Canyon: A Post Apocalyptic/Dystopian Adventure (The Traveler Book 2) by Tom Abrahams Read Free Book Online

winged the sniper, he’d expose his new position.
    Battle closed his eyes and tried to calculate the distance in his head. He guessed it was between seventy-five and one hundred yards. It was worth the risk.
    He popped up both sights and took aim. He’d wait for another flash and then he’d fire. Battle lay on his stomach, his elbows propping him up. This wasn’t ideal. Nothing about war ever was.
    He exhaled twice and slowed his breathing. He steadied his left hand and rewrapped his fingers around the barrel shroud. Battle was targeting the spot where he’d last seen the flash.
    He waited. Waited. Waited. His finger was pressed to the trigger.
    There it was. A brief, slight orange flicker.
    Battle pulled, holding the trigger long enough to release an effective burst of five-and-a-half-millimeter rounds.
    Thump! Thump! Thump! Thump! Thump!
    He lay still, his eye still focused beyond the twin metal sights. If he’d missed, he’d be taking incoming fire. There was nothing. Then, in the distance, from the direction of those brief flashes, he could hear men yelling in Arabic.
    There were at least two distinct voices. The only word Battle recognized in the loud chatter was qutil ,which meant killed.
    He could assume he’d hit the sniper. There were at least two other men in their way.
    Battle couldn’t see them. He pressed the trigger again anyway, sweeping the barrel infinitesimally from the left to the right, sending another half dozen shots screaming across the valley and up the embankment.
    Thump! Thump! Thump! Thump! Thump! Thump!
    The thunder of the shots was followed by the thud and crack of a body hitting the concrete embankment. There were no voices following the shots this time.
    Battle slid back under the flatcar and pulled himself back to Buck’s side. The sergeant was still lying on his back. His eyes were closed, trails of sweat on his forehead glistening in the orange glow.
    “You get ’em?” Buck slurred.
    “Yeah. I’m sure there’ll be more. We’ve got to find a way to get out of this light. It’s too much of a disadvantage.”
    Buck laughed and then coughed. “I’ve been saying that.”
    Battle looked at the row of flatcars and counted them. There were five. To the north, the first of the five was hooked to a long chain of freight wagons. Those wagons stretched beyond the lighted portion of the rail yard. If he could get to them, he could travel from car to car without anyone seeing him move. He could emerge beyond in the darkness on the far northern edge of the valley. It would mean tracking back south once they’d reached the eastern fence line. It was a far better alternative than an exposed rush across the shortest distance.
    “I’ve got a plan,” he said. “We’re gonna get out of here.”
    “You’ve been saying that,” Buck mumbled through a film of drool. “I’ll believe you when you do it.”
     

CHAPTER 8
    OCTOBER 15, 2037, 7:04 AM
    SCOURGE + 5 YEARS
    ABILENE, TEXAS
     
    The Humvee screeched to a stop. Battle jumped from the bed and met Lola on the passenger side. She was standing by the open door. Even in the dim light of predawn he could see her brows were furrowed and she looked ready to pounce.
    “What are you doing?” She shoved him with both hands. “I want my son back and you’re playing vigilante.” She shoved him again and then pounded his chest with both fists.
    “You’re gonna get us killed,” said Pico. He was leering at them from across the Humvee and waving his hands above his head. He’d left the Humvee running. “You use grenades to blow up the HQ and then you use…whatever that is…to set Skinner’s house on fire. She’s right, you’re not helping her boy.”
    Battle glanced over at Pico and then back at Lola. “We need to get into the post office,” he said and nodded at the ten-foot chain-link fence in front of them.
    “Answer me.” Lola glared at him. “Don’t ignore me. Don’t tell me it’s your way or nothing. What would you do