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

by Cox, Matthew S.

  “Hey wait a second.” Kevin snatched the printed photo. “She has white hair in this picture. If we’re supposed to believe that she was born before the nukes, how did she look like that back then?”

  “Tris was a platinum blonde.” Dad-AI sprouted a narrow metal appendage, which pointed an intense, albeit tiny, spotlight on the paper. “The printout is not the best quality. The toner has been sitting idle for fifty years or so, and the light in here is… poor.”

  Under the spotlight, the little girl in the picture had a hint of blonde in her hair and a trace of color in her skin, neither of which present-day Tris possessed.

  She exhaled. “I… don’t know how to feel. W-why am I so important?”

  “I do not know the full extent of their knowledge of you, me, or the risk you represent. However, considering you were born in 2014, I imagine they are most interested in your DNA. They also likely fear my biological predecessor may have left sleeper programs in the systems that you would be able to access.” Dad-AI glided to Tris’ left and activated another set of monitors, which streamed with program code. Black textual ants raced across white background. “The Enclave does not know that I, that is to say the artificial intelligence of Doctor Jameson, exist. I inserted the message into Nathan’s music files hoping you would be able to find it. I was unable to do more to stop them from putting the explosive in you, though I did manage to reprogram it not to detonate until five seconds after exposure to air.”

  At the mere thought of what that charge would’ve done to her, she lurched, dry heaving. One of the wheels on her chair cracked.

  “I have the means to shut down the production and distribution system for Agent-94, or ‘The Virus,’ as you know it. However, I do not have direct access to the main Enclave network. There is no hardline connectivity between the old Stanford network and the modern systems. I have been operating via an unsecured backdoor through an ancient tape drive, but they have been upgrading and I am no longer able to establish connectivity. I need you to create a router to connect the two networks.”

  “And how the heck am I going to do that?” Tris lifted her head, wanting to crawl off somewhere, wrap herself around a stuffed animal, and cry until everything just stopped mattering.

  Hydraulics whining, Dad-AI swiveled around the room, activating panel after panel of displays. All the supercomputer towers lit up from inside with a cobalt blue glow. After a minute or so of frantic zipping about, the boom extended the ‘head’ close to Tris once more. “Once you create a path for me to connect to the Enclave’s current systems, I will be able to eliminate the Virus, their capacity to manufacture it, and all records of how to make it. However, I need you to remove a security protocol I―Doctor Jameson rather―put around certain file structures within the Enclave system. I have already created programs that will do everything that needs to be done safely, but your genetic fingerprint is coded to what Doctor Jameson named the Eden Protocol. You are the only one who can open it.”

  Tris shivered and looked up at the metallic box hovering over her, unsure which of its five lens ‘eyes’ she should stare into. “Me?”

  Kevin folded his arms. “No wonder Nathan wants you dead so bad.”

  24

  The Next One

  Abby lay curled on her side facing out into the room, Zoe’s arm around her. The younger girl’s breath warmed the back of her head. It felt like an hour since they’d gotten into bed and the adults left. She didn’t dare close her eyes. Although they said only Zara would go near a fallen drone, the crash sounded too close. The wind would carry death over the whole town.

  Her eye caught the glint of moonlight off one of the gas masks lying on the floor. She sat up.

  “Are you okay?” whispered Zoe, her grip tightening.

  “We should put the masks on. It’s gonna blow through town.”

  “Okay.” Zoe insisted on holding her hand as she crawled out of bed.

  Abby picked up the mask Zoe had designated as hers. “I’m not gonna run.” She looked at the tangle of rubber bits and lenses, with a pair of disk-shaped vents on each cheek. “How does it work?”

  “Here.” Zoe dropped hers at her feet and helped Abby get it over her head before adjusting the straps.

  The mask pressed into her face too hard to be comfortable, but in some odd way, it reassured her. Zoe put hers on and marched over to her desk. She dragged the chair closer to the bed, left it, and headed to a wardrobe cabinet from which she lugged a rolled up sleeping bag almost twice her size. Abby tilted her head in confusion. Zoe unrolled it in the space between the bed and the chair before pulling the blanket half off the bed, using the chair to drape it into a tent.

  Abby started to protest when Zoe grabbed her rifle from the closet, but didn’t want to make so much noise Bill or Pete woke up. Zoe crawled into their blanket fort and lay the rifle flat beside the bed. Abby scooted in next to her and pulled the ‘tent flap’ closed.

  They could’ve been playing army… except for the real firearm.

  She felt a little ridiculous in a knee-length purple sweatshirt and a gas mask, but maybe if the Virus got into the house, she’d be able to get away. The mask didn’t fit Zoe well, since it had been made for an adult. The occasional brush of coolness below Abby’s ears worried her that she had a similar issue. She put a hand on the mask to hold it tight to her skin, and shifted from sitting cross-legged to lying on her side.

  “Cnh mm slee im eees?” asked Abby.

  Zoe looked at her. “What?”

  Abby took a couple quick breaths trying to calm down, but the difficulty of breathing in the mask frightened her to where it had the opposite effect. “Can. We. Sleep. In. These?”

  Zoe shrugged.

  Fogging lenses needled at claustrophobia. It made no sense at all, but the blanket wall did make her feel safer. If Amarillo repeated here, at least they had a high place. Nothing could get up to them. Zoe’s closet held enough bullets to kill everyone in Nederland twice…

  Abby grabbed her chest and panted.

  Zoe hovered over her, rising up on her knees. “Ymm kay?”

  “Scared.” Abby closed her eyes.

  The more she tried to breathe, the harder it got, and the more frightened she became. In minutes, the overwhelming urge to rip the mask off crashed head first into the terrifying idea that one tiny sip of air without it would kill her. Her gut churned.

  No! Don’t throw up! She cringed. The mere thought of vomiting while wearing a gas mask made her even sicker. Bunnies! Flowers! Bunnies! Flowers!

  Zoe peeked out the flap. “Nothing’s coming. We’re clear.”

  Abby coughed, wheezing. How do soldiers wear these things? I can’t breathe! She grabbed the mask in both hands, pressing it down but wanting to pull it away.

  “We’re safe. Stay quiet.” Zoe, apparently taking a cue from Bill, shuffled over and stroked her hair as though she were a giant housecat. “Don’t be scared. Dad and Gran’pa will protect us.”

  Abby tried to think of fuzzy white dust hoppers frolicking in a flower-laden meadow, but still couldn’t calm down. She clutched her throat, wheezing, fighting for air.

  Zoe grasped her mask. “You’re having ’nother ’tack. Should take this off so you can breathe.”

  “No! I don’t wanna die,” yelled Abby.

  She jumped at the clonk of the front door closing. They’re coming! Her eyes sent a warning to Zoe.

  “Shh,” whispered Zoe. “You’re breathing too fast.”

  The loft floor thumped with the weight of someone coming up the ladder.

  Abby sat upright, grabbed Zoe, and whispered, “They’re here.”

  “’Fected can’t do ladders.”

  “Girls?” asked Bill. “What in the name of…”

  “See?” Zoe held her hands up in an exaggerated shrug. “It’s just Gran’pa.”

  Bill pulled the ‘tent’ open and blinked at them. At the sight of Abby’s fish-out-of-water act, he swooped down and pulled the mask away from her face.
Air across her cheeks felt as though she’d walked from a sauna into a nice autumn day.

  “No!” Abby reached for the mask. “The Virus!”

  “No virus.” Bill wiped sweat from her forehead. “Another camera unit.”

  Abby clutched her fists against her chest, right below her chin.

  “Really.” He shook his head at the ‘fort.’ “Zara went out to check the drone. It came down about a hundred yards southeast of the artificial lake. There’s no need to suffocate yourself with a seventy-year-old mask.”

  No Virus. She blinked a few times and held that thought until her breathing slowed to normal. “The air is safe?”

  Zoe pushed her mask up so it sat on top of her head. A second later, super-serious face broke with a giant grin.

  “Yes, Abby.” He held her hand. “That drone didn’t have anything on it other than electronics. You can relax.”

  “But…” She gazed down. “It got close enough to see us, didn’t it?”

  Bill eyed the rifle and gave Zoe a warning look. “You’re getting a little too casual with that weapon, sweetie. You need to respect it like the tool it is. It’s not a toy.”

  Abby brushed her fingertips over the goosebumps on her calf.

  “Sorry. We thought the ’Fected were coming.” Zoe pulled the mask off her head, picked up her rifle, and carried both back to the closet.

  “It saw us, didn’t it?” whispered Abby.

  Bill’s lips curled inward. He heaved a sigh and nodded. “Yeah. Probably.”

  “Can you take us away from Ned?” She put a hand on his arm.

  Zoe scurried back to the tent and crawled in on her stomach.

  “There’s no need to get that extreme yet.” Bill patted her hand.

  “But… they’re gonna attack us. They’re gonna send it here where everyone is. We gotta go camp out in the woods so they can’t find us. Please, Mr. Vasquez… please take us somewhere safe.” Abby stared at him, whispering, “Please.”

  Zoe yawned. She pushed at the sleeping bag and squirmed, frowning before glancing up at the bed then over at Abby. “We can sleep inna fort if you want. Or bed if you think the floor’s too hard.”

  “Please,” whispered Abby. She eyed the pink fabric. “Blanket isn’t gonna stop anything… bed’s fine.”

  Zoe smiled. “Okay. If you’re sure.”

  “I’m not five years old… I don’t…”

  “Here.” Zoe handed her Fuzz.

  Abby looked down, but took it.

  Bill backed up as the girls moved the blanket back to the bed and climbed under the covers. After putting the sleeping bag back in the closet, he tucked them in and sat on the chair, already nearby. “We’ve worked out an evacuation plan to temporarily relocate everyone to Boulder in the event a weaponized drone shows up.”

  “I’m scared,” whispered Abby.

  Zoe rolled toward her and put an arm over her chest. Bill’s eyes reddened and he wiped a tear before patting her on the back.

  “The next one won’t be a camera.” Abby stared at Bill. “The next one will kill us.”

  Bill bowed his head, some of the color faded from his cheeks.

  It’s gonna come. It’s gonna kill everyone if we don’t stop it. She clenched her jaw. The drones were only scary if they got close. We gotta stop it from getting close. I gotta stay alive ’til my… A tingle spread over her back, ran all the way down her legs to her feet, and bounced back up as a surge of determination. I have parents! I gotta stay alive ’til they’re back.

  She grabbed Bill’s hand. “Tomorrow… can you show me how to shoot a rifle?”

  He blinked at her, wordless.

  “I want to help. I know I’m not twelve yet like the mayor said’s gotta carry a gun… but I wanna help anyway.” Abby shuddered. “I saw it happen in Amarillo. I don’t want it to happen here.”

  Bill pondered for a second or two before nodding. “Alright. We’ll see if you’re comfortable with it tomorrow. Try to sleep. And let’s hope you’re a little more careful with it than a certain little girl who thinks she’s nineteen instead of nine.”

  Zoe snuggled closer and drooled a little on Abby’s shoulder. Somehow, she’d already passed out.

  “Okay,” whispered Abby, closing her eyes.

  Bill grunted; the chair creaked. A rough hand patted her on the forehead before the smack of a light kiss happened somewhere in Zoe’s vicinity.

  They just shot down the camera. The Virus won’t show up tonight. Little by little, the dread that the instant she fell asleep, Nederland would be wiped out faded.

  “Jesús, if you’re real. Please let Tris and Kevin come home,” she whispered before letting the air out of her lungs in a long, slow breath. “And tell Dad I love him.”

  25

  A Storm of Doubt

  Random memories of childhood flooded in still-image flashes through Tris’ mind. How old had she been when her father decided to use her as some kind of key? She couldn’t doubt that he’d loved her, but she found herself livid with him. More so for the tease of thinking him alive, only to find the voice from the other end of the phone had been a computer program pretending to be a dead man.

  The dark-brown face of Randall, the ‘Resistance’ contact who’d run all the training sims and watched over her while she lay helpless and naked in a tank, appeared in her mind. They’d gone all out with the act. He’d dressed in quasi-military rags, spoke with a hint of patois, and acted like he loathed the Enclave and everything they stood for.

  She almost felt his hands clutching the fabric of her jumpsuit at each shoulder. You kin do ’dis ’ting woman. You may be small, but ya got lot o’ ’art. Go out ’dere, show ’dem who’s da boss. Believe in yerself an ya kin do anyt’ing.

  “Right. Suppose this works.” She opened her eyes and looked at the mechanical thing pretending to be Dad. “Stopping the distribution of new Virus is one thing, but what about the symbiotes or the existing Infected that haven’t died off naturally?”

  “Yeah.” Kevin flashed a rogue’s smile. “Some of those things are well past their expiration date.”

  The ‘head’ on the end of the boom swiveled down to peer behind it while rotating to keep itself right side up. One of the distant monitors flashed a stream of data too fast for a human eye to read. “I will be able to initiate a self-destruct command to the symbiotes. There has always existed an ‘off switch’ per se. From the start, their end game”―its ‘head’ swiveled around to face her―“has been to retake the land outside. They would not have wanted to fight off the weapons they’d unleashed upon the world.”

  “What about the non-symbiote Infected?” Tris folded her arms.

  “Those, alas, would be left to Agent-94 running its standard course of progression. All should expire within three months. Preferably without contaminating more people.”

  “But they’re not dying in three months.” Tris stood. Dad-AI glided back as she approached. “Some of them have lasted far longer than that.”

  “I believe you are falling for an illusion, Tris.” Dad-AI moved around her, the boom arm holding its ‘head’ like a medical instrument running a 180-degree scan of her skull. “They expire but are replaced by new victims. I have found nothing to indicate they have managed to extend the terminal arc of the disease. It is hastened in cases where the victim is unable to find food. Reduced mental capacity also interferes with their ability to recognize some sources of nourishment. Canned food, for example, they would perceive as inedible slugs of metal.”

  Tris paced back and forth running her hands through her hair and grumbling. An idea sparked, and she stopped cold, pointing at the machine. “You’re an AI with some part of my father’s intelligence. His brain running at the speed of a computer would be scary to behold… Can you somehow reprogram the symbiotes to break down Infected instead of blow themselves up?” She waved her hand around in a circle near her head. “Like… like… reverse the process by which the symbiotes stall death. Speed it up instead. And s
et the symbiote to self-destruct if it fails to encounter an Infected in something like seventy-two hours.”

  “And disregard uninfected humans,” said Dad-AI.

  “Well yeah.” Tris stared into the largest lens-eye, inches from her face. “That kinda went without saying.” She sighed and bowed her head. I shouldn’t have gotten my hopes up that he’d be alive. “Of course. Programs need to state everything explicitly.”

  “Correct. I am already generating the necessary instruction code. By the time you initiate the Eden protocol, it should be ready.” The boom glided closer, iris lenses narrowing. “I am sensing an unusual tone in your voice.”

  “It’s… I… You should’ve told me you were an AI.” She looked around for something to punch. Kevin crept closer, so she settled for holding him instead. “I let myself believe you… I mean my father… might’ve still been alive.”

  “I apologize for becoming ‘Schrödinger’s Dad.’”

  Tris gasped a chuckle and wiped a lone runaway tear.

  “Who the hell is Shrow Dinger?” asked Kevin.

  “Maybe you’re right.” My father is dead, and this is his last message to me from beyond the grave. He grew old and left me frozen while the world collapsed and reshaped. She clenched her fist into the cloth at Kevin’s back. “He could’ve taken me out of stasis, kept me with him. Let me grow up with a father.”

  “Forgive me if I am being semantic, but you did grow up with a father… merely one who was not biologically related to you. The man believed you to be his child. Did he not treat you well?”

  “I…” She walked away from Kevin and got to pacing. “Aside from the whole almost putting me into a mental health path because I hallucinated you―I mean my dad.” She growled. “No. Once I lied and said I made my father up, Dad2 was okay.” I never had a problem with Mom2. I never even knew Mom1. “Do you know what happened to my mother?”