by JT Sawyer
“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.
Chapter 22
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 wi
sh 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.
Chapter 23
The last time Travis was in this area, was six years earlier to attend a firearms training school that specialized in high-risk, hostage recovery. He, and two of his fellow unit members, had flown into Phoenix and then hopped on a small passenger plane with one of the instructors, who had offered to show them the sights. The small airport was a regional training facility that provided extensive courses in celestial and land navigation, for civilian and military groups, along with students from the nearby aeronautical institute. If ever there was a good bet for pinpointing the cryptic coordinates left behind by Jim, it was at the Ernest Love airfield, thought Travis.
With Nora’s familiarity of the region, they made their way quickly on the mountain bikes along the desert trails that skirted around the isolated, northern edge of the city. They stuck to the fringe of wilderness bordering the suburbs, until they were on the cusp of the aviation field.
The four stopped at the fence line, bordering the runway, and scanned the buildings, flight tower, and entrance road. There was a faint odor of ammonia in the night air, but they couldn’t see any creatures moving around and figured the smell was emanating from the downtown regions of Chino and Prescott, where the undead were still clustered.
No planes were to be found on the ground or in the open hangars. There was a fuel truck parked near the hangar, and a few cars were strewn about the blacktop runway, their doors flung open like the occupants had raced to the planes. The flight tower jutted up, its wraparound windows illuminated under the faint crescent moon, while tumbleweeds rolled through the parking lot below.
“Looks like we missed the pre-flight party here,” Travis said.
“Why are stopping at this place? I thought were going for supplies near town?” asked Rachel.
“This’ll just be a quick detour. Small airports like these often have maps of the area, and other intel, that the general public is unaware of,” he said, hoping he didn’t have to go into any more detail than that. “Besides that lookout tower will be a good place to scan the surrounding region and see if we can make out any settlements that we should avoid.”
“Let’s make our way around to the right and cut across the runway, going from car to car, until we get to the terminal building next to the tower. Remember to put y
our trays in an upright position and fasten your seatbelts.” He made his way alongside the weeds choking the fence, with the women following in single-file.
At the edge of the parking lot, they moved two at a time, bounding towards each vehicle while the other pair provided overwatch. Travis could see that the steel entrance door to the terminal had its window busted out. After listening for any movement from around the two-story operations building, he ran in a low-squat to the entrance. He swung open the door and panned down the hallway with his rifle.
As he entered, Katy bolted up and took a position behind him, followed by Nora and Rachel. The hallway had tinted windows on the left and four doors on the right, ending in a staircase opposite his position. Travis threw open the first door and peered inside. It was a lounge with overturned couches, a fridge, and cabinets lining the walls.
The other two rooms after that were offices, but the last room contained large tables with rulers, compasses, and protractors, along with orderly rows of cabinets with narrow drawers. “You three sweep the upstairs. I’m going to take a look around in here,” he said.
As the women crept to the second level, Travis walked into the room, putting his rifle on the table then flicked on his headlamp, and proceeded pulling out drawers to study the map names. The fourth drawer down revealed maps from Colorado with UTM coordinates close to what Jim had left behind. The numbers were seared in his mind, but he pulled out the piece of laminated paper and compared it to the maps he was sifting through, flipping past the Navajo Reservation, past the Four-Corners region, and the small towns in southwest Colorado. His mind was racing as he thumbed through the voluminous stack of topographic maps, until he paused near Durango, Colorado. He yanked a map out from the pile and glided it over to the table. He scanned the UTM grid lines on the sides, running his index finger down and across, his eyes racing over the contour lines and geographic formations.
