Wall: A Post Apocalyptic/Dystopian Adventure (The Traveler Book 3) by Tom Abrahams

embarrassment. “Marcus!” she said. “That’s not fair.”
    Paagal waved her off. “I understand that, Battle. I do,” she said. “To the outsider, any collective faith may seem unhealthy. I assure you, that’s not an issue here. Not only is every Dweller here of his or her own free will, it is free will for which they fight.”
    The more Battle listened, the more wary he became. Despite his momentary lapse of reason, he sensed something maniacal in Paagal. It wasn’t as overt as he’d seen in some of the Cartel leadership. Nonetheless, it was there.
    Everything in him told him that staying to fight was a bad idea. His gut told him they were better off taking their chances at the wall. He looked at Lola. Her eyes pleaded with him to relent, to stand down. So he did.
    “I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have said that. It wasn’t fair. You’ve been very kind to us.”
    Paagal nodded. “Apology accepted. It’s best we’re on the same page when our fight begins. I’d hate to find us on opposite ideological sides.”
    Battle ignored the veiled threat. “We should talk tactics,” he said. “Timing. Placement. Attack. Defense. Retreat.”
    Paagal laughed. “There will be no retreat, Battle,” she said, clasping her hands behind her back. She began to walk toward camp. “I can promise you that.” She glanced at one of her sentries, and the four of them moved with her, keeping the same distance.
    Battle took the hint and followed Paagal away from the fire. Lola and Sawyer trailed a step behind. Battle motioned for them to walk beside him.
    “Let’s go to my tent,” she said, marching toward the encampment. “We’ll discuss the particulars there. Lola and Sawyer are welcome to join us. Since you’re here, there’s no need to wait until the morning.”
     

CHAPTER TWELVE
    OCTOBER 25, 2037, 6:40 PM
    SCOURGE +5 YEARS
    HOUSTON, TEXAS
     
    Ana fumbled with the key and struggled to slide it into the slot in the side of the door. She’d tried the fob first, pressing the unlock button repeatedly without luck. The battery was dead or the mechanism was broken.
    Either way, she was forced the work the key itself with shaky hands. She kept looking over her shoulders, finally unlocking the car door with a reassuring click. Ana pulled on the handle and swung open the door, the sound of its dry hinges echoing against the concrete of the parking garage.
    It was dark except for a flickering streetlamp outside the garage. The bulb was even with the third-floor deck and gave Ana enough light with which to work.
    The car, a 2028 Lexus, was a hybrid. It was plugged into one of three charging stations on the third level. Ana had no way of knowing whether the car’s battery had any juice. Even though Houston had better power than most of the Cartel’s two hundred and seventy thousand square miles, it was intermittent. Add the daily surges of power across the unreliable grid and the charging station might not work under the best conditions.
    Ana sat in the driver’s seat, put the key in the console to her right, and was about to press the start button to test the vehicle when she thought better of it. The sound of the engine starting, however low a hum, would alert anyone nearby. She’d need to be on the move once that happened.
    She pulled herself from the car and walked to the passenger side. She tugged on the door. It didn’t work. Ana slapped her forehead with the palm of her hand, huffed, and walked back around to the driver’s side to press the unlock button in the door panel. She heard the stereo click of all four doors unlocking simultaneously and repeated her move to the passenger’s side.
    The door swung open and Ana left it there as she went to the rear of the car and pulled Penny from her stroller. The nine-month-old was still asleep, the pacifier bouncing in her mouth with a deliberate sucking sound.
    Ana sat her child in the front passenger seat and tried the automatic adjustment lever at its