Wall: A Post Apocalyptic/Dystopian Adventure (The Traveler Book 3) by Tom Abrahams Page B
Authors: Tom Abrahams
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stay here with the losers and women.”
Roof looked up, still holding the note in his hand, and sighed. “You can’t put your tongue all the way in your mouth. You can’t talk. Your face is swollen like you stuck it in a hornet’s nest.”
Skinner scribbled another message and ripped it from the pad. Roof would’ve laughed at the comedy of it if he hadn’t been to blame.
“That’s why you can’t keep me here. I can’t be in charge. I’ll follow you to the canyon.”
Roof considered the argument. Skinner was right. He was probably more effective as a grunt than a leader given his injuries. The captain handed him a third message.
“I’m in the Cartel ’cause I want to be. Not ’cause I had to be.”
Roof nodded. “Fine, you’re a frontline grunt. Hope you’re happy.”
Roof was happy. He needed as many Skinners as he could get. Skinner had a cause.
He wanted to fight. It wasn’t about survival for him. It was about living.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
OCTOBER 25, 2037, 9:07 PM
SCOURGE +5 YEARS
PALO DURO CANYON, TEXAS
Paagal took a long, slow drink from a tall metal thermos. She moaned softly as she drank, tilting the bottom of the thermos higher and higher until she’d emptied its contents.
“Coffee is such a treat,” she said. “Are you certain I can’t offer you any?”
Lola shook her head. Battle sighed.
“I suppose I’m boring you,” said Paagal, one eyebrow arched higher than the other.
“You haven’t told us anything,” Battle said. “We’ve been here for I don’t know how long, and I have no more sense of your tactical plan than I did when you were preaching to the choir.”
Paagal eased into the chair across from her guests. They were sitting at the rough wooden table in her tent. She reached down and pulled a large map from beside her. It was rolled into a tube and she unwound it, placing it on the table.
Paagal spun the map around so the Texas Panhandle was on her side. There was a thick black line that circumnavigated the old state boundaries. Paagal ran her finger along the markings.
“This is the wall,” she said. “That should give you a decent idea of the territory. We are in this location.” She dragged her finger to the canyon, which was encircled in red.
Battle noticed there were numbers written by the names of most of the larger cities. Some of the numbers were crossed out and new numbers written beside them. He tapped the number 729 near Austin and 1050 at San Antonio.
“What are these?” he asked.
Paagal looked up from the map with a smile. “Those are the numbers of Dwellers we have in those locations.”
Lola pointed to the number 2512 above Houston. “So you have twenty-five hundred people in Houston who are sympathetic to your cause?”
“Twenty-five hundred and twelve,” said Paagal. “And they’re not sympathizers, Lola. They’re revolutionaries.”
Lola’s eyes darted from marking to marking on the map. “How?”
“We didn’t start with these numbers,” said Paagal. “We began two years ago with maybe five or ten in each city. Each of those people recruited those who they thought might fit our way of thinking. They in turn recruited more people. It organically grew exponentially from there.”
Battle waved his hand over the map. “And all of these revolutionaries are doing what right now?”
“For starters,” she said, “they’ve attacked the leadership in each location.”
“You said that at the bonfire,” said Lola.
“Yes,” Paagal said. “I did. But I didn’t say what comes next.”
Lola leaned in. “Which is…?”
“Half of the revolution takes place in the cities,” she said. “The element of surprise is a powerful force. Once we’ve degraded the Cartel enough that neutral actors see we can win, they’ll join our side.”
“What about the other half?” asked Battle.
“They advance,” said Paagal. She held her hands in front of her face and interlocked her fingers. “They squeeze the Cartel. If
Roof looked up, still holding the note in his hand, and sighed. “You can’t put your tongue all the way in your mouth. You can’t talk. Your face is swollen like you stuck it in a hornet’s nest.”
Skinner scribbled another message and ripped it from the pad. Roof would’ve laughed at the comedy of it if he hadn’t been to blame.
“That’s why you can’t keep me here. I can’t be in charge. I’ll follow you to the canyon.”
Roof considered the argument. Skinner was right. He was probably more effective as a grunt than a leader given his injuries. The captain handed him a third message.
“I’m in the Cartel ’cause I want to be. Not ’cause I had to be.”
Roof nodded. “Fine, you’re a frontline grunt. Hope you’re happy.”
Roof was happy. He needed as many Skinners as he could get. Skinner had a cause.
He wanted to fight. It wasn’t about survival for him. It was about living.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
OCTOBER 25, 2037, 9:07 PM
SCOURGE +5 YEARS
PALO DURO CANYON, TEXAS
Paagal took a long, slow drink from a tall metal thermos. She moaned softly as she drank, tilting the bottom of the thermos higher and higher until she’d emptied its contents.
“Coffee is such a treat,” she said. “Are you certain I can’t offer you any?”
Lola shook her head. Battle sighed.
“I suppose I’m boring you,” said Paagal, one eyebrow arched higher than the other.
“You haven’t told us anything,” Battle said. “We’ve been here for I don’t know how long, and I have no more sense of your tactical plan than I did when you were preaching to the choir.”
Paagal eased into the chair across from her guests. They were sitting at the rough wooden table in her tent. She reached down and pulled a large map from beside her. It was rolled into a tube and she unwound it, placing it on the table.
Paagal spun the map around so the Texas Panhandle was on her side. There was a thick black line that circumnavigated the old state boundaries. Paagal ran her finger along the markings.
“This is the wall,” she said. “That should give you a decent idea of the territory. We are in this location.” She dragged her finger to the canyon, which was encircled in red.
Battle noticed there were numbers written by the names of most of the larger cities. Some of the numbers were crossed out and new numbers written beside them. He tapped the number 729 near Austin and 1050 at San Antonio.
“What are these?” he asked.
Paagal looked up from the map with a smile. “Those are the numbers of Dwellers we have in those locations.”
Lola pointed to the number 2512 above Houston. “So you have twenty-five hundred people in Houston who are sympathetic to your cause?”
“Twenty-five hundred and twelve,” said Paagal. “And they’re not sympathizers, Lola. They’re revolutionaries.”
Lola’s eyes darted from marking to marking on the map. “How?”
“We didn’t start with these numbers,” said Paagal. “We began two years ago with maybe five or ten in each city. Each of those people recruited those who they thought might fit our way of thinking. They in turn recruited more people. It organically grew exponentially from there.”
Battle waved his hand over the map. “And all of these revolutionaries are doing what right now?”
“For starters,” she said, “they’ve attacked the leadership in each location.”
“You said that at the bonfire,” said Lola.
“Yes,” Paagal said. “I did. But I didn’t say what comes next.”
Lola leaned in. “Which is…?”
“Half of the revolution takes place in the cities,” she said. “The element of surprise is a powerful force. Once we’ve degraded the Cartel enough that neutral actors see we can win, they’ll join our side.”
“What about the other half?” asked Battle.
“They advance,” said Paagal. She held her hands in front of her face and interlocked her fingers. “They squeeze the Cartel. If
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