First Wave (The Travis Combs Post-Apocalypse Thrillers) (3 page)

It was around five-thirty p.m. and the light in the
desert was fading. Travis strung his headlamp around his neck and then scanned
the hotel grounds one last time. He leaned towards Pete, “Just so you know- I’m
not trying to steal your show here. I know this is your group still. My plan is
to get us past this rough patch in the trip and make sure we get out of here
safely. Then, I plan on high-tailing it back to Denver, to my son. I only pray
I can get there in time.”

“No worries my friend. I don’t mind you taking the
lead, that’s for damn sure.”

He and Pete made their way from abandoned car to
roadside boulders until they were within two hundred yards of the two-story
hotel. All the windows on the lower level had been replaced with boards and the
windows on the second floor were intact. The attached restaurant sat on the
west side. The last glow of fading sunlight was glimmering off the broken glass
in the parking lot.
Hmmm, almost all these cars have Nevada or California
plates.

There were probably close to two hundred vehicles
peppered throughout the parking lot and adjoining streets. Scattered between
the vehicles were bullet riddled corpses. They looked normal and didn’t show the
blue mottling they had seen on the other victims.
A tour bus was tipped
on its side and had flattened a tree near the highway.
Whatever happened
here, this must have been the farthest that refugees from bordering states
could get before they ran out of gas. This was a tiny town on the way to
nowhere. God, what did Vegas or L.A. look like that drove these people out
here?

Pete knew the layout of the hotel, having used it
many times over the years with clients after river trips. The least obtrusive
point of entry was in the rear by the kitchen. If the arrangement hadn’t change
in his absence, there was a narrow window with a wood hatch that the cooks used
for dumping scraps out back for the stray dogs.

Pete rested his hand on Travis’s shoulder. “Let’s
sprint over to the back side and see if we can get in that way.” Pete had a
serrated folding knife in hand as they sped across the lot, skulking behind
some low shrubs that dotted the curb. As they passed the side of the hotel,
they saw three motorcycles tipped over, with black and red zebra patterns on
the fuel tanks. Alongside the bikes were the tattooed bodies of the dead
owners. Shotgun wounds were present on the torsos of each one but they also
looked like the dead woman from earlier, their skin shrunk to their skeletons.

Travis motioned with his hand that he would go first
and Pete would follow behind, acting as the rear guard. On the count of three
fingers, Travis bolted in a low crouch for the window with Pete following a few
seconds later. A slow tug on the tarnished handle revealed that the window was
locked but it jerked open with some convincing from Travis, as the weathered
wood in the jamb gave way. The window was four feet off the ground and Pete
knelt and gave Travis a boost up. He shimmied through the narrow frame and then
helped Pete through. The kitchen door that led outside was barricaded with a
tipped over fridge.

They entered the kitchen stepping cautiously over
broken glass and shattered plates that littered the floor. There were only a few
slivers of sunlight left sliding in through cracks in the boarded up windows, outlining
the confines of the room. The cabinets were stripped bare. The only sound was
from the sink faucet as a single drip landed rhythmically on a heap of
blood-soaked rags and latex gloves, which gave the room a clinical odor.

With arms extended and pistol in hand, Travis sidled
up to the swinging door that led into the main dining area. Listening first, he
slowly peered through the round window. The tables in the dining room beyond
were gone and metal chairs were strewn about the tiled floor. A salad bar stand
was in the corner and next to it a red and white popcorn machine.

Travis eased the swinging door outward. He tried to
minimize the crunch of broken glass under his boots as he crept into the dining
area and moved towards the hotel lobby to the right. An archway, bordered with
a Southwestern motif, separated the two rooms. He clung to the corner while
Pete remained by the door. To the left, about twenty feet away from the lobby
desk, were winding stairs leading to the second floor. The skylights in the
upstairs ceiling created a bleached effect on the green carpet below, as dusk shone
through. The first floor hallway beyond the stairs was a jumble of chairs,
couches, and busted TVs that extended to the exit door. The massive, double
entrance doors next to the staircase were secured with a haphazard array of
2x4s and old planks, which had been hastily nailed in place.

Travis motioned for Pete to come up. They strained
for any movement upstairs while Travis glanced over at a snack bar under the
right side of the arch. On the counter was an L-shaped plexiglass stand on its
side, showing an ad for fruit smoothies and, next to it, the tattered remnant
of a newspaper. He glanced at the headlines, “CDC Indicates Millions Dead.
Reanimated Flood Cities Worldwide.”

As they walked into the lobby, they found bodies
strewn about the stairs and landing on the second floor. Most were riddled with
bullet holes while others showed signs of blunt force trauma.

Travis darted a glance at Pete and could see the
look of uncertainty in his eyes. He hoped his old friend would remember he was
clutching a sharp blade in the direction of his kidneys. He had seen guys
before, about to undertake room clearing scenarios, get twitchy when the
adrenaline dump was pulsing through their hands. He glanced back towards Pete
and motioned to him, through example, to take some deep breathes.

Travis slowed his breathing down as he felt his
heart rate increasing. A familiar feeling was rising to the surface. It was
something he thought had been washed away by the tranquility of the river trip.
The most enjoyable part of the entire trip was sinking into his hammock after
dinner each evening. No one to bark orders at, no teammate’s wounds to patch up,
no more dark alleys to venture down in some war-ravaged part of the world,
wondering if you’d be emerging with the brother by your side.
How I wish I
could return to the gentle breezes and river song of the Canyon right now and
paddle away from all this.

*****

Katy turned on the walkie-talkie to listen for any
chatter. Nothing but static sounded out until the roaming function settled on
channel eight. The shaky voice of a little girl was screaming. “Please, if
anyone’s out there, help me. My grandpa is sick. Can anyone hear me? Please
help.”

Katy responded back, “Hello, where are you?”

“We are at the Waverly Ranch. Help me, please,
please. He’s not doing well.”

“We’re coming. My name is Katy and I’m a nurse. I’ll
be there soon. You hang on, alright sweetie?”

“OK,” the girl said, in between sobs.

LB moved forward. “The sign on the road indicated
that the ranch is only a mile south of here. We can be there in a few minutes
if we hustle.”

“We were told to stay put by Mr. Second Amendment
remember,” stated Jim. “Plus we don’t even know what kind of shape that girl
and the old man are in. She could be one of those things trying to lure us
over.”

“Drink a can of
Toughen Up
already Jim,” said
Evelyn. “You’re really going to turn a blind eye to a little girl?”

Jim snarled his lower lip. “I didn’t sign up for the
outback adventure trip. I’m supposed to be on a flight out of here by now.”

“Flight back to where?” LB said. “I think you’re
dehydrated, man. Have you noticed that the world has changed? This whole trip
we’ve been puttin’ up with your whining…”

Katy gathered her pack, interrupting LB. “You can
stay here and argue or come with me. I don’t care but make your mind up.” She
took a fixed blade out of her pack. “First, let’s go get Pete and Travis. It’s
a bad idea to split up any further than we have,” she said walking out in the
moonlight. Evelyn hobbled upright and followed, along with LB. Jim shuffled
back and secreted himself further into the boulders while clutching his red
daypack against his chest. “I’m not exposing myself in the open. I’m staying
here until you all get back. Good luck,” Jim said as the trio walked away.

As LB, Katy and Evelyn trotted to the hotel, their
boots kicked up fine dirt on the ground which glowed silver in the moonlight as
they moved along.

“You OK, Ev?” Katy whispered back to the older woman
who was limping. Evelyn’s artificial knee had given her trouble during most of
the river trip but she never complained. She gave a thumbs-up and motioned to
keep moving fast. Katy paused alongside a tipped over car, checking the rear
entrance. Her high cheek bones were red from the heat of the hike. She had a
sleek figure like a runner and pale skin, despite so much time in the sun the
past few weeks.

“I heard what you said about staying together but it
would be good to have some wheels,” said LB. “You two get Travis and Pete. I’m
going to poke around in these vehicles and see if there are any keys.”

“Sounds good. We’ll meet back here in few minutes, I
hope,” nodded Katy.

Travis slid past the front desk in the lobby while
pivoting towards the staircase. He swept the top of the landing first with his
pistol and then repositioned on the area immediately to his right and directly
over the stairs, while quickly ascending. Once on the landing, he saw the
bodies of four men and a woman slumped dead against the walls with bullet
wounds in their chest and arms. Next to one of them was a shotgun with spent
shells strewn about.

He motioned Pete to come up. “Looks like this was
the last stand for these folks. Must have been a shootout with those dudes in
the parking lot,” he said, pointing to the crudely cut slots in the plywood
windows which indicated use as rifle ports. “Check the bodies for any weapons,
then let’s get the hell out of here.”

Travis grabbed the 12 gauge Remington shotgun, three
slugs, and an ax that was clutched in the hands of the dead woman, then they
made their down the steps towards the kitchen. “We better refill our bottles in
the sink. Never know when we may hit another place with fresh water,” said Pete.
They each chugged down a quart of cool water and topped off their bottles. Pete
quickly rinsed out two large, discarded syrup jugs that were on the floor and
filled them. 

With temporarily distended stomachs, they made their
way towards the back window. Travis went through first while Pete handed him
his gear and the water. They darted towards a dumpster, scanning the parking
lot and surrounding desert just in time to see Katy and Evelyn sidling up
around the back of the hotel. She filled him in on the radio transmission, then
they slunk back the way they came, past the bushes, and stopped at an
overturned bus searching for LB.

Time and distance are our friends now,
Travis
thought.
Move fast and keep in straight lines when possible. Gapping bursts,
breathe for a minute, keep moving.
His mind flashed back to the lectures he
gave his students during evasion training. Only then, the number and direction
of the enemy was known and air evac was on the way.

The sputter of a truck’s engine drew their attention
to the middle of the parking lot where LB was revving up a battered, green
pickup. Travis flashed his headlamp twice and LB swung over to their location.
They hopped in the extended cab with Travis riding shotgun.

“Heard we’re going to a ranch for some fresh steak.
You know the way?” Travis said tucking the ax down below. LB nodded. Travis put
his hand on LB’s shoulder, “Wait a second, did anyone see that?” he said
staring through the driver’s window past LB. “I thought there was movement
beyond those trees on the far side of the hotel.”

“Let’s not wait to find out,” said LB.

“What if it’s someone who’s hurt?” Katy said. “Do
you really want to leave them stranded here?”

While they spoke several figures started moving out
of the shadows in the distance. Their disheveled appearance and swaying walk
resembled that of the ranger. “Get a move on it, pronto!” said Travis.

As they sped out of the parking lot toward Route 66,
they saw Jim jump out from the boulders near the highway’s edge and run toward
the truck.

“Should we save his sorry ass,” LB said.

“May as well, even a fool can still be of use,”
replied Travis. They paused along the road and LB told Jim to get in back. The
man slung his pack in the rear bed and slithered over the side, laying below
the rim while the truck peeled off on the blacktop. After a quarter mile, they
made a right turn where the sign to Waverly Ranch was located.

The winding dirt road was unobstructed. The moon was
in full view and illuminated the desert landscape an eerie blue-green. It was
bright enough to read a book under and you could see kangaroo rats foraging in
the nearby sage flats.

As they crested the top of the road, they could see
a single story ranch house in the distance next to a tack barn. One of the ranch’s
front windows had a faint light emanating from around a drawn shade. The kind
of soft warm glow cast by a kerosene lantern. Miles beyond, situated on a
mountaintop, was the repeater tower next to a small structure.

With each curve in the road, the dust from the
truck’s wheels turned the night air into a barnyard odor of ground up manure
and decaying hay, from years of running cattle. “I don’t see any horses, cows,
or even a dog,” said Travis. The house wasn’t very big but had a wrap-around
porch made of weathered, knotty-pine.  He could see the back of an old truck
and a faded yellow tractor around the rear. A few feet away were an upright, steel
water tank on stilts, a large propane tank, and the tack barn beyond that.

Travis motioned to LB to let him out two hundred
yards before the house, alongside a clump of shrubs. “You guys head up, Pete
and I are going to swing around and provide some cover, in case this isn’t what
it appears to be,” he said, handing Pete the shotgun.

LB drove on coming to an abrupt halt before the left
side of the weather-beaten house. Katy got out and walked up, pausing before
the front steps of the porch. Some low-lying bushes skirted around the house. The
white paint on the porch rails was faded and had flaked off in patches. To the
right of the front door was an old rocking chair with a whicker-seat that was frayed
in the center. A bunch of rusty, horse shoes were piled up on the left. The
ivory lace curtains over the windows were thin enough so Katy could make out a
dining room table and a tall book case inside.

“Hello, are you here? We heard your call honey, are
you OK? Can you tell us what’s wrong?” Katy said, in a shaky voice.

They all moved up the porch steps reluctantly.
“Sweetie, can you tell me if you’re alright?”

The front door creaked open and the sooty face of a
young girl with blond hair emerged, backlit by the interior light.