First Wave (The Travis Combs Post-Apocalypse Thrillers) (13 page)

With the bikers were back asleep, Nora crept back
atop the tanker and slowly removed the hemlock fragments from her poncho-lined
pack, lowering them into the water tanker and then replaced the lid.

They slipped back through the shadows like the
predators they had become, stepping on damp leaves to cover their passage. They
waited out the rest of the night under the comfort of the cottonwood trees,
where the plan was borne, while the hemlock percolated into a deadly cocktail.

Travis knew that neurotoxins act in different ways.
For some, bitten by a rattlesnake like a Mojave Green, the nervous system is
immediately affected and the victim’s life can be measured in minutes. For
plant toxins like water hemlock, the heart rate first slows, causing
respiratory distress; then the extremities go limp, followed by an almost coma
like trance until breathing stops altogether. He also knew that the sand left
in a hemlock victim’s hourglass varied considerably, depending on the person’s
age and bodyweight.

When sunrise came, they waited in ready, concealed
amongst the scrub and rock of their resting spot. They stayed put for two hours
and then, not hearing any voices from the encampment, decided to stalk down
canyon and see what the body count was looking like. Upon arriving at the
boulder where Rachel had hid the previous night, they saw seven men strung out
along the ground near the firepit. At first, Travis thought they were still
asleep, but then he noticed their contorted positions and the spent coffee cups
lying about the bodies. He motioned with his fingers that seven men were down.
Where were the remaining six?

They crept forward, clinging to the rocky escarpment
and shrubs until they saw three, semi-paralyzed men lying in the dirt. One was
crawling on the ground dragging his lifeless legs behind him, trying to get to
a motorcycle. Travis scanned the rim above, the open meadow ahead, and the dirt
road leading in, but couldn’t locate the other men. Then he looked over at the
bikes and realized three choppers were missing. It was too dark last night to
make out all of the figures, and he wasn’t sure if the three men had left while
they were collecting hemlock roots or departed this morning to get help.

He scanned down the road again and couldn’t make out
any bike-strewn dust plumes in the distance. If they had left at sunrise then
there wasn’t much time to get out of here. He raised his hand, indicating to
Nora and Rachel, to take the left side of the camp and gather up ammo and food.
He and Katy would work through the right side and main camp, and then meet up
with them on the far side of the meadow, near a fallen Sycamore tree about
three hundred yards away.

The two sisters kept their rifles in a low-ready
position and moved past the truck. Nora peered inside the back of the pick-up
and sifted through the wooden crates until she found a few dozen loaded AK
magazines and boxes of 7.62x39 ammo. She jammed these into her pack along with some
canned beans and two bags of dried peas, and then motioned to Rachel to do the
same.

Travis moved out into the open area by the firepit,
while Katy remained by the cliff-face to cover him. He stepped over several of
the bodies until he came to the first crawling man. He was a huge fellow. The
three semi-survivors were all large men, which is why they were probably not at
the lethal stage of plant intoxication. “You’re a big boy,” said Travis,
standing over the immense figure who was on his side staring up deliriously at
the voice. “You may have even lived out the day once the poison washed out of
your system.” The man half-smiled, thinking the voice held a hint of concern.
“Only some creatures don’t make it to the end of their lives. Some just need to
die,” Travis said, placing his boot over the man’s throat and stepped down
until the trachea crunched. The man’s eyes rolled shut. He wasn’t even able to
lift a hand to resist and now his large, bald head slunk back in the dirt.
Travis walked over to the other two men who had been watching helplessly. Their
whispered pleas, interspersed with gasps of air from already strained lungs, were
cut short in a similar fashion. After Travis was done, he checked the other
men’s vitals around the firepit, then proceeded to rummage through belt
holsters and backpacks for anything of relevance. He gathered up several
machetes, batteries, mags, and trauma kits.

With an uneasy walk, Katy strode over and began
looking through the pouches and containers littered on the ground around the
firepit. She removed a Glock 17 off the belt of one the men, along with three
magazines and a Bowie knife. While pulling out a large, folding knife from the
dead man’s pocket, she found a tattered piece of paper. She unfolded it and
stared with wide eyes at the image then glanced over at Travis. It contained a
clean-cut image of him in uniform, with a green beret and various medals on his
left chest. Below the photo was the caption,
Sgt. Major Travis Combs…Capture
Alive at All Costs.

Travis glanced over in Katy’s direction and saw her
squinting at the paper. She looked up at him with a forlorn gaze. As he walked to
her, they both heard the roar of approaching bikers, spitting dirt into a brown
cloud and speeding towards the encampment.

Nine choppers raced down the serpentine road,
closing the distance between them and the camp in minutes. “Fall back to the
canyon,” blared Travis, grabbing two remaining AKs off the ground and a scoped M4
rifle.

He and Katy retreated to the nearest boulders. Nora and
Rachel were already on their way to the rally point in the meadow when the
bikers arrived, and didn’t hear Travis. They were running in the open about a
hundred yards away when Travis spotted them.

“Damn it. We gotta go,” he said to Katy, as he
bolted from the canyon location and ran to the other side of the pick-up truck.
He grabbed the M4, did a hasty mag check, and removed the safety. Leveling the
scope, he took aim and dropped the first biker, whose handle bars twisted
sideways, sending him in a heap over the top.

Katy began firing alongside Travis and dropped the
third biker with a spray of bullets to his waist. He spilled on the ground to
his left and rolled twice, before slumping against a clump of cactus. Another
man went down shortly after that, his body nearly ripping in half as he
spattered on to some rocks, Travis being amazed at how the guy dropped so
violently. Two of the bikers broke off and made their way towards the sisters,
hollering and laughing, as their tires crunched over the tall brown grass.

The remaining crew made a sharp turn and sped for a
row of low boulders, about sixty yards from the camp. They disembarked,
dropping their choppers in the dirt, and sprinted for the cover of rock. Travis
aimed low and clipped one of them in the legs and pelvis. He fell, screaming
for help, and trying to half-crawl towards the boulders. The other three bikers
dropped down and began returning fire. Travis heard the familiar humm of rounds
flying over his head.

A stout biker lurched out from behind the boulder,
and Travis saw him going into a pitcher’s position, with a grenade in his left
hand. Travis swept the crosshairs of the scope on the man’s head and fired off
two rounds, dropping him. The man tumbled back into the grass while the grenade
went out of sight, causing the last two bikers to burst out from the right side
of their cover and make for the road. The grenade’s impact sent a hail of small
rock shards and bodyparts in the air and shook the ground, causing the two men
to stumble sideways. Just long enough for Kate to dispatch the one in the rear
with several rounds to the torso. Travis took careful aim at the last man,
delivering a controlled volley to his head, dropping him backwards, as a spray
of red flitted on to the powdery dirt of the road.

Travis aimed towards the first biker he had
incapacitated in the legs. The wispy man was curled up alongside his rifle
still writhing in pain. He finished him off with a single shot and then dropped
the magazine out of the M4 and reloaded, while coming to a half-squat, and
peering to where Nora and Rachel were last seen. The meadow was still, with
only a slight breeze waving through the knee-high grass. He looked over at Katy,
“You take any hits?”

“No. I am fine,” she said, breathing hard. “Where are
the girls?”

“Not sure, but we need to get to them, and get the
hell out of here before any more goons come along.”

“Do you think the girls already killed those two
bikers?”

“Let’s go find out,” he said, creeping along the rock
escarpment to the right of the truck.

“If they touched Nora or Rachel, I will shred them
to pieces myself,” said Katy, her cheeks flushed.

As he stalked along the sheer cliff walls, he saw
two choppers on their sides about a hundred yards ahead. The bikers were
nowhere to be found. Then he saw Rachel smile and stand up from behind the
downed cottonwood tree and wave her cowboy hat. Travis put his left hand back,
motioning her to get down, but she kept waving her hat and pointing to the
right.

Splayed out on the grass were the two bikers. Both
were lying on their backs, and a large swath of blood framed their corpses. Travis
moved towards them, raising his eyebrows, while looking at the sheer damage to
the bodies. One man had most of his right pectoral missing, and the other man’s
head was completely gone. “There’s no way the girls did this,” he said, as Kate
kept pace alongside him. Make for the tree. We’re not alone.” They both darted
past the corpses and whisked through the grass, making it to the sisters.

Travis grabbed Rachel by the arm and yanked her down
under the massive tree trunk. “What are you doing?” she said. “Me and Nora shot
the last two,” she said, smiling with relief.

“No ya didn’t kid. You may have sent some rounds
their way, but someone else dropped them with a sniper rifle- a .50 cal, no
doubt, by the gaping hole in that one dude’s chest.”

“What do you mean? Why would someone do that and not
shoot us down?” Katy said.

“I don’t know- maybe they have a love of biker trash,
too.” He paused, looking around at the cliffs behind them and then back at the
road where the first few bikers were shot. “You know, during those first guys
we killed, there was one who went down like he had been yanked off his chopper.
I mean…he hit hard and the spray of blood was tremendous.” Travis scratched his
beard. “I didn’t have time to process it then, but that sure as hell wasn’t a
shot you or I made. Someone was sending some Barrett love our way.”

“Barrett? Is that military speak again?” Nora said.

“The mighty sniper rifle. That’s what must have punched
a craterous hole in that two-legged garbage over there. Whoever they are, they
could be a hundred yards away in a hide sight, or they could be on the canyon
rim a mile from here.”

“So what do we do now? Wait here for them to take
the next move, or prepare for the next round of thugs to show?” said Katy.

Scanning the canyon floor and rim with narrow eyes
Travis said, “They already made their move. If they wanted us dead, we would be
spray-painted all over this tree trunk by now.”

He stood up and grabbed his rifle, doing an
inventory of the remaining mags in his pack. “Let’s trot back to the truck for
a minute and do a quick reload of fresh mags and ammo. Then, we’re going to
roll out of here like Panzers through Poland and make for that high ground to
the east, covering some miles before nightfall.”

Travis took one last glance in the direction he
surmised the concealed rifleman had taken his shots,
I’ll take a sniper on
my side any day, but I’d sure like to have a face to put with those kills.

The way into Chino Valley was uneventful. The
landscape itself was monotonous and dull, most of it having been previously cleared
for homes and cookie-cutter neighborhoods, as one got closer to the suburban sprawl.
The small airport that Travis had been guiding them to, was at the southeastern
part of town. The sporadic groves of pine trees had disappeared, and the way
before them consisted of endless grassy expanses broken up by the occasional dirt
road or ranch home. A long row of scraggly foothills served as a faint backdrop,
with a singular, thumb-like butte jutting up near where the town of Prescott
lay in the distance.

After arriving at the north end of the Valley the evening
before, they decided to wait until after dark to proceed. The route was too
exposed for daylight travel, and they began moving when the sliver of a
crescent moon was up, making their way overland past the abandoned homes,
looted convenience stores, and side streets. The area seemed eerily reminiscent
 of decimated villages Travis had seen in Afghanistan, with the miles of
burned-out homes, trash blowing along the streets, and broken glass windows on
every store. The smell of putrescent flesh in the air was overpowering,
requiring them to pull bandannas up over their noses.

The immediate area was devoid of any sounds and
seemed like an empty movie set. Travis scanned the region ahead with the
binoculars. “There are a lot of those things roaming around the main street and
downtown store fronts but the neighborhoods below only have a handful of
creatures moving aimlessly about.” He surveyed the open rangeland below their
position which had a few isolated homes spread out along dirt roads north of
town. “There’s a lone house on a cul-de sac that might work for holing up
tonight. Let’s scramble down this slope and check it out. Make damn sure to
stay low and not make any noise. The last thing we need is to fire off some
rounds, drawing attention to our location. Any dispatching we do, will have to
be with blades, is that clear?”

They nodded, slung their rifles, and pulled out the
wood-handled machetes acquired from earlier conflicts. Then they did a
half-slide down the clay embankments, creeping along a row of bushes that led
to a split-rail fence near the first house.

It was a single-floor, ranch home with decorative,
knotty-pine trim. Three other homes were spread out along the mile-long gravel
road. There was a horse corral lining the open meadow beside the house. Next to
the right side was a detached garage with shrubs, and they crept alongside these,
making their way to the structure. Travis scanned the stony walkway leading up
to the side door of the house. There were no footprints, and a thick clump of
tumbleweeds were matted against the porch and mailbox post.

He motioned to Nora to follow him around the right
side and for Katy and Rachel to move along the opposite end. As he crept along
the exterior, he listened for movement inside and peered through the windows. 

After they reconvened around the rear, Katy put a
bandanna against the window on the back door, and busted it out with the butt
of her rifle, then fed her arm inside to unlock the deadbolt. Travis entered
first, followed by Katy, as they swept through each of the rooms.

After giving the clear sign, they met up in the
kitchen in front of a round, oak dining table. “Let’s take a breather here for the
night and then we’ll resume our trip south to the airport tomorrow evening. Being
we’re down a dead end road, and in a sparsely populated area, this is about as
secure a place as we are likely to find in these parts. It will give us a
chance to recuperate, clean our weapons, and do any repairs on gear or
clothing. Remember, maintain good noise and light discipline.”

Katy moved down the hallway to the bathroom,
returning a few minutes later. “The water still works here. Do you think it’s
safe to take a shower?”

Travis flipped on the kitchen faucet, running his
tan fingers through the stream. “I don’t see why not, though it doesn’t feel
like there’s any hot water. I wouldn’t drink any as the water treatment centers
probably aren’t working around here anymore. Probably not much different from
the pond water we’ve all been dipping in over the last few weeks.”

Katy blew a strand of hair off her nose and rolled
her eyes with glee. “Hell, cold water is fine with me. There’s shampoo and
soap,” she said, while stripping off weapons and walking down to the bathroom. Travis
knew how critical it was to handle hygiene issues long-term, when living off
grid or in the wilds. He had seen entire groups succumb to dysentery before
because one person failed to be diligent with hand-washing or dish cleaning.
Such things were the number one cause of diarrhea-borne illnesses in the
backcountry, and the third-world conditions they were facing, required them to
stay on top of such daily priorities.

The two sisters immediately plunked down on a bed in
one of the rooms, and fell asleep quickly, with Rachel leaning on Nora’s
shoulder. Travis pawed through the drawers and cabinets in each room, bringing
anything of value back to the kitchen counter. He found some clean shirts and
underwear, a Leatherman, boxcutter, bottles of Ibuprofen and Benadryl, towels,
bleach, a sewing kit, a case of sports-drinks, and a few assorted cans of green
beans and corn.

Thirty minutes later, Katy emerged from the
bathroom. As she walked into the kitchen, Travis did a double take, as he
noticed her clad with only a towel wrapped around her curvy figure. He made an
effort to close his mouth, trying to refocus his efforts on the ammunition
inventory. “I found some fresh clothes that might fit you,” he said, while his
hands fumbled with a magazine. “They’re in the back room on the bed.”

She smiled. “Thanks, my good man,” she said, then
walked away. He watched her lovely form stroll down the hallway and then forced
his gaze back to the supplies.

A few minutes later she returned, dressed in a green
tie-dye shirt with short sleeves and a pair of loose-fitting jeans, with the
cuffs slightly rolled up. “The girls are out for the count,” she said.

“Yeah, let ‘em sleep. Those are some tough ladies
who’ve walked through a storm of flying daggers in recent weeks.”

Katy reached in the side pocket of her backpack and
removed the photocopied image of Travis, handing it to him. “Looks like you’re
a wanted man.…in more ways than one,” she said, brushing her hand along his
shoulder, as the faint sunlight streaked in through the living room windows.

He unfolded the tattered paper and gazed upon the
image and contents. He exhaled, looking down at the tiled floor, then folded up
the paper and handed it back to Kate.

“One of the bikers had that on him back at the
camp.”

He ruffled his lower lip. “Not my best picture, I
admit. I look better with this beard, don’t you think. It gives me a more
cultured appearance.”

“Is there anything you don’t make fun of?” she said.

“I’d never make fun of you.”

“Travis Combs, stop changing the subject and tell me
why that guy had your photo? I could see Jim being the center of attention, but
why you?”

“I wish I could say. They probably tracked down the
river trip manifest and ran our names. They must think I have some intel from
Jim.”

“Do you?” she whispered. “Do you have anything more
than what he told us that day?”

“Like what? I don’t know what Jim was hording in
that twisted head of his.” Travis turned his head slightly away from Katy. The
less she, or any of them, knew the better, in case they somehow ended up in the
clutches of whoever was involved in Jim’s nefarious undertakings. “Jim was a
bishop in their demented chess game. They must think I’m connected with those
plans somehow.”

He stood up and rubbed his right shoulder. “Hell, I
just want to get all of you to a safe place and get back home to my boy and my
dog. I’ve had enough of shadow operations and subterfuge for ten lifetimes.”

“You have a dog?” replied Katy.

“Heck yeah, I’ve had dogs my entire life. Why?”

“I just never figured you for a dog kind of guy, is
all.”

“Because of what happened in that slaughter-fest
back near the line shack?”

“No, I didn’t mean that. I didn’t mean that at all
Trav. I could tell you were as tore up as we were, having to kill all those
animals,” Katy paused. “I just figured with you being gone all the time that a
dog wouldn’t factor into your life.”

“He’s actually my boy’s dog. I got him as a pup for
my son’s birthday a few years back,” said Travis looking down at the ground for
a moment and then raising his head back up towards the horizon. 

“I hope he’s OK,” said Katy.

“Ah, yeah, he’ll be fine. He’s a bull mastiff and
too ugly to die anyway.”

“I meant your son…well…and your dog too.”

“With Butch and my ex-wife by his side, my son is a
three-man army.”

Katy rolled her head back and laughed. “Butch….what
an original name for a dog. I can see you pondered that for all of three
seconds.”

“What are you laughin’ at blondie. I named him after
one of my favorite westerns,
Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid
. So,
yeah, a lot of consideration did go into naming him,” he said, glaring at her
with a faint smile. “At least I didn’t name him
Bud,
like one of my
friends did, after his favorite beer. My boy’s dog has character just like
Butch Cassidy did.”

“Easy there fella. I’m just playing with you,” she
said, laughing as she nudged him. He placed his hand over hers and glided it up
the smooth curves of her arm. She moved in closer, resting a hand on his hip.  Travis
gazed at her tan neckline and then met her eyes. “We all need to get some rest
tonight,” he whispered. “Why don’t you take the back room and I’ll sack out on
the couch. I promise not to sneak any more bristly pinecones into your bed.”

“That was you all these nights on the trail? You’re
a pest, but you let your guard down some time too, and that’s when payback is
coming, mister.”

Travis forced himself away and grabbed a towel off
the counter. “If I’m lucky,” he smiled and then headed into the bathroom.

After the shower, he stood in front of the mirror,
deciding what to do with his raggedy beard. He sifted through the contents of
the cabinet and found a razor, scissors, and shaving cream. He didn’t want to
resemble that clean-cut image from the photo too much, but he hated having a
beard and decided to don a goatee instead.

Clad in a towel, he glanced over the scars on his
ribs and chest, recalling the images of past explosions and gunfights in
faraway lands. A tattoo of the head of a bronco rider was on his right pec. He
had gotten it in honor of a rodeo friend who died in combat on a mission with
him. Travis gazed down at his vacant ring finger and his thoughts drifted back
to Katy’s irresistible eyes. Then the images of Denver, of his son pierced
through him. He put his fists on the sink counter and gritted his teeth. Travis
looked into the mirror with resolve, trying to maintain control of his
emotions, struggling to turn it all off. He heard a knock on the door, “Sir,
are you almost done? I need to use the bathroom,” said Rachel.

He forced in a deep breath and stood erect. “Yeah,
you got it. I’ll be out in a minute,” he said, before sliding on his clothes.

The rest of the evening was almost Rockwellian, as
the four of them sat around the vintage oak table, quietly playing cards, and
enjoying a dinner of stewed veges, beans, and jerky eaten on plates with
silverware. Kate was a no-holds barred, poker player who dominated nearly every
game, winning a large pile of 9mm bullets.

After the sun went down, they sat in the dark while
Nora and Rachel whispered stories about growing up in the high-desert, the rodeo
events in Prescott, and the ranching history of their family. After the
crescent moon emerged and cast a faint glow on the surrounding neighborhood,
Travis decided they should walk down to the three other homes dotting the
dead-end road. “Let’s see if there are any other supplies and if we can acquire
some bicycles. That would really trim some hours off our trip tomorrow.”

They returned around midnight with four mountain
bikes, some clothing, an assortment of first-aid items, and with Nora wearing a
new pair of leather hiking boots. Travis did a scan of the street and
surrounding hills to make sure no creatures had followed them, then he quietly entered
through the back door and went inside, doing a sweep of their house, before
settling in. They all took turns sleeping with one person keeping an eye on the
outside perimeter. In the morning, Travis gave everyone a specific task of washing
laundry in the bath tub, mending gear, or doing weapons maintenance while
rotating out on sentry duty with the binoculars. Though there was no evidence
of undead in the immediate area, he reminded everyone to stay sharp and
maintain silence in their activities in the house. As the afternoon sun faded,
they began preparing for the coming movement to the airport.