Read Online Wall: A Post Apocalyptic/Dystopian Adventure (The Traveler Book 3) by Tom Abrahams - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Tom Abrahams
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into the very thing they fought against.
Ana suddenly knew where she needed to go. She needed to reach the canyon and the leader called Paagal before it was too late. Paagal, she’d heard from the others, had access to the wall and a way across to the northern side. She would find Paagal, explain what she had done for the resistance, and then gain passage across the wall.
CHAPTER TEN
OCTOBER 25, 2037, 6:15 PM
SCOURGE +5 YEARS
LUBBOCK, TEXAS
The sun was dropping low in the sky. It would sink below the dusty horizon within forty-five minutes. General Roof wondered how many more sunsets he would see. Not a one was guaranteed. They never had been. He knew that. This one, however, he considered with more contemplation than usual. This one was as singular, he believed, as the one he’d enjoyed the night before he first shipped out to Syria some eighteen years earlier.
There was something simple about a sunset that evoked a complex combination of emotions. Maybe it was the joy of having survived another day mixed with the uncertainty of what the next sunrise might bring. Maybe it was the fear of the dark night ahead. Maybe it was both.
Roof didn’t try to psychoanalyze himself. He didn’t want to be that self-aware. Inward ignorance was bliss as far as he was concerned. Still, he reached into his shirt and pulled out his dog tags and rubbed them with his fingers, melancholy about the sun’s shifting light.
Despite his mood, he relished the solitude. All of the grunts, bosses, and captains had finished their preparations for the coming departure. He stayed behind, tending to his work in the relative peace of the moment, though not before sending them off with a rousing speech.
Roof had praised the dozens of men for the expediency of their work. He’d told them they were ready for whatever challenges lay ahead. He’d assured them they would win and find their collective way back home, wherever home might be.
They’d cheered him. He’d tipped his hat to them and dismissed them, warning them not to be late the next morning. They’d left and gone to eat, sleep, and do whatever else rotten men do before heading off to war.
He was sitting in the bed of a HUMVEE, checking the weapons he’d chosen to bring. The Browning, a tactically stupid choice he’d always thought, was at his feet. Although he had never wanted the Cartel to fight with shotguns, he had been overruled. They had access to ridiculous numbers of the Brownings and what seemed to be a limitless supply of ammunition.
Given how many grunts were horrible shots, Generals Logan and Manuse had made the decision to make the Browning the standard-issue weapon.
Roof had relented to their demands, believing for so long that the sheer size of their infantry was more than enough to make up for the impotency of a shotgun. It was a mistake.
He knew that. He’d always known it. He was all the more certain of it as he checked the Trijicon optical sight of an FN SCAR 17 assault rifle. He pulled out and checked its twenty-round magazine and slammed it back into place. It was loaded with the heavy .308/7.62x51 military rounds. A voice from behind him interrupted his concentration.
“General?”
Roof swung the weapon with his shoulders as he turned to face whoever belonged to the voice. The young man stepped back, his eyes wide when Roof aimed the rifle at his head.
He raised his arms. “General? Sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
Roof kept the weapon trained. “What do you want?”
The man swallowed hard. “My name is Grat Dalton. I’m the one you and Captain Skinner sent to follow and observe.”
Roof peeked over the sight. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“When you banished them folks from the Jones,” Grat said, “you had Captain Skinner assign us to follow them. It was me, my brother Emmett, and Jack Vermillion.”
Roof held his aim for a moment more and then lowered the SCAR 17. His eyes narrowed and he waved the man
Ana suddenly knew where she needed to go. She needed to reach the canyon and the leader called Paagal before it was too late. Paagal, she’d heard from the others, had access to the wall and a way across to the northern side. She would find Paagal, explain what she had done for the resistance, and then gain passage across the wall.
CHAPTER TEN
OCTOBER 25, 2037, 6:15 PM
SCOURGE +5 YEARS
LUBBOCK, TEXAS
The sun was dropping low in the sky. It would sink below the dusty horizon within forty-five minutes. General Roof wondered how many more sunsets he would see. Not a one was guaranteed. They never had been. He knew that. This one, however, he considered with more contemplation than usual. This one was as singular, he believed, as the one he’d enjoyed the night before he first shipped out to Syria some eighteen years earlier.
There was something simple about a sunset that evoked a complex combination of emotions. Maybe it was the joy of having survived another day mixed with the uncertainty of what the next sunrise might bring. Maybe it was the fear of the dark night ahead. Maybe it was both.
Roof didn’t try to psychoanalyze himself. He didn’t want to be that self-aware. Inward ignorance was bliss as far as he was concerned. Still, he reached into his shirt and pulled out his dog tags and rubbed them with his fingers, melancholy about the sun’s shifting light.
Despite his mood, he relished the solitude. All of the grunts, bosses, and captains had finished their preparations for the coming departure. He stayed behind, tending to his work in the relative peace of the moment, though not before sending them off with a rousing speech.
Roof had praised the dozens of men for the expediency of their work. He’d told them they were ready for whatever challenges lay ahead. He’d assured them they would win and find their collective way back home, wherever home might be.
They’d cheered him. He’d tipped his hat to them and dismissed them, warning them not to be late the next morning. They’d left and gone to eat, sleep, and do whatever else rotten men do before heading off to war.
He was sitting in the bed of a HUMVEE, checking the weapons he’d chosen to bring. The Browning, a tactically stupid choice he’d always thought, was at his feet. Although he had never wanted the Cartel to fight with shotguns, he had been overruled. They had access to ridiculous numbers of the Brownings and what seemed to be a limitless supply of ammunition.
Given how many grunts were horrible shots, Generals Logan and Manuse had made the decision to make the Browning the standard-issue weapon.
Roof had relented to their demands, believing for so long that the sheer size of their infantry was more than enough to make up for the impotency of a shotgun. It was a mistake.
He knew that. He’d always known it. He was all the more certain of it as he checked the Trijicon optical sight of an FN SCAR 17 assault rifle. He pulled out and checked its twenty-round magazine and slammed it back into place. It was loaded with the heavy .308/7.62x51 military rounds. A voice from behind him interrupted his concentration.
“General?”
Roof swung the weapon with his shoulders as he turned to face whoever belonged to the voice. The young man stepped back, his eyes wide when Roof aimed the rifle at his head.
He raised his arms. “General? Sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
Roof kept the weapon trained. “What do you want?”
The man swallowed hard. “My name is Grat Dalton. I’m the one you and Captain Skinner sent to follow and observe.”
Roof peeked over the sight. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“When you banished them folks from the Jones,” Grat said, “you had Captain Skinner assign us to follow them. It was me, my brother Emmett, and Jack Vermillion.”
Roof held his aim for a moment more and then lowered the SCAR 17. His eyes narrowed and he waved the man
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