Wall: A Post Apocalyptic/Dystopian Adventure (The Traveler Book 3)

by Tom Abrahams

  “We have cut off the snake at its head,” she intoned in a guttural roar. “However, that does not mean its venom lacks poison. It does not mean the tail won’t instinctively whip and flail in defense.”

  Battle was a disciple in church. He was listening to a sermon, acutely aware of his own failing faith. He’d not prayed in days. Worse was that he’d not missed the ritual. Without the graves of his wife and son to remind him of the need to ask and seek forgiveness, he was straying from that path. Battle half expected Sylvia’s voice to fill his head at that moment. She was silent, as was Wesson. He looked around and saw the deep belief in the faces of gathered Dwellers.

  The congregants were restless. They were ready to give their souls and believe. They were anxious to plunge their heads beneath the waters of salvation and emerge again clean and pure.

  Paagal was the path to dominion. She was the conduit to what all of them sought.

  She quieted the crowd with a finger to her lips, her face glowing in the firelight. “These small victories are valuable on the eve of what comes,” she said. “But they do not, in and of themselves, guarantee victory.”

  Her voice was strong and clear. Battle sensed the cult of personality, her aura blanketing her followers. On this stage, she was electric in a way he’d not sensed up close.

  “What will guarantee our victory will be your sacrifice,” she said, her arms flexing, her eyes wide with enthusiasm. “What will guarantee our victory will be your cunning, your intellect, your measured patience.”

  Her voice was growing in decibel and intensity. Battle felt the rush. The rhythmic cadence of her oration was intoxicating.

  “We will fight them where they live,” she promised. “We will beat them where they live. We will fight them where we live. We will beat them where we live. And when we do…”

  Battle leaned in, growing as anxious as anyone to hear what was next. His eyes were focusing on Paagal. Everyone’s eyes were focused on Paagal.

  She played the crowd, lowering her voice to above a whisper. “And when we do…” she repeated.

  “And when we do!” a man in the crowd shouted.

  “And when we do!” mimicked one young woman and then another. There was a chatter building in the crowd until Paagal raised her hands to silence it.

  “And when we do,” she said, throwing her fists up into the air and bellowing, “they will die where they live! They will die where we live! There is no other way. There is no other way.”

  The hundreds, maybe thousands, gathered around the fire stood and cheered. They high-fived and fist-bumped and hugged each other. They howled.

  Battle found himself joining in, unwittingly amped by the energy Paagal provided the assembled. He was ready to run through a wall.

  Paagal rounded the fire, pumping her fists into the air. She was biting her lower lip and strutting like a heavyweight champion. She was in control. She paraded in a large circle, pointing to Dwellers in the crowd. For what may have been ten minutes she repeated her victory laps.

  As the crowd’s energy waned, Paagal flapped her arms to quiet them. “Shhh!”

  The congregation grew silent. Those still talking were coaxed by their neighbors to stop.

  “I leave you with this,” she said, pointing to the sky. “You know your jobs. You know your task. Stick to your job. Complete your task. If you have questions, see your coordinator. We begin when the sun rises. Go sleep.”

  On cue, the Dwellers moved back toward the tent encampment en masse, pushing past Battle. He stood on his toes to see above the flood rushing by him, bumping into him. He tried to spot Paagal. She was still at the fire, shaking hands and offering hugs as Dwellers left the meeting.

  Battle swam upstream, sliding in and out of men and women walking in the opposite direction. As he maneuvered his way to the fire, he searched for Lola and Sawyer. He didn’t see either of them until the density of the crowd thinned and he neared the pulsing heat of the bonfire flames.

  They were standing with Paagal. The leader had her hands on Lola’s shoulders. Lola was nodding her head. Paagal’s eyes moved to Sawyer and back as she spoke. It seemed none of them saw Battle until he was within a couple of feet. Virtually all of the Dwellers were gone. Though, for the first time, Battle noticed Paagal’s security. A quartet of large armed men with prison physiques were stationed at four equidistant points about twenty yards from Paagal. The orange reflection of the fire danced on the barrels of their rifles.

  “Battle,” Lola said, “you made it.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

  “Sawyer said you were sleeping,” she said. “I know you haven’t slept well in days.”

  Battle was incredulous. “Really?”

  “Well,” she stumbled, “I—I—”

  Paagal raised her hand to interrupt. “I told her to leave you,” said Paagal. “I’d have filled you in on whatever you missed.”

  Battle folded his arms across his chest, hiding his fists. “Why?”

  Paagal nodded at Lola. “She was right. You needed your sleep. There was nothing here tonight I couldn’t tell you later.”

  Battle laughed, squeezing his fists tighter. “Later? We fight tomorrow,” he said. “What later?”

  “My plan,” Paagal explained, “was to roust you before sunrise. I didn’t say anything here tonight, other than reveal our successful infiltration into several Cartel strongholds, that you needed to know. This was a—”

  “Pep rally?”

  A smile spread across Paagal’s face. “Yes,” she said, “a pep rally.”

  “They believe in you,” said Battle.

  “They do,” Paagal agreed. “But more than that,” she said, stepping away from the fire and toward Battle, “they believe in themselves. They believe they can defeat a stronger enemy. Belief in one’s own self is a powerful weapon.”

  “It’s almost a little like a cult,” said Battle. “You had me swept up in the moment there.”

  Lola whipped her attention to Battle and shot him a wide-eyed glare brimming with embarrassment. “Marcus!” she said. “That’s not fair.”

  Paagal waved her off. “I understand that, Battle. I do,” she said. “To the outsider, any collective faith may seem unhealthy. I assure you, that’s not an issue here. Not only is every Dweller here of his or her own free will, it is free will for which they fight.”

  The more Battle listened, the more wary he became. Despite his momentary lapse of reason, he sensed something maniacal in Paagal. It wasn’t as overt as he’d seen in some of the Cartel leadership. Nonetheless, it was there.

  Everything in him told him that staying to fight was a bad idea. His gut told him they were better off taking their chances at the wall. He looked at Lola. Her eyes pleaded with him to relent, to stand down. So he did.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have said that. It wasn’t fair. You’ve been very kind to us.”

  Paagal nodded. “Apology accepted. It’s best we’re on the same page when our fight begins. I’d hate to find us on opposite ideological sides.”

  Battle ignored the veiled threat. “We should talk tactics,” he said. “Timing. Placement. Attack. Defense. Retreat.”

  Paagal laughed. “There will be no retreat, Battle,” she said, clasping her hands behind her back. She began to walk toward camp. “I can promise you that.” She glanced at one of her sentries, and the four of them moved with her, keeping the same distance.

  Battle took the hint and followed Paagal away from the fire. Lola and Sawyer trailed a step behind. Battle motioned for them to walk beside him.

  “Let’s go to my tent,” she said, marching toward the encampment. “We’ll discuss the particulars there. Lola and Sawyer are welcome to join us. Since you’re here, there’s no need to wait until the morning.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  OCTOBER 25, 2037, 6:40 PM

  SCOURGE +5 YEARS

  HOUSTON, TEXAS

  Ana fumbled with the key and s
truggled to slide it into the slot in the side of the door. She’d tried the fob first, pressing the unlock button repeatedly without luck. The battery was dead or the mechanism was broken.

  Either way, she was forced the work the key itself with shaky hands. She kept looking over her shoulders, finally unlocking the car door with a reassuring click. Ana pulled on the handle and swung open the door, the sound of its dry hinges echoing against the concrete of the parking garage.

  It was dark except for a flickering streetlamp outside the garage. The bulb was even with the third-floor deck and gave Ana enough light with which to work.

  The car, a 2028 Lexus, was a hybrid. It was plugged into one of three charging stations on the third level. Ana had no way of knowing whether the car’s battery had any juice. Even though Houston had better power than most of the Cartel’s two hundred and seventy thousand square miles, it was intermittent. Add the daily surges of power across the unreliable grid and the charging station might not work under the best conditions.

  Ana sat in the driver’s seat, put the key in the console to her right, and was about to press the start button to test the vehicle when she thought better of it. The sound of the engine starting, however low a hum, would alert anyone nearby. She’d need to be on the move once that happened.

  She pulled herself from the car and walked to the passenger side. She tugged on the door. It didn’t work. Ana slapped her forehead with the palm of her hand, huffed, and walked back around to the driver’s side to press the unlock button in the door panel. She heard the stereo click of all four doors unlocking simultaneously and repeated her move to the passenger’s side.

  The door swung open and Ana left it there as she went to the rear of the car and pulled Penny from her stroller. The nine-month-old was still asleep, the pacifier bouncing in her mouth with a deliberate sucking sound.

  Ana sat her child in the front passenger seat and tried the automatic adjustment lever at its side. It didn’t work. She opened the rear passenger door, folded the stroller, and laid it across the backseat.

  Gently she closed the rear passenger door, the front passenger door, unplugged the charging cable, and returned to the driver’s seat. She looked back at the charging station and noticed a red flashing light atop the machine. It hadn’t been flashing before. Ana disregarded it. Her finger hovered over the start button and she closed her eyes. Then she pressed it and the engine rumbled to life, settling into a low hum.

  Ana pumped her fists. “Yes,” she said between her teeth and leaned over to adjust Penny’s seat. She lowered the back as far as it would recline and then pulled the seat belt across her sleeping child’s torso. She yanked on it until the belt locked into place. It wasn’t a car seat, but it would have to do.

  She adjusted her own seat, setting it higher and closer to the steering wheel, before adjusting the side and rearview mirrors. Ana had only been in a car twice in five years, and she hadn’t driven since the Scourge.

  The Lexus, which had belonged to General Harvey Logan, was in surprisingly good condition for its age. It had a full tank of gas and a working electric motor, and Ana remembered Logan telling a captain the car could travel close to seven hundred miles.

  Palo Duro Canyon was six hundred miles away. It would be close.

  She ran through a mental checklist as if she were to pilot a plane. She checked the turn signals, the lights, the space between the gas pedal and the brake.

  Ana shifted the car into reverse, pressed the accelerator with too much force, and was forced to slam on the brake. Her right arm instinctively flew outward to protect Penny.

  The child stopped sucking for a moment and then resumed, still asleep. Ana shifted into drive and gently pushed on the accelerator. The high-intensity beams shifted as she turned the wheel and lit her path toward the exit.

  She turned left, maneuvering around the two other hybrid cars plugged into their charging stations, and then turned the wheel right to enter the circular exit ramp. Ana sat forward in her seat, straining against the shoulder strap, her hands tightly gripping the leather steering wheel. Slowly she descended the ramp, her foot gently pumping the brake, letting the car’s idle propel her forward.

  Ana rolled to the second floor and then the first, to the traffic arm at the exit to the street. She rolled down her window to find something that might initiate lifting it, finding nothing. She turned back, determined to drive through the orange and white arm, when she saw a man standing in her way.

  Ana jumped in surprise at the sight of him and let out a squeal before realizing it was Wendell Wake, Nancy’s husband and a posse boss. He was on the other side of the arm, his hands in his pants pockets. He tipped his brown hat forward, leaving much of his face in shadow. He ran his hand across his throat, telling her to cut the engine. She didn’t.

  She rolled down her window, leaned out, and forced a smile, calling to him over the reverberation of the engine. “Wendell, I’m glad you’re here. Can you please help me get the arm up?”

  Wendell waved his hand across his throat again and then pointed to the headlights. “You set off an alarm,” he said. “Where’s Sidney?”

  “I’m trying to help Sidney,” she said. “We need the car. Could you please give me a hand?” She ducked back inside the car and looked across the hood at Wendell.

  “Cut off the engine,” he said. “I can’t hear you.”

  Ana could hear him. She didn’t comply.

  “Ana,” he said, taking a step forward, “if you want my help, you’ll need to turn off the car. What did you do to Sidney?”

  Do to Sidney? How would he know?

  “He tried to kill me, Wendell,” Ana said. “I defended myself.”

  “Defended yourself? I always doubted your resolve,” Wendell said. “I wondered whether you could follow through. Sidney trusted you would, but agreed with us that you were too much of a liability going forward. The Dwellers told us to do what we saw fit, to do what was best for the whole.”

  Ana couldn’t believe what she was hearing. They had planned on killing her. The resistance was no better than the Cartel. She gripped the steering wheel, waiting for Wendell to divulge more of their plans for her.

  He didn’t. Then he reached around to his back. When his hand emerged, he was holding something.

  By the time Ana recognized Wendell was armed and aiming a gun at her, he’d already spent two rounds. The percussive blasts killed both headlights and startled Penny, who awoke and started crying. It was instantly dark. Ana pressed the button to roll up her window. She thumbed the shifter into what she thought was reverse and slammed her foot on the accelerator as Wendell shone a flashlight in her eyes. She was momentarily blinded and the engine roared, but the car stayed in place. Ana pressed the accelerator again. It responded, but the car didn’t move.

  Ana searched for the gear indicator. It read N for neutral. She pressed the brake and tried shifting into reverse. A piercing bright light followed by the stinging spray of shattered glass stopped her.

  Wendell’s powerful, rough hands grabbed at Ana, groping for the wheel. He tried opening the door and one hand caught her chin, forcefully turning her head toward the open window, and a finger grazed her lips. She opened her mouth and bit down as hard as she could, feeling the crunch between her teeth.

  Wendell cried out in pain and cursed Ana, still managing to wrangle open the door. Ana shifted her weight and grabbed the handle with both of her hands. She pushed outward at first, giving Wendell enough space to move his arm inside the car and grip her shoulder. Then she pulled back, slamming the door on his arm at his elbow.

  He cried out again and withdrew his arms, giving Ana enough time to find the gearshift and slip the car into reverse. The car shuddered at the sudden shift but propelled backwards until Ana slammed on the brake.

  “Shhh,” Ana said to Penny. Her hand found the child’s forehead and she stroked it gently. Penny was on the verge of hyperventilating and was squirming against the seat belt restraint.

&n
bsp; The flashlight Wendell had used to blind Ana and break the window was on the ground, its thin beam spreading outward on the ground near the posse boss.

  Ana could hear him screaming at her, so she had a sense of his general location, but she couldn’t see him clearly until he bounded in front of the car and was standing three feet in front of it with the handgun leveled at her.

  She flipped the gearshift into drive and drove her foot down onto the accelerator and ducked, putting her body on top of Penny’s. She heard a rapid trio of gunshots and felt another spray of glass across her back before the car shuddered and lurched. It bounced as if the tires had run over a speed bump. Ana’s foot was still pressed to the floor and the car gathered speed, barreled through the exit gate arm, and exploded into the street. She moved her foot to the brake and sat up to retake the wheel.

  The car screeched and spun, its tires burning off the top layer of rubber on the asphalt. Her hands again white knuckling the leather, Ana crinkled her nose at the acrid smoke filtering its way into the air around the Lexus.

  Penny was still crying, her arms flailing. Ana leaned over and popped the latch. She pulled her daughter from her seat, cradling her flat against her body and stroking the back of her head. Penny’s lungs filled with air and then stuttered as she breathed out.

  “Shhh,” Ana whispered. “It’s okay, baby. It’s okay. Shhh.”

  Penny pushed herself away from her mother to look at her. Even in the virtual darkness, Ana could see the shine of snot covering the lower half of her face. Her eyes were swollen with tears.

  “Mamamama,” Penny said. “Mamamama.” Her tiny, wet hand touched Ana on the cheek. “Mamamama.”

  Ana smiled and thumbed away the tears from underneath her daughter’s eyes. For a split second she forgot the urgency of the moment. It flooded back when she saw someone sprinting toward her car. It was a woman, maybe fifty yards from her, lit by the ambient light of a streetlamp in the distance.

  “Hang on, baby,” Ana said and rebuckled Penny into her seat. Penny protested, but didn’t have a choice.