The Roadhouse Chronicles (Book 3): Dead Man's Number by Cox Matthew S

Author:Cox, Matthew S. [Cox, Matthew S.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Post-Apocalyptic | Dystopian
ISBN: 9781949174762
Publisher: Division Zero Press
Published: 2018-09-01T04:00:00+00:00

18

Resistance

Worry raged like a tornado in Tris’ gut. She’d thought Nathan couldn’t find them in Ned, but he already had. A whole group of Enclave soldiers had ambushed them there once. If not for Zara and her rifle… No, Nathan damn sure knew where Nederland was. Maybe he didn’t know that they had decided to live there permanently yet. He could still be scouring the Wildlands trying to find them, but a good chance existed that the bastard knew Nederland held some value to them. Nathan had wiped out Amarillo without hesitation, even thinking the place had ten thousand or so people.

All to get at her.

While the few hundred who’d died there because of him were a far cry off the tens of thousands everyone believed had lived in Amarillo, she still bore some of the guilt at what had happened. She had no way to know he would do that, no way to stop it (aside from bringing the cure to Doctor Andrews, which turned out to be a lie), and… at least until an hour or so ago, no way to avenge them.

I have to do this. For them. For Abby… for everyone in Ned. Everyone left in the world.

Weakening light outside the dead Starbucks put Kevin on edge. Part of her agreed with him that only an idiot would stay inside San Francisco after dark. Yet that bit of her that had latched on to Abby, some nascent urge of motherhood that had come out of nowhere in high gear, wouldn’t stop gnawing on her brain. The mere thought of Nathan harming Abby made her blood rush, flooding her cheeks with heat. She covered her mouth and nose, breathing into her hands to calm down.

“Tris?” Kevin drew her name out long. “Your face is red. Am I hanging out of my pants or something?”

She barked a short laugh. “No. I’m feeling overprotective of Abby all of a sudden. I want to rip Nathan’s head off.”

“Count me in on that action.” He stood. “I’m gonna walk outside and look for some place to stash the car. If we’re going to be here overnight, I don’t want some drone going overhead and spotting it.”

Something scraped in the back room.

Shit. Tris spun in the chair and pointed her AK at the door.

“What?” He followed suit.

“I heard something,” she whispered. “A scratch.”

Kevin crept sideways to the right, rifle raised, and took cover behind a brick-faced column by the former window to the parking lot. Tris slid off the chair to kneel and edged to her left to a more defensible position behind the barista counter.

The door to the back room swung open. A man in his middle twenties with paper-white skin like Tris and a matching white brush-cut walked in, his stride casual. Beneath a tattered green poncho, the shimmery black gleam of Enclave body armor caught the fading sunlight. The pieces of his suit had differing levels of scuff, suggesting he’d assembled it from multiple sets. He carried a boxy rifle like the one Kevin had in the car, a 4mm caseless.

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