“You okay?” He slalomed a maze of smashed cars repurposed into barriers.
She slipped her shoes on. “Looks like someone started setting up defenses.”
“Probably pre-Virus. Big cities used to have substantial survivor populations. Looks like they wanted to slow down approaching vehicles to make them easy targets. Not that unusual. Same thing at Glimmertown.”
The road cleared after forty meters, letting him up to about seventy on the bridge. No defenses had been installed on the inside, leaving the road wide open.
He squinted at a sign marked ‘Eppley Airfield’ over an off-ramp right after the bridge gave way to solid ground again. “Well, I don’t see any giant buildings yet… so maybe we have a chance.”
“Thanks.” She grabbed his arm. “This means so much to so many people.”
“Yeah…”
He shook his head as he blew past a stop sign at the end of the ramp, turning left and zooming under an overpass. Twenty yards later, a little green ‘airport’ sign with a silhouette of a plane caught his eye soon after, and he hooked a left. A tall, narrow building passed on the left, brick red and shaped a bit like a barn. Numerous cars littered a grassy island between two lanes. All their windows had been smashed, doors taken and seats gone. Probably got all the engine parts too. As irritating as it was to see nothing he could scavenge, that people had been here to loot the wrecks at all made him feel better.
He followed the road around a slight left, passing what appeared to have been an electrical substation on the right. Someone had already ransacked it and tore the place to scraps. The giant green metal shape of the bridge he’d crossed moments ago loomed up ahead, though the road he followed headed to a T intersection abutting the water. A left turn would take him under the span, but he had a feeling the airport was in the other direction.
A huge silvery metal warehouse took up most of the view on the right as he accelerated down a two-lane road parallel to the river. The building had no windows and no signs of life or activity. His heart beat faster at the thought the massive structure might be full of Infected, who wouldn’t care much about the barbwire tipped fence around the place.
The road continued for some distance, surrounded by the resurgence of nature overwhelming the remnants of humanity. Grass as high as the windows swayed on both sides, with the occasional house trailer visible on the left among thick trees. If anyone still tried to live there, he couldn’t tell. A small sign reading ‘J Pershing’ went by on the left, soon before the road took a sweeping left curve.
A red and white gas station on the right attracted Tris’s attention. “There’s a little store there… petro something?”
“I don’t want to waste battery. Last thing I wanna do is get stranded over a couple of damn Twinkies.”
“What’s a Twinkie?” She blinked at him.
“Accordin’ to Wayne, it’s some kind of alien ration. Back in the 1950s, the government made contact with aliens at Roswell, but they kept it all quiet. They gave us some technology stuff, like food that never goes bad. Sometimes you find them here and there and you can still eat it even a hundred years later.”
She stuck her tongue out. “Eww. What the hell do they taste like?”
He shrugged. “Sweet. They don’t taste like much but sweet.”
“Sounds like nice aliens… they gave it away?” Tris raised an eyebrow.
Kevin shrugged. “Wayne said they had a thing for cows. Took some in trade.”
She frowned. “I think he was teasing you.”
“What, you don’t think some civilization from another planet drove flew gajillion miles for a good steak dinner?”
“Not really.”
At the end of the curve, the land on the right of the road looked scorched to bare dirt. The rad meter ticked up all of a sudden to 055. Kevin stomped on the accelerator, going up to almost ninety past a structure resembling an old quonset hut, covered in rust. Smashed warehouses occupied both sides of the street as it opened into an industrial campus. Parking lots crammed with melted cars drew a gasp from Tris.
“People were working when it happened. They never even saw their families again.”
“Yeah…” Kevin cringed at the damage to the upper floor of the building; the second story lay exposed, no trace whatsoever of the roof. “At least they didn’t feel anything.”
He slowed to fiftyish and skidded around a left turn when the road ended at another T. An ‘airline terminal’ sign pointing left was all the prodding he needed to pick a direction. The rad meter had ticked back to 018 by the time the airport field came into view on the left a minute later. He steered across lanes intended for oncoming traffic and drove over a collapsed chain link fence onto the tarmac. A handful of planes clustered by a terminal building covered in green leaves and weeds. Gaping holes in the walls brimmed with vegetation that seemed to be tearing the airport down in geological time.
“Any idea where this guy is?” Kevin slowed to a jogging pace, leaning to the window to peer up at the tail ends of airliners going overhead.
“Look at that…” Tris pointed.
At the end of the row of planes, a massive quantity of techno-scrap gathered in piles. Airplane parts, computers, unidentifiable machine bits, and even a few android limbs jutted out of row upon row. Someone had organized a junkyard out of high-tech detritus. He would’ve been excited to find so much apparently-useful stuff, if not for most of the world having no use for anything of the sort these days. A giant airliner, the last in the row and closest to the scrapyard, showed signs of life―light in the windows near the front end.
“There we go.” Kevin looked around, gut tightening at the idea there may be Infected waiting out of sight, ready to pounce as soon as he let his guard down. “This is… too easy.”
“They’re not supposed to live long, remember? Maybe the Virus worked correctly here.”
He studied the plane. The only way in appeared to be a boarding gate, which extended from the main airport building. Accordion fold sides had stretched almost to the point of tearing, but the cushioned collar on the front end kept a tight seal against the hull.
“Shit. Looks like we’ve got to go into the building.” He stared at a white sign bearing ‘A9’ on the side of the boarding tunnel. “Remember A9.”
“Okay.” Tris secured the Velcro fasteners on her shoes.
A few minutes of driving later, Kevin found a side door into the terminal building by a pack of baggage carts. He parked, shut the car down, and grabbed his new rifle with the automatic scope. Infected weren’t so scary at three hundred yards.
The door led to a room full of conveyor equipment. A jumbled pile of suitcases at one end lay where the machinery dumped them. Printouts, yellowed and wrinkled, adorned the cinderblock wall to the left. It took him a minute to grasp what the images showed, but soon he realized they were X-rays of strange or embarrassing items inside luggage. Phallic-shaped devices, handcuffs, live animals, and some unidentifiable things he couldn’t begin to guess at their purpose.
“These people must’ve been bored.” He sighed and pushed open an interior door that led to a space behind a counter.
Four ancient computers sat dead on the red linoleum, one monitor knocked to the floor. He moved left, through a white door on two-way hinges that let it swing in both directions. A few steps deeper in, a skeleton lay in a pile of rot. Recognizable vestiges of a blue uniform with a skirt bore the same logo as what adorned the counter behind him. Here and there in both directions, more skeletal remains lay. Though, so much time had passed, the air smelled only of sickly mustiness.
“Panic…” Tris squatted by the dead employee. “I bet they trampled her trying to escape the fireball.” She sighed. “Can you imagine? Being thousands of miles away from home when the world ends…”
“I don’t think there really is a good place to be in that case.” He looked around, trying to orient himself. After spotting a sign for terminal A, he walked in that direction.
&nb
sp; Tris caught up, AK held in one hand, and threaded her left arm around his right. “With the people you love.”
Hey now… Don’t get ahead of yourself. I’m only putting up with having a woman around because you still owe me like 800 coins. He smirked. Okay, the sex isn’t bad. He sighed. Okay, maybe I would miss her. “Yeah… I guess.”
The trail of trample victims continued along the length of a wide concourse that brought him to an area full of seats and huge, dark display boards. Painted letters mentioned ‘arrivals’ and ‘departures,’ but none of the parts that lit up with information held anything but dead flat panel monitors. Terminal A was easy enough to find from there, and the boarding tunnel of Gate 9 glowed yellow from the effect of the sun on the thin material.
Kevin raised his rifle and advanced with caution. “Hello? Is anyone there? Heard there was a computer guy around here somewhere?”
“We’re not a threat,” yelled Tris. “We need help.”
After twenty seconds of no reaction, he walked forward again. At the end of the docking tunnel, the airplane door sat closed. Where once a window had been, a panel of metal and wiring had been installed, with a little eight-by-eight-inch screen. Kevin edged up to it, looking for a button or something.
“Where’s the doorbell?” He chuckled.
The screen buzzed and crackled to life, displaying a monochromatic green face: a low-res image with dark lines banded across it. Sunken cheeks and heavy goggles coupled with the grainy portrait left age a matter of debate, though the figure seemed male, and at least adult. “Who goes there?”
Kevin glanced left and low from the screen, at a naked two-inch speaker hanging on wires. “Heard you’re good with computers and stuff. We need someone who can access data from an implant.”
The face grew in the screen, as the man hovered closer to the lens. “Interesting… what sort of data?”
Tris moved up. “I escaped the Enclave. I’m carrying data for the resistance that might have the cure for the Virus.”
“Wow. I haven’t seen one of you in a couple years.” The man leaned back. “I didn’t think they made your series anymore.”
Kevin glared.
“Made me?” Tris raised an eyebrow.
“You look like a Persephone infiltrator. Assassin androids developed a few years before the war.” The green face moved up and down as if examining her. “Remarkable.”
Tris shivered. “I-I’m not an android. I have cyberware.”
“I’m curious enough to risk opening the door,” said the man. “You should know… and this is not a bluff… I am wearing a bio monitor which will trigger a release of nerve agent if my heart stops.”
“We’re not here to hurt you.” Kevin smiled. “We just want some answers.”
“Come in. Turn right and go to the stairs.”
The door buzzed and clicked. He slung the rifle over his shoulder and grasped the corner of the metal window plug. A light tug pulled the curved slab of airplane to the side, letting cool air blow out the gap. Kevin ducked in first, coughing on the overwhelming smell of instant ramen and unflushed toilet. The cabin, at least by the entrance, had been converted into storage space. Boxes upon boxes stacked up in the seats. He moved past them, not curious enough to rummage.
Tiny orb cameras, smaller than a fist, swiveled to follow them as they moved down the aisle to a narrow spiral stairway up. Tris seemed barely able to resist shaking as she followed him to the second level, where a thin man in a black tee shirt and Hawaiian-patterned shorts waited for them near a bar counter. He was as short and scrawny as Kevin expected, with oily brown hair draped to his shoulders.
The area resembled a college dorm room more than the lounge/bar of a jumbo jet. If passenger seating had existed in here, this person had replaced it with sofas, a coffee table, and more pieces of random technology than Kevin’s brain was able to deal with. Wires, monitors, and circuit boards occupied every available surface, as well as the floor.
Kevin whistled at the gathering of tech. “So, uhh… whatever your name is… you can get at the implant in her head?”
“Call me Terminal9, and maybe.” He made no effort to conceal his interest in Tris’s chest.
“Wow, your parents must not have liked you much.” Kevin chuckled.
“It’s an online handle.” The man frowned. “Not my real name.”
“I’m Kevin. What do you mean online? There is no ‘online’ left.”
Terminal9 flashed a patronizing smile. “Oh, there is… but it’s pretty small. A scattered collection of radio terminals, repeaters, and servers all over. Couple hundred users.”
“Great,” said Kevin. “So, can you read her head or what?”
“Let’s have a look.” Terminal9 approached Tris.
She pulled her hair aside, exposing a tiny silver plug behind her left ear. The techie hovered close, as if trying to peer into it like a peephole in a door. Tris made a gagging face. Kevin looked away to hide his amusement.
“Yeah. I think I can get at whatever’s in there.” He looked at Kevin. “This unit’s in remarkably good shape. Where’d you find it?”
Tris gazed at the floor.
Kevin grabbed his shirt, pulling the little man up on tiptoe. “Her. Tris isn’t an android.”
“Self-repairing body? Superhuman reflexes, strong, doesn’t get tired?” Terminal9 tilted his head.
“She also bleeds red.” Kevin narrowed his eyes, but let the man down. “And I’ve seen her get tired.”
“Of course. What good would an infiltrator be if it was obviously fake?” The techie headed for the cockpit area. “This way…”
The next segment of plane appeared to be the ‘master bedroom,’ where Terminal9 had cobbled together an enormous sleeping platform from three twin beds. Screens flashed images of pornography here and there between hanging posters of nude or bikini-clad models. Much of the scenery depicted cartoony women in various states of molestation by tentacles, and the printouts looked ready to fall apart at a stiff breeze. The techie continued past it all down a short stretch between rows of first-class seats, and opened an armored door to the flight deck, allowing brain-tenderizing noise to flood the room. Kevin and Tris cringed, holding their ears until the din ceased.
“What the hell was that?” yelled Kevin.
“All That Remains,” said Terminal9. “Metal. You know… music?”
“All what remains?” Kevin stuck his pinky finger in his ear and wiggled it.
“It was a group.” Terminal9 scoffed. “Don’t you have any appreciation for culture?”
“What were they doing to that man?” asked Tris.
“He was singing.” Terminal9 flailed his arms. “Oh, forget it.” He pointed at a chair by a stack of electronic components. “Sit there and take off your shirt.”
Tris squinted, looking unsure. “Is that necessary?”
“Not procedurally, no… but my fee for helping you is a few tittie pictures.”
Kevin took two stomps forward before Tris raised her hand.
“Okay… but if you touch me in any way other than connecting a wire, I’m going to twist your head off.”
“Tris…” Kevin stared at her.
“Let him look. He’s maybe one of four people left in the world capable of accessing this data who isn’t Enclave.” She handed the AK to Kevin.
“Easy,” said Terminal9. “Nerve agent.”
“And you think I’m an android, so why should I be worried about nerve gas.” Tris pulled her shirt off over her head.
The techie seemed to get weak in the knees at the sight. “Perfect…”
Kevin looked away from the man’s obvious enthusiasm. “I can hold my breath for a long time.”
Tris sat in the chair. When the techie reached for a camera, she folded her arms over her breasts. “That happens after we have the data.”
“F-fine…” Terminal9 smiled. With shaking hands, he uncoiled a wire and connected one end to a device the size of a stereo component. He hande
d her the other end. “Whenever you’re ready.”
She looked at the silvery plug. “Looks like the right type of connector.” After a nervous breath, she leaned her head to the side and connected it, shuddering. “I hate the way that click vibrates my skull.”
Terminal9 raised an eyebrow. “Interesting. Okay, hold on.”
The man flopped in a seat and swiveled around with his back to her. Four computer monitors flickered to life in front of him and he poked his finger at a few icons before typing like mad on a keyboard. Kevin, wearing the fancy assault rifle over his back and holding her AK, stood as still as he could manage. He looked anywhere but at Tris or Terminal9; catching sight of either of them made him too angry. One of the side windows had been smashed out, allowing a thick bundle of duct-tape-wrapped cables in from the outside, which snaked through the copilot’s flight yoke before breaking up into individual strands that went to individual components. The techie hovered over his screen, swiping his hand over a trackball to navigate a menu composed of green bars and blue spheres.
“Okay, there’s a file in there.” Terminal9 held up an imperious finger, which he drove downward into the rubberized keyboard. “Downloading now.”
“It’s getting warm.” Tris kept her arms folded over herself. “Feels strange.”
Terminal9 spun his seat around, squeaking. “I’m pulling the data out a little faster than the hardware was meant to handle. It’ll feel hot, but it shouldn’t hurt anything.”
At the sight of Tris shivering, Kevin took a knee by the chair and offered a hand. She took it.
Terminal9 leaned forward, staring at the exposed breast. “Fascinating. I’ve never seen one this close before.”
“No shit,” said Kevin. “I got that feeling from your wallpaper.”
The techie frowned. “No, asshole, I mean a Persephone. I almost can’t even see the seams.”
“Wait, so you think she’s a robot but you still wanna take pictures for your spank bank?”
Terminal9 smiled. “Hey, she’s realistic.”
Tris curled into Kevin’s side.
“Tris is not a goddamned android. She is real.” Kevin set the AK on the floor so he could put an arm around her.
One More Run (Roadhouse Chronicles Book 1) Page 33
