One More Run (Roadhouse Chronicles Book 1)

by Matthew S. Cox

  Tris followed her as she hooked a right turn between a pair of rotting buses. “Seems like a bad way to get new customers. You sure they won’t try talking first?”

  “Not to you. You’re like stupid hot. Crazy white bitch, beyond white. They’ll try to sell you to Neon, like that other chick.” The girl stopped at the front end of the bus, holding on to the metal to support herself as she peered past it. “Shh. He’s right over there.”

  Tris wagged the Beretta.

  Stacy grumbled, still scowling, as she trudged across a field of loose gravel. Four parallel sets of train tracks filled a wide channel between two sections of rebuilt city. Metal creaked and whined in all directions, keeping time with the rise and fall of a breeze. About a hundred yards ahead on the far side of the rails, Kevin lay in a pile of weeds and trash against a slatted chain link fence.

  Shit! Tris grabbed Stacy’s right wrist and pulled her up to a sprint. The girl stumbled on the rails, but didn’t fall. Once they reached open gravel, she set her heels, though Tris dragged her along anyway. A few steps from Kevin, she shoved the girl to the ground. Stacy scooted away and cowered with her back to the fence.

  “Don’t move.” Tris aimed at her for a second, before guilt and worry overwhelmed her caution. She hurried to his side and took a knee. Blood oozed from his nostrils, mouth, and a cut on his forehead. “Kevin?”

  After transferring the gun to her left hand, she felt for a pulse. The instant she sensed one, he groaned. Tris let her head sag with relief.

  Scratch.

  The gravel shifted to her left. A blur of motion got her attention and her hand flew up to intercept something coming for her face. With a slap, she caught Stacy by the wrist. Tris stared past trembling fingers holding a one-inch square derm patch at a terrified teenaged girl. Her fear didn’t seem quite as fake now.

  Stacy’s button-shaped nose, a little wide for her face, and her large green eyes made her look young. She offered a weak, apologetic smile, though any color her skin might have had drained away.

  “H-holy shit… W-what the fuck was that? How did you move that fast?”

  Tris glanced at the derm for a second and back to the girl. “What’s that?”

  “Nothing bad. Just some sleepy time.” Stacy looked down, lowering her voice. “I thought you were gonna kill me.”

  “Bullshit. You were gonna pick me clean.”

  When Stacy didn’t offer an immediate protest, Tris shoved. The quick thrust overpowered the girl with ease, smacking the derm patch onto her cheek.

  “No! Please don’t!” Stacy fell over backward. She tried to claw the derm off her face, but already had lost too much coordination to grab it, and flapped her arms like a wounded bird. “Don’t leave me here unc… un…”

  Tris pushed the girl’s fingers down on the chem square, deforming the teen’s cheek. “You were gonna leave me here unconscious… and probably naked.”

  Stacy moaned. She attempted to squirm, but seemed barely able to move. Her eyes rolled up and her head lolled to the side.

  After holding the girl down for ten more seconds, Tris holstered the Beretta. She crept back to Kevin’s side and jostled him. He moaned. She patted him on the cheek until his eyes fluttered open.

  “Tris…” Blood seeped out of his smile.

  She poked and pressed around his neck and sides, making him wince. “I don’t feel anything broken.”

  “Ugh.” He breathed hard for a moment before raising his hands to stare at them. “Shit.” He patted his empty holster and sat up. “Fuck.” His eyes crossed, and he flopped onto his back again, moaning. “My .45?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Drugs?”

  “Not here.”

  Kevin snarled and struggled to his feet. “Where’s my fucking jacket?”

  Tris grabbed his arm and pulled him upright. “There.”

  “Little rat.” He staggered over to Stacy, squinted at her, and glanced at Tris. “You offed a kid?”

  Tris frowned. “No. Look at her cheek. She tried to sneak me with a derm.”

  Kevin growled past clenched teeth as he bent down to grab his armored jacket. “I suppose you’re gonna tell me I should let her keep it.” He peeled her out of it, exposing a ratty tank top as thin as toilet paper and nothing underneath.

  “Nah.” Tris helped him into it before pulling his arm across her shoulders, steadying him on his feet. “She’s not as innocent as she looks. Come on.”

  Kevin grabbed his side and winced as she supported most of his weight.

  She eyed the chain link fence, peering at faint hints of fires burning a couple hundred yards in. He’d probably be okay for a few minutes… but what if something went wrong. Revenge never came with guarantees.

  Tris hefted his arm and tucked into his side. Not worth it. “Let’s get you to bed.”

  ain flared in Kevin’s chest each time his boot struck the ground. Tris had a vice grip on his wrist, causing her bony little shoulder to jab him in the armpit as she helped him walk. His free left arm wound up swinging limp at his side, covered in throbbing bruises. Whenever he tried to put weight on his left knee, it tweaked out, but didn’t feel broken. Flashes and glimpses of mocking grins and blurring fists came and went. Somehow, they’d focused most of their attention on his chest.

  He reached up and grasped the jacket. I love this thing.

  Droplets of fluid moved deep within his nose. The maddening tickle overwhelmed rational thought and filled him with the irresistible, uncontainable urge to make it stop. He clamped his palm over his face and rubbed side to side, before sticking his finger up to the second knuckle and setting off an atomic bomb of a migraine.

  “Shit, you’re bleeding again.” Tris pushed something soft under his nose. “Hold that there. I think it’s broken.”

  “Ng.” All he wanted at that moment was for the pain to go away.

  Tris gathered his arm over her shoulder again and pulled him. “Come on… Don’t make me carry you like a baby.”

  He chuckled. “Ow.”

  Gravel crunched.

  Kevin waved his arms around, gritting his teeth from the agony as Tris whirled away from him and let go without warning. He managed not to fall to his knees and looked up at her. An angry scream stalled in his throat at the sight of the huge guy from Cloud 9. Even without the sledgehammer, he struck a menacing silhouette. Tris already had her Beretta leveled at the giant’s face. White cloth around his thigh soaked red where Tina had shot him.

  “Wait.” He raised his hands. “Not lookin’ for any trouble. I wanted to warn you.”

  Tris didn’t lower the gun. “Warn us?”

  “You could’a killed me and didn’t, so I felt like I owed you at least something.” He stepped closer.

  “Easy.” Kevin wheezed. “She’s got a little issue with slavers.”

  “Hmf.” Tris smirked.

  The man gestured toward the tower. “It got back to the boss you offed Neon. He ain’t too happy ‘bout it.”

  “I thought Neon was the boss,” said Tris.

  “Naw.” Kevin coughed. “He’s the face. A smart boss doesn’t show himself to any idiot that walks in from the road.”

  “Somethin’ like that. Cloud 9 was Neon’s thing, but Glimmertown belongs to Mr. Petersen.” The big man lowered his arms. “Look, I ain’t here to start shit. Mr. P wants someone’s ass bent in ways asses ain’t made to bend on account of havin’ his town shot up. He took it as an act of disrespect.”

  “I’ll give him an act of disrespect.” Tris lowered the Beretta… a little.

  “He’s got a pretty good idea what you look like. Most of the people in the place, ‘specially the ones you forced to strip got good memories.”

  “That wasn’t even us. The girl with the shotgun did that.” Kevin shook his head. “We should’ve finished what we started.”

  “What, killed them all?” Tris sighed. “Then we’d be worse than Neon. Stupid damn people. How’s it okay what Neon did to those women, bu
t taking clothes―”

  “Easy.” Kevin coughed. “Aw, shit this hurts.”

  “So where do you fit into all this?” Tris pulled Kevin’s right arm across her shoulders and braced her left around his back.

  “Not much choice for me. Back to work. If we meet again, I’ll be expected to do something mean to you. Course, with the pain from my shot leg, my vision ain’t too good. I’d probably wind up wasting bullets over your heads.” The big man took two steps back and wandered away into the dark.

  Tris waited a minute more before securing her grip on him and resuming their walk. Being upright let him feel his ribs sliding around. She guided him ahead at a slow pace for several minutes. Details slipped in and out of his consciousness; one street blurred to the next. She stopped to let him catch his breath, and he dozed on his feet. A loud whump startled him into looking around at a small room with a plain bed, dented metal desk, one chair, and a tiny door that likely led to a bathroom.

  “Where―” Words became a grunt of pain as she carried him across the room and set him down on the bed. “Are we?”

  “A cheap hotel.” She tugged his boots off and set them on the floor nearby. “Sorry.”

  Kevin reached a leaden arm up and rested his hand over his face. “Ugh. What for?”

  “I shouldn’t have let you go alone.” She sat on the side of the bed, head forward, face hidden behind a cascade of arctic white hair.

  He peered at her between his fingers. “If you were there, it would’ve been worse.”

  “Worse?” She glanced at him.

  He tried to laugh, but grabbed his side and cringed. “More guns would’ve been involved.”

  “They might not have been so quick to steal from you after a show of force.”

  Kevin moaned. “Where are those women? We should get our asses out of here.”

  Tris helped him out of his armored jacket. “Different hotel. Didn’t want to lead any of Neon’s thugs there in case we were being followed.”

  “Petersen’s boys.” He gritted his teeth and went limp, letting her do all the work of undressing him.

  “Easy enough to fix that problem.” Her voice sounded cold. She opened his belt and pulled his jeans off.

  “Not worth it. Petersen’s been the king of Glimmertown as long as anyone remembers. Some people think he had power even before the war.”

  Tris threw a blanket over him and blinked. “That shouldn’t be possible. The war happened fifty-one years ago… He’d have to have be ancient.”

  He coughed, cringed, and moaned. “Not so hard to believe. You got them nanites. Ugh. Spare a few?”

  “Doesn’t work like that.” She brushed at his hair. “You need the control module implanted too. Maybe I can find some painkillers.”

  “I need a pill the size of a hamburger.”

  She fussed over him for another few minutes before making eye contact. “What now?”

  “We leave… as soon as I can breathe without wanting to die.”

  Tris looked at the floor. “If you go back to Wayne’s, he’s going to expect the cash out for that box. He’ll take it out of your bank.”

  “Shit.” He grabbed at where his belt holster would’ve been had he been wearing pants. “Bastards got my .45 too. Fuck.”

  “Sorry for shooting Neon.” She folded her hands in her lap, gaze downcast like a kid that ate too many cookies.

  “Meh. He had it coming.”

  She smiled and leaned toward him, running a hand up and down his thigh while planting the gentlest of kisses on his lips. Somehow, she managed to find the one place on his body that didn’t ache. “You need to rest. I’ll deal with it.”

  “Don’t.” He tried to sit up, but she pushed him down. “No. I went off alone and look at me.”

  “Fair point.” She smirked. “But you’re in no shape to do anything right now other than bleed and moan.”

  “Great, I’m on the rag.” He chuckled, and regretted it.

  Tris made a fist, but decided against punching him. She scooted closer to the headboard and stroked his hair. “Stay here. I promise I won’t do anything stupid.”

  “Mmm.” Kevin tried to fight, but the cottony pillow sucked the wakefulness straight out of his skull.

  en’s laughter echoed in swells from the train graveyard up ahead, punctuated by periods of total silence. Tris crept from shadow to shadow, hiding at the slightest hint of someone approaching. Two locals stumbled by, a scrawny bald man in black pants and boots, and a fat, long-haired man in a heavy coat. Drunk or high, they seemed to require leaning into each other to remain upright. She pressed herself into the wall of a half-crushed metro bus turned home. The acrid stink of someone cooking drugs inside made her hold her breath.

  Once the wanderers disappeared around a rusty Peterbilt laying on its side, she emerged and hurried to the end of the row. The tracks appeared deserted, populated only by a handful of rats and other, smaller things scratching about. She darted across the open area, jumped the four sets of rails, and tucked into the shadow of the slatted chain link fence surrounding the lot where trucks had gone to die.

  Trash, bottles, and old needles collected underfoot and in the crook between barrier and ground. A cluster of old fifty-gallon barrels a few yards to her right offered some cover from the light. She hurried to it, startled to find Fix already nestled in a hollow among them. The girl had her arms wrapped around herself, shivering. The girl’s tank top fluttered in the wind, the fabric so thin it barely offered modesty much less warmth. She hadn’t even peeled the drug patch from her cheek; her green eyes drooped, unfocused.

  Fix leaned back, raising an arm to defend her face. With Tris standing there, the mound of barrels had gone from shelter to cage. She offered an apologetic look, though it seemed well-rehearsed. As soon as I lower my guard, this kid’ll knife me in the back.

  Tris shook her head and climbed up onto the barrels, attempting to be as quiet as one could while disturbing hollow, rusted metal. She grasped the top of the fence and pulled herself up, crouching like an alley cat. From there, she surveyed the yard. A mixture of old trailers, cabs, and train cars packed the area. On the right side, the boxy vehicles formed neat rows. Organization deteriorated the farther west her gaze panned, as though whoever operated this place before the war had become lazy and taken to packing them in wherever they felt like it.

  Firelight in the distance gave away the location of Tyrant’s camp. Tris closed her eyes, suppressing the urge to pull a Kevin and charge right in. Anger welled up and faded. They could’ve killed him. They didn’t have to let him live. She exhaled. Sneaky time.

  She missed her black jumpsuit, though her brown leather shirt and jeans weren’t her biggest problem as far as stealth was concerned. She scowled over her shoulder at the massive tower of lights, which made her pure white hair all but glow. It hadn’t felt unusual before. Perhaps four in ten people in the Enclave had white hair… out here, she hadn’t seen even one other. She dropped down, landing on all fours, and sprinted to the nearest hulk.

  Yeah, the jumpsuit was the problem. She climbed onto the roof of a warped box trailer and crept up to the cab end. I suppose it did make it more obvious. White hair and modern clothes…

  She leapt from the top of the truck, landing on the edge of another trailer bedecked with refrigeration pods. At the skiff of approaching boots, she got down flat. A man and woman passed on the right, whispering about how much money they were going to make selling ‘the good shit.’ Tris grumbled in her head. She despised the idea of recreational drugs, knowing what it did to the people who used. The historical documentaries they’d shown her in school made it clear what kind of harm they caused. She tried to rationalize the users had a choice to buy or not against Kevin dangling on a hook for almost three thousand coins. Her loathing for such poison seemed petty compared to his lifelong dream, though her attempt to placate guilt by thinking these people were responsible for their own misery brought a sick feeling to her gut.

  Tris c
rawled to the front end of the trailer, hiding on her belly behind a shot-to-pieces refrigeration unit. I could sell myself to Petersen and worry about escaping later… Neon was going to pay him almost two thousand for me. She touched the tiny metal socket behind her ear. What if I can’t escape? What’ll they force me to do? Her eyebrows drew together. Hell with that. I’d rather kill Petersen. These poor bastards are already chemmed-up past the point of no return. Maybe he’s right. Maybe it is a kindness.

  She sighed.

  Seven trucks later, she climbed onto a boxcar and jogged over four more before slithering onto a catwalk running along the top of a tanker car. A hint of train tracks peeked here and there out from windblown dirt and about ten million cigarette butts. After waiting for a pair of punks to walk by, she crawled to the forward end. Cold steel grating chilled her thighs despite her jeans, but the perch offered her a good view of Tyrant’s camp. A half-circle shaped clearing contained seventeen gang members. Four people had paired off, having sex in the not-too-private cover of old sofas or beds set up under canvas tarp roofs while everyone else drank.

  Purple and pink light emanated from within a shiny blue boxcar at the center point of the rounded wall. Silver spray paint formed blocky letters to the right of the door. It took a moment of staring to figure out the over-stylized word spelled ‘Tyrant.’ The two men seated on a sofa right outside the door gave off the vibe of enforcers or bodyguards.

  Tris moved to the farther edge of the tank car and slid to the ground. With four barrels of flame burning bright, the shadows outside the courtyard deepened. How did they manage to move all the trailers out of here to make a camp? She crawled amid the wheels to get a closer look. Probably before they banned vehicles inside the city.

  The overall layout resembled one of those toilet seats with a gap lined up with where she hid. Deciding against parading right in the front, she decided to try the other side of Tyrant’s boxcar and backed away. A quick crawl over rotten railroad ties covered in bugs let her out into a narrow passage between train cars. Junk packed the closest walkable path that seemed likely to lead her where she wanted to go. Stacks of pipes, more barrels, old appliances, dumpsters, propane tanks, and a couple of bare mattresses littered the ground. Every breath tasted like corroded metal and desperation.