Kevin accelerated, reaching over his head for the incendiary trigger cable. He caught up to the front end, yanked the cord, and slammed on the brakes. Bright orange filled the driver’s side window for two seconds, until the bus passed, and he let go. A stripe of fire clung to the tangled mass of welded metal and diseased bodies; one by one, the Infected fell away and broke apart into burning chunks. Kevin swung behind the bus to avoid contaminating the undercarriage and tucked up on the rear bumper.
Marty held the SPAS over his head in both arms, pumping it up and down in some manner of triumphant salute. The influx of Infected ceased coming from in front of them and poured into the road behind them. Kevin flicked on the rearview monitor and pondered opening up with the trunk guns, but even at the bus’s pathetic 54 mph, the horde had no shot in hell of catching up on foot.
“Is Marty a risk? He’s acting odd.”
“He’s always been like that. He thinks he’s living inside a video game.” Tris exhaled. “I… think he’s okay. I didn’t see any blood on his face. His coat took the splash. For a heavy guy, he’s got good reflexes.”
He broke out in a sweat, remembering how the infection had spread last time. One person too curious… too careless. Kevin stared into space for a few seconds, reliving the worst parts of his childhood in short flashes. Tris’s hand on his arm snapped him back to the present.
“Hey… I can’t believe you ran at infected.”
Kevin swallowed a mouthful of saliva that had collected under his tongue. “Yeah… That kid screaming…”
She squeezed his hand. “You owned your fear. You saved her.”
He forced a smile despite trembling, trying not to see the faces of the two teens who realized they were doomed, or hear their mother’s screaming as they walked away to kill themselves. “Dennis said something I’m not sure if I should tell you.”
“Doctor Andrews?” Her expression fell somber. “It’s not fair.”
He pulled left into the oncoming lane and sped up until they were even with the driver’s seat. Paul looked frustrated. Tris rolled her window down and waved.
Once Paul opened the sliding glass, Kevin yelled. “Gonna take point. Follow me.”
Paul gave a thumbs up.
“Yeah… Doctor Andrews.” He pulled in front of the bus with about a three car-length cushion between the two vehicles. “Keep an eye out to the rear, ‘kay?”
Tris leaned to her right and watched the door mirror. “Sure. So what about him?”
“Before he walked off… he wanted me to tell you he was sorry. He helped them make the Virus.”
“Yeah. I know. He had a lot of guilt.”
Kevin exhaled. “Kind of ironic he’s killed by his own crea―” He snapped his head to the right, staring at her. “Wait a minute… he was Enclave. Didn’t he have the vaccine?”
“Yes.”
“So he wasn’t sick.” He shifted his attention back to the flashes of painted white lines on the road. “He wanted to die…” He growled. “Shit, I should’ve stopped him.”
“If you helped inflict that on people who managed to survive a nuclear war… would you be able to live with it? I guess he trusted us to get them out of here. The Resistance failed. He kept himself going to help those people, and now they’re safe. Maybe he wanted absolution.” She pulled the mag out of her AK to count bullets. “I wonder if it was him.”
“If what was him?” Kevin eyed the oncoming forest with suspicion, half-expecting to see an Enclave aircraft overhead.
“All those religious passages written on the stairwell wall.” She inserted the magazine again. “Sorry I used so much ammo.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Kevin eyed the horizon, and scraps of junk and shrubs on either side of the paving. “Those people aren’t safe yet.” Ten minutes or so of silence later, he glanced at her. “Sorry. I know he had answers to questions you didn’t even ask yet.”
“Yeah, well.” Tris looked ready to cry for a second, but emotion faded to determination. “Maybe I’ll be happier not asking them.” She took the magazine out of her AK again and popped more bullets into it. “At least we got them out of Chicago.”
“Gene… Poor clumsy bastard.” Kevin rolled his head around to stretch his neck.
Tris bowed her head.
Two hours later, overgrown grassy fields blurred past on either side of the road. He squeezed the wheel, making his gloves creak. The bus kept up. Nothing in the rearview screen hinted at any problems. Tris fidgeted.
“What?” asked Kevin.
“Gotta pee, but don’t stop. I can wait.” She sat high in the seat with her back to the door, looking around in a three-sixty. “It’s too damn quiet out here. I don’t like it.”
“We’re pretty far east. Isn’t much out here for anyone to steal. If there is anyone living here, it’s an isolated family or two living off the land. We can stop if you want.”
She looked over with a hint of fear in her eyes. “Didn’t go so well for me last time.”
“Stay close to the car then.” He pulled over.
The bus came to a stop behind him. When Kevin got out, Paul shrugged from behind the wheel. Kevin pointed at his crotch and off the side of the road. Paul nodded, and turned away, presumably announcing the piss break to the rest of the survivors. Tris brought her AK and only moved a few feet off the road. Kevin kept her in view out of the corner of his eye, enough to remain alert for threats.
Several people made hasty trips outside to relieve themselves. A few men let fly from the bus roof. Marty and Patricia pried charred bodies off the window slats. Eventually, those who needed to had made use of the grass, and the convoy resumed.
A touch over five hours after leaving Chicago, Kevin pulled into the same parking space he’d used twice before at Whazzat’s roadhouse. He hopped out and waved his arms around, directing Paul to back up to a space, so the charging cable would reach the plug in the rear. When the bus stopped and the door opened, Kevin leaned in. Cody, asleep, sat in his father’s lap, clinging like a boy half his age.
“It’s almost two in the morning. Go ‘head and shut it down for now. If it takes a shit, not a big deal. There’s no Infected for miles around here.”
Paul let go of the large steering wheel and cradled his son. A moment later, he sniffled. “Thank you.”
Kevin looked down at his boots. “Credit ain’t mine. All I did was fix a stupid battery.” He backed out of the bus. “I’m goin’ inside for food and a bed.”
The Challenger locked and emitted a chirp. Kevin smiled. Tris walked up to his side, sans-AK, but she had the katana on her back. Patricia plodded up to the barrier between the driver and the rest of the bus, a grim look on her face.
“Artie didn’t make it.”
Paul shifted out from under Cody, leaving the sleeping boy in the driver’s chair. After a few seconds’ hesitation, he pushed the shutdown button and the bus went dark. Patricia walked back inside, followed by Paul.
Kevin headed for the roadhouse, pausing by the front door to watch them carry the remains of the seventy-ish man who fell off the ladder out into the field. Everyone filed out in a line and followed in a procession.
Tris pulled her hair off her face, squinting into the breeze. “Should we go?”
“Nah. It’s their moment.” He pushed the door open and went in.
Kevin raised an arm over his face in a futile attempt to block out the dreaded daystar. Tris gave him a light shove and climbed out of the bed they’d shared. Nothing had happened but sleep. Three in the morning plus the rebound crash from too much adrenaline had put him out within seconds of head-to-pillow contact.
He moaned. “What time is it?”
“Almost noon.” She rustled around for a few minutes. When she leaned over him again, she had the plain white tank top on. “Come on. We gotta get going.”
“I can see your tits right through that.” He grinned.
“It’s not covered in blood.” She wadded up the leather shirt and tucked i
t under her arm. “I’m going to check out the bus before they try and turn it on.”
“‘Kay.”
He left his arm balanced across his eyes for a minute that turned into ten. Crap. I’m going to sit here all day if I don’t move now. Kevin dragged himself upright, dressed, and stumbled to the food court. The survivors more or less filled the place. He dropped a pair of coins on the counter, walking away a short time later with two skewers of dust-hopper meat. People offered smiles, nods, and raised hands as he walked among the tables, taking his food outside.
“Hey,” yelled Whazzat. “Mek sure ya bring back ‘dem skewers.”
“Right,” said Kevin.
“Whazzat?”
Kevin laughed on the way to the bus. All four wheel motors’ hatch covers were propped open like awnings on thin metal rods. Tris crouched under the flap of the right side rear, a few inches from a tattered strip of burned flesh dangling from a jagged slat. He found another direction to look in while taking a bite of his food.
“How is it?”
She leaned up and let her knees touch the ground. “Well, one good thing about the Infected is they don’t shoot at us. The motors are fine. Big question is if the system will handle the shock of powering up. The voltage regulator is the problem. We had this thing charging all night. I was so tired I didn’t think about it… might’ve failed to stop charging when it was full.”
“I hate fire.” Kevin chuckled.
“Stupid mistake, but no smoke is a good sign.” She shut the semicircular hatch over the wheel hub and kicked it to make sure it closed all the way. “If it didn’t overcharge, it might start.”
He stood in place eating while she ran around to close the other three wheels before climbing half in to the battery compartment. Survivors made their way outside and gathered in a crowd about ten paces from the bus door. One or two went off to water the grass. Danielle looked like she’d been up all night crying, but had put on a strong face for her daughter. The six-year-old seemed to have forgotten about the mad dash through streets packed with rotting people and flashed a warm smile at Kevin.
He turned sideways to slip past the others coming out and handed Whazzat back the empty skewers. The old man nodded and traded him a large black coffee.
“On th’ house. Thanks fer bringin’ in so much biz.” Whazzat let out a wheezing chuckle that reeked of whiskey, chewing tobacco, and half-digested dust-hopper.
Kevin cringed, but smiled. “Thanks.”
Outside, Paul paced around the bus door. Cody hovered nearby, arms folded, looking lost and despondent.
Kevin cleared his throat to avoid startling the man as he approached. “You can calm down. Zoe’s fine. The settlement she’s in is safe.”
Paul exhaled. “I never should’ve let her go alone.”
“Sounds like your people were dying off at a pretty scary rate.” Kevin exhaled. “You wanted to protect her.”
Tris came around the front end. “I don’t see any obvious problems with the bus.”
Paul mumbled. “I… dunno if it was the right thing to do. Might never have seen her again.”
Kevin glanced left, at one of the doors covering a luggage compartment along the ground. It wasn’t quite closed. “How sneaky are Infected?” He pulled the .45 and crept over, took a breath, and flung the hatch up with his boot. A dim rectangular space held only dust and one suitcase. “Damn. Must’ve rattled open on the road.” Thoughts of Zoe made him tense up. What if some other kid hid in it and no one found him. He stooped to reach in, unsettled by the eerie feeling of being watched. As if some kid’s ghost sat next to the case he’d died in. He held his breath, reaching for the handle.
“What’s up?” asked Tris.
“Gah!” Kevin jumped and hit his head on the hatch. “Dammit.”
“Sorry.” She jumped back.
He lifted the lid, finding it full of little books and boxes. With a sigh of relief, he let the lid down and stood.
“Whoa, you okay?” Tris blinked.
Kevin rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Yeah. Just… imagining things. You believe in ghosts?”
Tris shrugged one shoulder. “Never thought about it.”
He holstered the pistol and slammed the hatch.
“Okay, everyone wait there while I hit the button,” said Paul. “If this thing blows up…”
“No way, Paul.” A Hispanic man in his later forties approached, shaking his head. “You got a kid to get back to. I’ll do it.”
“Harold…” Paul held his hands up.
“No arguments.” The older man brushed past him and climbed into the bus.
Seconds later, the interior lights flickered on. The familiar buzz alarm to warn the driver that a charging cable remained connected went off. Before long, the survivors boarded the bus, Kevin crawled behind the wheel of his car, and they drove off.
evin swung north, skirting Boulder as much as he could while following a small dirt road south through sparse trees to where Route 119 cut west. Within a half hour, the welcome sight of a pair of dump truck beds greeted him. The same pewter-haired older man waved from the left side of the gate, gesturing at someone out of sight on the ground.
The trucks started, and a few seconds later, the beds closed to the frames with the grating screech of steel sliding over pavement. He drove into Nederland, past the pitiful little ‘circle,’ and parked near the orange building on the corner, which apparently served as the city hall. The bus squealed to a stop close behind and let off a hiss as the parking brake kicked in.
Word had apparently preceded their arrival. Zoe came sprinting down the road from the direction of the red house, followed some distance behind by Ann. Paul tripped and fell down the bus steps in his haste to get out, managing to get up to his knees before the little blonde missile collided with him, screaming “Daddy!”
Both father and daughter burst into tears.
Cody ran outside and jumped into the hug.
Tris, grinning from ear to ear, leaned up and kissed Kevin. Survivors disembarked, gathering in the open lot on the other side of the street between two rusting excavators. A few minutes later, Bill cleared his throat.
Kevin looked up from the kiss. “Found a couple more people wanting a ride.”
Bill chuckled.
An ear-piercing child’s scream followed a fleshy thump.
Guns rattled from all around as Kevin whirled. A male figure apparently made out of the same bricks as the building across the parking lot from the orange one held Zoe off the ground, boxy pistol to the side of her head. Paul lay on his front, twitching, not quite unconscious. Tiny blue sparks danced over his back from a spray of small metal Xs. The sight of them tightened the muscles on the back of Kevin’s neck from remembered agony.
The man holding Zoe shimmered; brick texture gave way to black Enclave armor. Four more figures stepped away from nearby walls, neatly surrounding Bill, the four Nederland militia with him, and all of the survivors.
“Change of plan,” said the man holding Zoe. He ignored her kicking and squirming. “We would rather Tris accompany us alive, back home where she belongs. If I see one of you Neanderthals move wrong, everyone dies, starting with this wretched little grub.”
Kevin glared.
Tris held her hands up as tears ran down her cheeks. “Okay. I’ll go. Don’t hurt any of these people.”
“Tris… they don’t want to kidnap you, they want to kill you.”
She closed her eyes. “I’m sorry. I can’t risk these people for―”
Boom.
Two lines of blood exploded from the man’s helmet; a smaller geyser spurted from the left temple toward the bus, a larger torrent flew from the back of the head in the opposite direction. Zoe slipped from his dead arms, landing on all fours.
Kevin didn’t bother going for his .45. He sprinted forward as gunfire erupted everywhere. In a not too smooth roll, he landed on top of Zoe and slapped his hand down on the Enclave pistol that had, seconds before, been against
the side of her head. Survivors as well as the Nederland militia scrambled for cover while trading shots with the armored figures.
Zoe struggled to get away from him and crawl to her father. Before her dress tore off in his hand, Kevin traded a fistful of denim for clamping a hand around her ankle while firing at a man in black armor perched behind one of the derelict backhoes. The high-tech pistol felt and sounded like any other gun he’d used, though the trigger clicked like an electric button. Still, bullets failed to penetrate the suit, appearing as silvery-grey dots on the deep black.
“Lemme go!” shouted Zoe.
“No!” Kevin dragged her back and pinned her under his hip. “He’s electrified. It’ll hurt you.”
Tris’s Beretta burped like an automatic weapon somewhere behind and to his left. Screams of pain mixed with curses and commands to ‘get down’ or ‘cover me’ in various voices. Heavy booms thundered over the street, a sound as though someone had rigged a cannon for automatic. Blood squirted from the head of the man Kevin’s borrowed pistol failed to hurt as the body spiraled to the ground in a heap. Cracked like an eggshell, the helmet split open revealing a stunned expression.
Kevin rolled over, dragging Zoe into his lap and scooting to put his back to the front end of the bus. The child fought as hard as her little limbs could fight, but he held her down. Tris wrestled with a larger male figure in black armor. He overpowered her, forcing her onto her back. Kevin shot him in the helmet and shoulder, but the Enclave soldier ignored the pistol as if it spat wads of soaked paper instead of bullets. He gathered Tris’s wrists in one hand, and drew his sidearm.
Boom.
A geyser of red sprayed out of his chest, leaving a tunnel through him the size of a man’s thumb. Tris flung the body to the side and crawled under the rear end of the Challenger. Gunfire trailed off, a few stray pops lingered over several seconds until it got quiet.
A woman moaned in pain. Multiple male voices growled.
“They’re down,” yelled a woman.
Bill shouted, “Nobody move. There’s one more.”
Kevin stared at the gaping hole in the back of the man who’d pounced Tris.
One More Run (Roadhouse Chronicles Book 1) Page 42