Read Online Wall: A Post Apocalyptic/Dystopian Adventure (The Traveler Book 3) by Tom Abrahams - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Tom Abrahams
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toward the side of the HUMVEE.
“I know who you are now,” said Roof. “You lost your brother near Abernathy. Right?”
The grunt bowed his head. “Yes, sir.”
“You lost my horses and weapons too,” said Roof. “Right?”
“Well,” Grat said, “I guess we—”
“You guess?”
“I just—”
“You just?”
Grat shrugged.
“What is it you want?”
“I want to make it up to you, General,” he said. “I know you’re heading north to fight. I’m not attached to any posses. I’d like to ride with you.”
Roof put down the SCAR 17 and hopped over the side of the HUMVEE’s bed. He stepped to Grat. “You want to make it up to me? Is that it? Or do you want revenge for your brother’s murder? Which is it?”
Grat hesitated. He curled his lips inside his mouth and bit down.
“Answer me the right way and you can go,” said Roof. “Answer wrong, you stay here with the women and children. Be honest. I’ll know if you’re lying.”
Grat Dalton folded his arms across his chest. He looked Roof in the eyes and nodded. “I want revenge. I want that Mad Max dead. I want to kill his woman and that boy.”
Roof stared into Grat’s eyes after the man had stopped talking. He searched his face, judged his posture, the way he stood across from him.
“Good answer,” said Roof. “We leave in the morning. Be here outside the Jones at sunup.”
Grat exhaled, releasing the nervous anticipation, and thanked Roof. He offered his hand to the general.
Roof looked down at the offer and ignored it. “Your friend Vermillion isn’t invited,” he said and grabbed the side of the HUMVEE. He hopped back into the bed and picked up another rifle. He was a minute into the task when he sensed a figure still standing watch. He waved his hand to shoo the grunt away. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Grat Dalton,” he said without looking up.
“It’s not Grat Dalton,” said Porky. “It’s me Porky. I need to talk to you about Skinner.”
Roof cursed and let out an aggravated sigh. “Can’t a man get any work done?” He looked up at Porky. “We got a war to fight.”
Porky’s fingers were tugging on his empty belt loops. “Yes, sir.”
“Why can’t Skinner come talk for himself?”
“He can’t talk, General,” said Porky. “I told you—”
“Right,” Roof snapped. He rolled his eyes. “His tongue. I get it. Why are you here?”
“He wants to ride with you tomorrow,” Porky said. “He sent me to ask if it was all right.”
Roof rolled his tongue across his front teeth. “I guess,” he said. “If he’s up to it.”
“Thank you, General,” Porky said and scurried off toward the Jones.
Roof looked around. There were a dozen vehicles ready to roll out. He knew down the street there were horses primed to ride. The sun was sinking and cast a pinkish hue. He blinked and squinted as he looked into the setting sun, tipping his hat lower on his forehead. He soaked in the light and then closed his eyes, letting the afterimage burn into his mind.
This was a final day of peace. War was coming. It would be bloody. It would offer another kind of scourge to the land inside the wall.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
OCTOBER 25, 2037, 6:01 PM
SCOURGE +5 YEARS
PALO DURO CANYON, TEXAS
The burning impact of the twenty-two-caliber bullet drilling through Battle’s shoulder spun him toward the direction of the shot. He peered into the distance, unable to see from where the projectile was fired. He was in an abyss, standing alone in a vast emptiness.
A second jarring slug penetrated his chest, and Battle grabbed at the wound as if his touch could do anything to ease the instantaneous, painful throb.
Battle reached for his waistband, searching for McDunnough. He couldn’t find it. It wasn’t there. The weapon he’d named for Nic Cage’s character in the Coen Brothers’ classic film Raising Arizona was missing.
He’d always identified with McDunnough: a man whose good intentions led him deeper down the
“I know who you are now,” said Roof. “You lost your brother near Abernathy. Right?”
The grunt bowed his head. “Yes, sir.”
“You lost my horses and weapons too,” said Roof. “Right?”
“Well,” Grat said, “I guess we—”
“You guess?”
“I just—”
“You just?”
Grat shrugged.
“What is it you want?”
“I want to make it up to you, General,” he said. “I know you’re heading north to fight. I’m not attached to any posses. I’d like to ride with you.”
Roof put down the SCAR 17 and hopped over the side of the HUMVEE’s bed. He stepped to Grat. “You want to make it up to me? Is that it? Or do you want revenge for your brother’s murder? Which is it?”
Grat hesitated. He curled his lips inside his mouth and bit down.
“Answer me the right way and you can go,” said Roof. “Answer wrong, you stay here with the women and children. Be honest. I’ll know if you’re lying.”
Grat Dalton folded his arms across his chest. He looked Roof in the eyes and nodded. “I want revenge. I want that Mad Max dead. I want to kill his woman and that boy.”
Roof stared into Grat’s eyes after the man had stopped talking. He searched his face, judged his posture, the way he stood across from him.
“Good answer,” said Roof. “We leave in the morning. Be here outside the Jones at sunup.”
Grat exhaled, releasing the nervous anticipation, and thanked Roof. He offered his hand to the general.
Roof looked down at the offer and ignored it. “Your friend Vermillion isn’t invited,” he said and grabbed the side of the HUMVEE. He hopped back into the bed and picked up another rifle. He was a minute into the task when he sensed a figure still standing watch. He waved his hand to shoo the grunt away. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Grat Dalton,” he said without looking up.
“It’s not Grat Dalton,” said Porky. “It’s me Porky. I need to talk to you about Skinner.”
Roof cursed and let out an aggravated sigh. “Can’t a man get any work done?” He looked up at Porky. “We got a war to fight.”
Porky’s fingers were tugging on his empty belt loops. “Yes, sir.”
“Why can’t Skinner come talk for himself?”
“He can’t talk, General,” said Porky. “I told you—”
“Right,” Roof snapped. He rolled his eyes. “His tongue. I get it. Why are you here?”
“He wants to ride with you tomorrow,” Porky said. “He sent me to ask if it was all right.”
Roof rolled his tongue across his front teeth. “I guess,” he said. “If he’s up to it.”
“Thank you, General,” Porky said and scurried off toward the Jones.
Roof looked around. There were a dozen vehicles ready to roll out. He knew down the street there were horses primed to ride. The sun was sinking and cast a pinkish hue. He blinked and squinted as he looked into the setting sun, tipping his hat lower on his forehead. He soaked in the light and then closed his eyes, letting the afterimage burn into his mind.
This was a final day of peace. War was coming. It would be bloody. It would offer another kind of scourge to the land inside the wall.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
OCTOBER 25, 2037, 6:01 PM
SCOURGE +5 YEARS
PALO DURO CANYON, TEXAS
The burning impact of the twenty-two-caliber bullet drilling through Battle’s shoulder spun him toward the direction of the shot. He peered into the distance, unable to see from where the projectile was fired. He was in an abyss, standing alone in a vast emptiness.
A second jarring slug penetrated his chest, and Battle grabbed at the wound as if his touch could do anything to ease the instantaneous, painful throb.
Battle reached for his waistband, searching for McDunnough. He couldn’t find it. It wasn’t there. The weapon he’d named for Nic Cage’s character in the Coen Brothers’ classic film Raising Arizona was missing.
He’d always identified with McDunnough: a man whose good intentions led him deeper down the
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