With a shoulder pat, the somewhat younger man behind him walked off toward the tables, leading the rest of the small army to the biggest round table in the middle of the room. The teen bearing the infant sat near a red-haired woman two-ish years his senior, and both tended to the baby. The twins headed for the bathroom, accompanied by the oldest of the women. Kevin assumed mother since they all had the same shade of chestnut-brown hair.
Kevin shook his head. “Ugh. I don’t think Amarillo will sell panels to a rig.” Besides they might be older than shit. “Hear there’s a settlement ’round ol’ Fernley, if ya keep goin’ west on 80. Guy there name ’o Wilkins.”
“Didn’t Amarillo put out a contract on him a few years ago?” asked the second man. His uniform shirt bore the name ‘Stubblefield,’ though odds were, it had been scavenged.
“Yeah, they did.” Kevin indicated the charging panel control with a thumb over the shoulder. “Six coins for the juice. ’Course no one took them up on it. Wilkins and his people don’t set up fake roadhouses. They help settlements. Made too many friends for anyone to mess with him.”
“Hmm.” The first man, ‘Henderson’ according to his shirt, rubbed his chin. He set six coins on the counter. “What’s available food wise?”
Kevin collected the money and flipped both switches; the lights pulsed in a slow blink, still amber. “Burgers, fries, think there’s some sausage left too… and soup. Need rooms?”
Henderson nodded at the wall. “Nah. Got bunks in the trailer. Thanks though. Food for eight then. Mix it up.”
“You got it.” Kevin headed out from behind the counter to collect a handful of dirty plates before walking into the back.
Tris appeared from a doorway at the end of the hall and met him halfway to the kitchen. “Saw that truck come in. Need help down here?”
He leaned over, arms full of dishes, and kissed her on the cheek. “You’re amazing. Sure. I’ll help Sang cook, watch the counter?”
“’Kay.” She brushed past him and disappeared into the main room.
Kevin elbowed the kitchen door aside. He dumped the plates and forks into a basin sink before giving Sang an apologetic look. “Big order. Eight people.”
“Wow… small army.” Sang set down his book and rolled off his bed to his feet.
“Yeah. They’ve even got the camo.” Kevin opened the spigot to rinse his hands, but jumped back as the pipe spat and hissed. “Gah!”
“Give it a sec. Pump’s been struggling… or the well’s drying out.” Sang wiped his hands on a towel. “What they order?”
“Assortment… burgers, fries, soup. Figured I’d help.”
Snapping in the hallway announced the approach of small flip-flops. Both twins peered into the kitchen, curious until their mother tugged at them. Sang waved; the girls smiled and walked off, back to the front room.
Sang resumed cooking, whistling to himself. The water caught up a second later, allowing Kevin to wash his hands. Soon, he tended a number of patties on a grill, not quite able to tell if they were beef, venison, or dust-hopper. The old man leaned over to sprinkle them with seasonings every so often while spending most of his time on the fries, soup, and a steak big enough for two people to share. He’d arrived with a large footlocker full of all sorts of jars containing spices, herbs, and powders; with any luck, his stash would last a few years.
“Hope your girl drive fast.” Sang gestured at the fridge. “We running low.”
Kevin chuckled. “Yeah, that little windup toy of hers is fast.”
“You doing well here.” Sang grinned. “I am happy to have found this place.”
He’s gettin’ kinda old. “Heh. It’s good to have you. Your fries are already a legend along this stretch of 80.” Kevin rested his weight on the spatula hand, leaning on the front edge of the grill. “Not that I’m trying to get rid of you or anything, but if you have any family you want to get back to, say the word. Pretty sure my car still works.”
Sang bowed. “Much kind of you, but there is no one.” A glimmer of sorrow fled from the elder’s eyes.
“I’m sorry.” Kevin slid the spatula under a burger and flipped it, dodging grease spatter. With the mind-numbing sizzle of meat flooding his senses, he stared at the wires connecting the heating element up to the ceiling, and to the solar-charged battery. How much of his dream hung on the aging hardware. Without the panels, no cooking, no charging… wouldn’t be much of a roadhouse.
For a little while, the two men stood without speaking amid the scratch of a spatula or the scrape of a soup ladle.
“Marsing,” said Sang.
“Hmm?” Kevin glanced over. “What?”
“I can feel the wonder on you.” Sang teased the ladle around in the soup. “I lived in a settlement called Marsing, a few hundred miles north and west of here with my son, Jae-Yong.”
Kevin looked away from the grim expression on the old man’s face, and nudged a burger back and forth across a small sea of grease. “Sorry.”
Sang let his head droop, nodded, and stood straight again. “Thank you. He was nineteen.”
Tris appeared at the door, mouth open as if to speak, but the mood in the air struck her mute.
“He go with some of his friends on scavenging trip to Boise. Six of them leave, four came home.” Despite the topic, the elder spoke with a calm resignation and no increase in gloom upon his features.
Kevin sighed as he scooped finished burgers from the grill onto a waiting group of buns. He winced, realizing he’d forgotten to ask Athena to see if Carver had any flour for sale. “I… damn. Sorry. Didn’t mean to bring up bad memories.”
Sang nodded without looking at him. “I understand. It is good to unburden oneself of such things. Jae-Yong did return, but he had haunted eyes.” The ladle scuffed against the pot; the rhythm of a slow stir competed with the noise of bubbles.
Kevin glanced over at the old man’s face amid a cloud of fragrant steam. He didn’t want to ask if the boy had killed himself out of guilt.
“Two days passed. Jae-Yong remained in his bed. He did not want to see anyone.”
“Depressed?” asked Kevin.
Tris crept in, standing at his side.
“No. On the second day, he showed me a mark on his arm where he had been bitten. Infected.”
Tris gasped. Kevin cringed.
“I am a weak man.” Sang stopped stirring, staring into the still-whirling mass of brown liquid, beans, and potatoes. “I could not bring myself to kill my own boy. Many died when he lost his sanity. I was exiled.”
“Oh, no,” whispered Tris. She stared at the floor.
Sang inhaled, held it, and let the air out his nose. Several seconds of silence passed before he lifted his head with a faint smile. “I had intended to wait until Jae-Yong was no longer Jae-Yong, but the change came on him while I slept. I still do not understand how I was not his first victim.”
Kevin clapped him on the shoulder and squeezed. “There was still enough of him in there. I don’t know that I could do any different in that position.”
Sang nodded. “Thank you.”
He ladled soup into bowls without another word. Whatever question Tris had entered with remained lost. She hovered at Kevin’s side with the posture of a child expecting punishment until he handed her a pizza-platter turned serving tray full of burgers. She carried it out into the hall, followed by Kevin with another tray bearing soup bowls and the giant steak.
“Hey…” He caught up to her. “Enough of that look. It’s not your fault. You might’ve come from the Enclave, but you’re not part of it.”
She sniffled. “I know. It’s just that… I could’ve done something to stop―”
“No, you couldn’t have.” He grumbled. “You did not screw anything up. They sent you out as a living weapon.”
Tris spun to face him, nearly causing two burgers to slide off the tray. “But… I have to do something.”
“You? Why? Because you’re from there? Are you a geneticist? A doctor?” H
e slouched. “Look, I don’t mean to be an asshole… but really. What do you think you’re supposed to do?”
She grumbled and resumed walking toward the front room. “I dunno. It just feels like I should be doing something. If I’m not feeling guilty over not stopping the Virus, I’m feeling worried that the Enclave is going to show up and try to kill me.”
“Easier for them now that we’re stationary.”
“No.” She whined at him. “I’m not complaining about this place… you’re so happy here. I’m happy here… I just…”
“Feel guilty. Yeah.” He followed her over to the round table and set the platter down. “Here ya go. Some burgers, soup… and Sang threw in a steak. Probably venison.”
The twins eyed the steak.
“Thanks,” said Henderson. “What do we owe you?”
Kevin considered a bulk discount, but remembered they wouldn’t be renting rooms. Their clothing and gear appeared to be in good repair. He added up what the portions would’ve cost one at a time. Five coins for the steak, three each for burgers and fries, two per soup bowl. “Meh, call it an even thirty.”
Henderson accepted the price without flinching, and handed over coins. “Smells good.”
“Let me know if you need anything.” Kevin carried the handful of coins to the counter and fiddled with the lockbox to get the combination open.
Tris leaned on him. “I’m about a third of the way done with the panels. Some were worse than others.”
“Hope that rig doesn’t blow anything out.” He threaded an arm around behind her back. “They’ve got it hooked up by two leads.”
“Probably two independent battery clusters. Something that size might have tandem drive trains or one’s a backup.” She rested her head against him. “I do feel safe here, but I’m not sure I deserve it.”
“You had nothing to do with anything the Enclave did.” He kissed her atop the head. “Where’s all this guilt coming from?”
Tris sighed. “I don’t know. It’s like I used to know and forgot. Sometimes when it’s quiet, I feel like… I dunno, you ever walk into a room and forget why you went there? I get that feeling a couple times a week.” She fidgeted. “What if they made me forget something?”
Kevin raised an eyebrow. “They can do that? That’s only a little unnerving.”
“Well… I got months of ‘training’ in a couple weeks.” She tapped her sneaker tip on the floor and wobbled her foot side to side. “I’ve never seen anything about erasing memories.”
“Simulations aren’t the same as just putting information into your head. You learned things the usual way, just faster.”
“I guess.” She twisted around to peer out the door. “I’m surprised you haven’t gone climbing all over that truck to see how it works.”
He grinned. “Oh, I’ve been tempted… but it’d be rude.”
The door swung open with a clatter of the dead hydraulic assist. A large man with shoulders bulky to the point he appeared not to have a neck stumped in, followed by a skinny man in black leather who resembled a skeleton in a man-suit. Kevin’s back muscles stiffened. These two constantly flirted with the edge of civility. Whenever they stopped by, someone always got hurt. Pedro Trujillo, aka ‘Bull,’ and his backup driver, Ajay Samed, who had tried to call himself ‘Reaper,’ but got tired of the way people made a joke out of it, him being so skinny and all.
“That was quick,” said Kevin. He leaned on the counter. “Run into much trouble?”
“Couple of Topekans felt all sorta charitable.” Bull grinned a disaster of teeth at him. “Got a trunk full o’ salvage.”
Ajay’s laugh slid in and out his nose, hissing past a clenched jaw.
“They still using those flimsy ass buggies?” Kevin flipped open his notebook, turned to the taken jobs page, and found the entry where he’d sent the pair to Rossville, Kansas with two footlockers’ worth of tee shirts. “That was a collection run.”
“Yep. Was.” Bull gave him a long, measuring stare before unhooking an orange-and-black hip satchel from his belt and dropping it on the counter. The clink of coins mixed with the rustle of nylon. Before Kevin could grab it, the man dropped his paw of a hand on top of it. “Interesting little arrangement you guys have. Ever wonder why people don’t just keep the money? We’re the ones gettin’ shot at.”
Kevin shifted his weight back onto his left leg, and surreptitiously flicked the snap open on his holstered .45. Tris reacted to the change in his body language and took a step left, hand on the Beretta at her hip. “You both know I did my time behind the wheel. Roadhouse makes it possible for you boys to operate. Not like Reaper’s gonna dry hump the car to charge the batteries.”
Ajay’s grin ran off to a scowl. Bull glanced off to the side for a second, failing to hide a smile.
Kevin counted the coins out of the hip pouch and sectioned sixty-five out of the five hundred. He pushed sixty to Bull, tossed five in his cash box, and put the remainder back in the hip pouch for the merchant to pick up. He handed it over to Tris. “Put that in the safe, hon.”
Bull’s smile flattened. “What if I say I think you should give us all sixty-five?”
Kevin offered an appraising frown. “Then I’d say you’re forgetting the Code. You’re gettin’ twelve percent on a milk run. Most operators’d leave you forty.”
“Yeah. You right about that.” Bull brushed his leather jacket aside to expose a pair of .44 revolvers. “Maybe it’s time for a change, and I’m thinkin’ that change looks like sixty five coins.”
Kevin raised an eyebrow. “You’ve got a strange sense of humor. If I didn’t know you, I’d think you’d just threatened me in my own roadhouse. Of course, I know you’re just messin’ around. That ain’t how the Code works.”
“You hear ’bout Spring Grove?” Bull flicked his thumb around the hammer of his still-holstered weapon. “Someone shot up a ’house in South Dakota, and ain’t no one do nothin’ about it.”
Ajay flashed an opportunistic grin. “Yeah, man. Maybe they don’t know who did it. Maybe they don’t care.”
The group from the big rig shifted in their seats; everyone but the teenaged boy holding the infant pulled weapons into their laps.
“I call the runt,” whispered one of the tweens.
Her sister nodded and eyed Bull.
“Sounds like a load of BS to me,” said Kevin. “Five thousand coin bounty’s a heavy weight to carry. If someone ‘hit’ Spring Grove, it’d be all over the airwaves. How many people drive a bright red Tahoe with black bull heads on the doors?”
“Those are supposed to be bull heads?” asked Tris, eyebrow cocked. “I thought they were cow spots.”
Ajay’s eyes shifted back and forth between Bull and Kevin.
Bull hovered his hand over his pistol, fingertips barely touching rubber. “What if I think that’s all a load of crap?”
Kevin hardened his stare. “Then I’d think I’m about to collect a stupidity tax of sixty-five coins, plus have a bunch of shit to sell.”
Bull’s moustache twitched.
“Bullet’ll be coming out the back of your skull before the tip of your barrel clears leather.” Kevin leaned his head to the left until his neck popped, and did it again to the right. “Shame to spoil a good working relationship like that.”
Bull met his stare for a moment, glanced at Tris, eyed the people at the big, round table, and relaxed. “Heh. Just fuckin’ wit’ yas.” He grinned and dropped ten coins on the counter. “Beer and burger each and a bunk.”
Tris cocked an eyebrow. “You boys sharin’ a bed or does the little guy get the floor?”
Ajay glared at her.
“You know what I mean.” Bull grumbled. “Two rooms.”
Kevin swept the coins into his hand. He could squeeze twelve out for the order, but didn’t feel like cleaning up after a gunfight. He banged on the wall twice and yelled through the hole. “Sang, need a pair of burgers.”
“No problem, Boss,” shouted Sang.
After filling a pair of mason jar glasses, he set them on the counter and indicated the seating area with a nod. “Pick a table. Food’ll be out soon.”
The group in camo relaxed somewhat, though they continued to watch Bull as he headed for a table in the back corner and sat facing the door in. Ajay leered at the youngest of the adult women among them, a girl of perhaps seventeen or so with straight black hair. The twins leaned against their mother, edging away from where the two men sat.
“What was that?” Tris pressed up to Kevin. “You trying to start a fight over five coins?”
He didn’t take his eyes off Bull or Ajay, not the way ‘Stubblefield’ stared at them. Whatever his real name was, the man looked like he could be the twins’ father or older brother. “Shit. Somethin’s gonna go down. And it ain’t the coins. It’s the Code.”
She jabbed him in the side. “The Code isn’t gonna help you if you get shot.”
He broke his stare at Bull and tapped one finger on the tip of Tris’ nose. “They were just testing me. Not even Bull’s got the balls to risk bringin’ Amarillo down on him.”
“Yeah, but you’d still be dead.” Her gaze fell to the floor.
“Everyone knows there’s cameras. He’d have to kill everyone in here and burn the whole place down, and hope that the black box melts. This guy Holloway killed the man who’d been runnin’ the Hagerman Roadhouse before Wayne got it. Poor bastard couldn’t show his face anywhere near a road or settlement. Bounty eventually got up to eleven grand. Site inspector carried his severed head around for a couple years as proof too.”
She squeezed her fingers through his shirt on both sides, pulling him against her. “I don’t care about the cameras. I want you alive, not avenged.”
Scuffing boots made him look up at ‘Stubblefield,’ who approached the counter. “What’s the deal with those two? Wasn’t expecting them to go for that badass act.”
Kevin glanced to his right, over the counter at the man in camo. “Just a pair of drivers in from the road. And it ain’t an act.” He patted Tris on the shoulder. “She would’a killed him ’fore his gun left his hip.”
The Roadhouse Chronicles Box Set [Books 1-3] Page 47