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

by Tom Abrahams

  “That sounds like something your father said. I can’t imagine that’s how you saw the world at that age. What were you? Eleven? Twelve?”

  Lou sneered. “You can’t imagine a lot of things, I’m guessing.”

  Marcus bit the inside of his cheek, cursing himself for having brought up the subject. He should have known better. He’d noticed her bristle at the mention of the Dwellers days ago.

  “I shouldn’t have said that.” An apologetic voice replaced Lou’s nasty one. “You couldn’t have known what would happen. You were doing what you thought was the right thing to do. My dad told me about the bad things he’d seen the Cartel do. You were trying to help people.”

  Those words stung. In his heart, Marcus knew he hadn’t helped the Dwellers for the benefit of others. He’d done it to save his own skin. He’d done it to get help crossing the wall. There was nothing selfless or benevolent about it.

  “But when you shine a light on a cockroach, it’s gonna hide,” she said. “And they came running for the library.”

  “You don’t have to tell me the rest,” Marcus said.

  “It’s fine,” said Lou. “We held out for a while. We were locked up in the library for weeks. We had the doors barricaded. We stayed quiet and stuck to the dark corners. They crept around but never managed to find us.”

  “They didn’t break into the library?”

  “They did,” said Lou. They broke a window and rummaged through the place. Somehow we managed to stay hidden. They did find some of our food and took it. We ran out a few days later. Water was pretty much gone too.”

  “So you had to leave.”

  “My dad did,” she said. “I told him I would go out since I was smaller and quicker than him, but he wouldn’t have it. So he snuck out.”

  Marcus took a swig of water from the canteen and then held it out to Lou. She took it this time and swallowed a long pull. She offered it to Fifty. He sniffed it and then lapped at the canteen’s mouth as she tipped water onto his nose. She thanked Marcus and handed back the water. The smile on her face that appeared briefly as she watered the dog was gone again. She looked toward the east, where the purple was giving way to an orange hue that arced along the horizon.

  “There were a bunch of them camped out by the pond,” Lou recalled. “I was watching through a window. I could see them.”

  Lou’s voice trailed off. Her body swayed on the horse and her fingers ran along Fifty’s neck and back. The dog was licking his muzzle, his tongue slapping against his nose and whiskers.

  Lou shrank from the confident seventeen-year-old who could pass for twenty-five to the twelve-year-old who watched her father die. Sadness overwhelmed her features like a dense fog washing across a field. She wasn’t with Marcus on the road to Del Rio. She was back in Killeen, peering through the window at the bad men. Her eyes twitched and her chin quivered, reliving the worst moments of her young life.

  “Seeing my dad die was different than it was with my mom or brother,” she said vacantly. “I didn’t actually see either of them pass. My dad kept me from seeing their last breaths. With my dad, though, there wasn’t anyone to keep me from seeing it. I knew I shouldn’t be watching. There was this little tug inside my gut that told me to look away. It told me not to keep my nose pressed to the glass.”

  Lou pulled her hand to her stomach and curled her hand into a fist, balling some of her shirt inside her grip. “There was also this little voice that wanted me to run outside with my knives and save my dad. That voice was eggin’ me on, tellin’ me not to be a sissy.”

  Lou let go of her shirt and rubbed her sweaty hand on her leg. “I was caught in the middle, I guess. I didn’t do either. I kinda froze there and watched it happen. I watched them take the squirrels from my dad and surround him. They picked at him and forced him to his knees. Then they killed him with his own gun when he tried to fight back.”

  Her words hung in the still, frosty air. The only sound was the syncopated clop of the horses’ hooves on the asphalt. Clip-clop. Clip-clop. The sole noise bridged the uncomfortable silence between Lou’s admission and Marcus’s apology.

  “I didn’t mean for those things to happen,” Marcus said. “I didn’t see the world getting worse than it already was. I should have seen it, but I didn’t. I was too consumed with my own survival to think about what my actions might mean to the lives of others.”

  Lou wiped tears from her eyes and blinked. Their horses were even with each other on the highway. She pulled her shoulders back, raised her chin, and narrowed her eyes.

  “Everyone’s trying to survive, Marcus,” she said. “I could blame you if I wanted to, and if I’m being honest, maybe I do a little bit. But you didn’t start the Scourge. You didn’t create the Cartel. You didn’t tell those men to find the pond outside my paradise and kill my dad.”

  Marcus heard her, but he wasn’t listening. He was envisioning orphaned Lou fending for herself in those early days after her father’s death. How had she done it? How had she not curled up into a little ball with her books and stayed hidden until she starved to death?

  Instead of hiding like he had done for the better part of a decade, she’d attacked the world. She’d defended herself against the enemy, foraged for grubs, hunted for food, and searched for water. In that moment, he saw Lou differently. She’d earned the right to be a smart-ass, to tell him off when he was wrong, or to offer strategic ideas better than his.

  “You’re something special,” he said to her. “Your dad would be proud of you. I’m sure your mom and brother would be too.”

  Lou tilted her head to the side with surprise. She fidgeted with the hat on her head and stuttered a thank-you.

  “Where did that come from?” she asked after they’d ridden another couple of minutes in relative silence.

  Marcus chuckled. “To tell you the truth, I don’t know. It just sneaked out of me. But I mean it. You’re a survivor, Lou, and I’m lucky to have you with me.”

  “I wish I had an MP3 recorder,” she said with a big toothy grin. “Then I could replay what you said over and over.”

  “I’m sure you’ll remind me regardless,” Marcus said.

  “I’m sure I will, Dorothy.”

  CHAPTER 13

  OCTOBER 25, 2042, 4:27 PM

  SCOURGE +10 YEARS

  ELDORADO, TEXAS

  The first time Marcus had heard of El Dorado, Texas, John Wayne was a gunslinger trying to stop a rancher from stealing water. It took place in a fictional town in the 1800s before the real Eldorado existed.

  Now, a century and a half later, the town that sat a hundred miles from Ciudad Acuña, Mexico, would have been lucky to have water at all. Much of it was a barren wasteland not far from the southern wall that kept Texans from easily migrating into Mexico and vice versa.

  The town was a crisscross of streets laid out like a diagonal mesh that ran for a dozen blocks in all directions. The buildings were a mix of modest homes, abandoned businesses, and old government buildings. Some of them were occupied. Faces leered at them through their dust-painted windows. None of them came outside or approached them. That was a good thing. Marcus had one hand wrapped around the Springfield. Lou was gripping a knife at her waist.

  The streets were coated in dust and dirt too. Almost all of them lay under layers of sandy brown grime as if nobody had traveled on them for weeks or even months. One street was clean of the silt, though. Divide Street was well traveled. It was the extension of Highway 277 that ran due southwest through the center of town.

  Marcus, Lou, and Fifty had reached the edge of town, about to put Eldorado behind them when an elderly man and woman appeared in the parking lot of an old Dollar General. The man waved at them, his hands high above his head. His face was a road map of wrinkles, the loose-sagging skin drooped from jowls like it was hung there to dry. The woman was younger, though not by much. Her white hair was pulled back neatly into a tight bun atop her head. The couple reminded Marcus of a post-apocalyptic American Gothic. All
that was missing was the three-tined hayfork.

  Marcus and Lou slowed their horses to a stop. Marcus raised his weapon, aiming it at the ground in front of the couple’s feet. He waited for the man to speak. Fifty lifted his head and whimpered.

  “Afternoon, stranger,” said the old man, his voice weak and raspy. He stood in place, shifting his weight from foot to foot. He’d put one hand on his wife’s shoulder. She stood with her hands clasped neatly in front of her, a grim look on her face.

  “Hey,” said Marcus.

  “We don’t see to many strange men make their way through here,” the old man said.

  Marcus cocked his head to one side. “Strange?”

  The man looked at the ground and shook his head. “I ain’t so good with words. What I mean to say is most of the people who come through here is women.”

  “Women?”

  “I mean to say, the men we all know. We seen them lots. It’s the women we don’t know. Plus they don’t let ’em have pets like you do.”

  Lou put her hand on Fifty’s thick head and rubbed the loose skin with her palm. Marcus glanced at her and back at the old man.

  “I’m confused,” Marcus said. “What are you trying to say?”

  The wife huffed. “My husband is asking if that girl you got is for sale like the rest of them.”

  Marcus raised his weapon, aiming it squarely at the woman. Her expression remained flat and unchanged. The old man gripped her shoulder more tightly. Fifty’s whimper rolled into a low growl, the hair on the back of his neck and between his shoulders standing on end. Lou calmed him with a whisper.

  “If she ain’t for sale,” said the woman, “just say she ain’t for sale. But most of you men, the ones we recognize who come through the Zion Ranch on their way to Del Rio, offer pretty fair prices. We got food and even a well that still works. We could trade a couple gallons of it for a pretty one like her. Plus she looks healthy. She could work real nice in the field.”

  “Where’s Zion Ranch?” asked Lou.

  A smile wormed its way slowly across the woman’s face. Her thin brows arched. “You let her speak too? You is a stranger.”

  “Where is Zion Ranch?” Marcus asked.

  The man shook his head, the loose wattle under his neck flapping. “So you ain’t one of them? Townsfolk told us you looked like one of them. That’s why we hustled over here to offer you a fair price.”

  “You’re asking if I’m LRC?” Marcus asked.

  “Duh,” the woman said. “What else you think we’re talking about? Sheesh, you’re strange and thick.”

  “You talk tough with a rifle pointed at you,” said Lou.

  The woman chuckled. “You got too many questions to shoot us dead.”

  “Where is the ranch?” Marcus pressed.

  “Back the way you came,” said the man. “Up 77 northeast of here. But I wouldn’t go there with that girl. They’ll just as soon take her as they will give you anything in exchange. Our price is gonna be better. I’m telling you.”

  “I’ll take my chances,” said Marcus.

  The woman reached up and removed the old man’s hand from her shoulder. He nearly lost his balance, but stayed upright. She pointed an angry finger at the man and snarled at him as if Marcus and Lou weren’t feet away. “You shouldn’t be giving strangers help. They ain’t helping us none. We got no idea if he’s working with LRC or against ’em.”

  The man shrugged and mumbled an apology. The woman huffed and cursed at him. She started marching back toward the side of the Dollar General, where, for the first time, Marcus noticed an old golf cart.

  The woman plopped behind the wheel, pulled the choke, and pressed down on the gas pedal. The cart rumbled to life. Fifty’s ears pricked. “You coming or not?” she called to the man.

  He lowered his head without giving another look at Marcus or Lou, and hobbled to the cart. Rather than driving to meet the man and make his walk easier, she waited for him to grab the frame and slide gingerly into the passenger seat.

  The woman punched on the accelerator. The car burped and rumbled past them, the woman glaring at them as they disappeared into town.

  Marcus followed them with his weapon until he couldn’t see them anymore. He rested it on the saddle.

  Lou raised her eyebrows, bemused. “Well, that was weird. I mean creepy weird, right?”

  “Yeah,” Marcus said, his words drawn out. “It was creepy weird.”

  “What are you thinking?”

  “A couple of things.”

  “Both of them mean we’re heading to the ranch instead of Del Rio, don’t they?”

  “We’re still going to Del Rio,” said Marcus.

  “But not until after we find out what’s going on at that ranch,” Lou clarified.

  Marcus took a deep breath and exhaled. “Not until we find out what’s going on at that ranch.”

  CHAPTER 14

  OCTOBER 25, 2042, 6:10 PM

  SCOURGE +10 YEARS

  YEARNING FOR ZION RANCH, TEXAS

  It didn’t hit Marcus until they reached the outskirts of the ranch. The Zion Ranch was actually the Yearning For Zion Ranch. He’d heard about it, read about it, but hadn’t put two and two together.

  YFZ was a seventeen-hundred-acre facility northeast of downtown Eldorado, started in 2003 for a fundamentalist religious sect. In a short time they’d built a large temple, a mansion for the sect’s then leader, log cabins, concrete houses, a stone quarry, generators, a garden, and grain silos. How they’d lived at the ranch and the government’s efforts to stop it made headlines at the time. Marcus had been a young kid then. The stories didn’t resonate with him until years later when the ranch was eventually shut down. Now apparently YFZ was a perfect base of operations for the Llano River Clan and their affiliates.

  They were a few hundred yards from the ranch’s entrance off Highway 77 when Marcus first spotted the white dome and spire of the large stone temple at the compound’s center. As they drew closer, they could see the long, low-slung cabins and outbuildings that dotted the acreage between scrub oaks and mesquite.

  “Why is it we always end up in a dangerous place at night?” asked Lou. “Really. Every time the sun goes down, we’re riding up on some nasty compound. Tell me again why we’re here?”

  “Something important happens here,” Marcus said. “We need to find out what it is and stop it if we can. Plus, if what that creepy couple said about this being a way station is true, it’s possible Cego is here.”

  They were riding east, the low sun at their backs, moving along the southern side of the ranch. The resonant sounds of generators grumbled to their left beyond a fence that ran the length of the dirt road on which they rode. Lou sped up and moved ahead of Marcus a couple of lengths, her attention on the ranch. “I don’t see anybody,” she called over her shoulder.

  “They’re here,” Marcus said. “I’m sure of it.”

  At the intersection with a dirt road that led to the heart of the ranch, there was an open gate. They stopped there and Lou helped Fifty from the saddle. The dog sniffed the ground, walked toward some brush, and lifted his leg.

  “I guess we go ahead?” asked Lou. “I mean why come this far and stop, right?”

  “Right.” Marcus spurred his horse north, through the open gate, and Lou followed. She called for Fifty and the dog trotted alongside, his nose alternately in the air and in the dirt.

  The rumbling of the generators grew louder, but it was still in the distance. As they rode along, however, Marcus noticed rows of dusty solar panels similar to the ones he’d seen at the Pearl on the Concho. The rain must have missed Eldorado.

  “Just because they’re evil doesn’t mean they’re stupid,” said Marcus. “They’ve got a nice setup here.”

  “My dad used to say, ‘If all crooks were smart, cops would never catch anybody,’” said Lou. “There were jails full of stupid before the Scourge.”

  The farther they moved into the compound, the less they talked and the mor
e focused they became. Marcus scanned the edges of the dirt roads. When they reached a road lined with cabins, he stopped his Appaloosa, tied it off to a fence post, and helped Lou from her saddle.

  He grabbed the Springfield with both hands. Lou apparently took her cue and drew her knives from her waistband. She stood beside Marcus, flipping them into the air and catching them like a midway carnie.

  “What are you thinking?” she asked.

  “I’m thinking you should stop playing with those knives. This is serious. We’ve got three cabins on either side. They’re two story. There are probably people inside watching us right—”

  “Who are you?” a voice boomed from behind them.

  Marcus took one hand from the Springfield and raised both arms above his shoulders. Slowly, dragging his feet in the dirt, he turned to face the man belonging to the voice.

  He was a tall, narrow-shouldered man who already had the drop on them. He stood slightly bent at his waist, both hands wrapped around the grip of a handgun. His high cheekbones and dimpled chin gave the man an almost cartoonish appearance, but he wasn’t playing.

  Lou turned with Marcus, her shoulder rubbing against his ribs. Her arms hung at her sides, the knives pointed at the ground. Fifty sat next to her with his tongue wagging.

  “My name is Marcus. This is Lou.”

  The man held the gun steady as he barked, “What are you doing here? This is private land.”

  “We’re just looking for shelter,” said Marcus. “Maybe some water.”

  “My dog’s awfully thirsty, mister,” added Lou for effect.

  “You’re trespassing,” said the man. “Besides, there ain’t no water here.”

  Marcus looked around, his eyes wide and a knowing grin on his face. “Maybe not,” he said, “but you do have plenty of shelter.”

  “You need to drop your weapons,” said the man.