“I’ll get them.” She shook her wrists. “Please… Trust me.”
She slid into him on a hard turn as a chain of explosions rippled along the ground to the left.
“What the fuck was―”
“Automatic grenade launcher.” She tried to tear her arms loose. “What are you more afraid of, a girl that wants to help or a pair of Enclave hovercraft lobbing 40mm high explosive at 325 rounds per minute?”
He seized a fistful of her hair, not tight enough to hurt, and pulled her head around to face him. Tears ran from the corners of her eyes.
“Please… Trust me.”
Another explosion made him let go and grab the wheel. The Challenger skidded the other way, into a wide, sweeping left turn that shoved her feet-first into the door. Kevin drew the knife from his belt and sank it into the knot. She pulled the bindings into the edge as he pushed. The rope failed in a sudden rip, and her left arm smacked into the dashboard.
“Ow, shit.” She cradled her hands to her chest, but grabbed the handle overhead as he drove back onto the road amid the squealing of tires.
“Don’t just sit there. Get those grenades.”
She rubbed her wrist for another few seconds before climbing past the gap in the front seats. He fixated on the rear-targeting screen, nudging the car a little to the right. She poked her head into the front a moment later, holding three black hand-grenades.
“Center console. Pull the pin on one but hold the little metal fl―”
“The spoon. I know how grenades work.” She lifted the flap. At the bottom of the chamber between the front seats, a six-inch square metal hatch opened to a view of road racing by. She nodded, pulled the pin, and held the death sphere with both hands over the opening.
“Get ready…” He nudged the car to the left, not flinching as a stream of heavy cannon fire tore up the road to their right, a few feet away from a hit. “Now!”
She dropped it; somehow, the metallic clang of the spoon flying off reached his ears among the chaos of gunfire. Tris leaned forward, hovering next to him as they both stared at the rear-view monitor. The skirt of the lead hovercraft devoured the tiny, bouncing black dot. A split-second later, the rubbery walls disintegrated in a hail of metal debris. Fan blades, armor chunks, and bits of rubber belched out to both sides.
After a brief hop from the explosion, the behemoth crashed down and went into a spinning slide, spewing sparks. The trailing Hoplite smashed into the rapidly decelerating one and dragged to a halt. The lead craft flipped upside down, fan blades gleaming on the underbelly. Soon, both vehicles shrank to a smoking spot in the distance behind them.
Tris crawled back to the passenger seat, cradling her sore wrists. “Thank you.”
Kevin stared forward, wearing the hard face of a soldier, and drove until dark.
9
Campfire Jitters
He took the crowbar, and the skinned, roasted dust-hopper impaled on it, off the fire. Tris sat on a large rock nearby, staring at the meat as he cut the forty-pound jackrabbit in pieces and handed her one entire rear leg.
Kevin, the Wildlands savage, nibbled on his food and gazed at the stars while the ‘civilized’ Enclave-born woman attacked her portion with the finesse of a starving mongrel. The irony of the situation made him grin for the first time since he’d laid eyes on her. He watched her out of the corner of his vision, waiting for some trace of duplicity. Her entire world at that moment existed in the flesh of the dead animal in her lap. The sight of the red marks on her skin made him look away.
Some minutes after she could eat no more, he offered her a canteen, which she took without hesitation. She drank so fast she choked, and he had to hold it back and feed it to her. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but wound up only shaking his head. After drinking, she slid from the rock and wandered away from the car into the dark. He leaned back, staring at the stars. The sound of an opening zipper broke the silence. Soon, she returned and sat nearby, leaning against the same boulder.
“Get some sleep.”
Tris looked at the ground. “You have to drive, you should too.”
He folded his hands across his lap.
“You still think I’m going to steal your car, don’t you?”
“The thought’d crossed my mind.”
She scooted over and tucked up to his side. “I’ll sleep close so you’ll wake up if I move.”
He let gravity pull his head to the left until he made eye contact, and sighed. “You’re good. I almost believe you.”
Tris kept quiet for around ten minutes. Neither of them got any closer to sleeping. “You have to sleep so we don’t crash.”
“Mmm.”
“That Infected did a number on you. Let me have a look?”
He squinted. “You’re trying to get me out of my armor.”
“Fine then, don’t.” She folded her arms. “If I wanted to kill you, I would’ve done it when you had an Infected on top of you.”
“You still needed someone to untie you then.”
After another six minutes of silence, he sat up, grumbled, removed his armored jacket as well as the Beretta in its holster, and set them to his right. She helped him get his black tee shirt off, and guided him to the ground, on his chest. Tris straddled him and kneaded the muscles of his back.
“You’ve got a lot of scars.”
With one hand on his .45, he let his chin rest on his crossed forearms. “I was stupid and young, thought only old men needed armor.” He tried to stifle relieved moans as she massaged him.
“There’s some bruising”―he cringed as she touched the spots―“but it’s not as bad as I thought it would be.”
Crickets got loud as she continued to rub his shoulders, back, and sides.
“Okay, my arms are tired. Hope that helped.” She slid off him to the side and he rolled over. After another uncomfortable few minutes, she sat up. “If it will let you sleep, you can tie my hands again.”
Kevin got up and went to the car, returning with a length of cord. She slumped and closed her eyes, not moving as he took hold of her arms. A soft whine escaped as he touched the red marks. He ran his thumb along the skin of her wrist, back and forth. His cheek brushed the side of her head, lips right by her ear.
“S’pose I don’t have to.” He tossed the rope toward the car and sat down, pulling his shirt on. “I wanted to see how you’d react.”
She stared at him with a weak smile, but a trace of a glare in her eyes. Kevin settled back and tried to get comfortable. He tensed when she lay at his side and put an arm over his chest. Soon, a short contest of who would close their eyes first went in his favor.
Kevin awoke with a start, expecting everything he owned to be missing. Instead, he found a waterfall of white hair across his chest and an exhausted woman at his side. The sun had not yet completed its rise into the sky.
He took a great breath and stretched, the motion caused her to mutter in her sleep and cling. She’s probably awake and trying to make me feel sorry for her even more. An awkward crane of the neck confirmed the car still sat where he had left it, glinting in the early morning light.
“Come on.” He nudged her.
She made a series of soft noises, an attempt to speak that drowned in her dream, and snuggled against his chest. Kevin laid his head back with an impatient sigh, deciding to give it a little while longer before carrying her to the car. The attempt to wait a few minutes cost close to an hour as he nodded off again. Her motion woke him out of the unwanted nap, sending his hand toward his gun. Tris gasped and pounced, holding his arm down, her eyes wide. Nose to nose, her hair fell around him, creating a tunnel of white that blocked out the world aside from her piercing sapphire eyes.
“I’m not stealing your car,” she whispered.
Kevin relaxed, letting the pistol slip back in its holster as he struggled to peer out from under the fog of a brief nap that left him more tired than he’d been when he first woke up. Her lips hovered so close, all it would take wo
uld be a tiny lift of the neck and he could kiss her. The same way he got in trouble last time.
“Morning,” he croaked.
Relief sighed out of her, washing over his cheeks. Her nervous expression became an innocent smile. The more harmless she looked, the less he trusted her. Tris blushed and rolled off him, sitting nearby with her arms around her legs. She handed him a canteen as he sat up.
“You sound like you’re thirsty.” She stood. “Don’t go crazy on me now; I have an important matter to discuss with some bushes.”
Kevin tilted the canteen back, taking a few large gulps while watching her walk a short distance away. Not inclined to intrude on her privacy, he dragged himself to his feet and got back into his armor. Tris returned and stood by the passenger door while he collected the camp into the trunk. They got in at the same time. He glanced out of the corner of his eye at her rubbing her wrists, though no trace of red remained―not even a bruise.
Another guilt trip.
“What are you thinking?” She looked at him.
He flicked on the six switches one after the next: main power, rear left, rear right, front left, front right, and the last turned on the weapons, targeting, and camera systems. The console flickered to life. “What I’m gonna name my Roadhouse.”
“Oh.” She shifted in her seat, leaning against the door and closing her eyes. “I hope those are harder to steal than a car. Maybe then you can sleep.”
He stepped on the accelerator, kicking up some dust as he peeled out.
“Yeah. Unwritten law. They call it ‘The Code.’ No one messes with the ‘houses because they’re neutral.” He glanced at her for a few seconds, wondering if she was still even awake to listen. “Everyone from honest cargo runners to slavers respects the ‘houses. Bandits that’ll cut my throat right now would trip over each other not to piss me off if I had a ‘house.”
He looked at her.
Out cold.
Kevin drove in silence for the better part of two hours before she stirred.
“We’re on forty now, heading east.”
She stretched and looked around, accepting his offer of a nutrient bar. “You seem to enjoy it out here. Why are you going to retire?”
“I’m tired of getting shot. I need ten thousand coins to buy into the franchise.”
Tris blinked. “Can’t you just get a building and run it like a bar with a gun shop?”
“Nope. Amarillo has a standing bounty they offer to anyone who trashes a competitor. Five grand.”
“That’s il―” Tris stared into space.
Kevin laughed. “No law out here, hon.”
She folded her arms. “Maybe I like that.”
“Now that I wasn’t expecting.” Five minutes of silence passed, broken only by the whirr of solid tires on road. “Come on, you can’t tease me with a line like that and leave me hanging. So, what’s your story?”
“There’s only like a few thousand people in the Enclave. The Council of Four decreed that people have to be gene-matched to minimize inbreeding.”
Kevin flicked a fingernail at the top of the steering wheel. “Won the asshole lottery?”
Tris stifled a laugh into her hand. Her mirth lasted only a second before she took on her usual morose stare. “I got assigned to this guy from the First-Tier administration. They expected me to just have his kids without ever having laid eyes on him before that.”
“First tier administration… that sounds kind of important.” He raised an eyebrow. “Rich maybe.”
“Yeah… and quite proud of that. Treated me like a baby-producing peasant since my mom was from the labor force and Dad was…”
Kevin drifted off in his mind. For a few seconds, his surroundings changed to the sun-drenched cab of a big rig. To his left, a barely recognizable silhouette of a man sat behind the wheel. “I was four when mine died.”
“Nine.” Tris sighed. “I think. He worked a lot. I might’ve been eight.”
“Hard to believe they tell you who to marry. Ugh, what about love and shit?”
She pulled hair off her face, flashing a wistful smile. “Well, you can fall in love and then find out you’re basically close enough to be siblings. Like I said, a few thousand people. The society is xenophobic. Anyone who can’t handle higher education gets sent to the labor force and looked down on. They won’t let any outsiders in to widen the choices. Gene purity and all that. My father tried to convince them we were dooming ourselves.”
“You grew up there, right? How did something like arranged marriage sneak up on you?”
Tris looked down. “I dunno. I always thought I’d have the choice to ask for another match. There had to be more than one possible guy.”
He glanced at her until a shallow pothole caught him off guard. “Something tells me that didn’t work out like you planned.”
“When I refused to marry Dovarin, they arrested me and charged me with treason and sedition, fomenting rebellion, and all sorts of other bullshit. They said they’d drop the charges and let me out of Detention as soon as I ‘just behaved myself’ and did as I was told. After two weeks, they got tired of waiting. ‘Standard vaccinations’ turned out to be egg harvesting.” She clamped her hands over her belly. “They took them.”
Kevin spent a moment trying to think of something to say to that. “You okay? I… can’t even imagine…”
She gave him a helpless stare. “That almost sounded like concern.” She sniffled and wiped tears.
“Did they take all of them?”
I don’t know. I don’t think so, but they didn’t need me anymore and were going to let me rot in that cell as an example.”
“You obviously escaped.”
“I had help. Nathan, a hacker with the resistance, got into the system. He popped onto the ‘re-education’ monitor and offered to get me out if I helped the resistance. One downside to all-digital security in there, a good operator can break people out from a distance. Since I can’t go back to the Enclave ever again, they wanted me to take data about the Virus to Doctor Andrews in Harrisburg. I’ve got a memory implant with about nine gigabytes of data on the cure. Either I could help them or spend the rest of my life in a tiny white room. Once he said he wanted me to bring the cure to the world, I couldn’t say no. He guided me through the city to the underground. I spent a couple months training for the mission, plugged in and got an upload, and left via an old sewer line. Nathan kept me off the security system while I ran.”
“How’d you wind up with those three idiots?”
“I was wandering. Once I’d gone too far inland to see the ocean, I had to guess which way led east for a few days. My implant has a waypoint, but all the GPS sats are down, so it’ll only give me a directional signal when I get close enough to where I need to go. I found my way onto a caravan, traded a couple of handjobs for a ride. An Enclave hovercraft found us. Spineless bastards were going to just give me over, but I ran. Got into a sewer where the hovercraft couldn’t go. I got totally lost after that. I ran until I passed out from exhaustion. Those bastards found me asleep. Woke up tied. They were taking me back for the bounty.”
“Idiots. They would’ve been killed. Not to mention they went the wrong way.”
“You’re right. No witnesses. They’d assume I told them what I was carrying. People think the Enclave made The Virus, but that’s not true, no one really knows which side did it. I think it predates the war. It might’ve been some other country. We―they have a vaccine that has to be administered before infection. The data in my head is for a cure that can help someone even after they are exposed if it’s given soon enough. The cure will let the dregs retake the world, and they don’t want that to happen.”
“I’m surprised we haven’t seen more hovercraft.” He glanced at the rearview mirror.
“I think we’re too distant. They won’t to go too far from home. Nothing scares them like the thought of being stuck out here with the primitives. You should see those hoplite drivers. They rig up in suits thick enoug
h to go to the Moon. Like the air out here would kill them in two breaths.”
The cute little laugh that came out of her made him smile, as much as he tried not to. A telltale shimmer in the distance announced a patch of solar panels atop a roadhouse. Kevin slowed, steering to the right and pulling down a gravel and dirt path to a small parking lot.
“Gotta stop for a charge, might as well grab some food while we’re here and hope our luck holds.”
He hopped out, waited for Tris to close her door, and typed the code on four rubber buttons under the door handle to lock it. “Plug in?”
Tris looked back and forth from him to the car for a second before her expression went from confused to knowing. She took the charging cable from its hatch and unwound it until it reached a socket on a post by the parking space. “Number four.”
He jogged to a small porch and brushed through the door. An imposing older woman hovered behind the counter, the only person in the room. Almost as wide as she was tall, she embodied a nightmare of Germanic folklore. She, too, had white locks, though it seemed like a substance peeled from the walls of a haunted house more than hair. Her left eye, greyed over, didn’t move at all when she pointed the other one at him. The dour frown seemed the perfect complement to her green camouflage dress.
“Evenin’.”
Kevin approached the counter and offered a polite nod. “Evenin’. Charge on four, room, and some food please.”
“Thirteen.” The woman eyed him as if doubting he had any money. “Ain’t got rooms. Bunks. Three coins each per night.”
“Thirteen?” Dammit.
A flap of skin wobbled along the underside of the woman’s arm as she pointed at the door. “Three ta charge. Two apiece fer food, three apiece fer a bunk.”
“Fine. One bunk.” Kevin set out ten coins.
Tris kept quiet.
After a meal of some atrocity covered in grey slime the woman called ‘scrapple,’ Kevin followed her directions to a common room full of military style bunk beds. Tris curled up on the floor near one.
The Roadhouse Chronicles Box Set [Books 1-3] Page 5