Rising: A Post Apocalyptic/Dystopian Adventure (The Traveler Book 4)

by Tom Abrahams

  “I lost two families,” he said.

  “You a…what’s it called?…a poolygamash?”

  “Polygamist.”

  Lou snapped her fingers and pointed at Marcus. “Right. You one of them?”

  “No.”

  “I don’t get it, then.”

  “I was married before the Scourge,” he explained. “We had a son. He was a few years younger than you are now. He got sick, so did my wife. They didn’t make it much past the first wave of infections in this part of the world.”

  Lou lowered her eyes. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

  “Thanks.”

  “What happened after they died?”

  Marcus sighed. “Nothing. I kept to myself. I watched a lot of movies. I slept a lot. I killed just about anyone who wandered on to my land.”

  “Where was that?”

  “East of Rising Star,” he said. “I had a good piece of property. Power, water, fresh food, you name it.”

  “Power? How? My dad said almost nothing had power once the plants shut down.”

  “Natural gas generators,” said Marcus. “They were hooked into a well on my land. I also had solar panels on the roof of the house.”

  “What happened?”

  A stiff breeze blew across the road. Lou held onto her ball cap and lowered it on her head.

  “About five years ago,” Marcus said, “a woman was being chased onto my land. Normally I would have killed her and the men chasing her. For some reason, and to this day I don’t know why, I helped her.”

  “Then you married her?”

  “Not exactly. Her son was kidnapped. She asked for my help, and I agreed. Long story short, we ended up back at my place with her boy and another kid, a little girl.”

  “Who was the other kid?”

  “You heard of the Dwellers?”

  Lou shifted in her saddle away from Marcus, her jaw tightening. She nodded.

  “Well,” he said, “we had teamed up with them to stop the Cartel. Then the Dwellers backstabbed us. We were going to cross the wall and go north. Along the way, the kid’s mom died. We decided to take care of her. We came back south and went back to my home.”

  “You fought against the Cartel?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And the Dwellers?”

  “Sort of. More like we ran from them.”

  Lou ran a hand along the brim of her cap and tilted it back on her forehead. “Then what?”

  Marcus turned from Lou and looked south along the road ahead. It narrowed to infinity, as if the path ahead were endless. Or pointless. He rubbed his eye with his index finger knuckle.

  “We were happy,” he said wistfully. “It was like…like I had a second chance to make things right. It was me and Lola and Sawyer and Penny. We were a good little family, I think.”

  “Lola? Was she the woman you saved?”

  “Yeah,” Marcus replied, “but more it was her who saved me. I’d kinda gone off the deep end after my wife and son died. Being alone for so long, you lose yourself. Lola dragged me back from the abyss.”

  “And Sawyer?”

  “Good kid. Smart. We’d go camping and hunting. He’d help me with maintenance around the property. There was always a lot to do.”

  “Penny was the kid you took in?”

  “She was,” said Marcus. “Sweet little girl. She was a baby. I don’t know if she really remembered her real mother. We were the only family she knew.”

  “Sounds nice,” said Lou.

  “It was.”

  Lou lowered her voice and leaned back toward Marcus. “And then it wasn’t?”

  “And then it wasn’t.”

  Marcus let his answer hang in the deepening chill of the air. He’d said enough. It was more than he’d given himself since the bandits raided his home and took everything from him.

  His muscles tensed as he relived the attack in his mind. He remembered the changing sound of Lola’s scream. It was defiant at first, laced with moxie and anger. Then it devolved, morphing into more of a cry for help and a simultaneous resignation that help wasn’t coming fast enough. It was the kind of wail that made Marcus want to cover his ears and crawl into a hole.

  He could still see Sawyer drop from the treehouse and feel the percussion of the sickening, muted thud his body made when it hit the ground. The boy’s frightened, dead eyes stared back at him, asking Marcus why he hadn’t been there to help him.

  And Penny. He couldn’t go there. Not Penny.

  “Hey!” Lou snapped. “You there?”

  Marcus blinked from his trance and stared at Lou, not focusing on her at first. He was still in Rising Star, reliving the nightmare.

  Lou leaned over until her eyes met Marcus’s. “I’ve been talking to you,” she said. “You went somewhere else.”

  “Sorry,” Marcus said. “Just thinking.”

  “I asked you if you have a plan for this next one. We’re riding all the way to San Angelo. What’s gonna happen when we get there?”

  Marcus scratched his head and ran his hand across his forehead, squeezing his temples. “Other than killing?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Nothing,” said Marcus. “Why would there be anything other than that?”

  Lou shrugged. “I guess there wouldn’t be. You’re a one-trick pony as far as that’s concerned. All killing all of the time.”

  “I didn’t kill you.”

  “You’re my hero,” said Lou.

  He looked at Lou and noticed a three-inch scar across her neck he hadn’t spotted before. It was faded but there. He stared at the raised, jagged mark and wondered how he hadn’t seen it. It reminded him he didn’t know the girl at all. His gut panged with regret for having opened up to her. She was a virtual stranger. The weight he’d removed by sharing his story with her sank back onto his shoulders.

  “I’m nobody’s hero,” Marcus deadpanned.

  Lou rolled her eyes. “I was being sarcastic.”

  “I wasn’t.”

  “My dad used to say—”

  Marcus held up a hand. “Look,” he said. “I’m not interested in one of your dad’s pearls of wisdom right now. I want to focus on getting to San Angelo. I want to get there and find Barbas, and I want to kill Barbas. That’s what I want right now.”

  “I—”

  “You what?” snapped Marcus. “You have something bitingly insightful to add? Grow up, Lou. This world is simple. It’s black and white. If you’re not the one doing the killing, somebody’s killing you. If you don’t like my take, if you’d rather cling to your father’s treatise on life, be my guest. But don’t slow me down, don’t question me, and don’t judge me.”

  Lou closed her slack jaw and sat up in her saddle. She pulled her shoulders back and looked straight ahead, pulling the horse to the left, moving the paint as far from the Appaloosa as she could while keeping her animal on the road.

  For an instant, Marcus thought about apologizing for his outburst. She was only a kid, after all. But he didn’t. She needed to understand who was in charge. She had to know that Marcus Battle wasn’t a hero. He wasn’t going to save her. She had to understand his purpose in life, as it were. There wasn’t going to be a happy ending.

  CHAPTER 9

  OCTOBER 23, 2042, 5:31 PM

  SCOURGE +10 YEARS

  SOUTH BLACKWELL, TEXAS

  To the right of Highway 277, north of where it merged with Highway 70, Marcus spotted a cloud of blackbirds circling at various elevations. He scanned the land between the cloud and the highway.

  Close to him, lining the road, was a thin line of trees. Some of them were still green, though most were brown and dry. Through the thinning canopy, he could see a clearing, and beyond that the topography leveled out. He reached for his canteen and shook it.

  “There could be some water over that way,” he said.

  Lou, who was still walking her horse a couple of lengths ahead of Marcus, didn’t turn around. She tilted her head back and looked up at the birds, squinting. />
  “We should head over there,” he said. “We’re out of water again.”

  “Whatever,” Lou said and guided the paint toward the tree line. “You’re the boss.”

  Marcus eased the Appaloosa off the road, moving the horse parallel to Lou’s. They wove their rides amongst the trees, the sound of pine needles and dead leaves crunching underneath the animals’ hooves.

  “I shouldn’t have talked to you the way I did,” Marcus said.

  Lou ignored him.

  “It’s not an apology,” Marcus clarified. “The intent was good; the delivery was bad.”

  Lou glared over her shoulder. “Apology accepted.”

  “I said—”

  She pulled her cap from her head, mopped her brow with the back of her forearm, and slid the hat back on. “I know what you said, Marcus.”

  “I don’t want you thinking I’m going to save you,” he said. “I’m not some answer you’ve been seeking. I’m not a good man. Not really. I can’t be your family.”

  Lou pulled sharply on the reins and stopped her horse between two spindly pines. She adjusted her weight in the saddle, her brow furrowed and her mouth curled downward into a frown. “What makes you think I want any of that from you?” she blasted. “You forced me to follow you, remember? You took my knives. I had no choice.”

  Marcus rubbed the back of his neck and looked at the ground. She was right.

  “I don’t need you to save me,” she said, “and I don’t need a family. My dad was my family.”

  “You’re right,” said Marcus. “I shouldn’t have assumed anything.”

  “You’re the one who’s craving family, Marcus, whether you want to admit it or not.”

  Marcus flinched. “That’s where you’re wrong,” he scoffed.

  Lou clicked her teeth and kicked her heels into the horse’s sides. “Keep telling yourself that,” she said, and trotted the paint west toward the clearing beyond the trees.

  Marcus took a deep breath, which he stored in his cheeks for a moment, then puffed out through his mouth. He directed his horse to follow Lou. There was no point in arguing with her. There’d be time for that later, he was sure.

  He guided the horse through the woods, aiming for the clearing, when Lou stopped short ahead of him. He pulled on his reins. “Whoa,” he said to the Appaloosa.

  Lou looked over her shoulder and whispered, “I see the water.”

  “Then why did you stop?”

  “There’s somebody there,” she said. “He’s got a horse and a dog.”

  “Is he armed?”

  “I can’t tell,” she said. “Isn’t everybody?”

  Marcus swung his good leg over the saddle and lowered himself to the ground. He walked his horse forward to Lou and handed her the reins.

  “So I’m waiting here?” she asked.

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Marcus slung the Springfield from his back and shrugged off the pack. He lowered the heavy bag to the ground and rolled his shoulders forward. He almost felt weightless without the pack.

  He stepped to the edge of the tree line and dropped to a knee. He made sure the safety was flipped on and kept his finger outside the trigger guard. Marcus aimed the weapon’s scope toward the water and found the man at its edge.

  His back was to Marcus and he was bent over the water. To his left was a large horse, a thoroughbred, and to his right a mutt.

  The dog wagged its tail as the man turned and offered it water from his cupped hands. The animal looked like a terrier mix. It had been a long time since Marcus had seen a dog. Aside from a few wild packs, he thought all of them had become last resort delicacies.

  Marcus scanned the length of the lake’s edge. The man was alone, aside from the grouping of birds pecking at something dead at the southern corner of the water. As Lou suggested he would be, the man was armed. There was a shotgun in a scabbard on the side of the horse. He also had a holster at his hip, a thick leather belt strapped across his back, and a shotgun shell belt draped across his torso like a sash.

  The man rubbed the dog’s head and behind its ear. The dog stretched its neck to lick the man’s face.

  Marcus walked back to Lou. “He can’t be all bad,” he said. “His dog likes him.”

  “So you’re not going to kill him?”

  “Not yet,” said Marcus. “Let’s measure him first.”

  “Can’t we just avoid him and keep moving? We can find water somewhere else.”

  “Too risky,” said Marcus. “We need water and so do the horses.”

  “What’s your plan?”

  Marcus held up a finger and then walked back to the edge of the tree line. He hid behind the thickest trunk he could find and pulled the rifle to his shoulder.

  “Hey!” he called out, his voice echoing across the clearing. The man almost lost his footing, stumbled back, and immediately reached for his hip.

  “Don’t do it,” Marcus said. “We’ve got you surrounded. Put your hands up.”

  The man hesitated but raised his hands. “I don’t have anything but the horse,” he said. “You can take the horse.”

  The man’s eyes were wide with fear, darting along the tree line. The pearl-handled six-shooter in the man’s pocket was strapped tight. He hadn’t been fast enough to even unlatch the snaps. His chin trembled.

  “Take a couple of steps forward!” yelled Marcus.

  The man complied and stepped away from the horse. He kept his hands in the air above his head, his eyes sweeping the tree line. The dog moved even with the man, wagging its tail.

  “A couple more steps,” Marcus called. “Then slowly, and I mean slowly unsnap that pistol and toss it toward the horse. Any funny business and the dog gets it.”

  Lou snickered. “Funny business? Who talks like that?”

  The man complied quickly. He tossed the gun to the horse. The thoroughbred, drinking from the pond, picked up its head at the noise and glanced toward the man, and dipped its muzzle back into the water.

  “Don’t shoot my dog,” he said. “Please. Take the horse. Whatever you want.”

  “Lie down on the ground on your stomach,” Marcus said, his voice echoing. “Hands on the back of your head.”

  The man did as Marcus told him. Again he pleaded, “Please don’t hurt the dog.”

  Marcus backed away from the tree line and lowered his weapon. He took the reins from Lou and climbed back onto the Appaloosa. Lou frowned.

  “You could share with me what we’re doing,” she said. “It would make everything a lot easier. We are in this together.”

  “Fine,” Marcus said. “Get on your horse. We’re going to get our water and find out more about this guy.”

  “I don’t think he’s a threat,” said Lou.

  “Everybody’s a threat.”

  “Not necessarily. There’s the bad people who need killing. Good people need to be left alone. There are good people who survived the Scourge. Only the bad ones are the threats.”

  “Two days ago you tried to kill me,” said Marcus. “Was I a threat?”

  Lou spun the Astros ball cap on her head, adjusting the brim so it was facing forward. “You yourself told me a few hours back you were not a good man. Remember?”

  “I remember.”

  Lou spurred her paint forward and they walked their horses closer to the man. Marcus had his Springfield perpendicular to the saddle, holding it flat on his thighs and against the horn. The man didn’t move as they got closer. The dog, however, stopped wagging its tail. Its shoulders squared and a patch of hair on its back stood up straight. The dog backed closer to the water’s edge and then moved toward the man on the ground. Its teeth were bared and it snarled a warning for Marcus and Lou to keep their distance.

  Marcus and Lou stopped their horses a few feet from the man and his four-legged posse. He scratched his itchy neck and sighed. “How’s the water?” he asked.

  The man’s voice was muffled. His face was in the dirt. “What?”

&n
bsp; “How’s the water? We don’t want trouble. We just want water.”

  The man picked up his head, arching his back. “Seriously?” he asked incredulously, the tremble gone from his voice. “Water?”

  “We’re thirsty,” said Lou.

  “You could’ve asked,” said the man. “Sheesh.”

  “We don’t know who you are,” said Marcus.

  “Rudy Gallardo. Can I sit up, please?”

  Marcus glanced over at Lou and back at the man on the ground. “Sure. But no fast moves and don’t sic that dog on my horse.”

  Rudy moved himself into a sitting position and crossed his legs. He held his hands up.

  “You can put your hands down,” said Marcus.

  Rudy lowered his hands. “Fifty,” he said to the dog. “Siéntate!”

  The dog sat on its haunches, relaxed its muzzle, and wagged its tail. Its wary glare, however, remained fixed on Marcus.

  “Fifty?” asked Lou. “That’s your dog’s name?”

  Rudy palmed the sweat from his brow and from under his eyes. He nodded. “Yeah. He’s fifty percent pit bull, fifty percent who knows what.”

  Lou smiled. “I like it.”

  Rudy didn’t smile. His light brown skin was painted with the brushstrokes of too much sun. He had the marks of crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes, but not from age. They were from squinting too much. He looked to be in his late forties but had a full head of jet-black hair. His face was speckled with salt-and-pepper stubble. His shirt was sweat stained at the collar and his blue jeans were worn beyond repair. He took another swipe at the sweat beading under his nose and shrugged.

  The dog whimpered, licked its chops, and yawned.

  “So what are we doing here?” Rudy asked. “You gonna hold me at gunpoint while you get water? I should be afraid of you more than you should be afraid of me.”

  Lou shot Marcus a smirk. “I told you,” she said.

  Marcus started to dismount the horse. He swung one leg over the saddle and the dog growled. Marcus stopped.

  “Silencio,” said Rudy. The dog grumbled.

  Marcus hopped from the horse. “I’m going to hold onto your weapons until we get to know each other a little better. But you’re free to do whatever it was you were doing.”