The Roadhouse Chronicles (Book 3): Dead Man's Number

by Cox, Matthew S.

“What?” Ann clutched the top of the roof, shaking.

  Zoe ran to the Nederland-facing side of the roof holding her rifle pointed upward in one hand. At the edge, she peered down and shouted, “A drone! I shot it a buncha times, and it fell outta the air.”

  Ann beckoned her with a rapid wave. “Zoe get away from the edge!”

  “Get down from there before you fall,” yelled a man. “Jim, take Renee and go check it out.”

  “I don’t see it,” said Abby.

  “That’s ’cause I shot it and it caught on fire.” Zoe backed away from the edge and flicked the safety on the rifle.

  Ann pulled herself up and crawled to the middle of the roof, shivering from her fear of heights. She grabbed Zoe in a bear hug as soon as the child got close enough.

  “I’m okay, Gran’ma. We are on drone patrol. We got one.” Zoe grinned.

  Oh, no. They’re really trying to kill us. Everyone’s going to die. Images of being dragged out of bed in the middle of the night by her terrified father raced back to her mind. Abby breathed faster and faster until she became too dizzy to stand. Her vision blurred to useless behind a thick layer of tears. She swooned to her knees and bawled.

  Ann’s arm went around her.

  At the instant of contact, Abby screamed, “No!”

  The woman cringed.

  Abby looked up, sniffling. “I mean… no… they’re trying to kill us.” She grabbed Ann and wailed, lost to sobs of uncontrollable sorrow as everyone from Nederland died in her imagination.

  “Ann?” shouted Bill. “Zoe?” His voice got louder.

  Zoe closed her ammo pouches and pulled the bandolier over her head onto her shoulder. “On the roof, Gran’pa. Gran’ma’s scared a bein’ up high.”

  Ann crawled backward, one hand around Zoe’s wrist, the other arm around Abby. Footsteps scuffed up behind, and a hand patted Abby on the back.

  “Come on, hon,” said Bill.

  Abby released Ann and clung to Bill, who carried her down the angled part of the roof and handed her through the window to a tall woman in militia camo with caramel skin and a round face. The woman sat with her on Zoe’s bed, rocking and patting her, asking what’s wrong in various ways using both English and Spanish.

  Zoe climbed in the window. “Abs, let’s go check it out. I wanna see the crashed drone.”

  All the nightmares of Amarillo cleared from her mind. “No!” Abby leapt away from the militia woman and grabbed Zoe. “Don’t go near it!” She stared up at Bill. “Don’t let anyone go near it! They’ll die. It’s carrying Virus.”

  Bill’s expression said ‘oh shit.’ He blinked at her once and ran out.

  Ann stood inside the window, shivering, both hands over her face. Her usual warm complexion had faded, leaving her face paler than Abby’s. “What were you girls doing up there? You could’ve gotten hurt.”

  Zoe put her rifle and the ammo supply back in the closet, then pushed the doors closed. “Abby told me ’bout the drone that hurt everyone where she used to live. Tris said one might be coming here; that’s why they went onna trip to hit the Omclave in their stupid noses.”

  Ann patted herself on the chest a few times, then fanned herself. After a moment, some color returned to her cheeks and she grasped the shoulder of the militia woman. “Thank you.”

  The woman nodded. “No problem.”

  “Thanks.” Abby sniffled and forced a weak smile at the woman. “Sorry.”

  “You musta seen some badness, girl.” The militia woman squeezed Abby’s shoulder. “Ain’t no shame in bein’ afraid of that crap.”

  More shouting came from outside, but Abby couldn’t make out words, only that men yelled back and forth to each other. The shouts held little emotion, voices raised only to cover distance. She grabbed Zoe and pulled her close.

  “Don’t go near it. You’ll get sick an’ then you’ll bring it to town, and everyone will die.” She sniffled and collapsed seated on the rug, bawling.

  Ann sat nearby and pulled both girls into a hug.

  “Not fair,” muttered Zoe. “I killed it and I wanna see it.”

  “You’ll die,” whispered Abby, choking on her attempt to breathe and cry at the same time.

  Ann rocked her and patted her back. She wasn’t Tris, but Abby only cared for a half a second before she held on and cried herself to silence. Zoe’s annoyance at being denied the opportunity to see her ‘kill’ up close gave way to concern. She scooted closer on her knees, holding Abby’s hand.

  Eventually, tears ran out, and Abby stared at the wall feeling hollow. Are we gonna be alive when they come back? Zoe squeezed her hand. Ann continued patting and rubbing her back.

  A few minutes later, the ladder to the loft rattled. Abby didn’t care enough to look, but Zoe twisted around.

  “Hi Zara,” chirped Zoe.

  Sniffling, Abby raised her head and peered up.

  Zara climbed up into the loft, a strange-looking boxy rifle across her back on a strap. She seemed less frightening in green camo pants and a purple sweatshirt; without that creepy shimmery armor, she almost looked human. The black-haired woman wasn’t quite as ‘nice’ as Tris, but still had much to do with getting her out of Amarillo alive.

  Abby stared up at her. Tears streamed out of her eyes again for a few seconds before she wailed, “They’re gonna do it again!”

  “What happened?” Zara took a knee at Abby’s side. “Why are you so upset?”

  “A drone. They’re sending a drone to drop the Virus on us.”

  Zara nodded. “Where did you see it?”

  “West.” Abby wiped her nose on the back of her arm. “I saw it on the noculars.”

  Zara’s lips twitched as though she suppressed a laugh. “Can I see them?”

  Abby held the green box up. “You gotta look through this side, with the eye pads.”

  “Hmm.” Zara looked at the focus wheel. “Hmm. Can’t tell. Did you see any glowing numbers or anything when you looked at it?”

  “No.”

  “Damn. Battery’s probably shot. This thing’s got a rangefinder. Guess I wander around until I trip over the crash site.”

  “It was pretty far,” said Zoe. “Like a thousand. I hadda put the scope all the way far.”

  “Don’t go.” Abby grabbed Zara’s arm.

  Zara smiled. “It’s all right, Abby. I’m like Tris. I can’t get it. I’m going to bring some ethanol with me and burn it out so no one gets sick.”

  “What if it gets on you and you bring it back here?” Abby sniffled.

  “I’ll be careful… I’ve dealt with this crap before.” Zara stood. “Keep ’em inside for now.”

  Ann nodded. “Yes. It’s about bedtime.”

  Abby shifted her gaze to Ann without lifting her head. “Do you really think I’m going to be able to sleep right now?”

  “No, no… of course not.” Ann stood. “Get changed for bed. I think we have some cocoa left.” She patted the girls on their heads before following Zara down the ladder.

  Zoe puffed her chest out, beaming. “We saved Ned.”

  “We’re in so much trouble,” whispered Abby. “The militia’s gonna yell at us. Maybe lock us up.”

  “We didn’t do anything bad.” Zoe pulled her dress off and slipped into her nightgown.

  “You fired a gun and didn’t tell them first.” Abby got up and walked over to where she’d left her sweatshirt/nightgown draped over a chair.

  Zoe stared at her while she changed as if she’d said the most stupid thing imaginable. As soon as Abby fluffed her hair out from under the fabric, the girl sighed. “We didn’t have time to tell them. It was attacking! When bandits attack, we don’t gotta ask the militia if it’s okay to shoot them.”

  “Oh. Duh. Right.”

  “Come on.” Zoe ran to the ladder and climbed down.

  Abby trudged after to the kitchen, where Ann hovered by the kettle on the electric stove. She guided the girls to the sofa and threw an afghan over them. With only an oil lamp for ligh
t, the house filled with frightening shadows. Abby pulled the hand-knit blanket up to her face, not even noticing that she trembled until Zoe gave her a funny look.

  “I don’t wanna get sick,” whispered Abby.

  Zoe mulled for a little bit before smiling. “I won’t tie you to the bed. I got a suitcase to hide in.”

  Abby giggled, despite her fear.

  Ann crept in and set a tray down on the coffee table with three mugs filled with pale brownish foam. Abby hadn’t seen chocolate for a few years, but recognized the fragrance right away. Ann eased herself down between them, handed each girl a mug, and took the last. They sipped at the cocoa in the quiet dark for a little while before Ann decided to ramble about how this sort of drink used to be common.

  “It’s rare?” asked Abby.

  “Oh, we can get cocoa beans sometimes. Bit too cold to grow them here, but sugar’s hard to find. We found a nice big container of this powder a couple years ago, and keep it for special times like this when someone really needs it.”

  Abby wondered if this ‘years old’ powder had the flavor it had been meant to. It didn’t taste unpleasant, more strange―aside from fruit, she didn’t have ‘sweet’ things too often. “I’m scared. Thank you for using some of your expensive… cocoa.”

  “Oh, it’s fine, Abby.” Ann leaned against her for a second in a one-armed hug. “Problem with saving things like this for ‘just the right moment’ is, you grow old an’ you realize you don’t got so much left to look forward to. One day, you realize that you missed a whole bunch of ‘right moments’ and you still got all this stuff you never used. Way I see it, you needed it. Like a nice warm hug from inside.”

  Zoe slurped her drink.

  Does she think we’re all going to die soon? Abby glanced over. “I don’t want to die. Maybe we should go up into the hills so they can’t find us.”

  “Oh, I didn’t mean it like that.” Ann bowed her head. “Sometimes people find things like this cocoa and they want to make them special, so they keep them set aside waiting for some special moment that never happens.”

  “But what if you use it all?” asked Zoe.

  “If you use it all, you’ve enjoyed it right? If you grow old and the jar’s still full, you never got to enjoy it―so making it special didn’t mean anything. You might as well not have found it.”

  Abby drank another sip; the cocoa had cooled to the point where she could take a big mouthful. She figured Ann meant to say something more than she didn’t mind giving her the hot cocoa. Like she shouldn’t be afraid to enjoy life or something.

  An explosion in the distance made her jump. “What was that?”

  “Something blowed up,” said Zoe.

  Ann perked, craning her neck as if she expected to see through the wall. “Sounded pretty well away from town. Bet that was Zara getting rid of the drone.”

  Abby shivered and pulled her legs up under her, cuddling into the afghan. If Zara had found the drone and destroyed it more than the crash already had, she’d be on the way back with news… and possibly deadly contamination.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Ann.

  “I’m worried about what Zara found.” Abby sipped more cocoa. “Why did Tris and Kevin have to leave? I’m scared they won’t come back.”

  Ann attempted to be comforting for a while. Abby couldn’t blame her for trying, but didn’t feel obligated to cheer up either. Soon, their mugs ran dry, and Ann put her arms around the girls, pulling them close. Zoe passed out not long after, asleep with her mouth hanging open, head against Ann’s shoulder.

  Despite being warm and comfortable, Abby couldn’t sleep. Her thoughts refused to settle down. If she thought about the drone, she saw the people of Nederland going crazy and shooting each other for sneezing. If she pictured Tris or Kevin, her gut clenched in knots worrying about them.

  Zara and Bill entered about twenty minutes later. Zara seemed pleased. Abby stared at her wide-eyed.

  “Well, it wasn’t a chem carrier. The drone you took out was a recon unit, only cameras on it.”

  “That’s not good, is it? Cameras?” asked Abby.

  She walked over and put a hand on Abby’s shoulder. “You can relax, kid. There was no Virus on it at all… and you shot it down about a half mile out. I don’t think whoever was operating it could’ve seen Nederland from that distance. Night vision doesn’t have that much range, and they would’ve been staring into the dark flying east at that hour. Odds are in our favor that they didn’t spot the town. Losing that drone could either be great, or bad. Either they’ll mark this area as too dangerous for more recon, or they’ll send something out to see what happened to the last drone. That’s why I blasted the crap out of it. If they come looking, they won’t find the transponder or a crash site.”

  Bill scratched at the side of his nose with his thumb. “We need to double up on our watching the sky.”

  “Our biggest problem is at night,” said Zara. “All their drones are black, and they don’t make a lot of noise. I got my helmet back online, and it has night vision. I don’t mind pulling night watch, but one person can’t cover the entire sky.”

  Bee walked in from the rear hallway, still holding a pillowcase and the naked pillow she intended to put in it. “Forgive me for interrupting, but I have night vision capability as well. I am also quite accurate in the employment of chemically propelled ranged weapons. And I have excellent auditory sensors.”

  Abby smiled. The effort to look proud, earnest, concerned, or whatever the plastic-faced woman attempted struck her as hilarious when paired with a pillow. Seconds later, Abby burst into giggles.

  “Well, that’s a start at least.” Bill shook hands with Zara. “Can you get any of those other helmets working?”

  “Tried already. Sorry. My rifle makes big holes. Probably take a drone down in one shot. Wish I had more ammo for it.”

  “Something we can get from Ween?” asked Bill.

  “Doubtful.” She smiled. “Fifty caliber caseless only comes from one place I know of… and I’m pretty sure they won’t sell me any.”

  Abby yawned. Zara’s confirmation that Virus had not flown within seeing distance of Nederland took the wind from the sails of her anxiety. She blinked a few times, finding it hard to keep her eyes open while curled up on the sofa with Zoe under a nice blanket. The hour or so of extreme panic swung hard in the other direction, leaving her exhausted. No longer able to fight the cozy warmth around her, she lowered her head onto Ann’s shoulder and fell asleep.

  14

  Customer Service

  Not quite ten minutes after Kwan and his wife left the compound, headlights washed over the face of a building on the left side of the street. Kevin edged up to the gate, an expectant eyebrow raised.

  A large white truck with blinding patches of fluorescent yellow trim and emergency lights rolled into view. ‘San Francisco Emergency Management Services’ ran along the side in tall blue letters. He recognized the underlying frame as that of a box truck, probably with high-performance e-motors and an enormous battery to support all the lights and whatever other medical systems the thing had. Granted, whether or not any of it still worked… who knew?

  “Damn. Look at the size of that thing. That’s like what they called when twenty poor bastards got fucked up at the same time.” Kevin chuckled. “Could haul people to a clinic by the truckload.”

  Tris fidgeted at his side. The urgent look in her eyes clashed with the guilt about leaving these people behind.

  “Come on; let’s help them load up so we can get going.”

  Kwan turned the giant ambulance away from the Boatman’s encampment, stopped, and backed down the street toward it. Kevin averted his gaze, not interested in seeing what a pair of dual truck tires with in-wheel motors would do to dead bodies. Crunching bothered him enough without the accompanying visual. The truck came to a halt within inches of the gate. Both back doors opened, revealing the red haired woman, a small medical bed, and a cavernous space full of tiny cab
inet doors and an array of devices and gadgets the purposes of which sailed straight over Kevin’s head.

  “Boy,” yelled Freya, waving at the tow-headed kid still sitting by the pile of MREs. When he looked at her, she beckoned him with a wave. “Come here.”

  Kwan slithered out of the driver’s door and walked around. His left bicep had a coating of clean gauze around it and his face ran with sweat.

  “Whoa.” Kevin got in his way. “You look like you’re about to pass out. I got it… just… sit down or something.”

  “Kwan,” said Freya. “This kid’s got skin lesions. We should clean him up.” She helped the boy up into the back of the truck. “And we got some better pants you can have that won’t keep falling off.”

  The boy nodded with an eager smile, and followed her into the back.

  “Thanks.” Kwan patted Kevin on the shoulder and climbed into the ambulance.

  Kevin and Tris hauled boxes of ammunition and weapons to the truck, though he did appropriate one case of 5.56 and one case of 7.62, which wound up in the Challenger’s trunk, as well as a case of four shiny new AK47s. He had to admit they looked badass, all metal with synthetic stocks.

  Allison, the eighteen-year-old, joined in and helped carry. At some point during the procession of moving boxes, she traded the bulletproof vest for a clean beige shirt. The boy, wearing a somewhat-too-large pair of intact jeans, lowered himself out of the back of the ambulance about fifteen minutes later. Six squares of white gauze clung to his chest, shoulders, and sides where Doc Kwan had tended to what the chain did to him. He raced over to the MRE stockpile and started carrying them by the armload to the truck. Fox ran after him to help, chattering away.

  The Indian man approached the doc, showing off an angry-looking knife wound along his left side. He spoke so fast Kevin couldn’t tell if he used English, though his gesture back at the ‘arena’ said all. Kwan nodded and waved him in.

  Before long, everything worth taking had been loaded into a vehicle. Kevin also helped himself to the Boatmen leader’s shotguns, though he did cut the tape to separate them. Fox climbed up on the front end of the Challenger and sat like some kind of biological hood-ornament-direction-finder.