One More Run (Roadhouse Chronicles Book 1)

by Matthew S. Cox

  The battery cluster had long ago ceased oozing whatever chemicals they put in it. He knew enough to understand it should contain pale blue gel, not bright green foam. Odds were decent that between the other nine buses―he disregarded the existence of the one covered in Infected bodies―they could find enough serviceable battery modules to make one full array. If the only thing wrong with this one was lack of power, they might have a chance.

  He waved everyone over.

  “Okay, I think this is our winner.”

  “That don’t look like winning,” said Rod.

  Gene chuckled.

  Kevin smiled. “Looks bad, but it’s actually in the best shape of the lot. All we need to do is replace the batteries. I know it’s hard to see through this crusty foam shit, but there’s sixteen battery modules in there. Each one is about ninety pounds. We’re going to have to take them from the other buses and put them in here, then charge it up. Tris, can you check the solar panel controls? Before we start busting our backs, might as well make sure we’re not wasting time. Paul, go with her in case there’s shit inside the building. Everyone else, with me to the garage.”

  Tris nodded and jogged off. Paul hurried after her. Kevin strode up to one of the rolling garage doors and hesitated long enough to watch her disappear inside the office portion. He squatted and got his fingers under the rim. Rod, Marty, and Gene followed suit. The four of them grunted and lifted, flinging the cumbersome barrier into the air with a great rattling of counterweight chains.

  Unfortunately, the garage contained no intact bus waiting to be driven with zero effort. It did have three massive lifts that called out to the little boy inside him who wanted to play with something that cool. Kevin resisted the urge and pointed at four machines resembling the bastard child of a pallet jack and forklift.

  “We’re good,” yelled Tris from an open window. “Panel array is online.”

  “Grab those battery lifts. Should be self-explanatory how to use it. There’s rails near the top of the battery for those prongs. Slide it in and pump the handle. Lift the battery an inch and pull it back.” He grabbed appropriate-sized socket wrenches and handed them out. “Each battery is wired in a sequence with two contacts. Unscrew it, clear the wires, and pull it out. We’ll need sixteen intact packs. The stuff inside should be sky blue. If it’s any other color, don’t bother with it.”

  Kevin picked up a crowbar and a socket wrench before jogging back to the chosen bus. He got to work on the foam crust, bashing and stabbing at it to clear away the batteries underneath. Greening in the metal gave some evidence of an electrogel fire, though the real damage looked confined to the plastic battery casing and anode/cathode plates. Once he got the debris out of the way, he attacked the nuts holding the wires in place. All the while he worked, the grating sound of hard wheels on paving announced the arrival of battery module after battery module. At one point, he looked up at a shocked noise from Marty, at Tris lazily pulling a battery cart along with one arm. She didn’t bother pumping it down, rather pulled the battery off the rails with her hands and set it on the ground.

  “You know, they made those so people don’t throw their back out.” Kevin winked. “Work smarter, not harder.”

  “It takes too long.” She sighed.

  “I’m tellin’ you, she’s gotta be an android,” whispered Marty.

  The locals discussed androids and Enclave cyberware with Tris while collecting the remainder of the replacement batteries. Gene pointed out that Tris was sweating, something an android couldn’t do. A few times, Kevin had to resort to bashing the socket wrench with the crowbar to crack through the crud on the nut. So what if I break a bolt. Not like we need this bastard to run for the next twenty years.

  Once the last of the bad battery units came free, the entire group descended upon the bus. It took them about twenty-five minutes to de-load the smashed batteries, drop them, and slide the scavenged ones in.

  Kevin wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm. He tossed Tris a wrench. “I could use a hand with the nuts.”

  Marty laughed.

  Tris raised an eyebrow. “Right here? Now?”

  “I’m half tempted to call your bluff.” Kevin slipped the first contact over the bolt post and set to the task of tightening it. “How’s the panel array?”

  “Operational. A few of the capacitors are blown, but that won’t be a problem unless we’re charging all eleven buses at once.”

  He smiled. “Maybe the extra power will get us out of here faster.”

  Between her superhuman dexterity and enhanced strength, she secured four to five contacts for every one he tightened. Before long, the bus looked ready to go.

  “Okay, now for the shitty part.” Kevin chuckled.

  “There’s a shitty part?” asked Gene.

  Kevin grinned. “See where this bus is?”

  Everyone nodded.

  Kevin pointed to an island on the opposite side of the bus yard that resembled a tiny gas station with a covered awning. “We have to push the fucker over there to charge it.”

  “Great,” said Marty.

  Paul shook his head. “Wonderful.”

  “Shit.” Gene spat.

  Rod whipped the Desert Eagle off his hip and aimed. Everyone froze, and turned in a gradual spin to stare where the pistol pointed. A lone Infected, a heavyset bald man in a coral pink shirt, wobbled across the street by the gate. He sniffed around the security booth. Milk white eyes gazed over the group, though he didn’t seem to notice them.

  Kevin mouthed ‘nobody move’ without giving voice to it.

  The pudgy, rotting man crawled through the booth and shambled into the bus yard. His left arm tucked up like a bird with a broken wing while he dragged a right leg that seemed incapable of bending at the knee. One of his cheeks hung open, a swaying flap of skin exposed bright red muscle underneath, roiling with maggots.

  Tris eased the katana out.

  Kevin put a hand on her shoulder.

  “If we shoot it, there’ll be fifty more.” She eased up to the corner of the bus, sword held down.

  Paul broke out in a cold sweat and raised his Mp5. Gene waved him off. Paul moved his finger off the trigger and nodded. The Infected bobbed his head, as if somehow waving it back and forth would help him smell or hear. Everyone huddled behind the bus. Kevin crouched at Tris’s side and grabbed the back of her belt.

  She squinted at him. “I’m not an idiot.”

  The Infected swung itself around in response to a distant clank.

  At almost the same instant, Paul rasped, “What are you waiting for?”

  Kevin cringed.

  The decaying man whirled around and hobbled closer, emitting eager grunts and sucking noises. Kevin released her belt. She’s immune. She’s immune. Tris flexed her knees. When the Infected reached the front end of the bus, she ran out.

  Another distant crash got its attention, and it spun away, drawn by the louder noise. It took one step toward the gate before the crunch of Tris’s shoes on the paving got its attention. The Infected sucked in air, preparing to howl. She rammed the Katana into its chest to the hilt, raised her right leg, and stomp kicked it while jerking the sword free. Gurgling, the dead man fell over backward with a sickening splat of semi-rotten flesh striking asphalt.

  Everyone exhaled at once. The group fanned out in a V, aiming weapons at all possible points of entry to the yard they could see. After a few minutes of nothing, Kevin patted Gene on the shoulder and pointed at the bus.

  “You steer, you’re the scrawniest.”

  Gene let off a dry chuckle and slung his M-16 over his back. “Won’t get an argument outta me. You sure you don’t wanna let the chick drive?”

  “Tweet. Tweet,” said Tris. She jogged to a spigot on the wall and washed off the blade.

  Rod chuckled. “She’s probably stronger than any of us.”

  Kevin ran to the back end of the bus and slammed the battery housing cover. With Tris at his side, Rod, Marty, and Paul
pushing as well, he grunted and heaved. They may as well have been attempting to move the building. After a few futile seconds, Gene appeared at the corner.

  “Sorry. I’d have yelled, but… yeah. Took me a minute to find the parking brake. Gimme ten seconds and try that again.”

  Kevin sighed.

  Soon, they shoved again, and the massive vehicle crept forward. Once clear of the row of parked buses, it turned to the right, and a laborious minute later, they got it close enough to the charging station for a cable to reach. While everyone collapsed to catch their breath, Gene ran around and plugged it in.

  “Awesome,” said Marty. “This is gonna work? Be awesomer if I got to pulp something’s head.” He rattled the SPAS.

  “Awesomer isn’t a word, dumbass,” said Rod.

  “Two words.” Marty tapped index and pinky finger under his eyes before holding up ‘metal horns.’ “Nuclear fuckin’ war.”

  “Isn’t that three words?” asked Gene.

  “Naw man. The ‘fuckin’ don’t count. It’s like a modifier or something. Who gives a rat shit about grammar now?”

  “There’s always one,” said Tris. “Always.”

  “So… how long?” asked Rod.

  Kevin stood. “Well, nothing’s caught fire yet, so that’s a good sign. Means I got the wires hooked up right. If the cells were stone dead… we’re looking at six to eight hours. Maybe half an hour before I know if we’re going to get a charge at all.”

  “That ain’t good man.” Paul paced in a tight circle. “Gotta get out of here.”

  “Chill, man.” Rod patted his arm. “We got at least seven hours of sun left.”

  Tris walked out of sight beyond the corner of the bus.

  Kevin went the other way, heading for the door. He jogged up the steps and flopped into the driver’s seat, staring at the blank instrument panel. So strange being this high up off the road. The cushioned seat felt wonderful, even if it did smell like an old sweat sock. White hair drifted by the window. He leaned up to watch Tris root around inside the wheel. She shut the cover in a few minutes and moved past the front to the other side.

  Kevin closed his eyes. The next thing he knew, a light ping noise happened, making him sit bolt upright in the chair. The instrument panel lit up with blue and green glow. A square sub-panel near the speedometer scrolled with a boot process, the battery charge meter showed 8%. Another panel displayed a number of maintenance alerts.

  Tris bounded up the steps. “We have a problem.”

  “Shit. How bad?”

  “I think there was a surge when the previous battery got shot out. No way to know for sure but to try it, but if we turn this thing off, it might not come back on again without replacing the power management board and maybe a third of the wiring. There’s melted insulation on most of the lines going to the wheel motors.”

  “How long?” He rubbed his face.

  “Two or three days, maybe four… with a crew of trained mechanics and parts on a shelf. Double that if we have to scav it from the other buses. Also, the rear wheel fuses melted. I can replace those easy though, plenty of spares in the other buses.”

  “Damn, and I was about to get happy it turned on at all.”

  She shrugged. “It might come back on.”

  “So what you’re saying is if we turn it off, we’re probably going to kill it… so we gotta drive outta here today.”

  “I’m saying it’s very likely that this thing will become a brick if we try to shut it down for the night.”

  Kevin glanced at the roof. Two plastic-domed skylights, one near the front and one closer to the back, gave him an idea. He jumped up and ran outside, waving at the others to gather. Tris jogged over to the next nearest bus and opened the wheel cap, gripping at a cylinder fuse the size of a pair of beer cans stacked on end.

  “What’s up?” asked Rod.

  “Tris found an electrical problem with the bus.” He held up a hand as the groaning started. “The bus may or may not turn back on if we kill the power. I don’t really want to walk back and pick this bastard up in the morning. Be just my luck some idiot finds it and takes off. There’s roof lights we can cut out and make holes. What say we get some metal welded on over the side windows, open those hatches, and pick everyone up through the roof?”

  “What like drive up under the ladder?” asked Gene. “Might work. Though, the bus ain’t that tall. Infected could climb over each other and might reach.”

  “A couple of us on the roof can hold them off.” Marty stared into space, clearly daydreaming about a ride of glory with his shotgun.

  Rod made faces. “I dunno. Rushing is risky. We could spend the night here.”

  “In a lit up bus?” Kevin cringed. “Infected would be on us like moths on a headlight.”

  “Can’t you shut down the lights?” asked Gene.

  “I couldn’t find a switch. If the power’s on, the interior lights are on.” Kevin tapped a finger to his mouth. “I suppose I could take the bulbs out.”

  “If we don’t go back, they might think the worst happened.” Paul flicked a switch back and forth on the Mp5, making a continuous clicking.

  “I honestly don’t think it will matter.” Kevin pointed at the gate. “When we drive this monster out of here, it’s going to make noise. All that crap in the road. The gate… grinding metal. Dark or not, we’re going to be up to our eyeballs in them.”

  Tris trotted back over with her prize and looked toward the city. “Light may make them hesitate and buy us a couple of minutes.”

  “How much chance is there something else could go wrong?” asked Rod. “If we sat on this bus overnight?”

  “Gamble either way.” Tris shrugged. “The electrical system on that thing might tolerate holding a full charge all night… or we come back to a bonfire.”

  “I haven’t got any experience with a vehicle this big,” said Kevin. “But… there’s a roadhouse about two hours away. It should have enough juice to make it there. If it drops dead then, no big deal. Place will have food and beds, and we can worry about running everyone back and forth a couple at a time… no pressure.”

  “Uhh, Kevin?” Tris poked him in the side with the fuse. “Are you gonna drive that bus at 110?”

  “Shit.” He held his hands up in surrender. “Okay, make it four hours.”

  “Fuck it.” Rod glowered. “I’m gonna head back to the building and get everyone off their asses, ready to move out fast. We do this tonight.” He looked at Kevin. “Think you can find your way back?”

  Kevin scratched his head. “Quick map might help.”

  Tris jogged off. “There’s some paper and pencils in the office.”

  “No problem,” said Kevin. “Got the feeling you wanna head out tonight.”

  “Yeah, man.” Rod shook his head. “Fuck this shithole. I’ll have everyone ready to move. Drive this pig back as soon as you think it’ll make it to that roadhouse.”

  “Got it.” Kevin waved at Marty and Gene. “Gimme a hand with some welding.”

  Tris returned with a yellow pad and a standard pencil before heading over to replace the fuses in the back wheels. Rod sketched out a crude map of lines and arrows ticking off how many side streets to pass before turning right, another handful and a left, then a right on the next street.

  “Y’oughta know where you are then.” Rod handed him the paper.

  Over the next several hours while the bus batteries charged, they affixed slats of scrap metal to the windows. Marty, claiming the only protective mask in the garage, appointed himself “King of Weldonia” and ran the acetylene torch after a quick lesson. Kevin got up on the roof and tore open the skylights, creating two square holes big enough to accommodate a person with ease. Inspiration hit him, and he dragged a pair of stepladders into the bus and had Marty weld them in place by each opening. Once they exhausted available scrap metal, and the oxy tank ran dry, Gene muttered something about taking a piss and walked off, headed for the rear of the garage. Marty tossed the wel
ding mask, collected his SPAS, and followed.

  evin relaxed in the driver’s seat, studying the map he’d hung on a suction cup clip to the windshield. Late afternoon sun made the yellow paper glow. He smiled, tapping a finger over the charge meter, which read 72%. The dash clock claimed the time as 6 p.m. He spun around to face the interior, feeling confident about the irregular zigzag of metal banded across most of the side windows. An occasional gap where a bar fell off or never existed didn’t bother him much, being too small for a body to squeeze through. Marty wasn’t getting graded on being ‘neat.’

  Paul leaned in the door, grasping the railing on both sides of the steps. “How’s it look?”

  Kevin smiled. “It’s holding a charge. How much time do we have?”

  “Sun’ll probably go down about eight or so.” Paul looked at the sky. “Yeah ‘bout that.”

  “I’d like to give it another hour before―”

  Bang.

  “Oh, shit.” Paul took off running for the garage area.

  Gene’s screaming echoed out of the hollow garage followed by a series of rapid gunshots. After nine or ten sharp bangs, a heavy boom sounded.

  “First wave,” yelled Marty.

  Kevin snagged the Enclave rifle from where he’d rested it against the wall under the side window, and ran after Paul.

  “Fuck! Run!” yelled Gene from inside the garage.

  “I got this!” shouted Marty, right before three heavy booms went off in a staccato ripple.

  Tris came running from the office door, swinging the AK off her shoulder. Paul tucked up to the open garage door and aimed inside. He fired two shots, swiveled a bit to the right, and fired again. His Mp5 sounded feeble next to Marty’s portable howitzer.

  Kevin ran in a rightward circle from the charging station to get a firing angle in the garage door. He took a knee sixty-some yards away. The Enclave rifle’s scope zoomed in automatically on Marty’s back. Two doorways in the rear wall of the garage spat Infected into the room like meat oozing out of a grinder. Marty unloaded the SPAS into the crowd, cheering. Every so often, he’d yell “Headshot” or “Fatality.” Each time a belch of orange came from the front of the shotgun, a detonation of blood and pulp flew.