Read Online Wall: A Post Apocalyptic/Dystopian Adventure (The Traveler Book 3) by Tom Abrahams - Free Book Online
Authors: Tom Abrahams
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couldn’t tell if he was breathing or not.
Ana focused on the stream of blood trickling from the back of his head, down his shirt, and onto the floor. Between the double shot to his groin and the violent strike to his head, she imagined he’d be incapacitated for a while even if he were alive.
She would have liked to have asked Sidney why he would kill her. She’d done what he’d asked. She’d joined the resistance. She’d borne the child of a man she detested and then lived with him. She’d been a servant to the cause.
She wondered if Sidney had planned on killing her from the very beginning. Was it always part of the plan?
Ana had long expressed doubts of the strength and motive of the resistance. Sidney, Nancy Wake, and Nancy’s husband, Wendell, had repeatedly allayed her fears until they bubbled again to the surface. Of all the conspirators, she was taking the biggest risk on a daily basis, she’d told them. She was living with the enemy.
They’d acknowledged her commitment and sacrifice. They’d promised her the effort would be worth it when the Cartel fell. Yet here she was, having escaped an assassination attempt in the hours after fulfilling her promise to them. She wondered if the exercise of moving Logan’s body was an effort to fatigue her so she might be an easier target.
The sting in her arm was ballooning into a dull throb as the intensity of the moment waned. Ana looked at her wound. It wasn’t deep and probably wouldn’t require stitches. She’d been lucky. Still, it hurt.
Ana decided it didn’t matter whether Sidney was dead or alive. She wasn’t staying long enough to find out. She stood and kicked him in the back. He didn’t move.
She folded the blade into the bolster and stuck it into her pocket. She might need it again.
Ana stepped over Sidney’s body and flung open the closet. On the top shelf was a backpack she used to carry baby supplies. She yanked a couple of shirts from hangers and stuffed them in the empty pack. She moved quickly to the bathroom and emptied the medicine cabinet into the bag. Medicine of any kind was at a premium. She could use it. She could trade it. It was good to have.
Ana moved with purpose from her room to Penny’s. She pulled a package of reusable diapers, a couple of outfits, and some Vaseline from the shelf above the changing table. She stuffed them into the now bulging pack. She unzipped the front compartment and was able to squeeze a single bottle inside of it.
Traveling the untamed wilderness of the Cartel’s vast territory with a baby would be tough under normal circumstances. Ana was about to do it in the midst of a burgeoning war in which both sides were her enemy. She slung the backpack over her shoulders, unfolded the collapsible stroller in the corner of the nursery, and picked up her sleeping child.
Penny’s eyes cracked open as her mother set her into the stroller’s fabric and buckled the three-point harness holding her in place. Ana popped a pacifier in Penny’s mouth and spun the stroller on two wheels. Penny sucked on the plastic until she fell asleep again, her head bobbing from side to side with the motion of the stroller. Ana was speed-walking north toward downtown. She let go of the stroller with one hand and felt for the sharp bulge in her right pocket. The keys were there. Three blocks to go and she’d be on her way out of Houston and toward somewhere else.
Ana was quickly reaching the conclusion, right or not, that the resistance wasn’t about freedom. It wasn’t about making life better. She believed trading one power for another wasn’t always good. She’d experienced it in her personal life: taking power away from one bad man and giving it to another. Life didn’t improve.
Instead, she’d come to understand that any alternative ruler when it took power often became an oppressor worse than the one it dethroned. So afraid were the newly empowered of losing the control they fought so hard to win, they morphed
Ana focused on the stream of blood trickling from the back of his head, down his shirt, and onto the floor. Between the double shot to his groin and the violent strike to his head, she imagined he’d be incapacitated for a while even if he were alive.
She would have liked to have asked Sidney why he would kill her. She’d done what he’d asked. She’d joined the resistance. She’d borne the child of a man she detested and then lived with him. She’d been a servant to the cause.
She wondered if Sidney had planned on killing her from the very beginning. Was it always part of the plan?
Ana had long expressed doubts of the strength and motive of the resistance. Sidney, Nancy Wake, and Nancy’s husband, Wendell, had repeatedly allayed her fears until they bubbled again to the surface. Of all the conspirators, she was taking the biggest risk on a daily basis, she’d told them. She was living with the enemy.
They’d acknowledged her commitment and sacrifice. They’d promised her the effort would be worth it when the Cartel fell. Yet here she was, having escaped an assassination attempt in the hours after fulfilling her promise to them. She wondered if the exercise of moving Logan’s body was an effort to fatigue her so she might be an easier target.
The sting in her arm was ballooning into a dull throb as the intensity of the moment waned. Ana looked at her wound. It wasn’t deep and probably wouldn’t require stitches. She’d been lucky. Still, it hurt.
Ana decided it didn’t matter whether Sidney was dead or alive. She wasn’t staying long enough to find out. She stood and kicked him in the back. He didn’t move.
She folded the blade into the bolster and stuck it into her pocket. She might need it again.
Ana stepped over Sidney’s body and flung open the closet. On the top shelf was a backpack she used to carry baby supplies. She yanked a couple of shirts from hangers and stuffed them in the empty pack. She moved quickly to the bathroom and emptied the medicine cabinet into the bag. Medicine of any kind was at a premium. She could use it. She could trade it. It was good to have.
Ana moved with purpose from her room to Penny’s. She pulled a package of reusable diapers, a couple of outfits, and some Vaseline from the shelf above the changing table. She stuffed them into the now bulging pack. She unzipped the front compartment and was able to squeeze a single bottle inside of it.
Traveling the untamed wilderness of the Cartel’s vast territory with a baby would be tough under normal circumstances. Ana was about to do it in the midst of a burgeoning war in which both sides were her enemy. She slung the backpack over her shoulders, unfolded the collapsible stroller in the corner of the nursery, and picked up her sleeping child.
Penny’s eyes cracked open as her mother set her into the stroller’s fabric and buckled the three-point harness holding her in place. Ana popped a pacifier in Penny’s mouth and spun the stroller on two wheels. Penny sucked on the plastic until she fell asleep again, her head bobbing from side to side with the motion of the stroller. Ana was speed-walking north toward downtown. She let go of the stroller with one hand and felt for the sharp bulge in her right pocket. The keys were there. Three blocks to go and she’d be on her way out of Houston and toward somewhere else.
Ana was quickly reaching the conclusion, right or not, that the resistance wasn’t about freedom. It wasn’t about making life better. She believed trading one power for another wasn’t always good. She’d experienced it in her personal life: taking power away from one bad man and giving it to another. Life didn’t improve.
Instead, she’d come to understand that any alternative ruler when it took power often became an oppressor worse than the one it dethroned. So afraid were the newly empowered of losing the control they fought so hard to win, they morphed
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