One More Run (Roadhouse Chronicles Book 1)

by Matthew S. Cox

  Her lip quivered.

  “If I thought we had any chance in hell of taking that thing out… it’s like twice the size of the hoplites.”

  She covered her face in her hands and sniffled.

  That’s not manipulation. She’s scared shitless. “Hey.” He slowed to a stop and took her hand. “You said yourself they won’t go too far east, right? We can lay low for a while until they give up. Besides, they’ll have no way to find us. There’s a lot of land to cover and they got nothin’ to go on once we get the hell out of here.”

  “What if I’ve got like a tracker inside me?” She swallowed.

  “If that was true, it wouldn’t have surprised them you were alive.”

  Tris exhaled, seeming calmer. “True. Okay.”

  The drive back to the site where they’d ambushed the bandits seemed ten times longer than the chase. All the while, the Challenger bucked and bounced over the uneven road, Tris fidgeted with the AK. She didn’t look up until the clearing full of bodies came into view. Kevin parked by six identical boxes stacked in a pyramid. For a moment or four, he stared at the dead.

  They’d have thought nothing of killing the two of us. He clenched his right hand. Dammit, this is exactly what the Enclave wants.

  “It wouldn’t have been much of a fight the other way either.” Tris slipped her fingers around his fist. “You had to.”

  “Yeah… he who fights fair dies first.” He shoved the door open and climbed out.

  He undid two plastic clamps and lifted the lid of the topmost box. Inside lay six rifles of a type he hadn’t seen before, packed in foam. Kevin pulled one out and looked it over. A straight magazine descended from the butt, behind the trigger. Boxy housing encased a thick barrel and included an integral scope. At first, he thought it useless due to there being no crosshair, but when he sighted through it, a red dot appeared in the middle of the lens. He swiveled and trained the weapon on trees and rocks; the scope zoomed in and out as if sensing the range to the target on its own. The effect kept the perceptible relative distance the same whether the target was thirty or three hundred yards away.

  “Holy shit.” He popped the mag out to examine the ammo, but it was empty. “Crap.”

  Tris’s hair trailed off to her right as she walked around the front of the car and stood nearby, casting a mournful glance at the former bandits. Kevin unstacked the crates, checking each. The sixth box contained ammunition, which appeared to be standard 7.62 x 51, and fit the fancy rifles. He closed up the cases and stared at the Challenger’s trunk.

  “Aw, crap.”

  “What?” Tris, squatting amid the dead, paused from her rummaging to look at him.

  “This shit ain’t all gonna fit in the car.” He grumbled. “Screw it, don’t need the boxes. Padding takes up too much space. Anything useful over there?”

  “Should I pull a Bee?” She tilted her head.

  Kevin opened case one and plucked the rifles out. “What does that mean?”

  “Strip them and collect every scrap of everything?”

  “Nah. I don’t wanna be out here too long. Plus they’re a damn mess. Weapons, tools, useful stuff. We can tell Bill where this is if he wants to send people to take their skivvies.”

  “Okay.”

  A little under an hour later, Kevin set the last box of ammo in the trunk and eased it closed. He lifted his weight up on his hands to force the latch to click. Fifteen of the rifles wound up in the back seat, tied down with seatbelts. The rest, and the ammo, filled the trunk. Kevin smiled and dusted his hands off. There’s my roadhouse.

  Tris came up behind and wrapped her arms around him. He turned to face her, unsure what to say to the mixture of horror and fear in her eyes. She clung to him for several minutes before trembling faded to slow breaths.

  “Needle in a haystack.” He kissed her on the lips.

  “Yeah. Let’s hope.”

  Reluctant to pull back, she held on to him, fingers clutching the thick sleeves of his jacket. His confidence the Enclave wouldn’t bother with her seemed to soothe her eventually, and she let go. He cast another glance at the buggies and bikes, all ethanol-eaters, and not a scrap of space in the Challenger for salvage.

  Damn, I miss the Marauder.

  Kevin drove back to Nederland in silence, pulling up to the dump trucks fourteen minutes later. At that hour of the day, four men and two women stood watch. One person on each side climbed down. Soon, both trucks started at the same time and the heavy gate opened. He waved in greeting at them and drove straight to the red house.

  Bill emerged from the front door, rifle over his back, and walked up as Kevin shut down the car and got out.

  Kevin set his hands on his hips. “Good news and bad news.”

  Zoe crept to the edge of the porch, half hiding behind a strut that used to hold a screen, and curled her toes over the first step. She’d traded the rifle for a battered teddy bear. Kevin felt a little better inside that the kid wasn’t armed.

  “Alright,” said Bill.

  “Seventeen bandits won’t be bothering you anymore. We stumbled into a deal of some kind… with the Enclave.” He smiled. “That’s the bad news.”

  Bill covered his mouth.

  Tris, arms folded, trudged over. “They had a Gladiator. Enclave got away.”

  “That’s a lot of hardware for a meeting with nomads.” Bill whistled.

  Kevin kicked at the ground. “Yeah, they were handing over weapons. Probably hoping ‘the unclean ones’ kill each other.”

  Tris blinked. “Why don’t we leave the rifles here, these people need them more than we do.”

  Bill raised both eyebrows.

  Kevin held up a finger in a ‘one moment’ gesture to Bill and turned to Tris. “What’s sitting in the car right now is enough hardware to pay off the rest of my roadhouse.”

  She waved an arm at the town. “But… these people need help defending themselves from bandits. Six of them died yesterday.”

  “That’s tragic.” He exhaled out his nose.

  Tris focused her dark blue eyes on him. The look on her face questioned what kind of person he was. A tear running down each cheek made him look away, right into wide-eyed Zoe staring at him. He couldn’t reconcile the innocent blonde sprite with the memory of her shooting at bandits―and nearly being shot herself. Would owning a roadhouse be worth it without Tris?

  What the hell is wrong with me? Old daydreams played in his head, showing him the future he’d wanted for so long. I expected to wind up like Wayne. Old and only a wobbly android for company. Tris sniffled. He looked at his boots. The stubborn coot’s happy like that.

  Kevin grumbled. “Alright, alright. But I’m keeping one.” He grinned like a little boy. “That scope is too damn cool.”

  n hour past sunrise, forks scraped over a few minutes of silence. Kevin stirred the dust-hopper hash into the fried potatoes, mushing it all together. Ann, sitting across from him, had spent the past few minutes going over details of the Nederland farm project with Bill. She’d been entrusted to manage the entire food production effort of the town and supervised a team of nine people. The oversized jackrabbits had become a nuisance when they chewed in through a retaining wall and attacked the crops, though it had made hunting them easier.

  Zoe, at the right end of the table, mimicked his mash-up of the food and continued staring at him. She’d traded the denim dress in for a torn green tee shirt and shredded black jeans, which let both of her knees show. Kevin made eye contact with her, but she didn’t show any noticeable reaction.

  Tris, at his right, kept glancing at him as if she wanted to say something, but only smiled. He couldn’t help but grin back at her. Charity had, in the near term, made for a fun night―though keeping it quiet enough not to disturb their hosts had been a challenge.

  “What?” he asked, low.

  She pushed hash and potatoes around her plate for a few seconds. “I… do you think we could check out Omaha?”

  His mood plummeted. “I dun
no. Major city… Infected… seems like a suicide run with no guarantee there’s anything worth finding.”

  Zoe shifted her gaze to Tris for a second before looking back at him.

  “What if it’s really the cure?” She sulked at her plate.

  “There might be some coin in it for you,” said Bill.

  Kevin gave him a disbelieving look. “How’s that?”

  Bill glanced at Zoe. “Omaha is sort of on the way to Chicago.”

  The little girl shrank in on herself. A second later, she crossed her arms on the table and put her head down.

  “Oh, no…” Kevin shook his head. “I am not escorting a little kid into an area overrun with infected.”

  Zoe sniffled, making noises like she wanted to sob, but fought to keep quiet.

  Tris leaned over and patted her back.

  “Of course not.” Bill scooted his chair back and stood. “She’s safe here. I’m not about to put her in harm’s way. Her dad and older brother are stuck in Chicago and looking for help getting out.”

  Kevin propped his head up on one arm and tried to force visions of city streets teeming with rotting bodies out of his head. Bill walked off, deeper into the house. Ann got up and moved around behind Zoe, also trying to comfort her.

  Tris gave him ‘the look.’

  “How long ago was that?” Kevin shrugged at her. “We don’t even know if they’re still alive.”

  Zoe lost her war with silence and sobbed.

  Asshole. Yep. That’s me.

  Bill returned carrying a sheet of blue-lined paper with several folds. “Found this note in her jacket pocket. Her dad’s in Chicago, offering a thousand coins to whoever protects Zoe… and another thousand for someone to get him and his son outta there.”

  “How long ago did you find her?” asked Kevin.

  Zoe shifted, and clung to Ann, sniveling.

  “‘Bout two months ago on my way outta Harrisburg. Came across a flipped bus on the far side of Des Moines, so we decided to check it out for anything useful. Was a goddamned bloodbath inside. Not much to see but a couple pieces of luggage. Found her hiding in a suitcase.”

  Tris gasped.

  “What happened?” Kevin blinked.

  “No idea.” Bill settled into his chair with a defeated look. Air flapped past his lips. “She won’t talk about it.”

  “You drove me to Harrisburg for a thousand…” Tris winked. “Chicago’s closer.”

  Kevin wrestled with the idea of Infected. Harrisburg still haunted his dreams, and the ride in through Denver hadn’t helped. “I’m not sure it’s worth it… and I don’t mean money. What if we get out there and…”

  Tris cringed.

  Zoe sniffled, and pulled her face out of Ann’s shoulder. She stared at Kevin for what felt like an hour and wiped her eyes. “Daddy said I hadda get on the bus. They didn’t even want me ‘cause it was full. Dennis made them take me since I’m small.”

  Bill blinked. He leaned over the table, wide-eyed, and took Zoe’s hand. “Dennis?”

  “Yeah.” Zoe continued to stare at Kevin. “He like tells everyone what to do. They all listen to him. Cody an’ Daddy couldn’t fit on the bus, but Daddy made me get on.” She succumbed to crying again. “I didn’t wanna.”

  Ann rocked her, making comforting sounds. It took the girl a moment to collect herself enough to speak again.

  “I was sleeping, an’ this man dumped all the stuff outta this box and put me inside it. He told me to be quiet and don’t move. He said they’d let me out when it was safe, but no matter what I heard, I wasn’t s’posed ta open it…” She gazed into nowhere. “There was shooting and screaming, and someone pushed me around, but no one never opened it.”

  Kevin looked at Bill. “Had to be Infected. Bandits would’ve checked for salvage. Surprised they couldn’t figure out how to open a suitcase.”

  Tris bit her lip. “They can’t climb ladders…”

  “I couldn’t get out, but I was too scared to yell. He opened it.” Zoe reached for Bill.

  He lifted the girl from Ann’s lap and held her. “I can’t say for sure what happened there. We found the bus, but didn’t see any bodies.”

  They got up and walked away. “I can guess.” Kevin ran a hand over his hair, trying to find a strand of courage… the kind of courage that got his dad killed. “Thousand coins huh?”

  Bill dropped the handwritten note on the table. “Yeah.” He kissed Zoe atop the head. “You can even have the thousand he offered to whoever took care of her if you’ll do it.”

  Zoe looked up at Bill, shock on her face, and clung to him. A few seconds later, she squirmed around enough to stare into Kevin’s soul.

  Kevin pursed his lips and studied his lap. “I just have ‘sucker’ written across my forehead, don’t I?”

  Tris squeezed his arm.

  “We’ll go to Chicago.” He looked at Zoe, thinking of saying something about there being no guarantee her father or brother still lived, but couldn’t bring himself to spit it out. “Gotta swing by Wayne’s first, and drop off the payment for the ammo.”

  “Of course.” Bill handed Zoe back to Ann. “Meet me at the town hall, I’ll bring it out.”

  “Thank you,” whispered Zoe.

  Bill walked out.

  Kevin trudged outside, two steps behind Bill, wearing a smile until the child could no longer see his face, then worry reigned. I’m walking into a goddamned death trap. Bill went for his bicycle. Kevin fell hard into the driver’s seat of the Challenger and pulled on his gloves. Tris got in, grinning from ear to ear.

  “What are the chances you’ll stop in Omaha?”

  He glanced at her with a mischievous grin. “About as good as the chances of me getting some head right now.”

  She stared at him, aghast.

  “Kidding.” He flicked the switches on, filling the car with the low hum of active electronics. “I love that face you made.” One hand gripped the wheel and he glanced at the rearview screen. “‘Course, I wouldn’t object if you wanted to.”

  Tris punched him in the arm, laughing.

  “Two big cities…” He shook his head. “I dunno.”

  She stopped smiling.

  A short distance later, he pulled up alongside the orange building. Bill, Brett, and Pete waited with two cardboard boxes marked with red letters: “$25 Pennies.”

  Kevin stopped and hit the trunk release before getting out. They handed over the boxes one after the other and he set them in the trunk.

  “Bill… tell me about Omaha. How bad is it?”

  “Well, you only need to get to the airport. It’s on the northeast part of the city, mostly surrounded by water. Closest bridge is north a ways of it, but if I remember right, there’s a road that runs along the edge of the river that should let you skirt most of the interior. For what it’s worth, we spent a couple days at the airport terminal and didn’t see one Infected.”

  “They don’t like water,” said Tris, behind him. “Virus causes hydrophobia.”

  Kevin chuckled. “Well, it’s on the way. Suppose we can at least look.” He shook hands with Bill. “Assuming we don’t die in Chicago, see you in a couple weeks either way.”

  “Don’t do anything stupid.” Bill winked.

  “Too late.” Kevin gazed up at the clouds. “Already agreed to do this.”

  Bill chuckled. Tris smirked.

  Zoe came running down the road, carrying a cloth bundle larger than her torso. She raced over and held it up to him.

  “What’s this?” Kevin accepted it; he peeled open a few layers to find what appeared to be dust-hopper jerky and a folded paper with childish writing on it.

  “It’s food for your drive.” Zoe took a step back, clasping her hands in front of her. Hope radiated from her eyes. “An’ a letter for my Dad an’ Cody.”

  “Thanks.” He looked at Tris. “Might as well get going.”

  After they got in, he took a breath and dropped it in gear. Zoe lingered in the rearview, a tiny starin
g figure growing ever smaller as the car approached the gate. The eager hope on her face crushed him; he knew he’d come back with bad news―if he came back.

  Kevin sighed. “This is what killed my dad…”

  “What?” Tris looked up.

  Kevin wrung his hands on the wheel. “This whole ‘conscience’ thing. Why am I even doing this? I’m an asshole.”

  Tris rubbed her wrists. “Yeah… you are.” She winked.

  uch to Kevin’s surprise, the handoff of coins at Wayne’s came with no surprises. Alamo kept true to his word. He’d restocked some 7.62 for the M60s, traded in the odd boxy rifle with the tiny bullets for more .45 ammo and some 9mm for Tris, as well as some provisions. With 9804 coins to his name according to the ledger, the notion of driving to Chicago felt like the worst possible idea in the world. Whenever he came close to forgetting the whole thing, Zoe’s face would appear, and he’d grumble. Bad enough he had Tris making doe-eyes at him about the Omaha situation… as pretty as she was, her powers of guilt-fu had nothing on a nine-year-old who’d managed to survive an Infected attack.

  By the grace of a suitcase. Maybe I should carry one around big enough for me…

  The ride from New Mexico to Nebraska had been quiet. Quiet being a relative term. Two buggies, a rust-bomb of an old Ford van, and a pack of five biker-bandits later, hints of Omaha started showing up on the mangled remains of street signs. He pondered the lack of bullet holes in the metal; the farther west one went, the more shot-up the signage got. People have more reason to save ammo in the east, I guess.

  Tris sat rigid, kneading her hands in her lap and looking as frightened now as she did in the moments after the Enclave guy eluded them. She’d put her leather shirt back on, as well as the original pair of jeans he’d bought her from Wayne’s. Her black shoes sat unworn on the floor in front of her. For most of the morning, she’d had her feet up on the dash, letting them ‘breathe.’

  He slowed as they approached the river. A grid of pea-green ironwork surrounded them, enshrouding both lanes of a split bridge spanning the water.