One More Run (Roadhouse Chronicles Book 1)

by Matthew S. Cox

  Boom.

  The taste of dirt filled her mouth. Her brain processed the flavor and texture of soil before the pain in her back registered. An attempt to breathe filled her mouth with the metallic taste of blood. She dragged herself forward a few inches before her body quit, and her cheek hit the ground. A dull throbbing ache accompanied the sensation of cold air entering her body from a hole that shouldn’t be there. The bullet had passed clean through her chest, though by some miracle missed her heart. Short-lived relief died as the horrible internal itch of Nanites swarming around her left lung triggered a scream in her mind.

  Leaves crunched behind and left, growing louder.

  She tried to gasp ‘please don’t’ but only spat out a bubble of blood.

  Black boots and the tip of a rifle moved into her vision. “Damn, you’re actually a lot prettier than I thought you’d be. Shame.”

  Tris coughed and rolled onto her back, staring up at a slender figure standing over her. A smooth black helmet covered the head, gleaming with the reflection of sky and trees. Scuff marks on the chest hinted at where 9mm rounds had failed to penetrate. “W-why? Please… don’t. It’s…”

  An electronic chirp emanated from the sniper’s general vicinity, and the helmet disassembled itself into several dozen segments―bands and panels that disappeared behind her head into the armor’s back plate, revealing a jet-haired woman likely in her early twenties. She had the same paper-white skin as Tris, but her amber eyes glittered with annoyance.

  “You don’t have to…” Tris clutched her hands to her chest, an inch below her left breast where the bullet had exited. Pins and needles inside grew maddening. She screamed, forcing blood to ooze between her clenched teeth. “Data is fake.”

  “I’m not here to ask questions.” The woman squatted and laid the rifle on the ground. “It’s an awful waste of ovaries, but I’ve got to take your head back to the Enclave.”

  “No… there’s no data in my head. It’s bullshit.” Tris coughed. “It was music. A band called ‘The Cure.’ Nathan’s a sadistic bastard. I have nothing that’s a threat to them.”

  The woman gazed into the trees. “I can’t stand being out here in the goddamned sticks. The sooner I finish my job, the sooner I can get back to civilization.”

  Tingling gave way to burning. Tris grew dizzy trying to breathe with one collapsed lung. Red foam slid down her chin. She propped herself up on her elbows, but between choking on her own blood and having run her muscles to jelly, her body refused to move.

  “Can you maybe act a little less pathetic? This isn’t exactly easy for me either.”

  “How can you want to go back there? It’s not as bad as they say it is out here.” Tris fought for a few rapid breaths. “They need to open the doors. Why would you want to be told who to marry?”

  The sniper shrugged, not quite looking at Tris. “I’d rather have healthy children than pick some guy I fall in love with now only to have that fade to disinterest or resentment later. The way we do it is better. Neither of us goes into it with any expectation beyond propagating. Love? That’s what affairs are for.”

  “You…” Tris cringed as electric tingles wrapped around her lung, as if fingers of lightning squeezed it. Tears leaked out of her eyes. “Oh, God, it hurts so much.” She gasped. “Do I know you?”

  “We were in fifth through tenth grade together. You sat at the desk to my right.” The sniper stared at the ground. “Your nanites are getting close to finished. I better get this over with before you get up and start running again.”

  “Zara?” Friends was a bit of a stretch, but she remembered trading text messages during class with her. They’d both have gotten in trouble, but somehow never managed to get caught. As if the Enclave couldn’t stand people having friends… or emotions. Tris’s arms gave out, and she fell flat on her back amid the damp leaves. That’s gotta be Nathan… made her come after me. “People out here aren’t hostile to technology. Think of all the good the Enclave could do for the world. It’s the seed of civilization. They should be spreading it, not keeping themselves shut off. They’re misguided. If the doors stay shut, they’re dooming humanity.”

  “We’re safe inside. I… I just do what they tell me to do.” Zara grabbed at her right hip and drew a fourteen-inch blade from a thigh sheath. “Sorry, Tris. This philosophical stuff is way over my pay grade.”

  She grasped a handful of Tris’s hair and lifted her head to expose her throat.

  “Don’t.” Tris shut her eyes.

  Bang. Bang. Bang.

  A noise like a punted goose came from Zara, and she collapsed.

  Leaves crunched. Tris forced her head up. Kevin stormed over, .45 pointed at the sniper’s inert body.

  She’d never seen him looking that infuriated. She held her side and whined.

  “Guess I’m over feelin’ bad about shooting women.” Kevin took a knee at her side. “Tris… Shit… are you okay?”

  “I…” She gasped, swallowed blood, and managed a weak smile. “Ow. Looks worse than it feels.” She coughed. “No. I lied.”

  Kevin glanced at the inert sniper. “Feels like I should say something here… You know, like in one of your ‘historical documentaries.’”

  Tris reached a hand up. He took it in his left, keeping the .45 pointed at Zara.

  “It hurts so much… I’m alive.”

  At the sight of a tear on his cheek, she tried to sit up and hug him. He held her down. “Wait. You’re in no shape to move yet.”

  “Okay.” Tris closed her eyes, listening to her racing heart. “I’m not gonna die, but I could eat a whole dust-hopper right now.”

  evin leaned down and kissed her on the forehead. “Guess what. You’re not an android.”

  “Yeah.” She wheezed. “I figured that out while pissing.”

  Zara moaned.

  Kevin stood, and shot her again. The slug hit armor between her shoulder blades with a loud slap that echoed back over the gunshot and then bounced off the trees. “Son of a bitch.”

  He leapt up, took a step, and kicked her over on her back, pointing the gun at her unarmored face.

  “Stop!” Tris’s attempt to yell sounded feeble. “Kevin…”

  “Sorry, Tris. You’re too damn nice.”

  “I went to grade school with her. Please don’t make me watch.”

  “So close your eyes.”

  “Kevin…” She whined.

  He lowered his arm―and shot Zara in the chest. A little blood seeped from the woman’s lips. “Damn armor.” Kevin plucked another one-inch metal cross with sharp barbs at each end from his arm. Where the two barbs met, a small antenna sat in a tiny pit of glowing violet gel. He flicked it into the weeds. “I hope that hurt. What I’d love to do is cover this bitch with those fucking lightning spider things and spend an afternoon hitting that button over and over again.”

  Tris rolled onto her side. “If we kill her, we’re no better than they are.”

  He sighted over the .45, trying to decide which of her eyes to put a slug in. “I never claimed to be.”

  Rustling behind him made him look. Tris, grunting, wobbled upright. He whirled back to finish off the sniper, but Tris threw her weight onto his arm, causing another slug to hit the woman in the gut. Zara’s eyes bulged.

  “Where was this high-minded idealism with Neon?” He shifted Tris to his left arm and helped support her weight.

  “That piece of shit was a slaver. He deserved both bullets I put in his head.” Tris wheezed.

  Kevin grumbled. “I thought I was the one that’s supposed to have issues hurting women.”

  “She’s still young. She can have kids. Humanity can’t afford to lose her.”

  “So what the hell are we supposed to do with her then?” asked Kevin. “Next time, she’s going to hit you in the head, not the chest. Can your Nanites fix brain tissue?”

  Tris dug her fingers into his jacket. “No… Look, she didn’t really want to kill me. If she did, she would’ve shot me in the
head or cut my throat without saying a word. Let her go back to the tech she loves so much.”

  Kevin pumped another round into Zara’s chest. “She didn’t shoot you in the head because she’s supposed to take your implant back.”

  Tris jumped. “What was that for?”

  He shrugged. “Felt like it. Ain’t killing her, is it? She’s got the same nanite shit you do, right?”

  “We all have it. Universal medicine.” Tris’s stomach growled. “I’m sorry I ran the wrong way. I got turned around.”

  “It’s okay. I don’t have a goddamned idea where we are either.”

  She looked at him with horror all over her face.

  Kevin smiled, pointing the gun to the rear over his shoulder. “Teasing. We gotta go that way.” He stared at Zara. “You are absolutely sure you don’t want me to kill this bitch for trying to cut your head off?”

  Tris leaned on him. “Yeah.”

  “Wow. I don’t even know what to say to that.” He shot Zara in the chest again, laughing at the stepped-on goose noise she made. “This is kind of fun actually.”

  Zara gurgled.

  Tris pulled on his arm. “Stop that!”

  “She’s either got a really low pain tolerance, or she’s faking.” Kevin aimed at her face again. “Maybe they’ll kill her for failing?”

  “No way. The Enclave doesn’t have that many people. They can’t afford to lose anyone, especially anyone ‘uncontaminated.’” Tris shoved at him, trying to get him away from Zara. “She took her helmet off. She showed me who she was, wondering if I’d remember her. Please don’t kill her.”

  Kevin pressed his hand, and the side of the .45 to his face, eyes closed, and moaned in his head. “So, what do you wanna do with her?”

  Tris smiled. “Do ya trust me?”

  riving away from Chicago again was not bringing him any closer to clearing his conscience, though Kevin couldn’t help but feel more comfortable with each mile that went by. Chicago was undoubtedly full of Infected, so anything that delayed his arrival was welcome. Tris had the pack of jerked dust-hopper in her lap, having inhaled enough for three normal meal portions. Her leather shirt looked a bloody mess, but she seemed tired. Perhaps Chicago should wait a bit.

  He glanced over his shoulder into the back seat. Zara, stripped to a black sports bra and panties, sat behind Tris, arms bound behind her back and legs tied at the knees and ankles. “Not bad, most of the bruises are already gone.”

  Zara glared, though didn’t try to speak past the duct tape over her mouth.

  Kevin shook his head. “I officially give up on understanding anything about women. One minute, she’s trying to kill you, now you’re like old friends… in a sort of quiet, tied up, and gagged way.”

  Tris rolled her eyes. “We did go to school together.”

  “Were you two friends?”

  “I’m not sure anyone actually had friends. We all went home after school. No one really hung out with anyone but their parents. We weren’t allowed to socialize on school grounds either.”

  “That’s only a little strange.” Kevin glanced at her. “Little creepy too. Almost sounds like they don’t want people thinking too much on their own.”

  Tris remained silent, lost in thought. She took another piece of jerky out, stared at it, and dropped it back in the box. “Yeah… I think you’re right. The Enclave’s up to something.”

  “So why’d they send an assassin after you if they knew the data in your head was old music?”

  “Like I know that?” Tris closed the package of food.

  “I wasn’t asking you.”

  “Tape.” Tris shook her head and reached into the back seat. “Sorry. Quick hurts less.”

  Rip.

  “Ow,” said Zara, sounding bored.

  “Well?” Kevin shifted left one lane to avoid a smoldering motorcycle. “So, where’s your vehicle?”

  “I got dropped off by an air unit. Is it really necessary to make me sit here in my underwear?”

  Kevin shrugged. “You’re the one who didn’t have anything on under the armor. If I shoot you again, I want you to die. So… since I’ve somehow been talked into not killing you, the least you can do is explain some shit.”

  “I have no idea. Maybe they wanted to keep up appearances?” Zara eyed the box behind his seat.

  “You wouldn’t set off a hand grenade in the car, would you? That would kill all three of us.” Kevin made a tsk tsk noise.

  “She can’t. Even if she gets her hands loose…” Tris held up a roll of duct tape and grinned. “I gave her mittens. And bullshit. What illusion? It’s not like they need me to do anything anymore.” Tris shifted to stare into the back seat. “Zara… come on. You didn’t really want to kill me. What’s going on?”

  The woman sighed. “I don’t really know. It’s not healthy to ask questions. Maybe they’re afraid of what your father might’ve told you.”

  “My dad died when I was nine. He never told me anything strange or secret-sounding. I got reassigned to a new family, and everyone acted like he never existed.”

  Kevin eyed the side door mirror. A lone motorcycle came racing up in the next lane left, the driver waving. From the high-pitched whine, he assumed it an ethanol-eater. “What the hell?”

  He rolled down the window, staring at the flailing man in a flapping denim jacket. The ‘hey wait’ act came to an end as the bike pulled up alongside. The rider produced a glass jar of clear liquid with an unlit wick and raised his arm as if to throw it.

  “Hey,” yelled Kevin, pointing. “Your Molotov ain’t lit.”

  The rider glanced at it, blinked, and peered back at Kevin with a confused, cross-eyed expression.

  “You gotta light it first,” yelled Kevin. “One sec, lemme help you with that.”

  He reached up and pulled the cord over his head. With a heavy whoosh, the incendiary sprayer roared to life, dousing the biker in burning gel. The odor of ethanol and grease filled the car. A screaming fireball veered off the road and went tumbling end over end into the grass. Three spins later, either the Molotov or the fuel tank detonated in a red-orange fireball.

  Kevin rolled up his window. “Moron.”

  Zara shivered. Her calm veneer showed a crack. “Okay, you win. Let me go. I swear I won’t come back. I can’t stand it out here. It’s so… dirty.”

  Tris took a piece of jerky out of the box and held it up. “Hungry?”

  “Don’t waste food.” Kevin rolled his eyes. “That’s for us. She tries to kill you, now you wanna feed her too?”

  “Well if you didn’t shoot her nine times… nanites hurt when they’re hungry.” Tris squirmed.

  “Good. You should’ve let me zap her with that… that… spider zappy thing.” Kevin rubbed his chest. “That felt like my skin peeled off and I got rolled in salt.”

  “Capacitive coupling based neural stunner,” said Zara. “They sync up with the electromagnetic frequency in your nerves and overstimulate them. Supposed to knock someone out for at least an hour. Armored jacket?”

  “Yep.” Kevin kissed his sleeve.

  Tris waved the jerky at Zara. “Say something useful?”

  Kevin mouthed ‘ooh, bitch’ silently.

  Tris winked at him before staring into the back seat again. “They had to tell you something to talk you into hunting me down. I saw you hesitate. You really didn’t want to do it. What did they tell you?”

  “Your dad was a radical thinker. He and his associates… They wanted to break away from the Enclave. Almost started a coup. The radicals planned to reintegrate with the outside, not destroy and replace. Your father tried to stop the Phoenix project. He didn’t want them to let the Virus into the wild. He was sure they wouldn’t be able to control it.”

  Tris stretched into the rear and slipped back into her seat without the jerked jackrabbit. Zara mumbled something.

  “Hold it with your lips while you chew,” said Kevin.

  Tris gave him that wounded puppy look he loathed so
much.

  “What?”

  “My father… Nathan is that kind of asshole. He probably matched me with Dovarin on purpose knowing I’d refuse him, get arrested, and then he could use the daughter of the man who started the resistance to destroy it. And he probably picked Zara to come after me because we knew each other… sorta.”

  “Wow.” Kevin raised both eyebrows. “I think I owe that man a beer. He’s raised asshole to an art form. I could take lessons.”

  “Bastard!” Tris shouted and punched the dashboard, leaving knuckle dimples in the glove compartment lid.

  “There’d always been a cloud of suspicion over you,” said Zara. “Sometimes people thought you knew about it and were trying to help the resistance from the inside, even though you were a kid like the rest of us. When you started spouting off about opening the gates back there, I thought they were right.”

  “It’s wrong.” Tris scowled at her. “All those ‘historical documentaries’ are lies. The world out here isn’t as bad as they think. It’s not all contaminated and deadly. There are a lot of good people left.”

  A little over two hours after they’d resumed driving, Kevin steered across the grass divider and into oncoming lanes of highway. He drove down the ‘exit’ ramp of the rest stop and pulled up to the same space he’d used last time. “You carry your friend.” He hopped out and plugged in the charger.

  While Tris dragged Zara out of the car, he collected her sniper rifle and armor from the trunk. It flopped about like a rubber suit with rigid panels in spots and didn’t feel near as heavy as it looked. Tris should keep this. She’s too damn nice for her own good. Kevin made a funny face while mimicking her predictable reply of, ‘but they’ll know something’s wrong if she goes back without it’ in his mind.

  Tris heaved Zara over her shoulder. The woman wriggled, unable to attack the rope with her hands in duct tape cocoons.

  He wandered past a few empty parking spaces and entered the rest stop with Tris close behind.