One More Run (Roadhouse Chronicles Book 1)

by Matthew S. Cox

  “Yo, Dennis,” yelled Patricia.

  An athletic older man with short greying hair looked over. His expression of curiosity shifted to mild annoyance, then resignation. He stood, carrying a plate with a potato and carrot on it, and walked over.

  Tris scrunched her eyebrows down, mouth open.

  “Hi.” The man offered a hand to Kevin. “I’m Dennis… I guess you could say I’m sort of in charge here.”

  “Kevin.” He shook hands. “Look, I ran into this little girl who said her daddy needs a ride. Has a brother too?”

  The boy tripped twice trying to get up from the table and zoomed out a back door yelling, “Dad… Dad…”

  “Guess that’s the brother,” said Kevin.

  Tris pointed at Dennis. “Have we met? You seem so familiar.”

  “I guess I have one of those faces.” Dennis smiled. “Stranger things have happened.”

  “Doctor Andrews?” Tris blinked.

  Dennis’s eyes widened. “You… you’re the one they were sending. I believe we spoke via video chat.”

  “I’m sorry…” Tris whirled on Kevin, burying her face against his shoulder and sobbing.

  “Uhh…” Dennis exhaled.

  “The data in her head turned out to be bogus. Nathan set her up. He’s trying to destroy the resistance, not help it. She did bring you a nice little bomb though… of course, she had no idea.”

  “Damn.” Dennis pinched his nose. “Not that it matters anyway. We got overrun in Harrisburg.”

  Kevin ran a hand up and down Tris’s back, trying to be comforting. “Yeah, we were there. Bill told us what happened.”

  Dennis laughed. “You met Bill? How is the stubborn bastard?”

  “Not bad. Found him in Ned. Had a li’l girl with him.”

  The boy returned, sprinting past the tables to Kevin. A man in his early thirties who looked like an older version of him followed at a jog. His red and white flannel sported numerous bloodstains, though they didn’t look to be from any recent wounds, probably not his.

  “Whoa. Hold on.” Kevin held his hands up. “There’s only supposed to be one brother.”

  “I’m Paul.” The man trembled with emotion. “You… you’ve seen Zoe? She’s my daughter.”

  “You’re the father?” Kevin glanced at the boy. “Damn, you got started young.”

  Paul chuckled and threw an arm around the boy. “We had Cody at nineteen.”

  “My sister’s okay?” asked Cody.

  “Yeah. Bit psychotic, but fine.”

  Tris punched Kevin in the shoulder and sniffled.

  Most of the color drained from Paul’s face. Dennis raised an eyebrow.

  Kevin cringed. “Long story.”

  “She’s not psychotic,” said Tris. “Sad and frightened.”

  Dennis gestured at a hallway. “Let’s talk.”

  Kevin, Tris, Dennis, Paul, and Cody filed into a small conference room with a round table. Dennis lit a candle in the middle before sitting. Over the course of the next half hour or so, Kevin told them about how he’d stumbled across Bill and Zoe, the bandit attack, Zoe participating in the gunfight, the creepy stare, the story of her surviving by hiding in a suitcase, and how he’d come here to pick the two of them up.

  Tris handed over Zoe’s handwritten letter.

  Paul unfolded it and wound up crying in seconds. He slumped in the chair, elbows on his knees, and muttered thanks to no one in particular for keeping his daughter alive. After a few minutes, he collected himself and smiled―though tears continued to fall. “She says she’s not mad at me an’ Cody for making her go on the bus, but she won’t forgive us if we’re dead.”

  Dennis leaned back.

  “Zoe’s safe.” Kevin tapped his fingers on the wood-patterned table. “Nederland is well defended. We can get out of here as soon as the sun’s back up.”

  “Uhh…” Dennis pursed his lips. “It’s not only Paul and Cody. There’s twenty-eight of us who need to get the hell out of here. Everyone. Danielle’s got a garden going on the roof, but it’s not going to last forever. I give us a couple weeks… if that.”

  “Not happening.” Kevin stood.

  Tris grabbed his hand. “Where are you going?”

  “Back to Wayne’s.”

  “Through Chicago at night?” She pulled him closer. “We can’t leave these people here.”

  Kevin fell hard into the chair and grabbed his head in both hands. “Are you forgetting that we’ve got a sports car? Six half-starved women was pushing it to the limit. We might be able to get eight if they’re small… or intimate.” He slapped his hand on his knee. “It’s not physically possible. Paul’s note askin’ for a ride said nothing about ‘bring a goddamned semi truck.’”

  “There’s a bus depot a little ways across the city. We checked it out a couple weeks ago, but none of them work. Most people who have running vehicles are pretty handy with mechanical stuff. Think you could get one of those old beasts moving?”

  Kevin sucked on his teeth. “Never tried to fix anything bigger than a pickup. Why don’t you walk outta here? Ain’t that far to the woods. You should be able to make it before darkness.”

  Dennis shook his head. “The Infected aren’t harmed by daylight. They dislike it. Part of the psychological warfare effect of the Virus. Whatever psychosis drives them to attack people who are not infected overpowers that fear.”

  Paul broke down in sobs again.

  Cody glared at the floor.

  “Sorry,” whispered Kevin.

  Paul gathered himself and wiped his nose on his sleeve. “We… uhh, found that out the hard way. Half of the people we got left are alive because of Michelle.”

  Tris looked at Paul. “I’m sorry.”

  “It should’ve been me,” said Paul. “I was carrying Zoe. Michelle had the rifle… she never saw the ones coming from the alley.”

  “She bought everyone time,” said Dennis, in a firm tone. “We need to get out of here.”

  Kevin shifted his gaze to the right. Tris stared at her lap. She knows if she looks at me I’m going to think she’s trying to guilt me into this. He shivered. Fuck infected. At the sight of his hands trembling, Tris reached over and held one.

  “I’ll check the bus yard, but I can’t promise anything.” Kevin squeezed her hand.

  “If it doesn’t work out.” Dennis stood. “You take Paul and Cody and get the hell out. Maybe send back something bigger.”

  “I’m not running and leaving everyone behind,” yelled Paul. “It’s bad enough we shipped Zoe out on her own. She almost…”

  “This isn’t your responsibility, Paul.” Dennis offered a handshake to Kevin. “I appreciate you at least trying. The man’s right. He’s only got a small car. There’s no way we’re all getting in it. I’ll ask for some volunteers to go with you to the bus lot. If you follow me, I’ll show you a spot where you can sleep.”

  Paul and Cody wandered back among the tables in the ‘cafeteria,’ and Dennis headed again to the stairwell. He went up one floor, down a short corridor, and through a frosted glass door bearing a logo of a blue and cyan diamond hovering over a field of little squares above the name: “Software Concepts.”

  “Got a cube farm in here.” Dennis pointed at two hallways leading out of a reception area. “Feel free to set up in any empty. A lot of them are uhh, available now.”

  “Yeah.” Kevin smirked. “I know how Infected work.”

  “Doctor Andrews?” asked Tris. “I thought the Virus was supposed to kill its victims after about three months. Do you know why they’re not dropping? Or what that serpent thing is?”

  He grumbled. “An effort was made in an attempt to increase the usefulness of the cleansing agent, involving a weaponized version of Nanites.”

  “Oh, shit.” Kevin scowled. “So the damn things regenerate like Tris?”

  “Well… in a manner of speaking, yes.” Dennis folded his arms. “Though, a brain wound is not repairable, and only the most minor of injuries to
cardiac tissue is survivable. The symbiote, which you refer to as the serpent, discharges nanites into the host’s tissues and perpetuates a constant state of repairing some of the cellular degeneration caused by the Virus. Drones deposited these symbiotes in selected areas, and by now, given access to basic materials, they have reproduced.”

  Tris gaped at Dennis. “They’re in agony… It felt like my lung was on fire when I got shot.”

  Dennis nodded. “The symbiote suppresses pain signals for a short time following a kill. This, of course, increases their motivation to attack anything that moves.”

  “Son of a bitch.” Kevin shook his head. “So these things really are unstoppable.” He looked up. “Wait… radiation.”

  “Might damage the delicate circuitry within the symbiote and toast its AI.” Dennis nodded. “An electromagnetic pulse would wipe them out… or at least allow the normal life cycle of the Virus to run to completion, which would bring about tissue degeneration in approximately three to six months after infection onset.”

  “Sorry, I’m all out of nukes.” Kevin chuckled.

  “EMP doesn’t necessarily require a nuclear detonation,” said Dennis. The Enclave has some devices capable of generating only the electromagnetic effect. Anti-technology weapons.”

  “There are no infected in Dallas.” Tris perked up. “What effect would latent radiation have on the virus itself?”

  Dennis rubbed his chin. “That was something we didn’t test. The Council wasn’t comfortable with us handling radioactive material. My guess is it may neutralize the virus or it suppressed the symbiotes, thus allowing the Infected there to die off as designed.”

  “Doctor.” Tris bit her lower lip. “Do you have any idea why my memory would have strange patches? Did you know my father?”

  “I worked with Doctor Jameson for a few years yes. I’m afraid most of what you’ve heard about him is probably true. He was an advocate for ‘opening the doors’ and rejoining society rather than ‘overwriting’ it. They caught him attempting to sabotage the Virus drones before they could launch. I… never saw him after that.”

  Tris glared at the empty white reception desk. “I know he’s dead.”

  Dennis cringed. “Probably.”

  “She’s hoping to be a disappointed pessimist.” Kevin offered an arm.

  She leaned against him. “Not this time. They went out of their way to act as if he never existed. No one planned on him coming back.”

  “As for your spotty memory?” Dennis pointed at a small plug behind his left ear. “Some of what you remember might be uploaded, or an attempt to implant other memories might have interfered with real memory.”

  “They can do that?” Kevin blinked. “Take your memories away?”

  “No.” Dennis shook his head. “As far as I know, they can only write new data, but the process is not perfect and occasionally, there are collisions.”

  “The resistance plugged me in to virtual reality to train me before they sent me out. ‘Uploading’ usable skills doesn’t work right. It turns people into robots doing tasks, without thinking or improvising. Simulating the training in VR is the same as really learning. It felt like eight months went by, but it was only two weeks for real.” Tris shivered. “What if… oh, no. That’s it. The… I never woke up from the egg harvesting. ‘Detention’ was VR. It had to be.”

  Kevin rubbed her shoulder. “How did you go from a holding cell to the underground?”

  “Nathan hacked the door open.” Her eyes widened. “That was real. That’s why my hair was wet. Somehow, they moved me from a VR prison to a real holding cell when I was asleep so they could make me think I escaped.”

  “Well, I suppose it does make a degree of sense.” Dennis started for the door. “I need to get back downstairs. Prisoners in VR don’t take up as much space or need as many nutrients.”

  “Stacked up like junk in a closet.” Kevin put his hands on her shoulders.

  She gave him a stare laced with hope and vengefulness.

  “Not my circus; not my monkeys.” He shook his head. “We’d have to raise an army to stand up to the Enclave, and even then it’s pretty much suicide. You said it yourself… if they don’t open the doors, they’ll die off anyway.”

  “What about the Virus?” She frowned at the floor. “Or everyone else left alive?”

  Kevin wandered down the hallway on the left. “I dunno.” He selected an open cubicle and settled in on a mattress made of sofa cushions, after leaning the Enclave rifle against the grey, fabric-covered partition. “I’m sure you’ll come up with something.”

  For half an hour, Kevin’s snoring played backdrop to Tris’s roaming mind. Whenever she closed her eyes, she’d see her father, the replacement family, or a sterile schoolroom with all the kids in black. She remembered the bright floor with lights under opaque white tiles, but not why anyone felt the need to put lights overhead as well as below. It all had a dreamy, surreal quality to it that made her question everything.

  When she’d been with her father, she had memories of crawling around among wires and hoses and getting filthy. He was always in his ‘secret workshop’ in the basement. Their house in the small part of the Enclave territory that permitted freestanding dwellings had been a mark of station. Daddy had been important before he ‘turned traitor.’

  She slipped into a dream of walking down a beige-carpeted hallway in the middle of the night, a clingy black ‘sleep suit’ covering her from throat to knees, and elbows. Nine-year-old Tris opened the door at the end, squinting from the glaring sun. She glanced back at the hallway, at the windows that had a second before been pitch dark.

  Two women in black security uniforms smiled at her. That patronizing smile of people who treated all children like two-year-olds.

  “Get dressed, sweetie. You need to come with us. Something very bad happened, and we don’t want you to get hurt.”

  Everything after the two women in black felt fake. The family who didn’t believe her father existed, years of school where none of the children spoke to each other or made friends, and finally Dovarin. An asshole so severe she preferred Detention. Nathan’s face appeared, dirty and disheveled, a fake hacker working for the resistance. He opened his mouth to speak, but Kevin’s snoring came out of it.

  Tris sat up and rubbed her face. Faint moans from the window reminded her why they were hiding high up in a building with no way in from the ground level. She peeled the blanket off and frowned at her leather shirt and jeans. Maybe that’s why I can’t sleep… but who knows what’ll happen here. Too dangerous. She slipped her shoes on and crawled away without waking him. I need some air.

  Someone had covered the stairwell walls with black sharpie marker from the fourteenth through twentieth floors with writing taken from the Bible, as well as crude attempts to draw some of the scenes. She trudged without looking at much more than her feet until the stairway ended at a black metal door, which led to the roof.

  Around a central structure that probably contained the remains of HVAC systems or elevators, stood numerous grow troughs made from anything and everything they could get a hold of. The larger ones looked like metal awnings taken from industrial stoves, flipped upside down and packed with soil. Some were giant flowerpots, probably once used to hold tiny trees in various offices. Water cooler jugs with the tops cut off hosted clusters of beans or onions. The lot of them overflowed with vegetables, though some didn’t thrive.

  She passed a twelve-foot steel awning full of tomato plants on her way to the roof edge. The sky ranged from dark blue-black straight above to royal blue tinted with red-orange at the horizon in the west. A few minutes left of sunset. Tris approached the wall at the edge and leaned on her folded arms. Flickering candlelight needled at her attention from her peripheral vision.

  At the corner of the roof, a shack made of sheet metal and stacked cabinets played home to the mocha-skinned woman and the little girl she’d seen earlier in the cafeteria. The woman sat cross-legged on the floor next to a
cot, reading a bedtime story to the half-awake child. Tris offered her best ‘don’t mind me’ smile and turned her gaze back to the sky.

  Her hair danced in the wind. Thirty stories off the ground, the city didn’t seem so frightening. Aside from the occasional fleeting shadow in the street, it looked peaceful. The woman approached a few minutes later, shoes crunching over the roof.

  “Heard you an’ your friend were gonna try and get us out of here?”

  “He’s thinking about it.” Tris let her head sag. “You must be Danielle?”

  “That’s me. Guess knowing my way around a garden came in handy. Soil’s tapped out, though. Sometimes, a couple people volunteer to go harvest more or get water, but no guarantee they come back.”

  “Doctor Andrews mentioned the garden was failing.” She twisted her head so the wind pulled her hair out of her face, and smiled at Danielle. “I’m not going to let him leave you all here.”

  “We’ve lost too much already. I never should’a listened to Carl. That man always said we’d have strength in numbers, only them numbers keep on dwindlin’.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Well. I learned a long time ago, ya can’t be angry all the time. You one of ‘em, ain’t cha?” Danielle raised an eyebrow. “Enclave?”

  “By genetics maybe. Not in spirit.” Tris pushed off the wall and stood upright. “I was just a kid when they let it out.”

  “Now that?” Danielle put a hand on Tris’s shoulder and squeezed. “That’s guilt you don’t need. It ain’t got no claim on your soul. No more ‘an Star could be to blame for anything that man Dennis decides.”

  “Star’s your daughter?” Tris leaned to the side to smile at the sleeping child. “Pretty name.”

  “Thanks. Only damn good idea Carl ever had.” Danielle chuckled. “I guess you don’t need me heapin’ on no more guilt.”

  “Mind if I ask why you’re living in a metal box on the roof?”