Kevin momentarily forgot how to work a belt buckle.
Tris looked over her shoulder at him. He couldn’t reconcile the thought of a woman with such a slender figure kicking a man hard enough to smash a railing. Gazing at the little heart-shaped gap between her perfect thighs brought a grunt of discomfort as his interest struggled to break out of his jeans.
What is she up to?
She tested the water with a toe before smiling and lowering herself in to sit. “It’s perfect.”
He discarded the rest of his clothes and hopped in facing her. Two seconds later, every muscle in his back locked.
“Shit! It’s hot!” His teeth chattered.
Tris took a bar of soap from a recessed cubby in the wall. “I wasn’t expecting this place to feel so… normal.”
It took a minute for him to settle in, millimeter by millimeter as his skin adapted to the temperature. He stared at her breasts, large A-cups or small Bs, hovering a few inches over the steam-shrouded water. Her blasé demeanor raised his guard, a too-sudden shift from modesty to not caring.
“I’m telling you.” He eased himself against the tub wall, trying to acclimate to the water. “Most people are normal.”
She worked the soap up and down her arms and over her chest. He couldn’t pull his gaze off wherever her hands moved.
“We shouldn’t stay here long.” She aimed a nervous glance at the door. “Turn around. You are filthy.”
He did and rested his elbows on his knees. She rubbed the soap over his shoulders and into his hair. As Tris leaned in close enough for her nipples to graze across his back, his ‘little warrior’ sprang to attention again, forgetting how hot the water was. Kevin groaned.
Tris whispered at his ear. “If these people are nice, I’d prefer we get out of here before the Enclave comes for me. I don’t want them to get hurt.”
Kevin reached up and grasped her hand, which rested on his shoulder. Eye contact. Her face hovered close enough to kiss. “They think you’re dead.”
“I’m not.” She bit her lower lip. “Because of you.”
Kevin twisted sideways and ran a finger over the spot he’d cut. Not even a scar…
She shivered and squirmed, evidently ticklish.
“Yeah, don’t get used to it. I’m usually an asshole.” He smiled. “Rare attack of conscience.”
Tris covered her mouth to mute a giggle. She brushed a soapy hand over his forehead and worked her fingers through his shoulder-length hair. Droplets hit the water in front of him, exploding into small clouds of grime. “When you said it’s been awhile, did you mean a bath or being with a woman?”
“Yes.”
“I can tell.” She smirked at his crotch, and at how grey the water had become.
“You don’t have to do this as some kind of thank you.” You’re an asshole, not an idiot. She’s offering. Take it. “Really.”
“What if I want to?” She leaned closer, pushing him backward until he lay almost flat, with only his head above the water. “Do you want to?”
“I could be talked into it. But it might take a bit of do―” He closed his eyes as she lowered herself to kiss him.
Water lapped at the sides of the tub as they writhed, joined at the lip for several minutes. She pushed up, gasping for breath and smiling. The soap bumped his shin, bobbing in the water, forgotten at the other end. He ran a hand up her thigh and over her hip.
“I’ve only done this a couple of times before.” She put on a demure expression he wasn’t inclined to trust. “But I’ve seen a lot of historical documentaries about it.”
Kevin muffled a laugh into the crook of her neck. She giggled.
A patch of moonlight glowed on the wall past the foot end of the bed, a skewed rectangle taller on the right side. The silhouette of an old combat aircraft, a ‘Raptor’ according to the poster, lurked in shadow near the corner. Kevin let his gaze wander to the ceiling. Tris lay flat on her back next to him, using his right bicep as a pillow, her head turned toward him. More relaxed than he could ever remember being, he closed his eyes and waited for sleep.
Scattered gunfire went off in the distance.
Tris shot upright, staring at the window.
“It’s not the Enclave.” He put a hand on her shoulder and tugged. “Relax.”
“I thought you said people are friendly.”
Kevin yawned. “There’s always the exception. Besides, they might be shooting at a dust hopper or coyotes.”
Soft, rapid thumps vibrated the floor with the cadence of a child running. A door out in the hallway opened and slammed.
Two more shots split the silence with sharp cracks. A woman’s voice yelled something like “Over there.”
“Aren’t you going to help?” She leaned over him, trying to peer out the window. After a few seconds, she lay back down.
“Whoever it is ain’t shooting at us.” He closed his eyes again. “Ammo’s expensive.”
he Challenger devoured miles of road in relative silence. A pervasive rattle seemed minor enough to dismiss for the time being, but constant enough he couldn’t stop wondering about it. If the nozzle for the incendiary chem sprayer had been knocked loose, using the weapon could send a stream of flames onto the back of his head. If the noise came from one of the rear-mounted rifle mechanisms, it presented less of an issue. Inaccuracy didn’t kill… at least not right away. Can’t be drive train, sounds too light.
He glanced sideways at Tris. Since the sun had gone down after a full day of driving, she’d settled in the passenger seat and closed her eyes. Fleeting memories of last night in the bathtub played a slideshow in his head, punctuated by scenes of what she’d done to the News. Crossing that line with her left the aftertaste of a guilt cocktail boosted with dread in his mouth. Guilt as though he’d taken advantage of an innocent girl in need mixed with fear he’d slipped further into a bog he’d not be able to get out of. Not that he had much of an attention span to spare in the midst of it, but she had seemed to be enjoying herself… not merely waiting for it to be over.
With the exception of Zephyra’s working girls, only one other woman had offered sex so soon after meeting him―and she stole the Marauder. Kevin missed everything about that truck, from the chromed skull gearshift knob to the two-inch armor plating. That old war-wagon got me through 8320 coins. It wasn’t fast, but it didn’t need to be. He tried to figure out what her motivation was. Maybe it’d been some kind of desperation play to make him want to protect her. Perhaps nothing more than a ‘thanks for saving my life.’ He shrugged. Maybe she just wanted to get laid.
Pitch black horizon held no answers to his wandering gaze.
Kevin sighed, making Tris stir. She looked at him with half-open eyes, stretched, and sat up with a yawn. A swath of artificial light simmered along the horizon, filtering among innumerable tangled iron girders and struts. The unmistakable radiance of Glimmertown set him on edge. This was as ‘civilized’ as the Wildlands got, which meant it wasn’t civil at all. His own voice replayed in his mind, telling Tris most people were friendly.
Okay, bit of a white lie there. Most people… except the ones in Glimmertown.
“Salt Lake?” Tris looked away from a green blur passing outside her window.
Kevin chuckled. “Not anymore.”
“Are you sure?” All traces of sleep faded from her eyes. “Wasn’t it a major population center. Infected?”
Kevin shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. Glimmertown’ll chew up and spit out anyone that doesn’t have money… Even Infected.”
“What are we walking into?”
He shrugged. “Gambling, drugs, prostitution… When I was little, they weren’t much different from a pack of bandits. They shot up settlements, took slaves, chased down drivers like me. Eventually, there were so many of them, people moved in on their own. They didn’t need to raid anymore ‘cause they got all they needed comin’ to them.”
Tris scowled. “I already don’t like the place.”
Grav
ity lessened for an instant as the Challenger crested the top of a small hill in the road. Up head, a blinding light source hung in the air above a walled-in settlement a few miles square. The glare came from a forty-four-foot scaffold tower bedecked with hundreds of headlights, light bulbs, stadium gas lamps, and anything else they could find. An expanse of buildings, many made from old vehicle parts, surrounded the spire. Outside the walls of Glimmertown, the ruins of old Salt Lake City sprawled over the earth. The war had pulverized many of the prewar structures into a bed of rubble reminiscent of a Japanese Zen garden. A handful of tents and small trailers stood around the outskirts, casting long shadows in the glow from the central spire.
Kevin slowed to thirty along a cracked-but-navigable stretch of highway. A half-mile from the edge of the rebuilt city, dividers sat horizontally across the road, alternating left and right. Reflective flakes embedded in the concrete flickered in his sweeping headlights. The back and forth route around the barriers forced the Challenger down to a slow creep.
“We could walk faster than this,” said Tris. “I feel like a target.”
Kevin kept his gaze on the men with rifles watching them from the safety of nooks nearest the ends of each switchback, clad in tattered leather and old military body armor.
“That’s the point. Welcome to Glimmertown.”
“They don’t look happy to see us,” said Tris.
Kevin locked eyes with one and offered a nod of greeting. The man didn’t react. “I don’t think they’re happy to see anyone.”
The gauntlet ended at a courtyard framed on all sides by fifteen-foot fences capped with razor wire, which connected to the city’s outer wall. Traces of curb hinted that the open space used to be an intersection between two huge streets. To the left sat a long yellow and red building with six garage doors and a window full of old hubcaps sandwiched between yellowing blinds and glass. A brothel took up most of the right wall, judging by the suggestive nature of the spray-painted figures adorning it and a cluster of half-dressed women by the door. Straight ahead, in the center of the reinforced fence, a person-sized opening led into Glimmertown proper.
“Guess we walk from here?” asked Tris.
Kevin pulled up to the garage. “Yeah. In a town where everyone’s trying to screw each other over, the last thing they want is wheels. Makes it too easy to get away I guess.” He opened his door. “Do me a favor? Watch the car.”
Tris pulled the Beretta out and smiled at him. “Okay.”
Kevin trotted to a garish pink door between the window and the garage bays and walked in. Behind a desk covered in wood paneling, an Asian man, shirtless save for a black leather pistol harness, looked up from a functioning flat panel monitor. He flashed a broad grin, making his jawline almost a perfect square. Tons of color printouts of naked women adorned the wall to the man’s left, their poses varying degrees of ‘artistic.’ On his right, a similar collage of nude men papered the other wall.
“Hello, friend. Welcome to the garage. I am Takeshi. Are you in need of a parking space, a charge, repairs, or modifications? I have an extensive selection of customization options available. Everything from paint to onboard weaponry. I’m particularly fond of large missiles.”
Kevin let out a hmph noise. “Not like I can drive in. Charge too.”
“Excellent. Storage fees are ten coins per day and―”
“Ten? Are you nuts?”
Takeshi paused with the same placid smile on his face. “And that includes the charge. You could park out there in the quad, however, ten coins is much cheaper than buying a new car.”
Kevin glared.
“You misunderstand me, friend.” Takeshi held his hands up in a gesture of innocence. “I would have nothing to do with any misfortune that befalls your vehicle. This place is full of thieves you see.”
“Yeah, I see.” Kevin leaned on the counter. “And I’m looking at one of them.”
The man’s saccharin smile showed no signs of denting. “If my services exceed your budget, you could always have your associate remain on guard duty.” Takeshi lowered his voice. “But, in this city, they’ll steal her too.”
“Five, and even that’s about double a fair rate.”
Takeshi brought his hands together in front of him. “Ah, friend. This is Glimmertown. Nothing about this place is fair.”
Kevin pinched the bridge of his nose.
“I will accept six per day, plus a trade of you or your associate posing.” Takeshi indicated his wall of ‘art.’
“Ten is fine.” Kevin counted ten coins out of what he’d taken from the biker. A quick feel said he had at least a hundred or so left.
Takeshi poked a finger at his monitor. “Door four.”
A distant motor whirred to life, amid the clattering of a chain. Kevin pushed the coins over a scuffed laminated calendar for 2018.
Takeshi bowed at him. “How long do you expect to stay?”
“One night, if I can help it.”
“Glimmertown has a way of getting under your skin.” Takeshi winked.
Kevin shook his head and walked out. “That’s what I’m worried about.”
By the time he got to the car, the fourth garage door had opened all the way, revealing an empty bay with a hydraulic lift. He grumbled again at the price and got in.
“What’s wrong?” Tris put the Beretta away. “Your face is red.”
He backed up, spinning the wheel under his palm as fast as he could wind it. “Son of a bitch is charging ten coins a night to park.”
She trotted alongside. “That’s crazy. Maybe I could show a little skin and get a discount.”
“Nah. I don’t think it’d matter.” He parked on the jack and killed the switches.
The door motored down as soon as he stopped. Kevin grabbed ‘the box’ and got out, heading for a walkway separated from the garage bays by a painted red line. Bay three held an orange van with too-small tires and numerous gun ports for people inside to use handheld weapons. A silver sedan with white leather interior parked in the next space, not a scratch on it. Bay one had a pair of motorbikes refit with electric wheel motors.
“I’m surprised he didn’t make them rent two spaces,” muttered Kevin.
“I did,” said Takeshi from behind the wall. “They are each paying.”
Kevin pushed the flapping red door open and headed for the way out. Tris hesitated. He glanced back and found her eyeing the ‘wall o’ nudes.’ She turned away from it, gaze down, a trace of a smile on her lips.
He headed left out of the garage, following the ghost of a sidewalk around the perimeter. At the middle of the north edge, a person-sized gate offered entry to Glimmertown proper. Despite it being well after sundown, the city was bathed in light. Most came from the tower, though hundreds of neon signs hung in windows along the main drag, buzzing, flickering, and flashing.
Glass tubes in the form of pink and orange breasts wagged in some, glowing green silhouettes of playing cards flashed in others. Many of the rest advertised prewar beers or sports teams, hung for the sake of having more neon. Kevin headed in a straight line, ignoring small clusters of prostitutes or hawkers trying to lure them into gambling houses. He stuck his hand in his left jacket pocket and cradled the lump of coins.
Every so often amid the smell of rust and dirt, a lick of something edible drifted by. Tris lagged behind a few paces when they passed a weapon store, checking out the guns hanging on a pegboard behind a short, older man who appeared to have steel wool attached to his face.
“Trust nothing here,” said Kevin. “As soon as you bring anything out of the store, the bastard who sold it to you ‘never saw you before.’”
“Is everyone here out to cheat?” She took a few quick steps to catch up.
“More or less.”
He headed in the direction of the artificial sun overhead, arriving in Glimmertown’s central square about fifteen minutes after passing the gate. Atop what may once have been a fountain stood a drunken idiot’s rendition of th
e Eiffel tower, if it had been built with scrap metal, old cars, and no understanding of straight lines. Three of the storefronts around the square belonged to what might be called restaurants, if one felt generous. One had the look of a hotel, a couple looked like general stores, and a handful were casinos. The largest of those, a silver-and-white structure with more than its fair share of chrome trim, bore the name ‘Cloud 9’ in silver spray paint over a set of powder blue double doors with round, black windows.
Four men wearing what passed for fancy suits in Glimmertown flanked the entrance, each with submachine guns.
“That thing is gonna fall.” Tris shielded her eyes and peered up at the tower.
Kevin shrugged. “Been there at least six years or so.”
“Where’s that cable go?”
He followed her stare to a wire as thick as his wrist, draped between the tower and the hotel. It paralleled the street heading north, in a series of swinging arcs mounted to rooftops and poles.
“Solar farm, north of here.” Kevin crossed the courtyard, marching straight for Cloud 9. “This place has more power than it knows what to do with. Why else do they waste it on light?”
“Some species of fish hunt by making light in the dark ocean.” Tris hovered close behind him. “They’re trying to lure people in.”
A tan, stocky meathead to the left of the door raised a hand. “Hold up. You ain’t dressed nice enough.”
Kevin suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. “I’m not here for fun. Got a delivery for Neon.”
“That’s a dangerous load of bullshit to sling.” The man’s eyebrows furrowed.
“Ain’t BS,” said Kevin. “Go ahead and ask him if he’s expecting a little box.”
All four thugs looked at Tris.
Kevin scowled. “Not her.”
“Alright man. You wanna roll them dice, go on in.” A thin six-footer on the right with a massive cluster of butt-length dreadlocks smiled.
Music, some manner of guitar-heavy rock from before the war, leaked from tinny speakers somewhere overhead. Most of the interior contained red-cushioned bench seats with more chrome trim around booth tables. A bar sat on the left, beyond which a small stage held a trio of women dancing in cages, wearing black lacy bras and almost-nonexistent thongs.
One More Run (Roadhouse Chronicles Book 1) Page 14