First Wave (The Travis Combs Post-Apocalypse Thrillers) (12 page)

The broad-leafed trees in the canyon beside the line
shack had turned from bright green to gold and the orchestra of birds that sang
at dawn and dusk had diminished. Daytime temperatures had cooled off to the
seventies while night time was in the forties. Two weeks had gone by since the
episode up top with the rabid dogs. Travis and Nora had taken down a young cow
that was hanging around the canyon rim, otherwise, they avoided long forays
back into the slickrock country above. Their ammo reserves had been
considerably depleted in that single battle with the feral pack and there
wasn’t room for any prolonged firefights.

The group had spent the early days of autumn
preparing jerky, practicing the rudiments of trapping small game, and gathering
the last of the pine nuts and mesquite pods, along with cactus and yucca fruits
from the slopes of the canyon. The fruits had been sliced open, seeds removed,
and then left to dry in the sun to make a type of fruit leather which would
last for months. One simply needed to rehydrate the fruit segments in the
evening broth of bovine soup and it would provide a necessary blend of
carbohydrates and vitamins, not obtained from a steady diet of meat.

The wooden cattle troughs beside the line shack were
used for storing the bounties of the desert and covered with slabs of sandstone
and bark to keep out the rodents. A large drying rack of lashed willow branches
was erected in the open area in front of the shack. This served to dry meat
from butchered cattle and small game. Making jerky in the desert took about six
hours on most days; four hours if there was a steady breeze to speed up the
drying process. Meat was cut one eighth of an inch or thinner, as this
prevented flies from laying their eggs.

Once they were field-dressed, small critters like
chipmunks, packrats, and rock squirrels were jerked on the drying racks, bones
and all. Once it came time to use the dried critters, the entire carcass,
including the ribs, vertebra, and leg bones were pulverized with a rock and
tossed into the evening stew. The rehydrated bones provided necessary nutrients
and minerals, which were essential long term. This method worked only for small
rodents. Larger animals like raccoons and jackrabbits had to be deboned and the
meat processed into strips. The two wild game animals that were relished the
most were raccoon and squirrel, as they had the greatest concentration of
interstitial fat compared to the lanky rabbits in the area. A fat raccoon could
sustain one person for four days and the meat was similar to roast beef.

They had enough wild foods and jerked meat to
sustain themselves for at least two months and, with the addition of cattle,
could feed themselves through the coming winter if necessary.

Travis had just finished observing Becka skinning a
raccoon, providing some pointers. As she began slicing the meat into fine
strips, Travis walked down to the edge of the waterhole to wash his hands. He
squatted on the smooth grey rocks and rubbed wet sand over his fingers, then
shook them dry.

He looked back at the bustling setting beside the
line shack with figures prepping food, cutting firewood, mending clothes, or
cleaning weapons. It reminded him of guerilla encampments he had been a part of
in other regions of the world, and he had to shake his head to recall that he
was in Arizona. With the arrival of cooler weather, his thoughts during the
past weeks had been focused on preparing the group in the long term skills of
hunting and gathering, along with basic bushcraft.

While the food quest would be never-ending, their
immediate needs were taken care of. As Travis sat beside the water his mind darted
back to the contents of Jim’s daypack and the cryptic message within the
diminutive silver tube.

The day after returning from the dog massacre above,
he had taken the pack over by the narrows of the slot canyon to see what clues
it contained. Outwardly, the pack resembled an ordinary college, book bag. The
interior however had a ballistic ceramic plate sewn into the backside, and
triple-ply stitching and zippers more typical of high-grade military gear
designed to stand abuse. The large main compartment was made with
expedition-grade polyurethane like a dry bag. Housed inside the waterproof
compartment was a phone-book sized, metallic container. The rectangular, silver
case possessed a five digit numeric key pad below a black handle and the
outside seams of the entire container were sealed with some type of waxy coating.

The case was lightweight and the vials of vaccine
inside were evidently padded, from the firm lack of movement. Other than that,
the object looked like an expensive piece of travel luggage.

The rest of the items consisted of a pair of socks,
t-shirt, water bottle, and crumpled candy bar wrappers. The contents of the small,
silver tube that Jim handed Travis before dying weren’t much help. It contained
a laminated piece of paper with two rows of typed numbers:

13 S 0745421

4121683, NAD 83

Travis knew these were UTM coordinates but the
location was unknown. UTM coordinates on topo maps were in one-thousand meter
increments, and having studied maps of Arizona over the years, he could discern
that the coordinates were somewhere outside of their present location. Without
access to a GPS unit or topo maps, there was no way to pinpoint the precise spot.
River companies and their guides didn’t travel with GPS units, relying,
instead, on the predetermined travel routes within the narrows confines of the
Grand Canyon, along with a rigid, trip itinerary. He had to study a topo map of
the Southwest to isolate the coordinates.

He thought back to a municipal airport in Chino
Valley that he had flown into years ago. They provided training courses for
pilots and had an extensive classroom for teaching celestial and land navigation
courses. Their facility was replete with topo maps and wall-sized charts of
Arizona and the surrounding states.
That might do. It’s the nearest place
.
As long it’s not filled with zombies,
bikers, or militants,
he
thought.

Travis refocused his thinking on the present as he
saw Pete walking towards him. “So how’s the great white cow-hunter doing?” said
Pete.

“I’d be doing better if I had some A-1 Steak Sauce
to accompany all the meat you’re cooking up at each meal.”

“Yeah, let me see what I can do. Would you like me
to whip us some Tiramisu for dessert too?”

“Just a fine cigar amigo. I’d settle for that as my
sole luxury in life right now.”

“That’s all it takes, eh? Who says you’re a hard guy
to live with,” said Pete, kneeling down and cupping water to his hands.

Travis stroked his bushy beard. “You know Pete, I’ve
been thinking- maybe we should do a recon of the nearest town and see how
things are looking.”

Pete stopped drinking and glanced at Travis with
furrowed eyebrows. “I thought we were going to hunker down here and play
Jeremiah
Johnson
for a while longer?”

“We could use more ammo, batteries, and first-aid
supplies, not to mention intel about what’s unfolding in the world. You, me, Katy,
and Nora can go. I figure, we’d be gone a week with the miles we’d have to
cover.”

“You asking for a nod of approval or just bouncing
ideas around right now?”

“We need to go. Otherwise, we’re just living in a
glass bubble in this idyllic canyon, not knowing what outside forces are
brewing in the region.”

“Alright,” Pete said, while standing up. “When
should I arrange for the taxi to be here?”

“Let’s leave tomorrow morning before sunrise. I’ll
talk with Nora about the best route. If you and Katy want to prepare some food
and water for us, I’ll take care of weapons prep.”

Pete frowned, “There’s no way Rachel is going to be
apart that long from her sister. She was all jittery that time you left her
behind for a few hours and went up top with Jim, and I haven’t seen her mood
lighten any since then. Besides, as much as I could go for a break from this
canyon, Katy, you, and I have the most medical experience. She or I should stay
behind in case something happens here.”

“Well, you’re right on both accounts,” Travis said,
looking back at the others by the line shack. “As much as it pains me to say
this, why don’t you stay here. You know canyon country better than the rest of
the bunch. If something should happen here and you are forced to leave, it will
be best to head west or south as we already know what awaits us in the other
direction,” he said, picking up pieces of firewood. “Nora said there is another
canyon like this one about eight miles south-southwest of here. We’ll meet up
there in case of plan B. Otherwise, come look for us down in Prescott sipping
margaritas at that bar on Main Street we used to frequent in more carefree
days.”

Pete nodded and gathered some branches. Then the two
made their way back up to the group as a slight breeze dislodged crisp, golden
leaves from the trees above.

Cooler weather had ushered in making the trek
tolerable and reducing the group’s water consumption. It was approaching
mid-day when Travis motioned to the three women to stop under the shade of a
large boulder. They had covered fourteen miles since bidding farewell to their
friends at the line shack before sunrise. According to Nora, they were about
halfway to Chino Valley.

With the exception of a noticeable lack of trees,
the landscape wasn’t much different than the terrain above the canyon where
they had been staying. Rachel pulled out several large pieces of beef jerky and
passed it around to the others. Travis took his binoculars and scanned each
direction. He came to a standstill while looking east and adjusted the focus
dial in the center.

“Hmmm…looks like a small settlement of a few dozen
buildings and homes, with people bustling about. They’re unloading boxes off a
truck that just rolled in past a handful of armed men. It looks like they have
a small arsenal and a stockpile of food.”

Nora, Rachel, and Katy scooched alongside him. “What
would that be? Not Chino Valley?” he said to Nora, handing her the binos.

“That’s gotta be the outskirts of Paulden. It’s
about ten miles north of Chino,” she said. “Before the pandemic, it was a town
of around 3500 people. When we were last through there, everything was boarded
up and no one was out on the streets.”

Katy and Rachel took a turn and then handed the
binos back to Travis.

“My guess would be the virus has died down enough to
re-establish some form of makeshift organization,” said Nora. “Paulden is at
the headwaters of the Verde River so they have their own wells coming from the
underground aquifer. It looks like a friendly encampment. Maybe we should head
down there?” said Rachel.

Travis picked up a tiny stick and started rolling it
back and forth between his fingers. “If we go down there and meet up with those
folks, there are going to be a lot of questions about us, our camp location, and
how we’ve been living. That will just draw attention we don’t need. Better to stay
low-profile and skirt around them.”

“Low-profile, why?” asked Rachel. “We may be able to
get supplies there as well as some news. Plus, this is a small town compared to
Chino, which could be completely sealed off by now or overflowing with those
creatures.”

He flexed the twig until he felt a slight crack.
“We’re not going to head into Chino Valley proper. There’s a place on the
outskirts that should have what we need.”

“Is this about what Jim told us?” said Katy with a
frustrated look.

He pushed his lower lip forward ruffling his beard. “Yep,
sure is,” he said with a glance towards her.

The corners of Katy’s eyes furrowed. She rested the
butt of her AK on the ground and sat down. “Great. More fun stories about Jim
Pearson- the master of disaster.”

“I’ve heard you both murmuring things about Jim during
the past few weeks. What was his story?” said Nora.

“That will have to wait for another time. Let’s just
say that he was more than the social miscreant we all pegged him for. He’s the
reason we have to keep moving and avoid the settlements.”

“He’s also the reason I may never see my father
again and why the world we knew has turned to shit,” said Katy, shaking her
head.

“We don’t have time for this right now,” Travis said,
then rose partway and crept along the edge of a massive heap of sandstone to
their right. “We’ll keep to the south hugging this boulder field until we are
out of range of the town. Keep an eye out for any sentries atop the surrounding
peaks.”

***

After another day of slow hiking around boulder
fields and cactus, the group arrived at the beginning of a canyon. Eight miles
in the distance, they could see the faint outline of Chino Valley with its
spread of burnt out ranch homes and open grasslands. The trek to this terminal
point of the plateau had been grueling. It seemed like nearly every rock in
Arizona was found on this stretch and when they weren’t trying to avoid an
ankle twister, they were pushing through knee-high brush and had the frays on
their pants to show for it.

Nearing the rim of black basalt, Travis plunked down
under the shade of a juniper tree. He doused his face with some water and took
a gulp, while Nora and Rachel sat down beside him. Katy caught up in a few
minutes after retreating to a clump of bushes for a quick bathroom break.

The canyon below them darted south for five miles
like a jagged finger. From their current location, this was the only way to get
to Chino. A half mile below the rim, was a large water pocket nestled in a
sandstone depression. The waterhole was formed from rain pouring over the
canyon walls during the monsoon season and, like most such pockets, was lined
on the sides with a neat row of cattails and lily pads. The waterhole was in a narrow
band of the canyon, wedged between vertical walls that looked to be around five
hundred feet high. It looked like they were going to be in for some swimming to
navigate this stretch of the journey.

After Katy returned, Travis laid out the plan for
the rest of the day. “It looks like the upper portion of this is a slot canyon
where we’re gonna be dipping in and out of hypothermic waterholes for the first
mile or so. After that, it oughta open up some, and we’ll be back to
rock-hopping, dodging poison ivy, and trying not to spill our brains on the
car-sized boulders.”

“Don’t sugar-coat it Trav,” said Katy, shaking her
head. “Why not tell us what we’re really in for?”

Travis started to speak about preparing for the
descent but before he could get out a word, Nora pre-empted, “We know…we
know…drink up, get some food down, and make sure you have your weapons ready.”

Rachel and Katy smirked.

He shrugged his shoulders and narrowed his eyes.
“Why don’t the three of you just finish all of my sentences for me because I’m
tired of telling people what to do anyway. I didn’t ask for any of this and I
sure as hell don’t want to be responsible for the lives of…” he paused looking
at a bundle of clouds off in the distance. “Agghh…” he snorted and stood up
grabbing his gear, then walked towards a faint deer trail that led below.

“Sir, I am sorry,” replied Nora. “I didn’t mean to…”
Katy put her hand on Nora’s shoulder, “Let him be. I was wondering how long
before his cork popped. It’s nothing you said sweetie. That one’s got a few
more demons to battle with than the rest of us.”

The three women grabbed their gear and lingered
behind Travis as they descended to the canyon floor. The rest of the day was
spent moving from pool to pool. Some of these were fifty feet across and only
waist deep, while others were two hundred yards across and required swimming. Each
pool was bone-chilling from the lack of sunlight in this section of the canyon.
After several hours, the water pockets disappeared as the canyon widened and
had the familiar look of cottonwood groves and sandstone ledges. After warming
themselves for an hour on immense slabs in the sun, they continued south,
pushing through tangles of Virginia-creeper vines.

Katy was in the lead and as she ducked under a
fallen log, she held her hand up in a fist, motioning everyone to stop. Beyond
the slight rustle of the wind through the leaves, they could make out the sound
of distant voices.

Travis moved alongside Katy and tilted his head
straining to make out the noise ahead. He figured they were around two hundred
yards away from the mouth of the canyon. He scanned the red soil ahead but
didn’t see any human tracks. He indicated he was going to recon and for Nora to
come with him.

Thirty minutes later, they returned. “There’s a
biker encampment of thirteen guys staked out right at the entrance to this
canyon. Looks like a regular base of operations with canvas tents, looted gear,
food crates, and a water tanker. This must be some waypoint or staging area for
them to launch raids. It looks like they’re here to stay for a while.”

“Any way of sneaking around these guys tonight?”
asked Rachel.

“Their layout is pretty snug against the canyon
walls and mouth. I don’t see us being able to squeeze past the main camp
without getting spotted,” said Travis.

“What about creating some diversion in the distance?”
said Katy.

“These guys are animals. I don’t want to risk
separating and having one person getting captured. Let me think for a minute,”
he said, squatting down.

He kept looking up canyon towards the waterholes and
back down at his clay-stained boots. “There is a way we may be able to beat
these guys but it’ll involve a waiting game.”

“What do you mean?” said Nora.

“Back in that last hole we swam across, there were
clumps of water hemlock interlaced with the cattails.”

“I remember seeing those,” said Rachel.

“I say we go back, gather up as many of the roots as
possible, and dump that in their water tanker tonight. Once they consume it,
death should occur within about sixty minutes.”

“Wait…water hemlock…?” replied Katy.

“The most toxic plant in North America. Remember--
hemlock
tea
is what they gave good, old Socrates for his opposing political views.
There’s no cure. It shuts down the nervous system pretty quick. If we put it in
their water tanker tonight, they should all hopefully have a swig of it at
breakfast. At least that should cut their numbers in half giving us a better
chance at killing them.”

“You know Trav, it’s scary to think of the
extracurricular classes you’ve had in your career?” said Katy.

“There’s no alternative as I see it,” said Nora.
“We’d burn up two more days backtracking this nasty canyon, and we’re low on
food as it is.”

Travis leaned forward. “Alright, let’s move back to
that last point and gather up the plants. Keep in mind that you have to
actually ingest the plant parts to succumb to the poison, so make damn sure not
to touch your mouth at any time. When we’re done, we’ll scrub off with yucca
soap.”

Travis led the group up canyon. After an hour of
wading the muddy shoreline, they had each gathered several armloads of the
hollow-chambered, white roots. After dicing these into thumb-sized pieces, the
noxious material was wrapped in Travis’s poncho. Everyone lathered up with
yucca-root soap, cleaning their blades and hands thoroughly. Then they carried
the mass of hemlock toxins back to the fallen cottonwood where they had first
heard the bikers. Waiting out the sun was the next part of the plan, and they
took turns dozing and watching the mouth of the canyon where the thugs ate their
final dinner.

At midnight, Travis woke the three women and went
over the plan one last time. Nora, who was the most nimble, would climb up to
the top of the trailer-drawn, water tanker. She was most familiar with the set
up, having used this type at the ranch. Travis would provide overwatch, while Katy
and Rachel would flank them on either side of the mouth of the canyon. If a
firefight ensued, they would retreat back up the canyon, providing bounding
cover fire and regroup at the water hemlock site.

“Keep in mind, these bastards could have night-vision
goggles. I didn’t see any such gear but make sure you are moving slow, staying
in the shadows, and thinkin’ like a puma.”

The camp was quiet as they inched towards the mouth
of the canyon. The water tanker was on canyon right. It was a black, polypropylene
tank anchored with cables to a large 8’x10’ trailer that was hitched to a Ford,
F-350 truck. On the other side of the truck were a dozen motorcycles, whose
chrome faintly reflected the starlight. The moon was absent and Travis and Nora
made steady progress, closing the distance from the concealment of the trees to
the trailer. Katy and Rachel positioned themselves in low squats behind
boulders opposite the truck.

Comms and IR from a drone would be great
about now,
he thought,
along with having a
Belgian Malinois with me.
Camp clearings and offensives are best done
with dogs and a team with NVGs!

The bikers were slumped around the fading embers of
a campfire about twenty yards from the truck. One man was on guard duty,
staggering around inebriated on the outskirts of the camp, opposite them. His M4
rifle dangling around on his shoulder while his boots kicked up tiny puffs of
grey dust that sparkled in the faint light.

As Nora climbed up on the trailer and began
unscrewing the large opening of the water tank, she heard movement in her
direction as a tall man stumbled towards them. She glanced back at Travis and
saw he was slinging his AK and removing his knife, while secreting himself
against the back of the trailer. Nora slunk down and deposited herself along
the rim of the tank, as Travis braced for a potential union of his knife with
the man’s throat.

The biker shuffled over and stopped by the back
wheel of the pick-up truck. They could hear him unzipping his pants followed by
a cascade over the tire and dry ground. He zipped up is pants and began to turn
around when a coyote howled. The man howled back at the sky, laughing, “take
that…hahaha…you’re mother’s a bitch,” he laughed and kept howling making, his
way back to the campfire while another man, half-awake on the ground, told him
to shut up.