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

by Cox, Matthew S.

  She twisted at her arms, but they’d overtightened the straps; she couldn’t even rotate her wrists.

  Hope lasted for only a few minutes of struggling before futility set in and she sagged limp.

  I did it. I got rid of the Virus. She stared at the ceiling. Guess it doesn’t really matter what happens to me now. Please let Kevin get out of here in one piece. Tris bit her lip. He’s going to come after me. No. You have to go home to Abby, you asshole! Tears slipped out of her eyes and slid warm trails down the sides of her head. It would be nice to be with him again even if only for a few minutes before the Council ordered them killed. Together would still be together. Abby would eventually move on. Or not. Tris growled and struggled again, but gave up after a moment of getting nowhere.

  A door squeaked open.

  She kept staring at the ceiling, trying to find anger under the thick blanket of gloom. Letting them see her cry would give them too much.

  “Well… I dare say you’ve made quite the little nuisance of yourself.”

  Nathan.

  Tris thrashed, trying to sit up. The chair creaked.

  Nathan approached to within a few feet. He wore a smug grin along with a high-collared black Chinese tunic and trousers. His chest-length blond hair hung straight and perfect as always, a few stray strands down his front all but glowed against his shirt. To think that she’d considered him cute when he’d first spoken to her in Detention, when she’d thought him a Resistance hacker.

  Behind him stood a naked woman with a startling resemblance to her, only taller and more muscular. Clear gel dripped down her body, collecting in pools by her feet. She appeared unconcerned with her lack of clothes, and had the most unsettling neutral expression.

  “You look like a casting disaster from a historical documentary about Kung Fu,” said Tris.

  Nathan scoffed. “If you’re going to insult me, at least say something that makes sense.”

  She eyed the woman. “What sort of pervy thing are you planning now?”

  He wandered closer, examining his fingernails. “I’ll assume you’ve learned about the Persephone androids. I took this one out of its packing material a few moments ago. She’s brand new for you to play with. Little girls like dolls don’t they?”

  “Why?” She stared at him.

  Nathan let off a beleaguered sigh. “I’d love nothing more than to put you out of my misery, but Gerhardt wants you back in the sim… along with everyone else. Exactly what did you think you would accomplish by opening all the pods?”

  “You sent me out there to cure the Virus. That’s what I did.” She scowled at him.

  He chuckled. “You haven’t cured a damn thing. All you’ve managed to do is create mass panic and kill a few dozen people. It boggles my mind why the Council wants you kept alive. Of course, by the time we’re done with you, you won’t remember that filthy Wildlander you’ve fucked… or any other contaminated organisms out there you’ve become attached to. You’ll be reprogrammed into someone’s nice little subservient wife.” He held his hand out to study his nails, arching his fingers back as far as they’d bend. “Don’t worry about missing that little hovel you’ve holed up in by the way. A day or two from now, they’ll all be gone.”

  “No!” She screamed, forgetting herself for a moment of furious, but futile struggling at the straps holding her down. Dad stopped it. Forcing calm over herself, she glared, hard breaths gasping past clenched teeth. “Why me? What’s so damn important about me? Why do you have a bug up your ass?” She grunted, straining against the straps. “Why am I so goddamned important?”

  Nathan covered his mouth to mute a haughty chuckle. “Oh, you’re not. Your father started the Resistance. Those softhearted idiots would’ve been the doom of humanity. I took it upon myself to personally ensure that you were made an example of. You know…” He looked up, head at an angle, tapping his chin. “Poetic irony and all that.”

  She dug her fingernails into the upholstery. “You can’t put me back into the sim. It’s shut down. The software’s eating itself; the preservative fluid is halfway out into the Bay, and the robots are dismantling the pods. It’s over, Nathan. Everyone knows the truth.”

  “You vastly underestimate the willingness of sheep to be sheep.” He let his arm fall at his side. “When confronted with the reality of what it would entail to… what is it you so naïvely said? ‘Become part of the world?’ They will run back to the pods like children hiding under the covers.” He laughed as if at a stupid child.

  Tris lurched against the straps at the sound. His voice scraped down her spine like glass claws.

  “I must say you surprised me. I never honestly expected you to make it to the Resistance in Harrisburg, much less all the way back here. Your pitiful ‘assault’ on the Enclave is a forgettable footnote in an otherwise forgettable life. Your father should’ve left you back in time where you belonged.”

  She tried to project an aneurysm into his brain by sheer hatred.

  “Of course, I happen to disagree with Gerhardt. Keeping you alive is a needless risk. A mistake… like that one little frayed thread sticking out of an otherwise perfect cheongsam. I can’t help but pluck it. And… best of all, thanks to your little attack, everyone is quite too busy to notice what we’re doing right now.” He brought his hands together in a rapid, soft clap. “By the time things are back under control, no one will notice or care what happened to you. And my new friend here will take your place. The council’s never met you up close.”

  Tris summoned all the desire she could manage, her need to get back to Kevin… get back to Abby, and channeled it into her muscles. She strained against the arm straps. At her utter lack of moving them, she dug her fingernails into her palms, refusing to cry in front of him.

  “And now, another poetic irony.” He grinned. “You’re going to kill yourself.”

  “No way in hell.” She scowled.

  Nathan looked over his shoulder at the Persephone. “Kill this woman.”

  The android walked forward, raising an arm to grab her around the neck.

  “I meant kill yourself in a metaphoric sense.” He chuckled. “This thing does look like you. Enough to fool Gerhardt into thinking you’re still alive.”

  Tris’ eyes bulged; she tried to lean back, but couldn’t move away. Clear slime dripped onto her chest from the android fingers inching for her throat. The robotic woman stared down at her with no emotion whatsoever in her perfect face, Tris’ reflection in a demonic mirror.

  32

  Burn

  The Persephone’s frigid fingertips touched her skin.

  “No!” yelled Tris.

  It stopped. A second later, the Persephone lowered her arm.

  “What are you doing?” barked Nathan. “Kill her.”

  The android reached for her throat.

  “No!” shouted Tris.

  Again, the Persephone halted.

  “Kill her now!” shouted Nathan, his too-beautiful face showing signs of red.

  “Don’t!” shouted Tris.

  The android stopped with its hand six inches from her neck.

  “What are you doing?” roared Nathan.

  The android straightened and faced him. “Persephone series designation I6-414 possesses a failsafe.”

  “Failsafe? Disregard the failsafe, kill her!”

  She reached for Tris’ neck again.

  “Don’t!” yelled Tris.

  Again, the Persephone reset to a neutral stance.

  “Define this failsafe,” said Nathan with an imperious wag of the head.

  “Failsafe directive. Core program code. Firmware revision 17.25.002. Failsafe routine enacted 2017, authorization Doctor Ian Jameson. Subject Tris Jameson granted command override access to all Persephone series units.”

  “Huh?” asked Tris. “Dad programmed you all to listen to me?”

  “You are correct,” said the Persephone.

  “No!” yelled Nathan.

  “Knock him out,” said Tris.<
br />
  Nathan pivoted to run, but the android leapt into a foot sweep that took him down. The Persephone pounced, hauled him to his feet, and held him off the ground. She looked at him for a second as if calculating, and rabbit-punched him square in the forehead. Nathan collapsed in a heap.

  “Please get me off this chair… without hurting me.”

  The Persephone padded over and threaded a finger under each strap before snapping them away from the chair as if they’d been made of thin plastic. Tris gawked at the eighth-inch-thick nylon/steel weave composite. As soon as the last strap came free, she leapt off the chair and ran to the Beretta. Of course, the asshole took all the bullets, though at least he left the magazine in it. She recognized the scratch down the left side—the same mag it had when Kevin gave it to her.

  If I get out of here alive, this is going in a case. I’ll carry one I don’t care about losing.

  She stuffed it in her pocket and jogged to Nathan. He moaned and stirred as she grabbed the sidearm from his belt. She knelt on top of him, waiting a few seconds for his eyes to focus on her.

  “Hello, Nathan.” Tris whacked him across the jaw with the pistol.

  A little blood spattered on the floor.

  “Don’t let him out the door,” said Tris.

  The Persephone walked across the room and stood in the doorway.

  “And don’t let anyone else in unless their name is Kevin.”

  “Understood,” said the Persephone.

  “No!” said Nathan.

  She smiled.

  Nathan surged upward; Tris may have had the strength of a large man, but she had the body mass of a wisp. He threw her to the side, keeping a hand clamped around the wrist of her gun arm. Tris landed flat on her chest and wheezed, her fingers clenched. Nathan attempted to pry the weapon free, but couldn’t budge her grip. He dragged her a few feet while clambering to his feet, and drew his leg back to kick her in the gut.

  She grunted and twisted, pulling him off balance. They fell sideways together, Nathan wailing. Tris sprang toward him, distracting him with a fake punch to the face and landing a real kick to the groin.

  The strike sent him sliding along the polished floor a good ten feet. He crumpled into a ball and whined.

  “Hmm. I didn’t expect that to do much. The way you preen, I figured I wouldn’t hit anything vital there.”

  He gulped air, his face florid.

  Tris stood and eyed the standard Enclave pistol. “Have you ever even fired this thing? Don’t worry, Nathan. I don’t think I’m going to shoot you.” She stuck the gun in the armor’s built-in holster.

  “Hah. You think the Council is going to listen to you?” He forced himself up to his knees, an arm braced through his crotch. “You’re fooling yourself. You really believe that nonsense, don’t you?”

  “I think you’re mostly bluffing.” She sauntered closer. “The Council already warned you once… and their time of power is coming to an end. Your entire military from the smallest drone to the biggest Guardian hovercraft is about as potent as your little twig of a dick.” She tapped her head. “They’ve all been disabled, and only I’ve got the codes to turn them back on. It’s six thousand against four. What side are you on?”

  Nathan growled and pulled a ten-inch blade from his hip. Her combat boosts slowed his motion to a near crawl. She caught his arm, twisted it over, and flipped him onto his back while ripping the knife away from his grip.

  “A knife! Why thank you! It’s perfect!” She made a show of studying it like a gift.

  “What…” Nathan moaned.

  “Oh, I guess they didn’t tell you.” Tris grabbed a fistful of his tunic and hauled him off the ground one-handed. “Apparently, my father’s ghost has been rattling around the network. He gave me the full combat package.”

  She threw him over the chair into the wall. He bounced off, leaving a bloody mark where his mouth made contact, and collapsed in a heap.

  “The way you had them strap me down before you had the balls to show up, I figured you knew that… I guess you really are just a sad, sad little man. If you were afraid of a girl my size without boosts, you’re about to have a really bad day.”

  Nathan struggled to his feet, clawing at the wall to pull himself up. He pushed away, flying at her with a wobbly roundhouse kick.

  Tris caught his ankle in her left hand, smirked, and threw his leg aside. His eyes flared wide. Growling, he waved his arms about in some manner of martial arts threat display. She tilted her head.

  “Is that supposed to be kung fu, tai chi, or did a wasp fly past your face?”

  “Stupid bitch.” Nathan circled to her left. “You think a little VR is going to matter? I’ve been training for years. In the real world.”

  “Right.” She rubbed her temple over her right eye. “Here, and I thought you were a useless pampered administrator.”

  Nathan lunged. Her enhancements dragged the world into slow motion again, making his left hand feint obvious. Tris spun under his incoming punch, grabbing his wrist as her back pressed into his chest. A quick thrust of her hips sent him up and over, and she yanked down on his arm to swing him into the floor. Before he could start shouting from the dislocated shoulder, she whirled around and braced her knee against the back of his arm, pulling on his wrist until the arm broke backward at the elbow. She hopped away and eased off the boost.

  Time resumed.

  Nathan shrieked.

  “Guess they ran the wrong software.”

  As soon as he started to push himself upright, she took a step and kicked him in the stomach, flipping him over on his back. He gurgled, cradling his gut, staring at her with googly eyes bulging from a red face. Whatever he tried to call her came out in a series of harsh barking noises and groans.

  Tris glared at him, hands clenched to fists. She never imagined it possible to hate someone as much as she hated Nathan. Every time Abby cried, she wanted to twist his head off. Every time the girl woke up screaming in the middle of the night, haunted by her dreams of what happened in Amarillo, Tris wanted to kill him. The thought of how terrified the girl had to be worrying about them out here boiled over. Snarling, she went in for a field-goal kick to his head. He rolled to the side and scrambled to his feet, catching her foot.

  Before he could do anything with her trapped leg, Tris flung herself into a midair corkscrew and cracked him across the chin with her left foot. Nathan torqued around and sailed into the wall face first while she landed on all fours. Tris shoved herself upright and got her arms up to block a series of punches that dragged down to a crawl as soon as her boosters kicked on again. One after the next, she swatted his strikes aside. After six, she caught his wrist.

  “Didn’t I already break this once?” Narrowing her eyes, she twisted his arm to the side and hammered the handle of the knife down on his forearm, earning a satisfying crunch.

  Nathan gasped, fell to his knees, and made a noise like a lovesick basset hound. Bloody mucous ran from his lower lip. He fumbled with his rubbery limb, trying to pull it into place for his nanites to mend.

  “I really don’t like what you bring out in me, Nathan.” She eyed the knife. “You killed all those people in Amarillo.”

  He grunted and hauled himself upright. “They’re damaged on a genetic level. Hu”―he wheezed for breath―“Humanity can’t afford them.”

  Tris faked a slash to his face and stomp-kicked him in the sternum when he moved to defend. The hit launched him against the wall, a coconut like knock came from his head. Dazed, he started to wobble toward her. She grabbed him, flung him around, and plowed an elbow into his upper back, crushing him against the clean white surface. He struggled, whimpering, but couldn’t budge her. Tris tossed the knife up and caught it by the handle.

  After admiring the way the light reflected from the edge for a second, she rammed it into his back hard enough to stick it in the wall.

  “That’s for Emilio.”

  Nathan let off a long, agonized wail.

  Tr
is leaned up on tiptoe, putting her mouth at his ear. “This is for Abby.”

  She twisted the knife back and forth, grinding it deeper.

  Nathan howled, and shit his pants.

  “Don’t worry. You’ve got nanites, right? It’ll take them a while to exhaust themselves to the point they start reconfiguring tissues.” She tapped the knife handle, making him squeak each time her finger made contact. “You should last fourteen hours before they eat you from the inside out.”

  She pounded her palm on the knife handle, seating it into the wall. Nathan gasped.

  “You are not permitted entry,” said the Persephone.

  “The bitch is loose,” yelled one of the men who broke her finger. He tried to barge past the android, but she palmed his chest and flung him into the wall outside.

  The delicate sound of concrete chips falling to the floor followed a loud crash.

  “I see you paged your helpers.” Tris looked at the door. “Are there five of them out there?”

  “That is correct,” said the Persephone.

  “Those five don’t need to remain among the living.” Tris let go of the knife, leaving Nathan hanging like a frog tacked to a dissection board. She walked to a terminal a short distance away behind the chair.

  “Ngh,” wheezed Nathan. He tried to reach around and grab the knife, but screamed at the pain of moving and hung limp. “What… what are you doing?” Fingers splayed against the featureless white wall, he attempted to push himself off the knife, but also gave up with a gasp.

  Tris dove through the Enclave file system using the root access Not-Dad gave her, and raided Nathan’s personal files. She found a certain list of files he’d put in her head, selected one, and smiled at him.

  “What are you doing?” wheezed Nathan, sounding desperate. “You don’t honestly expect to simply walk out of here do you?”

  A disgusting crunch came from the doorway. Two men and a woman screamed, then rapid footsteps grew quiet and distant. Tris snapped her gaze over to the door at the sound of gunfire. The Persephone leaned out into the hall, her breasts bouncing with the recoil of the assault rifle she fired. Seconds later, she lowered the weapon and took two steps back into the room, standing guard.