by JT Sawyer
A few minutes later, Pete strode up and sat on a slab of sandstone next to him. “Morning bro. Ooh, looks like you could use more beauty sleep.”
Travis let out a faint chuckle, “Nah, then I’d exceed your good looks and you’d have some competition with the ladies left in this world.”
“There’s one lady here you don’t have to worry about winning over,” Pete said, glancing back at the line shack.
“No thanks amigo. You forget I had a fulltime blanket companion for years…’for better or worse,’ and all that.”
“Blanket companion…is that an Army term? Geez, dude, it sounds like you were so sweet on your wife.”
“It used to be different in the beginning, before I was gone all the time. Sara was a good woman, but with each deployment, the gulf between us kept expanding. I mean, hell, one week you’re next to your fellow unit buddies popping bad guys in some third world shithole, and the next week your home cuttin’ the lawn and changing diapers, while trying to forget the images of some dude’s head you splattered on a cave wall. It’s not like we ever had a lot of deep dinner conversations.”
“Is that why you pulled up stakes and left?” Pete said. “I’ve never heard the whole story.”
“It was mutually agreed upon. I think we had both come to the end of the line with what we expected from one another in our marriage. I thought moving away from Bragg and getting Sara back to her parents in Denver would change things, but it just further stripped our relationship bare. For a while, I thought of walking the straight and narrow but working a regular job…having a house and minivan…just isn’t me, man,” he said, standing up and stretching. “I’d much rather live out of a rucksack and have the open road as my home but, damn, I don’t want to miss out on my son’s life. Which is why, after this trip, I was going to look into working for the Denver Police Department or SWAT, or something not too mind-numbing back home. It’s not like I have a lot of marketable skills, outside of being a shooting instructor or bodyguard.”
“And now you’re gonna tell me that you have no interest in that lovely lady in the line shack?”
“She’s a spirited woman that’s for sure,” he paused, looking up at the canopy of trees. “I’m sure she wants to get home as much as I do though.”
Evelyn had emerged from the shack and was ambling over with a slight limp. “Mornin’ boys. What are you two doing up so early?”
“Oh, Pete was just sharing some sage advice on how to achieve domestic bliss.”
Evelyn laughed and put her hands on her hips. “My husband, God rest his soul, used to say that there are only three words couples need to know for a long-lasting marriage- I was wrong.”
“I would agree with that, as long as it’s not me saying those three words,” Travis responded back with a grin. “As I’ve come to learn, in a marriage there’s only one person who’s right all the time and the other one’s the husband.”
Evelyn smacked his arm and smirked. Travis stood up and looked up at the rim of the canyon, aglow in sunlight. “Let’s get everyone up and fed. Then we will discuss our game plan,” he said.
An hour later, LB was cooking up chili and a pot of coffee as the group gathered on benches under the embrace of a massive sycamore tree. It looked like a scene that had probably unfolded at the place a thousand times before, with cowboys having an early breakfast before hitting the trail.
After taking a sip of coffee, Travis spoke, “In talking with Nora about her family’s land and walking around the area, it seems like we have a pretty good thing going here compared to what she’s told me about other regions. Remoteness, freshwater springs, a wealth of wild game, and edible plants, along with Nora’s cattle roaming above the canyon, makes this a place to consider staying in for a while.”
Evelyn interjected, “How long do you envision that being Travis? I mean, shouldn’t we at least head into Prescott or some town nearby and see if anything has changed? Maybe there are some makeshift communities out there.”
Travis shot an irritated glance at Jim and then continued, “With those endearing gangs of thugs and the undead in the outlying areas, we would do best to keep a low-profile until we can solidify our small unit tactics and survival training. Then we can venture near town and see what other bands of people are still left.”
He finished the coffee and placed the cup on a weathered fencepost beside him. “Let’s plan on hunkering down here for a few weeks, doing some training and getting fat off free-range cows. I’d also like each of you to think about what other skills or hands-on experience you have that can be shared with the group,” he said pacing back and forth. “Small units depend on everyone being cross-trained, so if you know how to sew, mend a broken arm, fix damaged gear, or have experience hunting…whatever it is, I’d like you to start contributing your knowledge each night around dinner, so the rest of us can learn and strengthen the tribe. In the meantime, I want go over how to harden the entrance to our little canyon here and talk about perimeter security. Finish your chow, grab some water, and we’ll walk the immediate area and arrange some trailguards.”
The rest of the morning was spent on placing unobtrusive mantraps along the trails leading towards the line shack. Travis had learned a simple but effective setup from an old Sgt. Major who had honed his fieldcraft in Vietnam. These were not the ubiquitous snares found in the movies, that yanked a person by the foot into the air, but involved finger-diameter saplings, four feet in length, that were carved into points at both ends. One end was driven into the ground at an angle so the other end came up to groin level. Six to eight of these improvised punji sticks would be placed in a cluster along the trail, under a heavy overhang of branches, for the unsuspecting intruder to walk into. The Apaches used the same methods for impaling deer on mountain trails in northern Mexico. It was a trailguard that took mere minutes to make but had a high probability of success, compared with more elaborate trap systems.
The afternoon focused on small unit tactics, patrolling, and room clearings using the line shack and barn. They drilled repeatedly, first in pairs, then two evenly divided teams, and then as an entire group. “You fight like you train so train the way you are going to fight,” was the old mantra Travis had learned. They practiced until they were moving in a fluid fashion, using hand signals, but Travis knew that this was mere training. He wondered what some members of the group would do, particularly Jim, when it came time to actually pull a trigger under combat conditions.
That evening, they sat outside the tack barn in the fading sunlight, as Nora took the lead, sharing what she knew about butchering animals, tanning hides, and making jerky. Katy followed up by doing a short demonstration on ankle sprains and splinting methods. As the monotonous hoot of a long-eared owl filled the darkening canyon walls, they briefly went over the night’s sentry duty and then retreated to the line shack for sleep.
Chapter 17
The next morning at breakfast, Travis motioned Jim to come over. “Nora, Katy, and I are going up on the rim to procure a cow and bring back meat. I want you to grab some water and be ready to head out with us in five minutes. There are some things we still need to talk about.”
Jim reluctantly shrugged his shoulders and headed back to the line shack to get his gear. Travis knew that the less time he gave the man to think about instructions the better. Nora and Katy were already walking over, with rifles slung African style off their shoulders.
A few minutes later, Jim returned. Nora led them behind the line shack and into the narrow confines of the slot canyon. About two hundred yards in was a makeshift ladder made of old fence posts lashed together with barbed wire remnants, typical of the cowboy ingenuity found in regions with limited resources. Various sections of ladder were in place that led from one rock ledge to another until they inched up to the top of the canyon and scrambled on some toe holds pecked in the sandstone rim. The vertical oasis of trees in the canyon below disappeared and the land in front of them opened back into a vast expanse of endless sli
ckrock, peppered with occasional clumps of scraggly junipers. About a half mile to the south was a cluster of black cows gathered around a pool of water that had formed in a small rock depression.
“All of the cows are ours,” said Nora. “That waterhole is where they tend to gather in the morning. Because these cows are left to wander all year, they’re a little more wary than barnyard animals. They’re used to the sight of people, though, and we’ll be able to get in relatively close. Getting a shot won’t be an issue as long as we don’t spook ‘em with loud noise or excessive movement.”
Travis stopped as Jim moved slightly behind him. Katy glanced back at the two men. “Nora, why don’t you and I head on. The guys need to talk a little,” she said.
The two women began a stroll towards the cattle, while the men walked slowly outside of earshot. “So, Jim...with all this mayhem and training, we have some catching up to do. Let’s see…I think you were telling me how you were one of the brilliant minds pulling the curtain on the world and had some magic potion in your pack that could set things straight.”
“I’ve been watching you Travis, and I can see that you have our best interests in mind and are not the lumbering oaf I mistook you for on the river trip. However, nothing can be done with the vaccine in my pack unless I have access to a lab, and that is not going to happen until I can be put in touch with my handler,” he said.
“What makes you think he’s alive and your lab isn’t a shitpile of ashes and rubble?”
“There were others in the research program that didn’t see eye-to-eye with the corporate entity running the show. My handler was one of those. He and his team had certain protocols in place, unknown even to me, that would ensure that the virus wouldn’t emerge into a second or third wave.”
“If that’s so, then why do they need you?” Travis said, as they followed the contours of the tawny slickrock.
“There were six of us involved in the research, in case something went wrong or happened to one individual, to ensure that the project would continue. My specialty was neurophysiology, not virology, so we were spread out across the scientific disciplines. In any research project, there are always random elements that can’t be accounted for so you have contingency plans in place. Surely, you understand that. My job was to identify the neuorological receptors for the virus and to track the changes within the cortex as it spread. The mutations we’ve encountered at the beach, and the ranch, were not something I ever witnessed.
“I thought you said your research was a government run operation. Now you’re saying it was a corporate entity that pulled the plug on humanity?”
“Government, military, corporation…it’s all the same beast cloaked in lingo to soothe the bureaucrats signing off on the funding. The umbrella corporation that funded our government division was owned, in part, by the Secretary of Biodefense, but few people knew that.”
Travis looked down at the pebbled ground and shot a glance up towards the women, who were a hundred yards ahead, cresting a slight ridge and dropping out of sight. The two men plodded along, their breathing the only sound between them, as Travis tried to untangle the information Jim had provided as well as what he knew about bioterrorism from past training courses with the DOD. They were nearing the ridge when they saw the women scrambling up, wide-eyed, towards them with rifles in hand.
“Rabid dogs!” Katy said, in a frenzied breath. “Coming this way…dozens of them…get ready.…”
Chapter 18
Travis bolted a few feet up to the ridge and saw a column of around thirty, emaciated dogs heading towards them. Most of them were half-naked, with ulcerated sores on their face and legs. The two lead animals in front were spewing out grey foam with each bound on the slickrock. The leader, a massive bear-like figure, was missing an ear while raw bone shone through the left side of his skull.
“They must have been headed towards the cows and got wind of us,” panted Nora.
“Everyone drop down beside me,” Travis yelled, unslinging his AK. “Get your safety off! Remember…front sight, squeeze, repeat. Aim for the shoulders or hips to disable them.” Travis’s voice was drowning out amidst the approaching cacophony of growls and snarls, as the gangly mob of canids streamed forth up the ridge.
Katy and Nora were kneeling on Travis’s left while Jim was on his right. “Now!” he said, as they began firing. The dog’s loped up the ridge in an undulating wave as the shooters delivered short, controlled bursts into the oncoming horde. Travis dumped four rounds into the lead dog’s shoulders but it still kept trying to claw its way up to the ridge, despite the massive wounds.
Dropping the alpha didn’t seem to matter as the animals were driven by a rabies-induced madness that kept them pouring forth, like a wildfire that consumes a hillside. Nora and Katy took whatever targets were presented, finding themselves firing their weapons into the mass of decrepit figures. The dogs moved more like a swarming school of sharks than independent animals. The reload drills the women had practiced, paid off, as each of them commenced replacing magazines and providing support fire when the other was empty.
The slickrock beneath them flowed red amidst a tangled mess of limbs, flying chunks of fur, and whelping carcasses. With the lead members dead or disabled, the rest of the pack continued in a single column up the ridge and then, five of them, peeled to the right of Travis. He turned to fire and noticed Jim was gone. He paused for a second, and then dropped two of the dogs, but the others kept running over the ridgeline. Jim was about fifty feet away, sprinting towards a juniper tree. As the remaining dogs neared the man, Jim clumsily did a half turn and sprayed off several rounds from his pistol. Travis heard the familiar hum of bullets whiz by his head, followed by a ricochet on the rocks behind him as Jim continued firing.
“Sonofabitch,” he snarled, dispatching another dog headed towards Jim. Just as Travis rose, a giant, bulldog mix leapt over the ridgeline at his face. He swung his head to the left, slamming the butt of the AK into the animal’s skull sending it to the ground unfazed, and then emptied the remains of his magazine into the ulcerated beast.
He turned back to the ridgeline beside the two women and continued firing. We’re going to have kill every fucking dog. There’s no other way out of this unless we do, he thought. Katy dropped her AK on the ground. “I’m out of ammo,” she said, as she pulled a pistol from her belt and continued firing. The eight remaining dogs stopped, as if an invisible barrier had emerged from the rocks beneath them. With open jowls, they paced in half-circles around the group.
Nora dropped one more beast before lowering her empty AK and withdrawing her pistol. The remaining dogs strode back and forth around the fallen bodies looking up at their potential prey and then down at the mangled carcasses in their path. The biggest dog of the bunch, a Rottweiler, finally turned and walked away, while the others hesitated for a moment and then followed the new alpha.
The three kept their weapons in ready, watching the dogs retreat in the opposite direction. “Cover me,” Travis said, as he bolted off to his right. With beads of sweat pouring from his forehead, he sprinted down the slope towards Jim, while dropping a fresh magazine into the AK. He could hear Jim’s tormented shrieks coming from the other side of a large juniper in the distance. As he raced over, Travis could see two dogs ripping at Jim’s legs as the man desperately clung to the branches of the tree, attempting to climb up the gnarled branch, while the animals yanked at the muscles of his bloody calves.
Approaching within thirty feet, Travis took careful aim and shot the closest animal in the hind legs and belly. Once it fell, the other dog clinging to Jim paused, as two bullets struck the animal in the ribs. Travis closed the distance and finished each animal with rounds to the skull.
Jim had released his grip on the tree branch and slunk to the ground beside the carcasses. His pants were shredded in long ribbons and a boot was missing. The sight of raw, exposed bone was showing where the flesh had been stripped bare on his left leg. Bright red blood was spurting fro
m higher up on his inner thigh landing on a patch of sand next to him. Travis pushed aside one of the dogs and grabbed the trauma kit from his pocket. Kneeling next to Jim, he placed a large wad of gauze on the man’s femoral artery and applied pressure. Jim was pale and shaking, his inhalations coming in loud gulps. His swollen fingers gripped Travis’s arm.
“Hold still, we’ll take you to the shack and get you patched up,” Travis said.
“You’re a good leader Travis, but your lying skills are very poor,” said Jim. “Let me bleed out…you know you’ll feel better,” he said choking out the words.
“Shut up. You’re a fool without a soul, but you can still help save what’s left of this world.”
Jim looked beyond Travis’s shoulder as Nora and Katy were trotting up to them. “You want to see your son again Travis…you want to begin this world anew with him…then take my pack and…” he gasped, “take my pack and get to the coordinates at the secondary site. The coordinates are,” his voice fading and eyelids fluttering.
“Jim, stay with me, you bastard. You’re not getting off this easy,” he said, holding down the gauze with one hand while tapping the man’s pale cheeks with the other.
Jim’s chest rose slightly, with a wheeze, and he squeezed Travis’s arm while reaching down into his pants pocket. “The location is here,” he gasped for air and thrust a thumb-sized cylindrical container up. The silver tube had a sealed metal cap on one end. He urged Travis to grab it and then stared into his eyes. “My handler…he said I’d be…he said…I’d be safe with….you,” Jim choked in air and then exhaled, his body slumping into the sand as his final breath issued out.
Nora and Katy squatted down beside the two men. Travis was peeling Jim’s boney grip off his arm while they stared at the skinny man’s ashen face. He removed his hand from the soaked gauze and wiped it back and forth on the coarse, slickrock surface, trying to forget what he had heard and staring off to the east.
