woman trapped behind the table in a corner seat. Snowy hair hid her face, save for the point of a delicate nose.

  “Someone help!” She wailed. “I’m being kidnapped!”

  “Don’t forget the solar array.” Wayne clucked his tongue. “Pays for itself in a couple months. Amarillo’s the only place ta even get a decent set.”

  “Notice I’m aiming for ten grand?” Kevin sighed. “Most of that is the freakin’ panels.”

  “Please… anyone,” cried the woman.

  Wayne carried the money into the back past the curtain.

  Her captors, and everyone else in the bar, ignored her. Kevin added a fry to his next bite, savoring the taste of meat mixed with potato. Wayne knew his way around the grill all right. Somewhere down in the basement, the old man had a safe―supposedly past a half-dozen autoturrets programmed to incinerate anyone but him. It’d be damn inconvenient if Wayne died. Since banks hadn’t existed for fifty-some-odd years, it beat carrying thousands of coins around.

  Kevin dipped his fingers in a bowl of pepper, dusting the fries before eating two more. Bee wobbled past him, trays clattering, and dropped off food at the table. The men attacked their meals with wild abandon.

  “How can you all just ignore me?” yelled the bound girl. “Please, someone… they’re going to kill me.” She strained and writhed.

  No one moved.

  Kevin swabbed some of the meat juice off his plate with a fry, before tossing the soggy thing into his mouth. A few minutes later, Wayne emerged and resumed his place behind the counter. The girl attempted to stand, but the man to her left shoved her down none too gently.

  “Hey! I said watch the furniture.” Wayne’s shout echoed over silence for a short while before the din returned.

  The woman gave him a dire look; the pointing finger seemed to blame her for being rough with the chair. “Please, someone, help. Many people will die if I fail.” She set about trying to wrench her hands free for a little while before giving up with a fatigued sigh. “Someone…” Her voice fell to a tiny whisper. “Please don’t let them rape me!”

  One man in the back yawned. Someone farted. Wayne went over to check the lock on the roll top door protecting his gun & armor booth from casual shoplifters.

  “Damn fine burger, Wayne.” Kevin popped the last hunk in his mouth, using the one remaining fry to absorb as much liquid as he could from the plate. “Lemme get another brew?”

  “I’ll give a thousand coins to whoever helps me.” The white-haired girl sniffled.

  “Bah, you ain’t got that kinda cash,” said a deep male voice to the right.

  The room got quiet for about four seconds. Her three captors looked up, ready for a throw-down, but no one moved. Soon, the din resumed and they returned their attention to their meals. Kevin ate the last fry, and wiped two spots of burger juice from his armored jacket before licking his finger. The woman tried to get out of her chair again, and one of the men pushed her back down. Wayne came by with another mason jar filled with homemade beer as Bee collected the empty plate. Kevin glanced into the opaque amber liquid. His gaze flicked up at the mirror’s view of the room behind him. The girl made eye contact with him in the reflection. He lifted an eyebrow at her.

  “You put honey in this, Wayne?”

  “Found a bit, yeah.” The older man chuckled. “Some guy put it up for transport, but got himself dead. Spoils of war.”

  She pouted at the table. “At least let me have some foo―”

  Kevin kicked off the counter, rotating on the spinning barstool while drawing his steel-grey 1911. His first shot hit the right-side man in the neck, spattering the wall red. The second caught the left-side man in the lower chest as he started to get out of his chair, turning a lunge into an ungainly face plant. Kevin slid off the cushion as soon as he faced the back corner. His feet hit the ground, and he raised his pistol higher; the third man’s turned back afforded him the time to aim for the head. Bullet number three flung a corpse across the table and seasoned the food with brain bits.

  “Damn waste of eats,” said a voice off to Kevin’s left.

  “I’d still eat it,” wheezed an old-sounding voice.

  “Nasty mother of a dust hopper,” muttered Wayne.

  A half dozen others had weapons drawn, aiming randomly. When Kevin let his arm drop, the slow process of relaxing started.

  “S’only brain and blood. Ya’veet worse afore,” replied a gurgling female.

  The pale white-haired woman drew her knees up, cowering away from the split-open skull in front of her. She looked at the floor to her right and trembled, turning wide, innocent eyes up at Kevin. He approached, holstering his 1911 before crouching to check her captors’ possessions.

  “Hey, what do you think you’re doin’ there?” shouted Wayne.

  Kevin grumbled. “Come on,
man, I’m getting low on .45.”

  “Anyone dies in here, their shit is mine. You know the rules. Someday, you’ll be takin’ advantage o’ that part of the Code. Bee, clean that up.”

  “Yeah… yeah.” Kevin sighed.

  The android grabbed a rag. “Sure thing, boss.”

  The woman, cringing from the gore, scooted closer to Kevin. “So, that’s what it takes to get a man to do the decent thing? Money?”

  Kevin wandered back to the bar. “I wanted to finish my burger first.”

  “Hey.” She squirmed as if to remind him she was bound hand and foot. “Little help?”

  “I just gave you a little help.” He lowered himself onto the same stool he’d vacated, and removed the magazine from his pistol. “Crap, Wayne, I only got three left. You got any .45 in stock?”

  “Eighteen. Three coins apiece.”

  Kevin grumbled. “That’s robbery, and you know it. I got some .40 cal I can’t use. Trade?”

  “I’ll have to see the trade, make sure it ain’t too old to work.”

  The girl wobbled to her feet and hopped over to the bar.

  “It ain’t as old as you are.” Kevin winked and took a sip of the beer. “The rounds have scratchings. Ween’s work. Less than four months ago.”

  “That crazy old fucker on the houseboat?” Wayne laughed. “I thought he bit it a year ago.”

  “Hey, whatever your name is…” The white-haired woman bounced closer; her hair danced at her beltline. “How ‘bout untying me?”

  Kevin glanced sideways at her. “No problem. How ‘bout that thousand coins?”

  She bit her lip. Her black jumpsuit rustled as she squirmed. “It’s not actually on me, but I can get it once I get where I’m going.”

  Wayne chuckled. “At least she’s original.”

  “Now ain’t that convenient.” Kevin slid the magazine back into his .45 with a click.

  “I’m not lying. I have something very important that’s gotta get to Harrisburg. There are people there who will pay you for getting me there safe.”

  The room went quiet at the name.

  Kevin chuckled and took another sip. “Oh, so you want to hire a driver to take you all the way to Harrisburg? I usually charge a thousand coins to drive a third of that distance. The area ‘round Pitts ain’t no joke.”

  A few others in the room joined in his amusement. Bee swayed by with a basin full of guns, knives, and other random items, which she carried into the back room.

  “Yeah, okay. I want to hire you to take me to Harrisburg.”

  Kevin looked her up and down before he searched all eight pockets of her jumpsuit. An odd scent clung to her, somewhere between clean and chemical. She tried to wriggle away, but didn’t get far. “You ain’t got a damn thing to pay me with ‘cept the usual. You’re pretty cute”―he patted her on the cheek―“but you ain’t thousand-coins-a-fuck cute. Can probably sell you for twice that to some Wilders down in old Mex.”

  “Bet’cha get two grand for her in Glimmertown,” said a gurgling middle-aged woman in an armored vest made of steel belted radials. She toasted him with a half-full mason jar and took a healthy swig.

  “Naw, more like 1800,” mumbled Wayne.

  Kevin took a sip of his beer as she shivered. “Lucky for you, I don’t believe in slavery.”

  She sagged, sighing with relief. “Look, I know you probably don’t trust me, but there’s a doctor expecting me in Harrisburg. He can give you a thousand coins, I swear. Maybe more.”

  “Harrisburg’s a long way from here,” said Wayne. “Most drivers’d charge least five or six grand to go all that way.” He clapped Kevin on the shoulder. “That would take care of that little nest egg you’d be needin’ to set up yer own Roadhouse. Course, Kevin’ ain’t gonna wanna go anywhere near a population center. He’s got a thing ‘bout Infected.”

  “Who the hell doesn’t?” yelled a man.

  “Heh.” Half of Kevin’s mouth smiled as he sipped his beer. “How do I know you’re not takin’ me into some kind of ambush? I’m too damn close to retiring to take stupid chances.”

  Gem-blue eyes widened as she made her most earnest ‘trust me’ face. She added a little whine and bounce. Bee tottered by with a bundle of clothes, setting them on the counter. With a towel from her apron, she dabbed blood from the girl’s cheek. Unable to resist, the woman tolerated it, cringing away from three naked dead men on the floor. Once satisfied she’d gotten all the blood off the girl, Bee walked across the room to the dead, grabbed the first corpse by the leg, and dragged him out the back.

  “Nice try. I fell for that look once. Woke up bare-ass in the desert wrapped around a cactus, minus one pickup truck and all my gear.” Kevin drained the beer and slammed the mason jar down. “That ain’t happening again.”

  Wayne chuckled. “Did you ever find that bitch?”

  “Nope.” Kevin got up and tromped toward the exit.

  “Hey, you can’t leave me tied up like this! Come on.” She hopped to face him as he went by.

  He didn’t react, heading outside to the Challenger.

  he white-haired woman slumped against the counter, eyeing the patrons and trembling. All efforts to catch Wayne’s attention failed as he seemed to make it a point not to even look at her. An attempt to glare the rope off her ankles failed as the room returned to the usual din. The regulars didn’t try to hide their conversations about if she’d become Wayne’s property, Kevin’s property, or ripe for the taking. Some seemed hesitant to risk tangling with whoever might still be chasing her. She stared at the door, pondering hopping outside, but decided against it. Wayne ambled by, once more ignoring her. She bent forward, wringing her wrists around, but the rope proved too tight, and her skin too sore. A glint of metal caught her eye from a knife on the floor under the bloody table.

  Cord bit into her ankles each time her weight came down as she hopped back across the barroom. Once close enough, she squatted and let gravity take her sideways. After rolling onto her belly, she wriggled between two chairs and reached out for the utensil. Bee tottered up alongside and worked a rag around the tabletop overhead. Two fingers touched the knife and got it a few inches off the ground, but the greasy metal slipped loose and hit the floor with a clatter.

  “Oh, dear.” Bee stooped to pick it up. “This’ll need to be washed.”

  “Hey!” yelled the girl. “Cut me loose?”

  Bee shifted to stare at the bar, but Wayne wasn’t there. “I must ask permission.”

  The woman growled. “Someone? Anyone? Please help!”

  When no one acknowledged her, she scrunched around and tried to grab the rope between her ankles. The more she fought, the tighter the rope felt. Soft grunts escaped past clenched teeth. She bit her lip as one finger teased at a knot. Feeling trapped and helpless, she sagged limp and out of breath.

  “Wayne?” she asked, voice raised. She shifted onto her knees and threw her weight back, managing to get on her feet without falling. “Hey… Wayne?”

  After a minute of staring at the empty bar, her eyes lit up with hope when Kevin returned, carrying an improvised cloth pouch. Shoulder-length light brown hair lofted from his brisk stride. He returned to where he’d been sitting, slapped a hand on the bar twice, and Wayne re-emerged from a curtained doorway.

  He’s gotta help me. He’s not like rest of these people.

  She bounced across the room again, stopping a few feet away, tired and disheveled from her futile battle for freedom.

  evin set the bag of bullets down and pushed it like a stack of poker chips across the bar. “Twenty-six .40 cal. Trade you for the eighteen .45 rounds.”

  Wayne picked open the bundle, holding up each bullet in turn as if examining diamonds. He dropped the last one into the batch with a click. “Fine.”

  Kevin folded one arm across his chest, bracing his elbow in his palm and picking at his lip while staring at the woman. I’m an idiot for even considering trusting this bitch, but a thousand coins would do the trick an
d then some. After a pregnant pause, he sighed. “Alright, suppose I do get your ass to Harrisburg. You think your doctor buddy will pay two thousand?”

  She looked up at him like a child given a pony for her birthday. “I’m sure he would. You don’t know how many lives you’re going to save.”

  Wayne handed him back the pouch, a change in shape indicating fewer, heavier bullets. Kevin peeked, earning a smirk.

  “What? You’re the guy that told me never to take anything on faith.”

  “True.” Wayne grinned. “Thought you’d forgotten that when you lost the Marauder.”

  Kevin’s eyes burned. “I miss that damn truck. Two inches of armor and a rotating turret.”

  “You gonna plate up your new one?” Wayne gathered the empty mason jar mugs. “Guess not till it gets shot up a bit, awful pretty machine.”

  “I dunno. I’m kind of liking being fast and agile.” Kevin went for the door. “Alright, come on.”

  The girl hopped twice, lost her balance, and fell to her knees. When Kevin didn’t stop, she yelled, “Hey, come on. You can’t leave me tied up.”

  “Sure I can. It’s easy. All I have to do is”―he opened his mouth with a mild gasp, feigning shock―“not untie you.”

  She wobbled back to her feet as he reached the door and fell again after one more hop. “Ow.” She whined, and sniffled as if about to burst into tears.

  Goddammit. “I’m not going to carry you.”

  The woman attempted to get back on her feet and fell flat on her chest. She rolled side to side for a few seconds and thrashed before sniveling. He tromped back over and shook his head. She whimpered. Kevin lifted her by a hand under each arm and set her on the nearest barstool. When he pulled a knife from his belt, she smiled and spun so her back faced him.

  “Thank you.” She tensed her arms.

  Kevin pulled her around to face him and sawed the cord binding her legs. Her black shoes were heavy like boots, but short enough to expose bare ankles rubbed raw. He blinked at her, wondering how skin could turn that white. He hadn’t seen anything that color since he’d found a few packs of old copier paper in a sealed cabinet. That had been a nice little payday.