First Wave (The Travis Combs Post-Apocalypse Thrillers)

by JT Sawyer

  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.

  With the bikers were back asleep, Nora crept back atop the tanker and slowly removed the he
mlock 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.

  Chapter 22

  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.

  Chapter 23

  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, creep
ing 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.”