The Traveler 01-03 Home, Canyon, Wall

by Tom Abrahams

  “Everywhere, huh?”

  “One glitch,” she admitted. “Something happened in Houston. Our cell successfully killed the general there. Then three of the leaders, the people who’d put the plan together, all died. We think the general’s wife flipped on us.”

  “She’s one woman,” said the operator. “What does it matter?”

  Paagal stopped and shoved the operator in the arm. “What does it matter?”

  The operator shrugged as if the question were rhetorical.

  “Battle is one man,” she said. “Look at what he did. He created enough of a ripple in the water that it distracted the Cartel from the storm that was coming. If we find her, we can’t let her live.” She resumed walking toward the tent city. “Come to think of it,” she added. “I don’t think we should let Battle live either.”

  The operator stopped in his tracks as Paagal kept walking. She sensed he wasn’t next to her and turned around. “What?”

  “Why would you do that? He’s helping us. You promised him safe passage beyond the wall.”

  “I don’t trust him psychologically,” said Paagal. “He’s got issues.”

  The operator laughed incredulously and ran his fingers through his beard. “We’ve all got issues. We’re living in a wasteland. The Scourge killed two out of every three people we knew. Cut him a break.”

  Paagal marched back to the operator, her mouth pursed with frustration. “I don’t need your opinion, I need your obedience. I need everyone’s obedience as we rebuild the territory into something better. Battle doesn’t fit.”

  “He’s not going to be here,” said the operator. “He wants to live north of the wall, outside of the territory. He’s no threat to you.”

  Paagal huffed and spun on her heel. “Enough,” she said without turning around. “I need to speak with the invalids.”

  She walked with purpose toward the tent city, reluctantly considering what the operator was suggesting. Perhaps Battle wouldn’t be a threat. Maybe he’d move across the wall and stay there. If he did, he’d be their problem. Instead of challenging the Dwellers’ new order, he’d spend his days and nights exasperating those trying to maintain a tenuous sense of calm on a much larger scale.

  Paagal had watched Battle work. He was an enigma. She’d seen him ruthlessly maim and kill. She’d seen him reveal remarkable empathy for that woman Lola and the boy Sawyer. She’d overheard him talking to himself, though the conversations sounded as though he believed the voices she concluded were in his head were, in his world, real and tangible.

  Before the Scourge she’d treated patients who suffered from what were typically called auditory hallucinations. They were signs of psychosis and indicative of someone who had trouble distinguishing reality from fiction.

  Battle, she was convinced, was teetering on the edge of schizoaffective disorder, if he hadn’t already plunged headfirst into that surreality. He presented with so many of the symptoms beyond the hallucinations. He was moody, bordering on depression. He was a loner for years and was uncomfortable playing well with others.

  She did consider the possibility that the loneliness begat the depression and the need for a connection with people, real or imagined. Maybe it wasn’t psychosis. Perhaps it was a coping mechanism.

  By the time she’d reached the first of the tents, Paagal made up her mind. It didn’t matter why Battle was the way he was. She didn’t care about the cause. She cared about the effect. He was a loose cannon, psychotic or not. He would not stay on the other side of the wall. The pull of his home was too great. He’d come back. She’d need to deal with him.

  CHAPTER 38

  OCTOBER 26, 2037, 7:54 AM

  SCOURGE +5 YEARS

  SOUTH OF HICKORY CREEK, TEXAS

  Ana had her nose pressed to the glass of the hearse’s rear window. They were crossing a large lake. The sun reflected off the water, making it appear red in color.

  Penny was swaddled in a pile of blankets next to her and had fallen back asleep. Ana rubbed the back of her head, gently thumbing the remaining fontanelle. Her baby, born of deceit and treachery, was perhaps the best child on the planet. She still napped twice a day for hours at a time, and when awake, she was as happy as a clam.

  With each spin of the hearse’s wheels, Ana was closer to freedom and farther away from her past lives.

  Her breath formed, grew, and shrank against the cold glass. She pulled away and ran her finger through the condensation. She shifted to look toward the front of the vehicle. The hearse had a bench seat up front. There were four people squeezed onto the bench; the driver, a teenage girl, a teenage boy, and the dictatorial woman who didn’t want Ana traveling with them. Behind the bench, to the right side, were a pair of facing jump seats that shared a foot well. A pair of young women, maybe in their early twenties, occupied the seats. The rest of the hearse was a laminate flatbed with recessed casket rollers every few feet.

  “Who are you?” The whisper came from a young woman in the rear-facing jump seat. “What’s your name?”

  “Ana.”

  “I’m Becky. And your baby?”

  “Penny.”

  The girl managed an insecure smile. “That’s a pretty name,” she said. “How old is she?”

  “Nine months.”

  “Why are you running away?” asked the young woman.

  The twenty-something facing her popped Becky on the knee. “That’s rude.”

  “It’s okay,” said Ana. “I need a fresh start. I need a healthier environment for Penny.”

  The angry woman up front laughed from her belly. “There ain’t no such thing,” she said. “Not on either side of the wall.”

  Ana noticed the driver, Taskar, watching her in the rearview mirror. “Then why are you going there?” she asked the woman. “Why are you taking the risk if it’s not better?”

  “I didn’t say it wasn’t better,” the woman said. “It ain’t healthy. Taskar here was telling me about the way the world works up there. It’s all about who you know. You know somebody, you got it good. You don’t? You don’t.”

  “So you know somebody?” Ana asked.

  “I know lots of people,” she said. “We got somewhere to stay. We got jobs lined up. We got official-looking papers.”

  “Papers?”

  The woman laughed. “You ain’t got your papers?”

  Ana looked at the rearview mirror. “I didn’t—”

  The woman mocked Ana, whining as she spoke. “I didn’t. I didn’t.”

  “I can help,” said Taskar. “Don’t worry.”

  “Don’t matter if you got papers or not, sweet thing,” said the woman. “If you got nowhere to stay and no job, you might as well hop out of the car right now.”

  “Don’t listen to her,” whispered Becky. “She’s always like this. She doesn’t like strangers. It’s not you.”

  “Damn right I don’t like strangers,” said the woman, overhearing the whisper. “Ain’t nothing to like.”

  Ana turned back to the window and breathed onto the glass. They were moving at a good clip. The dotted white lane markings whizzed past, blurring into a single line from Taskar’s speed. They’d be in Gainesville, south of the wall, in less than an hour.

  CHAPTER 39

  OCTOBER 26, 2037, 8:00 AM

  SCOURGE +5 YEARS

  PALO DURO CANYON, TEXAS

  Marcus Battle clung to the rocks, pressing himself as close to the wall as he could. He didn’t like having his back to the fighting below him, even if it was diminishing and the Cartel’s advance was in the midst of being thwarted.

  He scaled the final jutting rock onto the plateau and pushed himself to his feet. The morning sun brought with it a whipping wind that swirled through the canyon and flapped against Battle’s thin shirt. He stood with his rifle in his hands, the barrel pointed diagonally skyward.

  Roof turned to face him, dragging Lola with him. He pushed the barrel of his handgun into her temple, forcing her to tilt her neck away from the pressure.


  “I know who you are,” Battle said, calling to Roof over the wind and now intermittent gunfire.

  “Do you now?” said Roof, half of his face hidden behind Lola.

  “You’re Rufus Buck.”

  “The one and only,” said Roof. “Good on you for figuring it out. Though, it’s not like I was hiding it. I knew who you were when I saw you at the Jones. You didn’t recognize me.”

  “You’ve changed.”

  “A lot has changed, Captain Battle.”

  “Major.”

  Roof laughed. “See what I mean?”

  Lola’s hair whipped across her face, and Battle could see the resolve in her eyes. She wasn’t afraid.

  Battle waved one of his hands, gesturing at Roof from toe to head. “So what’s going on here?” he asked. “What is this?”

  “I thought we should meet face-to-face again,” Roof said. “Given that we’ve both saved each other’s lives, I thought it appropriate.”

  Battle tensed. His hands tightened around the rifle. He spoke through clenched teeth. “How do you figure we saved each other’s lives?”

  “You got me out of Aleppo. I told Skinner not to lay a hand on you.”

  Battle’s focused narrowed. He slid his finger onto the rifle’s trigger.

  “He’s dead now,” said Roof. “Skinner, that is. Got shot on his way here. I put him out of his misery, like you did with that Dweller across the way. We have a lot in common, you and me.”

  “Now you sound like the bad guy in an old James Bond movie,” said Battle. “You can’t rationalize what you’ve done.”

  “Nor can you.”

  “So, again,” said Battle, looking for an opening. He needed only enough space to hit his target. Roof was smart enough not to provide it. “What is this?”

  “We’ve saved each other’s lives,” said Roof. “Now we’re going to end them. I’m going to let the little lady go here. You’re gonna shoot me. I’m going to shoot you.”

  “Let her go, then,” Battle said. “You’ve lost this war. You know it; I know it. You gain nothing by killing her.”

  Lola’s eyes widened. She struggled against Roof’s arm. “No, Marcus. No.”

  Roof laughed and then leaned into Lola’s neck. “Marcus, is it?” he sneered and planted a big kiss on the side of her head.

  Lola struggled against him. She kicked at his shins, clawed at his arm.

  Roof growled. “Fine then,” he said. “Be free.”

  He released his hold and shoved her forward. Lola stumbled. She fell onto her knees and slid, catching herself with her hands.

  Roof raised his weapon. He aimed at Battle but stood his ground.

  Battle pushed his left hand forward, drawing the barrel of the rifle toward Roof. His muscles tensed, anticipating both the recoil and the incoming fire.

  In the instant before either of them let loose, however, Roof jerked to one side and then the other. He lost control of his weapon and dropped it. He turned his attention away from Battle and toward the hoodoo.

  Battle followed Roof’s gaze and saw Sawyer on one knee, his HK pressed to his shoulder, a series of muzzle flashes exploding from the weapon’s barrel as he unloaded its magazine into Roof.

  Roof’s body limply danced in place until he collapsed onto his weapon. The last of the Cartel generals was dead.

  Lola lifted herself from the rock and ran to Battle, burying her face in his chest.

  Battle lowered the rifle and held it with one hand while he wrapped his other arm around Lola, holding the back of her head with his hand. He closed his eyes and felt the wind blow across his face. The gunfire had all but ceased. Behind him, farther into the passage, Dwellers were cheering their miraculously decisive victory.

  Lola reached up and grabbed his face with both hands, pulling him toward her. “Thank you,” she whispered through tears. “Thank you, Marcus.”

  Battle tried to swallow the hard knot in his throat. He smiled, then gently pressed his lips to her forehead. There wasn’t time for more than that.

  He looked across the canyon and found Sawyer. The boy had retreated to the safety of the curve in the rock. He was crouched low, as Battle had instructed.

  CHAPTER 40

  OCTOBER 26, 2037, 9:00 AM

  SCOURGE +5 YEARS

  GAINESVILLE, TEXAS

  “I told you,” repeated the sun-wrinkled waif guarding the gate, “you can’t get through. You have to go to Wichita Falls. That’s the only way out right now.”

  Taskar was leaning out of the driver’s side window, his finger jabbing at the waif. “I paid good money to cross here,” he said, pointing to the gate.

  The gate opened to a wide no-man’s-land that separated the territory from the wall. It was neutral land nobody controlled, and it was the most dangerous part of the crossing in both directions.

  Taskar raised his voice in exasperation. “I do not have time to go to Wichita Falls.”

  Unfazed, the waif ran his finger across a deep line running the length of his forehead. “Make time,” he said. “Nobody gets through. War is hell.”

  The obnoxious woman in the front leaned across the teens between her and Taskar. “There’s nothing closer?” she asked as if she knew the waif was keeping a secret.

  “Wichita Falls is it.” The waif shrugged. “On the whole wall. West. North. East. All of the regular sneak-throughs are shut down. Somebody is trying to stop the rats from leaving the ship while it sinks.”

  Taskar cursed the waif and the gate and anyone else who could hear him. He slid the hearse into reverse, spinning the treadless tires on the asphalt. He shifted into drive without braking, and the wagon lurched into gear.

  “Buckle up,” he said, glaring at Ana in the rearview mirror. “We have another ninety miles to go.”

  Ana rolled her eyes. She had no seat belt. “Do you have enough gas?”

  Taskar nodded and accelerated, turning right to head west on Highway 82. He took out his frustration on the vehicle’s aging V6 engine.

  “What happened back there?” asked the woman in the front. “Why couldn’t we get across?”

  Taskar pushed a button on the door to close his window. “It’s the war,” he said. “One side or the other is trying to funnel crossings to one location. Normally there are a dozen good spots.”

  The woman ran her hands through her short hair and grabbed it with her fists. “So we’re screwed?”

  Taskar looked across the bench seating at the woman. “I don’t know. I’m not as familiar with Wichita Falls. I know the people on both sides of the sneak-through at Gainesville.”

  The woman slammed her hands on the dash on front of her. “You don’t know? We paid you with everything we had south of the wall and you don’t know?”

  Taskar held up his hand. “Calm yourself,” he said. “I’m being honest with you. I could be dishonest and tell you everything will be perfect. Would you rather that?”

  “Yes,” said Ana from the back of the hearse. “It’s better if you give us hope.”

  Taskar squeezed the wheel with both hands, working them against the worn leather. “Okay,” he said, “I am hopeful there is no problem. I am hopeful we will cross the sneak-through at Wichita Falls without incident.”

  “You paid to cross at Gainesville?” asked Ana.

  “Yes.”

  “Is that payment good at Wichita Falls?”

  “Probably not.”

  The woman in the front shot a look at Taskar, then Ana, and back at Taskar again. “Then what?”

  “Then I’m hopeful.”

  CHAPTER 41

  OCTOBER 26, 2037, 10:00 AM

  SCOURGE +5 YEARS

  PALO DURO CANYON, TEXAS

  Paagal stood at the far edge of the tent city, her hands on her hips. She held her chin as would a queen. “You should leave immediately,” she said to Battle. “I’ve had all of the wall sneak-throughs closed except for Wichita Falls. It’s a five-hour journey by car.”

  Battle flexed h
is hands and crossed his arms. He tucked his hands under his pits. “We don’t have a car,” he said. He looked across the field of tent pitches. Dwellers were hugging each other, dancing without music.

  “We can arrange for a caravan to deliver you to the wall. You’ll be granted passage across the sneak-through. After that, on the northern side of the wall, you’re on your own.”

  Battle widened his stance, spreading his feet shoulder-width apart. “Why are you in a hurry to get rid of us?”

  A smile oozed across Paagal’s face, illuminating her brown skin. “I’m not the one in a hurry, if I recall. You wanted to be north of the wall the moment you arrived here. Am I wrong?”

  Battle shook his head. “No,” he said. “I guess not. Still, it’s strange. You’ve been the leader of the territory for a minute and your first official act is to help us north of the wall.”

  “I’m keeping my word,” Paagal said. “Don’t read anything into it.”

  Battle chuckled. “I might not have had you not just said that.”

  Paagal slinked closer to Battle. “Look, I have a lot to do. The fire is out, but there are hotspots that need my attention. Battles are ongoing in Houston and Austin. Lubbock will be smoldering for some time. I promised you safe passage north of the wall. I’m delivering it before other things become more pressing.”

  She extended her hand and Battle took it. “Thank you,” he said. “Who is going with us?”

  “Baadal will escort you,” she said. “You’ll have a driver who’s made the trip many times. Plus I’ll send a couple of sentries who’ve done reconnaissance along the wall. You’ll be fine.”

  Battle stuffed his hands into his pockets and wove his way through the maze of tents until he’d reached his own. He stood there a moment and let the wind swirl around him. It was getting colder despite the sun rising higher above the rim to the east.

  He drifted back to Syria, remembering the night that changed the course of the rest of his life. He envisioned the way Rufus Buck looked then, his electric razor haircut high and tight, his face angular and clean shaven. That vision morphed into the General Roof who’d just died: a man who wore a gray ponytail and a thick, wiry beard. He was easily forty pounds heavier than he’d been a lifetime earlier. He was unrecognizable.