Wall: A Post Apocalyptic/Dystopian Adventure (The Traveler Book 3) (25 page)

Dalton nodded and marched back into the fray to find survivors he could enlist. Roof marched past the dogleg to the entrance. Another wave was preparing to descend. He altered their plans.

***

Lola slapped another magazine into the bottom of her rifle, stinging her palm. She hit the bolt release and chambered a new round. She was drenched in sweat, her hair stuck to her face. She blew strands from her mouth and settled in for another volley against the encroaching Cartel.

She heard a scream directly behind her. It was a Dweller. He was one of four on the plateau with Lola. He was holding his left eye, blood spilling from between his fingers.

The other men glanced at him and then returned to their targets. Lola inched back toward the wounded man, crouched low, and drew him to the rocky ground with her. He was wailing, spit and drool spraying from his mouth.

“My eye!” he kept saying. “My eye!”

Lola laid down her weapon and wrapped an arm around his back. She rocked him as a mother would coddle an infant and tried to pull his hand from the wound. She figured it couldn’t have been a direct hit; otherwise, he’d be dead.

His hand resisted hers, insisting it cover the injury. She coaxed it free and turned his face toward hers. She swallowed hard, pushing the bile back down her throat as she assessed the damage.

His eyeball was intact, but there was a lot of blood. It was streaming from the corner of the eye socket, where he’d sustained a glancing but damaging blow. From the corner of his lid to his temple, there was a gaping tear, as if the bullet had ripped past his eye by an inch but ripped open the adjacent skin along its path.

“Your eye is okay,” Lola said. “Your eye is there. The wound is next to your eye. You’ll be okay.”

The man grabbed the wound again. “I can’t see,” he said. He pushed away from Lola and struggled to his feet. Against her protest, he stood up and backed away from her. “I can’t see.”

No sooner had he turned away from her did his head jerk awkwardly and a spray of blood exploded from the front of his head. He lurched, his muscles faltering, and collapsed onto the rock.

Lola shuddered and wiped the splatter from her face. She grabbed her rifle and crawled away from the dead man toward the edge of the plateau. She glanced downward at the wall and started to turn her attention toward the center of the passage when movement caught her eye.

Not fifteen feet from her was the first of a half dozen men climbing the rocky wall toward the plateau. Lola called to the remaining trio of compatriots for help.

Either none could hear her over the din of the fighting or none of them cared. Another wave of grunts was making its way closer to the position from the entrance. They were otherwise engaged.

Lola drew herself to one knee and leveled the HK. She pressed the butt against her shoulder and aimed down at the man closest to her. One pull. One kill. The man hitched and fell to the floor below.

Lola aimed at the next man in line and pulled the trigger. Nothing. She pulled again. Nothing. It was jammed. She pulled the bolt handle back, ejected the bad round, and chambered a fresh one.

By the time she’d taken aim, the man was at the plateau. He leapt forward as she pulled the trigger, burying the muzzle into his gut.

His full dying weight collapsed on top of her. She tried freeing herself, but couldn’t. She was stuck on her back. She dropped her grip on the HK and used both hands to try to force the hulk from on top of her. The rattle of his lungs vibrated against her chest as he took his last rank breath. A damp warmth spread across her hips and trickled along her thighs.

She was surrounded by an envelope of yelling and a rapid exchange of close-range gunfire. Lola shifted her head so she could freely breathe and stopped her struggle. She lay still underneath the pressing weight with her eyes closed.

There was nothing she could do in the moment to stop whatever was happening. It was better that she save herself.

She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly through her nose. In and out. In and out. The thumping pulse in her neck slowed, her breathing normalized.

Grunts and calls for help punctured the staccato thwacking of the assault. Heavy boot steps pounded past her. Lola bit the inside of her cheek to keep from squealing or whimpering from the convulsive fear threatening to consume her.

And then it stopped.

The fighting continued below her. It echoed off the walls of the canyon, reverberating against the layers of rock that formed the deep gorge. But the sudden violence on the plateau was over.

Lola opened her eyes, still pinned underneath the most recent of her kills. Instead of looking straight up to the early morning west Texas sky, a pair of black eyes was staring back at her. A man with a long, thick beard and a ponytail draped over one shoulder bent over at his waist and narrowed his glare. His feet were spread, one on either side of the dead man atop her slender frame.

“I recognize you,” he said, squatting onto the dead man, pushing the air from Lola’s lungs. “You’re the ginger I saw at the Jones.” A smile spread across his face, stretching his beard. “That must mean Battle ain’t too far from here.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

OCTOBER 26, 2037, 7:22 AM

SCOURGE +5 YEARS

LEWISVILLE, TEXAS

Breastfeeding on a moving horse was nearly the most awkward thing Ana had ever attempted. Given the depraved variety of life-saving activities in which she’d engaged since the Scourge, it didn’t top the list.

The tug and pull of her nine-month-old’s gums and teeth was worse than the aggravated saddle soreness along her thighs. She was raw on both accounts but couldn’t stop. There was too much ground to cover and too little time.

Ana knew that once the Cartel fell, and it would, chaos would engulf the territory until the Dwellers dropped their own righteous hammer on the region. She needed to be well north of the wall by then. So she sacrificed her comfort for the sake of expediency and the health of her daughter.

The horse was making good time chugging north along Interstate 35 and showed no signs of exhaustion. Ana parsed the animal and coaxed it forward, pushing through Lewisville, a town not quite halfway to their destination south of the wall.

Lola had drifted into a daze as her child sucked and nibbled, when a flickering streetlamp caught her attention. It was the first working light she’d seen since Dallas. Adjacent to the light, stretching toward the orange glow arcing along the eastern horizon, was a wide utility easement. A succession of high-tension power transmitters guarded the land in an endless watch. Their main legs spread like duty-bound sentries. Above their waists, the conductor bundles drooped low, as did the overhead ground wires atop their upper beams.

North of the transmission towers and the strobing lamp were a half dozen boats askew on the side of the three-lane feeder road running parallel to the interstate. A couple of them were still attached to their trailers. The others looked as though they’d been tossed by wind. A couple of them were riddled with large holes.

Behind the boats was a long, single-story building. Along the front of its flat roofline was a ratty faded blue awning. Only the letters OATS remained of what Ana imagined was once the signage for a boat dealer.

Penny let go of her grip, signaling she was full, and Ana pulled her up against her shoulder. She alternately patted the child’s back and rubbed her hand up and down along her spine.

Her gaze shifted to a squatty-looking brick and cream-colored building next to the boat dealership. It was a funeral home. That wasn’t, however, what drew her attention. It was the group of people huddled around a long black hearse at the side of the building.

She hadn’t known of anyone getting a proper funeral after the Scourge took hold. When it did, there were too many bodies to bury. After it was over, nobody had the money or inclination for an elaborate goodbye.

A pine box and a six-foot hole in a meadow or on someone’s ranchland was a fine farewell as far as most people were concerned. They were relieved their loved ones wouldn’t become roadside bird pickings or scraps for the coyotes.

Ana slowed the horse, adjusting her hold on Penny, and watched the collection of people watch her as she passed. They’d stopped moving as if caught with their hands in the cookie jar.

“You best keep moving,” one of them called out. It was a woman’s voice and it trembled with nerves. “Nothing to see here.”

Ana turned the horse toward the group and trotted across the dirt. She wrapped the reins loosely around the saddle horn and reached for her wheel-gun. She laid it close to the saddle, hiding it as best she could, and kept her finger on the trigger.

“We said for you to skedaddle,” said the woman, her voice a pitch higher. “Y-y-y-you ain’t got no business here.”

“I’ve got a baby,” said Ana. “We’re alone. We’re tired. We’re hungry.” She counted the people frozen like wax figures around the hearse. There were five of them. When she got closer, she could hear the engine rumbling.

A man emerged from the driver’s seat. That made six people. “The lady said you need to leave,” he said. “This is private property. You’re trespassing.” He pulled a handgun from his waistband and flashed it at Ana.

“I’m not trying to trespass,” said Ana, gently tugging on the looped reins. The horse slowed to a stop at the edge of the feeder road. They were ten feet from the hearse and its people. “I just—”

“You need to be on your way.” The driver leveled the gun at Ana. “Understand?”

Ana eyed the driver, thinking he might shoot. He was twitchy and irritated. The others were wide-eyed and slack jawed. They were either scared to death or amazed at Ana’s gumption. Either way, she could tell they were passengers. They had something to hide. She glanced at the back of the hearse. It had a Nebraska license plate. Above the plate, white lettering read Korisko Larkin Staskiewicz Funeral Home Omaha, NE

Ana looked at the front of the building. It read Dalton & Son. Her eyes met the driver’s as he swallowed hard.

He waved the gun at her. “Understand?” he pressed.

Ana pressed her luck. “I understand you’re headed past the wall.”

The driver’s brow furrowed. His mouth opened to speak, but he said nothing.

Ana sensed an opening. “I’m going there too,” she said. “I could use a faster ride.”

The passengers looked at each other, exchanging quick glances amongst themselves. The driver looked across the top of the hearse to the woman who’d first told Ana to beat it.

The woman shook her head. “We don’t have room.”

Ana studied the others. They dropped their eyes and looked at their feet. The driver stepped forward but lowered his gun.

“These people paid,” he said. “They’ve got a ride ’cause they paid.”

“I can pay,” Ana said. “Any number of ways.”

The inhospitable woman laughed condescendingly, offering Ana a complete lack of empathy. “We ain’t got time for this, Taskar,” she said to the driver.

Ana kept her focus on the driver. “Taskar?” she asked. “Is that Hindi?”

The driver’s glare softened. “Yes,” he said. “How do you—”

“You’re a Dweller,” she said. “That’s your Dweller name.”

“There ain’t no such thing as Dwellers,” snapped the woman. “The Cartel killed them off.”

Ana laughed at the woman, mocking her. “Then who do you think he is?” She nodded toward the driver. “Dwellers are the only ones south of the wall who know a way across it.”

“Well—”

“Why do you think the Cartel abandoned Lewisville?” Ana said. “They sent all of their men to fight the Dwellers in the canyon. There’s a war that’s already started.”

None of the passengers said anything. Taskar moved closer. “You know about the war? How? You’re not a Dweller.”

“I worked for them,” she said. “I’m part of the uprising, the insurrection, the resistance, whatever you want to call it.”

“How can you pay?”

“I’ve got rations,” Ana said. “I’ve got weapons. You could even have the horse.”

“Taskar,” snapped the woman, “we got to go. I don’t care what this trollop got to say. We paid. We want out.”

“I’ll take your weapons and half your rations,” he said. “I have no need for the horse. You can ride in the back with your child.”

Ana nodded. “Perfect. Thank you,” she said. She raised the pistol, spun it backwards, and extended her hand, offering it to him. She maneuvered Penny back into the carrier on her chest.

He approached her and took the gun, tucking it in the front of his high-water pants. He then offered her his free hand to help her from the horse.

“You gotta be kidding me,” whined the woman. “This is ridiculous.”

Taskar turned and sneered. “She’s paying,” he said. “It’s my car. My rules.”

Ana took his hand and dismounted. “You are a Dweller, then?”

Taskar shook his head. “I was. I left a year ago. I live north of the wall and make trips back here.”

Ana started working on the saddle. “Why do you come back here?”

Taskar shrugged. “The money,” he said. “There are no jobs north of the wall unless you work for the government. Those jobs are for people with connections. I have no connections.”

“If you left a year ago, how did you know about the war?”

Taskar smirked. “They’ve been planning it for a lot longer than a year.”

Ana nodded. She knew from her own involvement the war was part of the Dwellers’ long-term plans. She stopped rifling through the saddlebags. “Is it better north of the wall?”

“As I said, it depends on who you are. A pretty woman like you?” he said. “You could be okay.”

Ana didn’t ask what he meant by that. She didn’t want to know. Whatever the north held for her and Penny, it couldn’t be worse than what the territory had been or what she assumed it would become.

“Help me with the saddle,” she said. “We’re taking it with us. You can take the rifle,” she said. “It’s yours now.”

“We do need to go,” he said. “Before things get out of hand more than they already are.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

OCTOBER 26, 2037, 7:34 AM