Wall: A Post Apocalyptic/Dystopian Adventure (The Traveler Book 3) Read Online Free

the Salvadoran Mara Salvatrucha gang that ravaged Central America and spread to the southwestern United States in the early years of the twenty-first century.
    Through brute force and will, General Roof had engaged in a meeting of the minds with the Sureños, Sinaloa Cartel, Gulf Cartel, La Familia Michoacana, Mexican Mafia, Yakuza, and Los Zetas. It hadn’t hurt his mother was Panamanian and his Spanish was impeccable.
    As powerful as they had become, as much as they had struck fear into the surviving populous and had driven the government from their newly staked territory, Roof had always felt inferior somehow. Maybe it was the daily morning reminder of his external wounds. Maybe it was the internal ones, the truth that his life had been saved by a better man than he and that he’d chosen to waste that gift on the easier, darker path.
    He rubbed his thighs with his palms and pushed to his feet. Roof balanced himself for a moment on his heels before rocking to his toes. He stepped to the window. The sun was lifting above the flat horizon of the southern end of the Llano Estacado. He bit his lower lip, considering whether letting Marcus Battle live was the right thing to do. It was a moment of weakness, he admitted to the imp on his shoulder. It was a payback: a life spared for a life saved. It was also probably a fatal mistake.
    For as heartless as he’d become since earning his sobriety, he’d never been as tough, as relentless, as unwilling to quit as Marcus Battle. He knew that. A shiver ran along his neck and he trembled. He took a rubber band from his wrist and worked it into his hair, looping it twice to help shape a wiry, shoulder-length ponytail.
    Roof scratched an itch in his thick beard and turned from the window, his feet scraping along the concrete as he moved to his clothing draped over the back of a desk chair. He’d slipped on his pants and an undershirt when there was a loud knock at his door.
    “Just a minute,” he called and slid one arm into the long-sleeved plaid cotton shirt. He walked to the door and peeked through the peephole. It was Cyrus Skinner.
    Roof snapped the last of the pearl buttons on the shirt and pulled open the door. Skinner took off his white hat and held it against his chest.
    “Sorry to bother you so early, General,” he said, stepping into the room. “I wanted to give you a tactical update.”
    “It’s not a problem,” said Roof. “I was awake. I got a call at two o’clock this morning from Pierce.” He looked over at the clock next to the bed. It was flashing. The power had gone out and come back.
    “The mole?”
    Roof limped back to the chair to retrieve his boots. “Yes.”
    “And?”
    “He gave us good intel,” said Roof. “He found their communications bunker and provided frequencies.”
    “That’s in addition to their security setup, their weapons, and the position of their men around the canyon rim,” said Skinner. An unlit cigarette was bouncing from his lips as he spoke. “You were genius to set that up. I gotta say, General, I had my doubts. But you were right.”
    Roof plopped into the chair. He winced as he slid on one of the boots. “Maybe.”
    “What do you mean?”
    Roof exhaled and then sucked in a deep breath as he pulled on the other boot. “He killed a Dweller.”
    Skinner shrugged. “So?” he asked, standing across from the general with his arms folded. “Since when is killing someone a problem?”
    Roof laughed. “I don’t have a problem with killing,” he said. “I wouldn’t be where I am if I did. For the most part, I’d suggest a violent execution is the best way to maintain order and control, but not this time. Killing that Dweller exposed Pierce. He’s done.”
    “We lose our eyes and ears in the canyon,” said Skinner.
    “It accelerates the timetable,” said Roof, pushing himself to his feet. “That intel he gave us is going to be worthless. How fast can we move?”
    Skinner pinched the cigarette with his fingers