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

that…hell.”
    “That so?”
    Pico smoothed his mustache and swallowed. “Yeah, that’s so. I nearly died. Took everything in me to get back here to warn you.”
    “Warn me?”
    “He’s coming for us,” Pico said. “Mad Max. He’s coming. He wants the boy.”
    “What boy?”
    “That redheaded woman. Her boy. He’s coming to get him.”
    “That so?”
    Pico nodded.
    Skinner leaned in, his face inches from Pico’s. “How do you know that? I mean, if you was running for your life. If you nearly died and everyone else did, how would you know what his plans are?”
    “I heard him,” said Pico. “I was playing dead. He was only a few feet from me. I heard him talking to the woman. They said they was coming here.”
    “They ain’t gonna find him. He’s gonna be headed to the Jones.” Skinner licked his teeth. “Tell me how everybody died.”
    Pico shook his head. “I don’t know. I know there was a lot of gunfire. There were booby traps everywhere.”
    “So you were with Rud, right?”
    Pico nodded and wiped the sweat beaded on his forehead.
    “You survived the booby traps and gunshots,” said Skinner, his voice low like an idling engine. “And then what did you do until Queho got there?”
    Pico searched Skinner’s face for an answer. He ran his fingers through his hair. “It’s such a blur,” he rambled. “I hid near an oak tree for what was hours, I reckon. I lost my shotgun. I was afraid of stepping into one of the traps, so I hid. Then Queho showed up. He and his men attacked, but Mad Max was ready.”
    Skinner nodded slowly. “Huh.” He stood and spun on his boot heels. “I need some help over here,” he called to the grunts. “My man Pico needs some water and some food.”
    Skinner turned back and offered his hand to Pico. Pico reached up and took it with both of his and heaved himself to his feet. Skinner nodded toward his men, motioning for Pico to follow him.
    “Thanks.” Pico followed Skinner, favoring his left leg as he limped to the group.
    Skinner walked ahead, his feet kicking up dust as he moved, then halfway to the men he stopped. He cocked his head to the side and put his right hand on the revolver at his hip.
    “Pico,” he said without turning around, “tell me something.”
    Pico limped another step and stopped. “Yeah?”
    “How come you’re favoring the wrong leg?”
    A chill ran through Pico’s slender frame. “What?”
    “You was limping on your right leg when I seen you coming here,” Skinner said. His head was turned now so that Pico could see his sharp profile. “Now it’s your left.”
    Pico froze. He didn’t move either leg. Skinner rapped his fingertips on the handle of his revolver.
    “I shoulda known that Mad Max fella wouldn’t have found our Humvee on his own. Even if he did, he wouldn’t have figured out where I live. Ain’t that right?”
    Pico tried to speak. He couldn’t find the words. There were no words.
    “So then,” Skinner hissed, “seems we got ourselves a real problem.”
    Gravity pulled on Pico’s legs, cementing them to the asphalt. He stopped breathing. His eyes focused on Skinner’s long, nicotine-stained fingers as they trilled atop the gun.
    “Now I could let you live, Pico,” Skinner spat. “I really could. And I could pick you clean for every bit of information you got about Mad Max. That ain’t what I feel like doing.”
    An involuntary shudder racked Pico’s body. Every bit of him trembled.
    “’Cause I got a stinkin’ feeling you either don’t know much, or you wouldn’t tell me,” Skinner said. He was flexing his fingers above the revolver. In and out. In and out. “Any man who’d cheat on his own, find comfort with the enemy, then come back here as a traitor looking for something ain’t worth the time.”
    Pico found enough control of his body to speak. “I ain’t a traitor,” he said. “I ain’t done nothing wrong. I came back to tell you all about Mad Max. I can tell you everything you want