The Traveler 01-03 Home, Canyon, Wall

by Tom Abrahams

  ***

  Lola stood ankle deep in the Red River, calling out to Ana. She screamed at the woman to get off her, to let her free.

  She cried out for the mother she’d just met, whose baby she held at her chest. For minutes, she stood in that rushing water, holding her balance as her feet sank deeper into the muck underneath the surface.

  The woman didn’t listen. Maybe she couldn’t hear or comprehend what Lola was asking of her. Instead, she held Ana underwater long enough that Lola knew she couldn’t hold her breath.

  Despite her using Ana to try to save herself, the drowning woman lost her fight against the water too. She slipped beneath the surface, only then freeing Ana’s lifeless body. It popped to the surface and then raced away with the current. Ana was gone.

  Lola buried her hands in her face. She didn’t know Ana. She didn’t need to know her to mourn her loss. Ana, a young mother with a baby who couldn’t be more than nine or ten months old, had risked her life for a woman who’d abandoned her family. She stood on the bank silently until Sawyer yelled for her from the sneak-through’s exit.

  “Mom,” he called, “something’s wrong. Where’s Marcus?”

  Lola didn’t see him. She saw the teens and the pair of twenty-somethings. No Marcus.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “Didn’t he come up?”

  She started moving to Sawyer before he could answer. Halfway there, Baadal stopped her.

  “He’s not coming with you,” said the Dweller.

  Lola looked at him sideways. “What are you talking about?”

  “Paagal doesn’t trust him,” he said. “She likes you. You and Sawyer can continue on your way, or you can come back and live with us in the canyon. Actually, she said you could live wherever you want. Battle can’t come, though. I’m doing what I’m told.”

  When Lola tried pushing her way past Baadal, he grabbed her arms and stopped her. He squeezed. His face turned sour and he bared his teeth.

  “He’s not coming,” Baadal said. “And if you—”

  With the baby strapped to her chest, Lola turned her body and drove her knee upward between his legs. Baadal’s knees buckled and he let go of her arms to grab himself. Before he could, she kneed him again.

  As he dropped to the dirt, the baby started crying. Lola planted one foot and then swung the other as if kicking a ball. The front edge of her foot met Baadal’s face, snapping back his head, and he fell unconscious to the ground, blood pouring from his nose and mouth.

  Penny’s cries grew shrill and loud. Lola tried soothing her by blowing gently onto the back of her neck as she reached the sneak-through trapdoor. Sawyer was already there tugging on it.

  He looked up at his mom as he struggled with the handle. “I can’t open it,” he said.

  It was locked.

  ***

  Battle was dazed and disoriented. He didn’t remember losing consciousness, or regaining it for that matter. He was sitting on the floor of the tunnel, his back against the ladder, strapped to it. His legs and hands were bound. He smelled lighter fluid and realized he was sopping wet.

  “This is courtesy of Paagal,” said the driver. “She wants you dead.” He aimed Ana’s flashlight in Battle’s face.

  Battle squeezed his eyes shut and struggled against the bungee tightly wrapped around his wrists.

  “She doesn’t trust you. She thinks you’re an instigator.”

  Battle chuckled. He sniffed and felt the burn of the lighter fluid in his nostrils. Behind him, on the ladder, was a sharp edge where the lowest rung had separated from the side rail. He started picking at it with the bungee.

  The driver cupped his hand over his ears. “You hear that?” he asked. “That’s a baby crying up there.”

  Battle looked straight up toward the trapdoor. The baby’s cry was piercing. She was upset. It wasn’t a hungry or sleepy baby cry. Something had happened up there.

  Battle spat the fluid from his lips and glared at the driver. “What about Lola?” The bungee was tearing. He could feel it. “What about Sawyer? The others?”

  “They’ll be fine,” he said. “Maybe. I don’t know why that baby is crying like that. I had kids before the Scourge. That’s an angry cry.”

  Battle felt part of the bungee snap. He kept working it against the rung’s sharp, knifelike edge. “Why does Paagal want me dead? I’m leaving. I’ve already crossed the wall.”

  The driver turned off the flashlight and pulled a brass cigarette lighter from his pocket. He popped it open, flicked the file wheel, and lit an orange flame. In his other hand he gripped Battle’s HK rifle.

  “She doesn’t think you’ll stay here,” said the driver. “She’s afraid you’ll come back. Better to elimin—”

  Battle snapped the bungee and freed his hands. Before the driver could toss the lighter, Battle had rolled from the ladder into the dark. He pushed himself to his feet and, with his feet bound together, leapt onto the driver, tackling him to the ground and knocking the lighter from his hand.

  The driver caught Battle in the gut with his knee and twisted partly out from under Battle’s weight. It wasn’t enough.

  Battle caught the driver’s head between his legs as the man tried to free himself. With his legs bound, Battle had him trapped.

  He squeezed against the driver’s neck and rolled with him, fending off punches to his side and back. Battle drew his body into a ball and used his hands to grab the driver at the front and back of his head. He gripped handfuls of hair and then wrenched his hands counterclockwise until he heard a rippling crackle announce the end of the driver’s fight.

  Battle released his grip and collapsed. He lay on his back, the driver’s twisted neck and head still between his knees, trying to catch his breath.

  Every inhalation was laced with the burn of the lighter fluid. He took shallower and shallower breaths until he could breathe through his nose.

  He looked up at the light seeping through the trapdoor. The baby was still crying.

  Battle sat up, pushed himself away from the driver, and untied the bungee at his calves and ankles.

  Slowly, he climbed the ladder toward the top. Each step was painful. He was cramping in his side. Each breath stung. His eyes burned from the mixture of fluid and sweat that dripped into them during his brief fight.

  He reached the top and flipped the latch. He opened it to find Sawyer, Lola, and the young mother’s baby waiting for him. She had stopped crying and was sucking on a pacifier.

  Lola helped him climb from the hole onto the dirt. Battle looked behind him and saw the wall mere feet away. It appeared so much larger than it had from a distance.

  “Where is everybody?” he asked. “Where are the others?”

  Tears streaming down her cheeks, Lola thumbed over her shoulder. “Baadal’s over there. I don’t think I killed him. I’m not sure.”

  “The others?” he asked. “From the hearse?”

  “Ana is dead.” Lola’s voice cracked. Her eyes drifted to the river. “She drowned.”

  Sawyer put his hand on his mother’s shoulder. “The other four left,” he said. “They didn’t want to wait for us while we tried to break back into the tunnel. They were afraid a patrol would find them.”

  Battle pointed east, past Lola and Sawyer. “Like that one?”

  A black Jeep was headed for them, blue lights flashing as it bounded along the riverbank between the water and the wall. They were armed.

  Lola looked back at Battle. The tears had stopped. “What do we do?” she asked. “We can’t outrun them.”

  “We’ll get caught,” said Sawyer.

  “We’re not getting caught,” said Battle. “Give me the baby and climb in.” Battle motioned to the open trapdoor. “We’re heading back.”

  “Heading back?” asked Lola, helping strap Penny to Battle’s back. “Where?”

  Battle smiled at her, took her face in both of his hands and kissed her on the lips. He pulled away and looked into her eyes. “Home, Lola. We’re goi
ng home.”

  CHAPTER 44

  OCTOBER 29, 2037, 1:20 PM

  SCOURGE +5 YEARS

  EAST OF RISING STAR, TEXAS

  The SUV was running on fumes when Battle decelerated into his driveway. It had only been a few weeks, but it felt as if he’d been gone for years.

  He rolled down the windows to listen to the crush of the gravel underneath the tires. Next to him, with her window down, was Lola. She was holding Penny, who Battle had decided was maybe an angel from Heaven. No baby had ever been as even tempered and easygoing as she was on their three-day trip back from the wall.

  They’d taken back roads through abandoned towns to avoid any run-ins with the Dwellers. It was best that way.

  His momentary joy at arriving back on his land was tempered by seeing the blackened shell of the main house when he pulled around the front drive. Battle took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, pressing the brake and putting the SUV into park.

  Lola put her hand on his leg. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m so sorry. If I hadn’t—”

  Battle put his finger to her lips. “Don’t,” he said, shaking his head. He checked the rearview mirror. Sawyer was asleep, lying across the entirety of the backseat.

  Battle lowered his voice to above a whisper. “All those years alone in that house, all I had were my guns, my movies, and my thoughts. I was going crazy. I didn’t know it. I couldn’t see it. But I was.”

  Lola choked back tears and raised her hand to Battle’s cheek. “You’re not crazy,” she whispered. “You’re my hero. You’re my boy’s hero. You’re going to be this little girl’s hero too.”

  “I’m no hero,” Battle countered. “For five years I killed anyone who came on my land. That didn’t take guts. I almost killed you.”

  “You didn’t though,” she said. “You saved me.”

  “You saved me,” Battle said. “I’ve always believed that God only gave me what I could handle. In the end, he gave me you.”

  Battle shut off the engine and hopped out of the SUV. “I’m going to put this in the garage in a few,” he said, shaking free of the emotion of the moment by changing the subject. “First, I want to make sure everything is good in the barn. If it is, we’re golden.”

  He left his new family at the SUV and trudged the familiar path from the driveway to his barn. He opened the wide doors and slipped inside. The first thing he heard was the familiar hum of the freezers. He reached beside him and flipped on one of the switches. The overhead lights flickered and clinked to life. The solar cells were good. He’d check the gas backup generators later.

  The wall-to-wall shelving opposite him was stocked with everything he’d left earlier in the month. There were clothes, toiletries, medicine, and plenty of food. He even had baby formula, which he’d purchased as protein supplement if they ever ran out of meat and couldn’t hunt.

  They could live in the barn, he thought. He’d take the seating out of the SUV to piece together some bedding for all of them. There was enough timber out back he’d be able to build some furniture with Sawyer’s help.

  They’d be okay.

  He walked out of the barn, turned left at the edge of what used to be his house, and walked to the backyard. The garden was a mess. It needed tending. He might have to rip up what was left, cover it with black plastic sheeting to kill everything, and start fresh. He had seeds. It would be good to grow new crops.

  He passed the garden and looked to the far end of the backyard, near the woods that crept close to the house. Lola was there, her back to him, swaying with Penny in her arms.

  Battle stopped and listened.

  “I need your help,” she said to the headstones in the ground in front of her. “I want to love him. I want him to love me. I want us to be a family. I truly believe he wants that too.”

  Lola stopped swaying and carefully lowered herself to her knees. With one hand she wiped the black soot and ash from atop the headstones.

  “I’m never going to replace you in his heart,” she said. “But I need his mind now. I need you to help him see that.”

  She started whispering and Battle couldn’t hear her. He started walking again.

  “Hey,” he said, startling Lola. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “Hi,” she said and pushed herself to her feet with one hand, holding Penny tightly in the other. “Just saying hello. I hope that’s okay.”

  “It’s good,” he said. “It’s okay. We’re gonna be okay.”

  “What if Paagal comes looking for us?” she asked. “What if she finds us?”

  “She won’t find us,” he said. “If by chance she does, I’ll shoot first. I won’t ask questions.”

  THE END

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  EXCERPT FROM SPACEMAN: A POST-APOCALYPTIC/DYSTOPIAN THRILLER

  MISSION ELAPSED TIME:

  72 DAYS, 3 HOURS, 5 MINUTES, 31 SECONDS

  249 MILES ABOVE EARTH

  The alarm sounded without warning.

  It was shrill and echoed though the station until Clayton Shepard typed a series of commands into the computer to disarm it.

  He ran his finger across the screen, not believing what was he was reading, what the alarm was warning. It was outside the bounds of what was reasonable or even possible.

  WARNING: GEOMAGENTIC K-INDEX 9 OR GREATER EXPECTED

  SPACE WEATHER MESSAGE CODE: WARK9<

  SERIAL NUMBER: 476

  ISSUE TIME: 2020 JAN 25 0225 UTC

  VALID TO 2020 JAN 25 2359 UTC

  He pressed a button that keyed the microphone nearest his mouth. “Houston,” he said, “station on space-to-ground one. Are you seeing the alarm?”

  “Station, this is Houston on space-to-ground one,” the call replied. “We see it. We have a team looking at data. Stand by.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Are you kidding me?” Clayton said, keying the mic. “Houston, this is station on space-to-ground one. I don’t think we have time for that. I’m asking we abort the EVA now.”

  He looked through the window to his left. Astronaut Ben Greenwood stopped his work, turned around to face Clayton through the mask on his helmet, and joined the conversation.

  “Shepard,” said Ben, “this is Greenwood station-to-station one. What alarm?” Greenwood’s helmet reflected a fisheye view of The Cupola in which Shepard was monitoring the first spacewalk of their expedition.

  Clayton read the alert again. A severe magnetic storm was coming. He swallowed and cleared his throat. “Greenwood, this is Shepard on station-to-station one. The onboard coronagraph is giving indications of large, transient disturbances on the Earth-facing side of the Sun.”

  “Shepard, this is Greenwood on station-to-station one. You mean solar flares?”

  “Station,” the radio call from mission control interrupted, “this is Houston on space-to-ground one. We’ve checked with SELB in Boulder. They confirm the alarm, as does Marshal in Huntsville. Loops are growing in intensity. There is a CME within striking distance. Our original assessment may have been incorrect.”

  The third member of the expedition, Cosmonaut Boris Voin, spoke through his mic. He was ten yards from Greenwood, tethered to the exterior of the station. “Shepard,” he said, his English barbed with his native Russian accent, “this is Voin, station-to-station 1. Are we killing EVA?”

  Shepard took a deep breath before answering. Two days earlier, they’d seen evidence of a coronal mass ejection, what they’d believed was a part of the corona tearing away from the Sun. After looking at the data, and considering the urgency of the spacewalk, Mission Control determined the reading was an anomaly. CMEs, as they were called, happened nearly every day. This one, they concluded, was no real threat. Despite the coronal halo visible around the sun forty-nine hours earlier, the numbers seemed so far beyond
anything they’d ever seen they concluded there was a system malfunction and the sensor was offering incorrect data.

  They were wrong.

  Clayton keyed the mic. “Houston, this is station on station-to-ground one,” he said, knowing the spacewalking astronauts could hear him. “It’s my recommendation that we immediately kill the EVA.”

  “Station, this is Houston on station-to-ground one. We agree that out of an abundance of caution the best course of—”

  The line went dead. The station went dark.

  Clayton pressed the mic. “Houston,” he said, a hint of panic in his voice, “this is station on station-to-ground one. Do you copy?”

  No answer.

  “Greenwood, this is Shepard one station-to-station one. Do you copy?”

  Nothing.

  Clayton tried Voin. He tried Shepard again. He switched to channels, two, three, and four. He tried the Russian channels. None of them replied. He wasn’t even sure his radio was working.

  “This cannot be happening.”

  Astronaut Clayton Shepard was ten weeks into his first mission in low Earth orbit when the impossible happened.

  The CME experts thought couldn’t exist carried with it sixteen billion tons of hot plasma and charged particles. It outraced the solar wind at an astonishing two million kilometers an hour, creating a blast wave ahead of its impact with the Earth and its orbiting satellites. The cloud, larger than any ever recorded, collided with the Earth’s magnetic field and created an enormous surge.

  High energy protons peaked at over two-hundred and fifty times the norm and slammed into the Earth where the effect was instantaneous. Electrical currents in the atmosphere and on the ground surged repeatedly at varying degrees.

  Within ninety seconds of impact, chain reactions had begun to shut down power grids and damage oil and gas pipelines across the entirety of the planet. Satellites orbiting the Earth absorbed the electrical surge and those that had not shut down the high voltage on their transceivers were destroyed or significantly damaged.