Dead Man’s Number
The Roadhouse Chronicles Book 3
Matthew S. Cox
Dead Man’s Number
The Roadhouse Chronicles Book 3
© 2016 Matthew S. Cox
All rights reserved
This book is a work of fiction. Any similarities to actual persons, places, or wasteland marauders is purely coincidental. No portion of this book may be reproduced without permission from the author.
ISBN (eBook): 978-1-949174-76-2
ISBN (Print): 978-1-949174-77-9
Contents
1. The Message
2. Speed
3. The Opposite of Alone
4. Scars
5. Nothing is Everything
6. A Long Time to Fix
7. Too Many Questions
8. Aces and Eights
9. Two On The Way
10. Sky Watch
11. Only the Good Die Stupid
12. Stoking the Flames
13. Blackbird
14. Customer Service
15. Contact
16. Dark Roast
17. High Alert
18. Resistance
19. Amaranth
20. Survival
21. The Combat Package
22. Please Follow
23. Lock and Key
24. The Next One
25. A Storm of Doubt
26. A Hollow Echo
27. Lying in Wait
28. Diplomacy
29. Dreams' End
30. What She’s Always Wanted
31. Irony
32. Burn
33. The Council of Four
34. The Future of Humanity
35. Cleansing
36. Reunion
37. Wishes
38. Nowhere Else
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Other books by Matthew S. Cox
1
The Message
Unease kept the dust hopper stew bubbling in Kevin’s gut. He put a hand over his belly and leaned back in his seat. Tris, seated opposite him across their new kitchen table, faded to a near-silhouette in the early evening sun beaming in the sliding glass patio doors behind her. Every few seconds, a flash of orange reflected from Abby’s spoon. The girl sat with her back to the wall along the left side of the table, hunched over the bowl, stirring at her dinner, most of her face hidden behind a long curtain of straight, light-brown hair.
She wore a dress one of the locals made for her from a mixture of goat wool and hide. Abby especially loved her fur-lined moccasins, though didn’t bother wearing them inside the house unless it got cold. Kevin glanced from her to Tris and tried to distract himself from his worry by knowing she had nothing on under her T-shirt with the dark navy sleeves and white middle. Whatever logo had been over the breasts had faded long ago, probably before she’d been born.
Abby raised her head enough to give him a hint of a smile and a pleading look before going back to stirring.
“I spoke to Crystal,” said Tris. “She’s okay with me being away for a couple of days. Seemed eager to have Bee up and around again. Cassie too… she can’t wait to see a working android.”
Kevin chuckled. “You have to request time off? Sounds like a prewar job.”
Abby glanced toward Tris, who stared guilt into her food.
“We’re not going to be gone that long,” muttered Tris. “We’ve been there before, and it’s not too dangerous.”
“Almost a straight shot.” Kevin glanced at the ceiling while envisioning the map. “Route 76 to 80, and pretty much 80 all the way to Eppley.”
“If it’s safe, take me with you.” Abby raised her head and pulled her hair off her face. “Please?”
The last thing I need is for something to happen to her. Kevin sighed. “I dunno. Leaving the safety of Ned with a little kid seems like a foolish gamble.”
Abby furrowed her brows, but the rest of her face remained plaintive. “She just said it wasn’t dangerous… and I’m not little. I’m eleven.”
“Nederland is safe, but it’s not impervious.” Tris let go of her spoon to rub her eyes. “I… I’d almost feel better bringing her along too, so I wouldn’t keep worrying about her.”
Abby shot Tris a quick smile before giving Kevin her most wide-eyed, imploring stare.
“It’s not that I want to be away from you. I don’t want you to get hurt.” Kevin picked up his empty water glass and tried to drink from it for the third time. He held it out and frowned. “How’s your friend Isla adjusting to Ned?”
“She likes it here.” Abby gazed down. “But she’s still scared at night.”
Kevin leaned forward and gave Abby’s shoulder a squeeze. “I think we all are.”
Abby shot him a hard look; for a second, he almost regretted trying to ‘play dad,’ but her expression softened and she grasped his hand where it rested on her. He smiled until she let her arms drop in her lap and bowed her head. When the silence became pregnant, he stood. Two steps after he started to the patio doors, he swerved to the sink and held his glass under the faucet.
Still not used to working plumbing. Nederland had managed to get reasonably close to a prewar state. Perhaps due to its small size and relative lack of damage. No one saw fit to drop a warhead on a tiny little mountain town. Small wells and isolated septic systems didn’t fall victim to the large-scale infrastructure collapse that devastated most of the country. Here, he could fantasize that the war had never happened. Almost.
Bill found his story of all the solar panels sitting around at Amarillo fascinating, and the town elders had spent days discussing an expedition, one they would likely ask Tris to lead. Despite the possibility of a couple hundred Infected in the area, it almost tempted him. Of course, he wouldn’t bring Abby back there… too many bad memories. Nor did he much feel like leaving her here with her knowing where they went.
The town elders hadn’t made up their mind yet either way. More panels would make expansion smoother, but they still had Boulder and Denver to scavenge from. Decent odds at least three-quarters of the homes in Boulder had solar panels that still worked. Most proper cities still had much to salvage… for anyone with big enough balls to risk concentrated groups of Infected.
Tris sidled up next to him and put an arm around his lower back while he refilled his water. She opened her mouth to speak, but paused, glancing through the window over the sink at Emma walking by outside. A thirteen-year-old in a tank top, camo shorts, barefoot, and carrying an AK-47 around did wonders to break the illusion the world hadn’t been fucked.
Kevin tried not to think about little Zoe diving into a firefight against a raiding party. All of nine years old and she seemed to enjoy defending the town from bandit raids or Infected like some manner of game. Kids her age should be hiding whenever shit like that happened. He glanced back at Abby still picking at her food.
At least she’s got no interest in guns.
“Hey,” said Tris, a touch over a whisper.
He shut off the faucet. “Hey.”
She waited for him to finish taking a long drink. “Abby’s lost her father, and she’s terrified about losing us.”
He leaned on the counter, head down. “I know… I know. I’m just… after everything she’s been through, I want her to be safe. We’ve got no idea what things are like out there with Amarillo out of the picture.”
Tris put a hand on his arm and squeezed. “Nowhere’s safe with Nathan after me. I… I’d rather keep her close.”
He took another long sip and set the glass on the counter, but didn’t let go of it. “Well…” H
e smiled. “Guess that’s two votes for. I suppose we bring her.”
“I promise I won’t get in the way,” said Abby.
“You’re going to tell me she should carry a weapon next.” Kevin gave Tris the side-eye.
“Do I have to?” asked Abby. “I don’t wanna get shot. They won’t shoot me if I’m not a threat.”
“Some people will,” said Tris. “And the kind of people who’d attack us and not be inclined to shoot you too will umm…” She bit her lip. “You’d rather be shot.”
“Most raiders don’t have time to bother with kids.” Kevin folded his arms. “They left me alone.”
Tris poked him in the stomach. “You were only four… and a boy. It’s not the same.”
He grasped her shoulders, held eye contact for a few seconds, and pulled her into a hug. “When did you get so cynical? I thought you saw the best in people until they showed otherwise.”
“Easier to be an optimist when you don’t have a child depending on you to keep them safe.” She stared into his eyes, the worry another drone would find Nederland plain on her face.
“Okay. We shouldn’t hit anything too dangerous… Route 80’s travelled enough to be reasonably safe.” He let off a sigh of resignation. “I suppose she should carry a Sig or something just in case.”
“Do I have to?” asked Abby. “I don’t want it to, like, go off on accident or anything.”
Kevin’s thoughts leapt back to the family with the semi-truck; the twins weren’t much older than Abby. He liked to think they lacked killer instinct at their age; at least they didn’t open fire on Bull with the rest of their family. Abby hadn’t recovered from the events of Amarillo, perhaps she never would. Giving her a loaded handgun felt like a bad idea in more ways than one. He thought about his nightmare, running over grassy fields away from Infected, and scowled at the sink.
“We won’t force you to,” said Tris. “But it wouldn’t hurt to learn how to handle a weapon. Even in a place like Nederland, you can wind up needing to protect yourself.”
“Okay.” Abby lifted a spoonful of stew to eat, but hesitated. “Isn’t that what the militia is for?” She stuck the spoon in her mouth and took her time chewing, sitting in silence for a while after.
“You’re a little young yet, but a town like this… everyone protects everyone.” Kevin grumbled off to the side for a few seconds before looking at her again. “We’re not saying you need to pull a Zoe. She’s going to get herself hurt or killed.”
“If I had a gun, would my father still be alive?” asked Abby, not looking up.
Tris shook her head in disgust. “I should’ve put a bullet in that bastard’s head as soon as I saw him pointing a gun at you.”
“Honestly?” Kevin walked around the table and took Abby’s hand. “Probably not. If you had a gun on you, Warren might’ve been afraid you’d shoot him as soon as he started accusing you of being infected.”
Abby sniffled. “An’ Dad woulda gotten killed like they shot Tris for killin’ Warren.”
“It’s a risk. Depends on if it’s riskier not to have one.” Kevin stared at his hand engulfing hers, hoping she didn’t bristle at him for attempting to replace her father.
“I…” She shivered. “Guns scare me…”
“They scare me too, kiddo.” Kevin smiled.
She managed a small smile in return.
“I’ll show her the basics.” Tris swiped at her empty hip, and froze.
“What?” asked Abby.
“Just got so used to always carrying that Beretta around. Feels strange not having it on me.” She started for the living room. “Guess I feel safe here.”
Kevin released Abby’s hand and patted her on the shoulder. “I’m going to go check on the car, make sure it’s up for a ride.”
“I’ll clean up.” Abby stood and gathered the bowls.
Kevin headed out the front door and down the porch, which had only a few feet of clearance to the gravel road passing by―not that getting hit by a car presented much of a concern. Hell, this place probably didn’t have much traffic even before the war. The Challenger sat in the grass a few feet east of the house. One downside of Ned came in not having a charging plug at the house. He stopped, hooked his thumbs in the pocket of his jeans, and sighed, missing the little garage he’d had in Rawlins. Of course, he could always build one here too. For the time being, he’d have to move the car to the downtown area for a charge, and either wait with it or walk home.
After keying in the security code with the rubberized buttons under the door handle, he hopped in and slid his thumb across the six rocker switches over the console. Everything lit up as it should. Of course, nothing going wrong with the car only fanned the fires of his superstition. Fate wanted him to head off on this trip so it could screw him harder when it would hurt more. The battery showed a seventy-seven percent charge, not quite enough to leave him comfortable about starting a long drive.
Abby emerged from the front door, having put her moccasins on. Tris followed a moment later. He tapped a square button on the left side of the central display screen, paging through the car’s internal diagnostics. He found himself hoping something with the car failed, as if a problem now somehow guaranteed nothing major would go wrong once they’d gone a hundred miles into the wasteland. He chuckled, thinking about many nights drinking at Roadhouse tables with other travelers. I’m being dumb. Why are drivers so superstitious?
“Hey,” said Tris, appearing by his still-open door. “Taking Abby to the range for a little while, see if I can at least get her able to hold a gun without her hands shaking.”
Abby stared at the ground.
“Okay. Be careful. I’ll probably wind up leaving this thing downtown for the night.”
“Damn, sorry.” Tris smacked herself in the forehead. “I forgot to ask Crystal about a car plug. I’m not sure they have an extra.”
Kevin chuckled. “Another reason to go shopping in Amarillo I guess.” He shut off the diagnostic with a grumble. “Not worth the bother. Ain’t like I’ve got a need to do a lot of driving lately.”
Tris took Abby’s hand and led her past the Challenger, across the road that came within four feet of the back of their house, and up the hill to the east. The local militia had a firing range set up at the northwest part of town where a nice-sized bit of mountain served as a backstop. They only had an hour, if even that, of daylight left.
Grinding gravel announced the car pulling away, Kevin no doubt heading downtown to plug in. He’s taking the death of his gods well. It may or may not be worth a trip back there to salvage solar panels. Fair bet half the remaining proprietors had contemplated it, but maybe with the Code defunct and having to worry about defending themselves, the idea of running headlong into a city with hundreds of Infected would be too intimidating.
Not that she had a tremendous amount of faith in what the Enclave had taught her, but history class made it sound like solar power had wound up competing with nuclear as the dominant source of electricity in the years leading up to the war. A fair amount of areas where fear kept the nuke plants away already had the basic infrastructure for solar. Of course, even Amarillo’s stash couldn’t repair the entire country… hell, probably not even one whole city. She smirked to herself at the irony of cities filled with people terrified of living near nuclear power plants being bathed in radiation by warheads instead.
Abby swung her free hand at her side, walking with her gaze on the dirt. “It’s nice here.”
“Yeah.”
“Do you like it?” The girl looked up.
Tris nodded. “Yes. I guess I do miss Rawlins a little bit, more than I thought I would, but you are much safer here than you would’ve been on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere.”
“Is Kevin upset that I made you leave?”
“You didn’t make us leave.” Tris ran a hand over Abby’s head. “Besides, he wanted to take me here before you showed up.”
Abby blinked in disbelief. “He was
afraid of you getting hurt?”
“I’m fast, but I’m not perfect. I don’t know how long the nanites will keep working. And… he’s a guy.” She held her arms out. “I look fragile, so he’s got this deep-seated need to protect me.”
Abby grinned. “It’s kinda cute.”
Tris laughed. “It annoyed me at first… but, it’s nice to have someone who worries about me.”
“Yeah.” Abby bowed her head and punted a small rock off into the grass.
Tris scowled at the sky. Nathan, I hope you die painfully for what you did. “I’m sorry I didn’t shoot Warren sooner.”
Abby kept quiet for a few strides before looking up. “Is that why you let me stay with you? ‘Cause you think it’s your fault my dad got killed?”
“Well, I guess that is a little bit of it, but the look in your eyes when you asked. It wasn’t even a question for me.” She managed a smile while pushing the range gate open.
The old wooden fence creaked.
“It’s not your fault.” Abby looked her in the eye. “If you killed Warren right away, it woulda been murder… even if he was an asshole. Everyone was so freaked out, they probably would’ve gone crazy.”
Someone had already set up a couple of cans and paper plates on sticks at about twenty yards, decent enough targets. Tris guided Abby up to a brown folding table upon which sat two more cans, a few scraps of paper, and a gun cleaning brush.
The Roadhouse Chronicles (Book 3): Dead Man's Number Page 1