The bandit’s black fatigue pants had soaked to his right knee, and four tiny bullet holes in the tire vest bubbled with blood. Kevin tilted the rifle to look at the side. A fire-select switch by his thumb indicated ‘2.’ A rifle that fired a two round burst with such speed it sounded like a single gunshot turned his brain into a whirring mess for a second as he tried to imagine how many coins he could get out of Wayne for it.
“Clear,” yelled Zoe from high and behind. “The bad guys are running.”
Bill jogged over. “You okay?”
Kevin nodded. “Yeah, that woman’s not dead.” He gestured at the one Zoe got in the thigh. “I think. Could be bleeding heavy.”
“Brett, Ed, check her.” Bill pointed at the fallen bandit and returned his gaze to the hills. “Bastards must’ve come in on foot since they can’t get past the gate. That’s a shitty hike. They must be getting desperate. Guess we’re going to have to assign a patrol path out that way.”
Tris jogged outside, carrying an all-black FAL with a bayonet. She halted between the two men. “Well that explains that.”
“What?” asked Bill and Kevin simultaneously.
“Ann said Ned was ‘safe,’ and Zoe gave her such a look.” Tris stared at Kevin’s rifle.
As if on cue, the little blonde girl emerged from the back door, still carrying the AR15 almost as long as she was tall. Kevin squinted at her and picked up the hand grenade. Ann grabbed the kid by the shoulder, keeping her from leaving the porch. Zoe looked up and back at her, but didn’t offer much protest.
“What’s up with that?” Kevin gestured at her. “Arming a what, nine-year-old? That’s gonna make her a target.”
Brett and Ed rolled the bandit woman over and tore the leg of her pants open. Ed put a hand on the thigh while Brett collected a pistol and several knives before removing her truck tire armor.
“Kid’s not a bad shot.” Bill smiled. “She doesn’t like killing people, so she aims for legs. In Ned, everyone is responsible for defending the town. ‘Course, Zoe is a bit young, but I’d rather have her able to defend herself than be at the mercy of whatever makes it inside.”
“Someone’s gonna kill her.” Kevin shook his head. “Giving her a gun is like painting a target on her forehead.”
“Who are these people?” Tris glanced at the woman. “Why did they attack your house?”
“Bad luck.” Bill pointed at the trees. “The way they came in from the southwest… the trails on the far side of that ridge lead right here.”
Emma, now at the top of the hill, made a series of hand signals. Bill waved her back. She moved in a slow turn, surveying the area before lowering her rifle and trudging down the hill.
“Em spotted six people leaving, two vehicles about a half mile away.” Bill slung his rifle on a strap over his shoulder. “We got about five more in town coming in from the northeast.”
Two of the ‘Nederland Irregulars’ dragged the man Kevin knocked out from the house.
Bill chuckled. “You one of them pacifists?”
“Yeah right,” said Kevin.
Tris winked. “No, he’s too cheap to spend the ammo.”
He laughed. “I didn’t want to get blood all over your nice wall.”
“Bandits.” Tris edged closer to Kevin. “They were here to steal whatever they could get their hands on.”
“You whimper well.” Kevin winked.
She smirked, and gave him a light punch in the arm. “Distracted him, didn’t it?”
“And you wonder why I don’t trust women.” Kevin hunted around the rifle. When he found what he thought was the safety, he pushed it, and a magazine fell out of the butt. Rather than bullets, it had a stack of dull brown-orange blocks. “What the hell is this?”
“Looks like caseless ammo.” Bill clucked his tongue. “Good damn luck finding more of that out here.”
“They must’ve discovered a crashed Hoplite or something,” said Tris. “That rifle’s from… uhh, you-know-who.”
Shit. Kevin grumbled.
Distant men and women yelled ‘clear’ at varying intervals.
“Even more reason to sell this thing.” Kevin slung it over his shoulder. He narrowed his eyes into the wind, watching the two men carry the shot bandit woman away. “What’ll ya do with her?”
Bill shrugged. “If she survives, city elders will take a vote. Depends on what she’s gotta say for herself.”
“How often do you get attacked here?” asked Tris.
“Once a week… sometimes once every two. Gate keeps us pretty protected against anything big, but every now and then they pull crap like this and sneak in on foot.”
“Why don’t you counterattack?” Kevin opened and closed his right hand, at last noticing the soreness from punching someone in the skull. “Track ‘em back to wherever they come from and take them out.”
“Couple of the elders think it crosses the line from being settlers to being a bandit group with a town.” Bill lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Course, I could pay you a bit to do a scouting mission. If it happens to turn into a firefight, well…”
“I’m not a merc. I drive shit around.” Kevin sighed. “I usually try to avoid gunfights.”
“I’ll do it.” Tris glanced at Zoe. “If they come back, there’s at least two who’ll be gunning for her.”
Kevin leaned back, staring at the clouds. Goddammit, why me? He moaned. “Fine. We’ll scout.”
Zoe and Ann approached. The kid’s denim dress looked like it had been someone’s skirt in a past life. It clung to her chest, leaving her shoulders bare, held up by a hand-tied strip of blue cloth looped behind her neck. Take away the rifle, and the shoeless girl would paint a perfect picture of country innocence. She clutched the AR15, index finger straight near the trigger but not on it, and held it sideways, pointed at the ground.
After an appraising look at the boxy rifle he’d acquired, Zoe nodded. “That one’s big enough.”
“Zoe, please go inside.” Bill patted her on the head.
Kevin cringed when the girl turned away, at a trail of blood on the back of her left shoulder. “She’s hit.”
Zoe shook her head. “I gots a splinters from a bullet hittin’ the wall. Ann took it out.”
Tris stared at him.
“Okay, okay. Fine. You know this is a bad idea.” Kevin stomped toward the Challenger. “I’m too close to my goal. This is going to get me killed, and I will haunt you.”
“I’m not asking you to do anything stupid.” Tris ran to the passenger side door. “Besides, I’ll protect you.” She winked and got in.
Oh, that’s just great. He slid the rifle in behind the driver’s seat, chucked the new grenade in ‘the box,’ and got in.
“Remember…” Kevin stared at her, half grinning. “I’m going to haunt you.”
She pulled the magazine out of the AK to count shots. “I can live with that.” Tris slapped the mag in. “Sixteen left. How many in that thing?”
“Not a damn clue.” He reversed into a K-turn. “And I don’t mean ‘creepy footsteps in the attic’ or ‘shadows in the hallway’ kinda haunting. There will be naughty touching involved.”
Tris laughed.
he Challenger handled the iffy dirt roads in the hills south of Nederland with some difficulty, though the all-wheel-drive arrangement made it possible. Kevin kept it at about twenty miles an hour, wary of ruts and bumps. Bill had given him some brief directions to where he believed the bandit camp was. Trying to figure out what to do when he got there felt like attempting to cut a tomato seed with a knife. As soon as he got what he thought was a decent idea, it slipped out from under his brain.
“What does that face mean?” asked Tris.
He squeezed the wheel, keeping an eye out for tire tracks or any sign of life. “I got some issues going to a place specifically to kill people.”
“I understand that… but these ‘people’ ran into a peaceful settlement and started shooting at us.”
“
Honestly, I think Zoe fired first.” Kevin chuckled, and right away felt guilty for doing so. “One of ‘em said he didn’t wanna shoot a kid. Yeah, I know, bandits left me alone when I was little… but still.”
“Maybe we can convince them to settle in Ned like citizens?” Tris raised an eyebrow. Her expression and tone gave away her lack of sincerity.
“I don’t think they’re going to feel much like talking.”
He spotted lines across the dirt path where tires had crossed and steered after them. The whirr of the electric motors, far quieter than any sound made by an ethanol engine, gave him a little confidence they might pull off an ambush. Ambush. Kevin grumbled. It’s going to be at least six on two, probably worse than that. He thought about standing behind the counter of his own roadhouse, protected by the armor of The Code. An attempt at Wayne’s cocky ‘king of my domain’ smile formed on his face as the fantasy played out. This… this ‘assault’ mission was as bad an idea as he could’ve gotten―except for maybe trying to sell void salt in Glimmertown.
His smile faded to a stone face.
Tris pointed. “Look. Scrap of black cloth tied to a tree branch. Go there, left.”
Kevin spotted it a few seconds later. About thirty feet off the ground, a strip of fluttering fabric trailed in the wind. The tree it marked stood at the crook of a fork in the path. He eased the car through the turn. After a mild hill, the road dipped down for a long stretch before rising to another, higher, hill on the far end. A handful of rusted vehicles, too far gone to be recognizable, littered the center of a mud pit on the right. Marks on some rocks at the side hinted it had once been a small lake.
He stomped on the brakes as the Challenger crested the distant hill. Down at the bottom of the hill, three bandit buggies had parked by a group of dirt bikes. Over twenty people in tire tread vests and black pants or skirts congregated in front of the vehicles. Another man, in a clean black bodysuit that appeared to be some manner of super-modern light armor, walked up to a huge mohawked man. He carried himself with an air of authority, helped along by slate grey hair and tall, prominent cheekbones.
An Enclave hovercraft about the size of four Challengers put together waited a short distance behind the man in the strange armor. One white helmet protruded from an open-topped turret near the front, which bore a multi-barrel rotary cannon, probably in 7.62mm.
The Enclave emissary approached a stack of long, grey boxes, and shook hands with the large man. “A pleasure, Golem? Is it?”
“You one strange dude,” said Golem. “You say we ain’t gotta give you nothin’ for this shit?”
“No payment is necessary, friend. All we ask is that you keep doing what you have been doing, and we will continue to bring you weapons.”
“Works for me.” Golem grinned.
“We’ll see you next month then.” The Enclave man shifted to walk back to the hovercraft, but stalled when he faced the hill―and the Challenger.
Kevin flicked the master arm switch.
The man in black gestured at the car and looked at Golem. “It appears we have a guest.”
“What are you doing?” asked Tris.
Servos in the M60s on the hood chirped to life.
“Trying not to fuckin’ die.” Kevin sucked in a breath and held it. “Turret boy’s all yours.”
He pressed his right thumb into the button mounted on the steering wheel, causing both guns to breathe flame and lead. A second after opening fire, he let off the brake and weaved the car side-to-side as it rolled down the hill. Bits of retread went flying, as did blood and flesh. Bodies spun and collapsed. Ethanol tanks on the dirt bikes burst into flames, throwing off brief orange flashes and loud whoofs.
Tris slithered half out the passenger window; a second later, she fired. The rotary gun started to spin up, but slowed to a halt as the helmet rocked back and fell out of sight. Kevin let off the button and the M60s went silent. She sat on the side of the door, keeping her AK trained on the pile of bodies. Kevin brought the car to a stop, threw it into park, and got out.
“Guess we’re not talking,” said Tris, over the roof.
Kevin approached the carnage, .45 out. The level of similarity in the bandit’s clothing unsettled him. Too much like uniforms. Enclave bastards are feeding it… hoping we kill each other.
“Kevin!” yelled Tris, a second before two near-simultaneous gunshots rang out.
He took a lurching step forward, twisting with a hit as if someone whacked him in the back of the left arm with a pipe. A grunted “oof” came from behind him, followed by the whir of the rotary cannon spinning up again. Kevin whipped around, raising the .45 to the rear as a gout of orange burst from the front of Tris’s AK. The white helmet in the turret fell out of sight for the second time. The Emissary seemed stunned from the effect of two 7.62 bullets mushroomed into his chest; a fancy plastic-bodied pistol dangled from his hand.
Kevin lined up a shot at the Emissary’s exposed head as the man gasped for breath. He flopped to the ground the instant Kevin fired, as if something warned him. Before Kevin could fire again, a spray of dirt from approaching bullets made him duck behind bodies.
“She’s supposed to be dead,” wheezed the emissary. “Kill her!”
Tris swung the AK away from the hovercraft at the Emissary, but wound up diving to the ground as another man in the same thin armor whipped around the rear end of the hovercraft and squeezed off a burst from a compact rifle at her. She landed on her front, clutching a bullet hole in her right arm.
“Shit.” She made a noise halfway between whimper and growl.
Kevin popped up, managing to fire twice at the man who shot Tris. One slug hit in the chest with a loud slap, the other caught him in the throat and knocked him over, gurgling. A third man exited a door on the right side of the hovercraft, training a compact rifle on Kevin at the same time the Emissary raised his pistol. Kevin jumped into the pile of bodies, pulling Golem up as a human shield. A handful of rounds, plus three pistol shots, struck the big guy’s chest. Two bullets made it all the way through Golem with enough force to smash painfully into his armored jacket.
Tris’s AK went off again, and a small explosion came from the hovercraft, accompanied by the muted sound of an alarm leaking from an open hatch.
Boots scuffed, at the speed of a run.
Kevin peeked up, but ducked another spray of fire that kept him pinned until the roar of hovercraft fans started. He counted three seconds and looked again. The Enclave soldiers had gone back inside, and a dense whorl of greasy black smoke emanated from a patch of ventilation slats near the left rear corner. With a grunt, he heaved himself upright and ran to Tris. She struggled to her feet, AK hanging limp in her arm with her left hand clamped over her right bicep. Blood streamed between her fingers.
“I’m okay, it’s a clean through. Don’t let him get away!” She climbed into the car window.
Kevin ran around and got in. The hovercraft’s air cushion inflated, and seconds later, it zipped away in reverse. The smoking corner seemed less high off the ground than the rest. He jammed on the accelerator, steering after it while Tris forced breaths in and out past clenched teeth. The AK lay across her lap, wobbling about with the bumpy terrain. The hovercraft ducked past a rocky outcropping, sliding along a curvy road flanked by trees and canyon-like walls, which gave him little chance to open up with the guns. Each time he tried to line up a clear shot, another natural barrier got in the way.
“What the hell is a Gladiator doing this far east?” Tris lifted her hand to peer at her arm and the already-intact skin. “One good thing about a tank top, he didn’t rip my shirt.”
“By that logic, you should consider the loincloth thing again.”
She held up a bloody middle finger.
Kevin grumbled as he pulled a tight left turn. “Giving away guns to local bandits, that’s what they’re doing. Probably their ‘Plan B.’ Virus isn’t killing us fast enough, so they’re stirring the pot.”
“Kevin… you can’t
let him get away. He recognized me. If he gets back to the city…”
“I’m trying… I’m trying.” He drove a little faster than he felt comfortable with given the treacherous turns. Tires skidded in the dirt as he took a hairpin right. “Gonna have to get in front of that monster and do the grenade trick. The 60s aren’t going to bother its armor.”
“Right.” She winced.
Ten minutes later, the road straightened as the terrain leveled a bit. Dirt gave way to paving. He leaned on the accelerator, nudging the Challenger up past 130. The enormous hovercraft went from leaving them behind to rushing up on his front bumper.
Crap, the big ones aren’t so fast. He flashed a manic grin. If I had real guns on this thing, I could go hunting.
At both rear corners, boxy pods extended and flipped over, revealing a quincunx of holes containing bright red warheads. Kevin slammed on the brakes and swerved to the right, skidding into the dirt and throwing up a huge cloud of dust. He looped in a circle once to kick up more before straightening out and flooring it back the way they came.
“Where are you going?” yelled Tris. “He’s getting away!”
Kevin looked back and forth from the windshield to the rearview screen for about six seconds, until the Challenger slipped behind a wall into the swerving roads. “Missiles, Tris. They have missiles as big as my leg. This car isn’t equipped to deal with shit like that.”
She grabbed his right arm with two hands, shaking. “They’re gonna know I survived. Nathan’s going to come after me.” Tears ran down her cheeks. “Please… we can’t let them go. Do you like your car more than me?”
Yes. Wait. Do I? He pondered losing one or the other, and couldn’t decide which one would suck more. Wayne’s right. I’m screwed.
He put his left hand on top of hers. “Tris… Missiles. If they hit us with one of those, there won’t be anything left of you or the car… or me.”
One More Run (Roadhouse Chronicles Book 1) Page 31