One round to the head.
He took a few steps closer, frowning at the battery fluid pouring in four piss-streams onto the pavement. The M60 had shredded the rear drive wheel and the power cell. He’d need a truck or van to salvage the bike, and he had neither that nor the time.
“You’re pretty good at that.” Tris walked up behind him. “Hitting the head.”
“I hate Infected.”
She set off in the direction of the other man. “You know that’s a myth, right? Infected are still alive. Shooting them in the heart works fine.”
“Yeah… yeah.” He stooped to collect a Ruger Super Redhawk in .44 magnum. Much to his disappointment, the bullets looked plain. An idiot then. “Well, that’ll pay for the ammo I burned on your dumb ass.”
He searched the man, collecting nineteen rounds of .44 ammo, a decent sized handful of coins, two knives, and a hip flask. He stood, tucked the Ruger in his belt, and opened the bottle to sniff. Whiskey. He took a small sip, enough to taste but not feel. Fire swam down his throat.
“I got lucky,” said Tris. “Other guy had an Uzi. More nine-mil ammo.” She wagged a long box magazine at him. “And a spare. Thirty rounds plus whatever’s still in the gun.”
He glanced at her, noting a leather jacket bundled around a pair of boots under her left arm.
“Not gonna take the clothes?” Tris raised an eyebrow. “Other one’s shirt and pants were a bloody mess. Looks like you got three rounds on him. One went through the gas tank and caught him in the dick.”
Kevin winced. “Nah. I ain’t desperate enough to take a man’s clothes.”
“Can sell them to Wayne.”
“Snort?” He offered her a drink.
Tris stuck the Uzi magazine into the bundle and took the flask. She tilted it back, swallowed, and returned it. “Not bad.”
One… two…
Her eyes widened and she coughed. “Okay. Little kick.”
“Heh. You want his pants, you take ‘em.” He hustled to the car and set the Ruger and other loot in the back seat. “Fuckin’ primer.”
Kevin found random things to look at while Tris relieved the other biker of his boots, and jacket. Impatient, he drummed his fingers on the wheel until she threw the clothes in the back seat on her side and jumped in.
“What’s with the look?” Tris pulled her door shut with a heavy thud. “Those jackets alone will pay for a meal… unless you wanna wear one.”
“Nah. Got a thing ‘bout wearing a dead man’s stuff. Besides. I like mine.” He tugged at the nonexistent lapels of his armored jacket. “It’s one of a kind.”
Tris settled down in her seat. She slid one hand under her hair and rubbed the side of her head, below her left ear. He lost a few seconds staring into space, listening to a barely audible hum from the electronics in the dash.
Kevin spun the wheel all the way right and backed around in a half circle. When the car faced north again, he stopped. “S’pose you are too.”
bout two hours after sundown, Kevin headed down an off-ramp toward a cluster of lights that hinted at the shape of a small community. He dropped below thirty as the road went from smashed paving to even rougher dirt. Dim spots on the ground ahead from the feeble headlights warned him of potholes, but only with enough time to brace for impact.
“Skimped on the lights too?” Tris yawned, but didn’t bother sitting up from the ball she’d compacted herself into. “I thought Glimmertown would be… brighter.”
“This ain’t Glimmertown. Place is called Cortez. Bunch of settlers. Beats spending a night out in the open.”
She flashed a whimsical grin. “Are you still worried I’m going to steal your car?”
“No.” He smiled at her. “But you’re not the only one out here.”
Buildings, by looks made from box trucks or old semi trailers, stood on either side of a central ‘street,’ a strip of dirt that seemed to exist as a road more as a product of circumstance than a deliberate attempt to make a place to drive. A handful of steel camper trailers filled in some spaces behind the trucks, among a couple of hand-built shacks. Eight children, ranging in age from five or six to early teens, came out of nowhere and ran alongside the car. All wore handmade clothes, and several were shirtless. Between their youth and long, wild hair, he couldn’t tell boy from girl in the dark.
Three adults in long-sleeved flannel shirts and jeans approached after he came to a halt at what appeared to be a central crossroads, where an east-west stretch of path led away from the ‘main drag.’ An older-looking man with a white beard and two women who may have been his daughters clutched hunting rifles, aimed low and to the side. The man lifted the brim of a camo baseball cap and studied the car.
A muffled mechanical whine emanated from the door as Kevin rolled down his window. A small pair of dark-skinned hands grabbed the edge and a little boy stuck his head in, gawking at the lit-up console. More curious faces appeared in Tris’s window, ogling the car. She seemed nervous, and stared at them.
“Evenin’ all,” said Kevin.
“Howdy,” said the man. He stooped to peer in at Tris and nodded in greeting. “Miss.” His gaze shifted back to Kevin. “What ya lookin’ for, son?”
“Hoping you had a bed for rent, maybe a charge and some food.”
Tris yelped. Kevin looked over. A child’s face occupied the entirety of the targeting screen, warped by the girl’s proximity to the lens. She seemed to have mistaken the camera lens for a peephole. He couldn’t help himself at Tris’s reaction, and laughed.
“Kids terrify me too.” He winked.
She scowled. The four children at her window smiled.
“Think we can help ya out. You got any tradin’?” asked the old man.
The women behind him relaxed their stance. Tris rolled down her window and let the little ones lean in. One boy reached up and touched her hair. The others seemed mesmerized by the lights on the console. The maybe five-year-old behind the car gave up on checking out the camera and climbed onto the trunk. She bounced a few times before walking up the rear window to the roof.
“Gabby, get down from there.” The woman to the old man’s left slung her rifle over her shoulder and walked up to the car, reaching for the roof. “Sorry, she’s a handful.”
Childish giggling rang out overhead. The woman collected the girl, who waved at Kevin before being carried a few steps away and set on her feet.
“I think we can ‘comma-date yas.” The man pointed west. “You read?”
Kevin nodded.
“Stop at the place wit’ the sign what reads ‘Billy’s.’ I’ll be along in a tick.” The old man backed away. “‘Mon, kids. Git ‘way from the car.”
Once the children gave him some space, Kevin tapped the accelerator and turned left. The eighth building on the right looked like it had been an automotive service place before the war. With a forest of solar panels on the roof, it now probably served as the town’s source of power. He stopped half in the driveway, eyeing three garage doors. Tris stared into the dark.
“What’s got you so nervous?”
“I’m waiting for someone to try and grab me.” She seemed unable to let go of the door handle.
“These people are friendly. They ain’t gonna grab you.”
Tris stared at him. “Try spending a couple days out here with a pair of tits and see how you feel. Everyone looks at me like… Well. Like you know.”
Kevin raised an eyebrow. “So you do have emotion.”
She sighed. “Go to hell.”
“We’re already there.” He winked.
“Yeah… That’s what I’m afraid of.”
At the scuff of the old man’s boots on dirt, she startled and whipped her head to the right to watch him pass. He drifted out of the ‘road,’ and walked in front of the car, gesturing at the leftmost garage door. Kevin pulled up to the indicated lane and waited while the elder went inside. Soon, the door rattled its way upward. Once it got high enough to clear, he pulled into the service ba
y, straddling an open pit in the floor.
Clattering resonated in the air. The old man worked a chain hand-over-hand to close the door. Both spaces to the right were empty of cars, but cluttered with an assortment of ancient automotive diagnostic machines, air compressors, and tools. Kevin shut the Challenger down and got out.
“Appreciate the parking spot.” He looked around for a socket. “Where do I plug it in?”
“Name’s Brian,” said the old man, approaching with an extended hand.
“Kevin.” He accepted the shake.
“Underneath in the pit, front wall.”
Kevin walked around the nose end of the car and opened the charging port before crouching to peer under the bumper. An old oil cart sat in the pit beneath the Challenger, littered with cylindrical filters and tools. Cracking rubber pads lined the floor, curled and skewed, and a narrow passage near the door side connected to the other two pits. The charging port sat on the wall two feet below his left boot. He lay flat on his chest and stretched to plug in. After a bit of grunting and wriggling, the prongs snapped in, and a chirp from overhead indicated a good connection. Cobalt blue light bathed him from above as the enormous battery went into charging mode.
Brian offered him a hand up. “Once you’re settled in, I’ll send food. Not rightly sure what Jean made though.”
“Doesn’t matter. Food’s food.” Kevin stuffed his hand in his jacket pocket, where he’d stashed the dead biker’s coins. “What do I owe ya?”
Brian raised both eyebrows at Tris as she trudged over, arms folded tight across her front. He seemed to be staring at the katana. “You folks in trouble or somethin’?”
“Nah. Runnin’ a shipment north ta some collector type offa route six. An old book.”
Tris narrowed her eyes.
“Ahh. Hell of a thing to risk travel for.” The elder smiled. “How’s six coins sound? Prefer if ya got somethin’ to trade. Ain’t got much use for metal chips out here.”
“Six is fair.” Kevin sifted six quarters out of the handful. He liked getting rid of the big, heavy ones. “Not much else I got you’d be wanting.”
“Leather jackets?” asked Tris. “Only two bullet holes.”
Brian chuckled. “Let’s ‘ave a look.”
She fetched the jackets from the car and held them up. Brian looked them over.
“Take both of ‘em instead?”
Kevin pursed his lips. “Could get five coins for one.”
“Aye, ya might.” Brian smiled. “Throw in a hot bath and breakfast?”
Tris stared at Kevin.
“Okay.” He let the quarters roll down his finger into the pocket.
“Pleasure.” Brian took the coats. “‘Mon inside. I’ll show ya to the guest room.”
Kevin followed the old man through a door in the back of the service area, which led to what had once been an office. From there, a flight of stairs led to a second-floor apartment full of clutter. A timid-looking black-haired girl of about eleven sat cross-legged on a ratty couch with a book in her lap, wearing a dress made from an adult’s tee shirt. She twisted around as they passed, peering over the back of the sofa at them. Two women, one Brian’s age and one in her later twenties, sat facing each other at a small table in the kitchen. Both offered pleasant looks. Brian crossed the living room and entered a narrow hallway. He walked all the way to the end, where three doors surrounded him.
“Straight ahead door is the bathroom. I’ll see about some hot water. Trade’s good for one batch, so’s ya can share it or take turns. Up ta you.” Brian pushed open the door to the right. “Kin sleep in here.”
Kevin shook Brian’s hand again. “Thanks.”
The older man nodded and went to the kitchen. Kevin stepped past the doorway, holding it for Tris to follow. The size of the old bed and military aircraft posters on the wall implied the former owner had been a boy.
Tris paused by a dresser full of little league trophies, examining them with a somber expression. “I wonder if he survived.” She slipped around him and took a seat on the end of the bed. “Poor kid, he must’ve been terrified.”
Kevin approached the dresser. All of the trophies had the name ‘Brian Werner’ engraved on them, and seemed to be from third or fourth grade. He held one up for Tris to see. “I think he made it.”
She chuckled. “What are the odds it’s the same Brian?”
“I dunno.” He dropped the plaque back where he found it. “If he was nine or ten when the war happened, he’d be in his early sixties now. Could be.”
“Umm, hello?” asked a child’s voice. The girl from the sofa leaned in, using one bare foot to push the door open wider. She carried a green bowl in each hand, filled with some manner of stew and a protruding spoon handle. “Gran’pa asked me to bring you food.”
Kevin waved her in and sat on the edge of the bed. “Thanks, kid.”
“Hannah.” The girl walked up to the bed and handed the bowls over, staring at Tris.
A scent reminiscent of gumbo with sausage absorbed his attention. Six spoonfuls later, he looked up at the child, who remained in the same spot, toes clenching and releasing the rug. Her tee shirt dress looked at least three times her age, patched, sewn, and re-patched. Though she had the disheveled appearance common to settlers, she seemed healthy enough.
“What’s on your mind, girl?” asked Kevin.
Hanna tilted her head to the right. “Why is her hair white and she’s not old?”
Tris smiled. “It’s always been this color. I don’t know why.”
“Same reason yours is black.” Kevin winked.
“I’ve seen lots of people with black hair, but no one ever has white hair.” Hanna took a step back. “Did you grow up near radiation?”
Tris shook her head. “Nope.”
“Hannah,” yelled a woman. “Stop bothering our guests.”
“I gotta go.” Hannah backed up to the door, where she lingered for a few more seconds before darting out of sight.
An older woman leaned in and smiled. “Sorry about that. She’s curious, like her mama was at that age.”
Kevin waved her off. “No problem. I don’t know what this is, but I’d drive for a week to have another bowl.”
“Oh, you.” The woman winked. “You’re too kind. Ain’t nothin’ but an old recipe of mine. Brian’s sick to tears of it.”
“Impossible.” Kevin scraped at the bowl.
“Well, you let me know if you need anything. I’m Jean. My daughter’s Caitlin.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” Kevin bowed his head.
A minute or so after Jean walked off, Tris looked at him. “You’re not at all worried?”
“Nope. Most people are pretty friendly. Wayne says it’s like it was hundreds of years before the war, when horses were still how most got around. People were a lot nicer t’each other back then.”
“I’ve seen historical documentaries about the Wildlands when I was in school. I know what happens to women out here.” She shivered. “They’re probably acting nice until we’re asleep. That girl is creepy. I bet she tries to cut my throat in the middle of the night.” Her eyes shot open wide. “Oh, no! What if this is people we’re eating?”
Kevin smirked. “What ‘historical documentaries’ did you see?”
Tris glanced up in thought for a second. “Umm, Mad Max, Damnation Alley, Cyborg, and Escape from New York.”
He burst out laughing.
Tris scowled. “What?”
Tears flowed out of his eyes. He cradled the precious bowl so he didn’t drop it until he got control of himself. “Historical documentaries? Really?”
She growled. “What!”
“Those are old-ass movies. Fiction. Pre-war stuff making up what it would be like after a nuclear war.”
“Doctor Gaurav said the Enclave had surveillance drones out in the Wildlands, and they recorded those images.”
“Holy shit.” Kevin leaned forward, still chuckling. “Tris, it’s bullshit. Have you ever heard
of Hollywood?”
She stirred her food. “Yeah. It was one of the first major population centers struck by nuclear weapons. The enemies of the old United States attacked it as a symbolic gesture against capitalism and Western ideals.”
“Right. Do you know why they felt that way?”
Tris squinted.
“They made movies there. All those ‘documentaries’ they showed you are fictional. None of it is real. Humans don’t all degenerate into mindless savages the instant there’s no longer organized law. Where do you think organized law came from in the first place?”
She stared at the rug. “Umm…”
“There’s something about disasters and living with the constant threat of imminent death. It awakens some instinctual need for people to come together and help each other. Most settlers you run into out here are good people.”
“I’m not sure I believe you.” She sniffed a spoonful of stew. “Why would the Enclave lie about that?”
“If you have to ask that, you’re a lot more clueless than I gave you credit for.”
A knock at the door preceded Brian peeking in. “Bath’s hot.”
Kevin glanced at her. “You go first.”
She smiled for a few seconds before nervousness overwhelmed her.
“Course, if you don’t want to be alone.”
Tris made her sad-eyes at him and looked back and forth from him to the door. “If you want.”
“Do you?” He smiled. “It’s been a little while for me. I might touch something I’m not supposed to.”
Her cheeks and nose went from porcelain to pink. “I trust you.”
Well, shit… she’s offering. Who am I to say no? “Lead on.”
He stood, shrugged out of his armored jacket, and removed his boots. Tris kicked her shoes off and padded out the door. The bathroom, two steps from the bedroom, had already filled with steam. He followed her in and nudged the door closed before locking it. Tris pulled the leather shirt off over her head, causing a cascade of cottony white hair to spill down over her back. Kevin set his .45 atop the toilet tank in easy reach of the bathtub and pulled his shirt off as Tris worked her way out of her jeans, pushing them and her panties down at the same time.
One More Run (Roadhouse Chronicles Book 1) Page 13
