by JT Sawyer
As the women crept to the second level, Travis walked into the room, put his rifle on the table, then flicked on his headlamp and proceeded to pull 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 gridlines on the sides, running his index finger down and across, his eyes racing over the contour lines and geographic formations.
His breathing quickened as he pinpointed the coordinates and found the location. It was a non-descript spot with a black square, indicating a cabin or residence nestled between two small hills at an elevation of 8200 feet. Not far from the coordinates were parallel rows of dashed lines, representing a jeep trail that came in from the two-lane highway. The town of Durango was twelve miles to the northeast. Aspen and Douglas fir country, with lots of snow for the next six months, he thought. He folded up the map and shoved it into his BDU pocket.
As he went to reach for his rifle, he heard a woman’s raspy voice behind him. “Ah, ah….stay where you are. Turn your headlamp off and then turn around. Don’t even think of making a move or your head gets split in two.” He turned slowly, keeping his hands in the air.
The woman before him was dressed in black, with brown hair in a long ponytail. She held an XD pistol inches from his face. “We’ve been following you for a while…you and your three lady friends. Do you often vacation in the Prescott area, or just passing through sightseeing?” she said, placing her hands up to a handheld radio, talking to a man on the other end. “I’ve got him. The others are upstairs. Get them and tell ’em we have their friend. I don’t want any shooting.”
Travis heard the sound of other people coming down the hallway and saw several figures move towards the stairs. Then he riveted his attention back on the woman, whose brown eyes he could barely make out in the faint glow of moonlight stabbing in through the windows.
“You’re good, lady. You’re very good to have gotten that close to me. The only problem is, you’re too close,” he said, swiftly sidestepping to his left while sweeping his right hand down on her pistol and twisting it with force towards the woman. Her wrist and trigger finger folded and she shrieked in pain, recoiling and falling down on one knee. With his hand on the pistol, he turned it upon her as she stood in a half-squat, holding her injured hand.
“A few days and that finger will heal. If you live that long.” He heard the sound of footsteps clanking down the stairs. He yanked the woman up and shoved her towards the back of the room, grabbing her hair and standing behind her with the pistol pointed at her head.
Two men dressed in camouflage fatigues, carrying assorted assault rifles, entered the map room, while one stayed out in the hallway with Katy, Nora, and Rachel. One of them looked to be in his twenties and bore a resemblance to the woman. The second man was older, in his early sixties, but had a face like driftwood and icy blue eyes.
Travis addressed him. “Looks like we each have something the other wants, so here’s how this is going to play out. You’re going to release my friends. After that, we’ll have a nice chit-chat, and I may let this little huntress go.” He clenched the woman’s hair slightly and bared his teeth. “And so you don’t feel a need to banter back and forth, let me tell you that this wouldn’t be my first time having a hostage’s head splattered on the wall.”
The older man stepped forward. “That’s a helluva way to say thanks to someone who saved your lives back in the meadow.”
Travis eased his grip on the woman and tilted his head, studying the man. “You punched the holes in those goons back there, eh?”
“They were going for the two girls, and it looked like you had your hands full. Though I’d sure like to know what you did to the rest of those fellows who were strewn around the firepit all morning.” The man motioned to his men to lower their weapons and release the women in the hall.
Travis had his hand on the woman’s ponytail and tightened his grip. “Not so fast, sister. You want to tell me what the hell you were doing sneakin’ up on me, and why you’re tracking us?”
The man stood with his arms crossed and moved up towards Travis, to where they could see each other’s eyes better. “Name’s Crawford. I’m the leader of the Verde Valley Alliance out of Jerome. My scouts, north of here, heard chatter about a growing threat of bikers from Flagstaff that were creepin’ down in these parts. I came to assess the situation myself, and that’s when we got on your trail. We were gathering intel on that group in the meadow when we came across the four of you.”
Hmm, a leader who goes out on the front lines. I like this guy already. Travis stared hard into his eyes and released his clench on the woman’s hair. She turned abruptly, shrugging her head and giving Travis a sideways glance, then continued rubbing her hand.
Katy, Rachel, and Nora came into the room with their rifles slung and stood by Travis. He pulled up a tipped-over chair and motioned to the older man to do the same. “My friends and I have been living in the wilds, hunting and scavenging for close to two months. We figured it was time to see what had come of the world and gather up some supplies. This is the first large city we’ve been in since things went to hell.”
The older man sat down and ran a hand over his gray-peppered beard. “Looks like you’ve been doin’ OK for yourselves. Not an easy thing, wresting a living from nature’s pantry,” he said, leaning forward. “So, you don’t know about what happened in Phoenix and the battles that have unfolded around the Southwest?”
“We’ve had a few skirmishes with thugs here and there” —he glanced back at the sisters—“but we’ve spent most of our time in the backcountry, far from established roads and towns.”
“What happened in Phoenix?” said Rachel.
The rest of his group moved up and sat down as Crawford continued, “After the blood virus hit, casualties exceeded what the big cities could handle and, with the National Guard numbers diminishing, Mexican drug cartels swept up from the south. They were thicker than generals in the air force,” he said. “A well-equipped army—having strengthened their numbers with convicts freed from the state penitentiary. The hordes of undead in the large cities forced the cartels to concentrate their efforts on smaller towns and, with nothing to standing in their way, they decimated everything from Phoenix to Flagstaff over the next month,” he said, rocking back in his chair. “They are headquartered up in Flagstaff now. It’s believed that the higher elevations make it more difficult for the virus to gain a foothold, but no one knows for sure if that’s science or BS.”
“How is it you made it through?” asked Katy.
“We’re from around here—from the town of Jerome—and know the canyons and mesas better than our enemies,” replied the woman.
“This is my wife Clara,” said Crawford, pointing to his group, “and my sons Clint and Jake.” Then he took over and continued, “When things went to hell, we retreated up to the mountainside town of Jerome, which provides a defensible, high-elevation position on three sides, miles of old mining tunnels to hide in if necessary, and an excellent lookout over the Verde Valley below,” he said, repositioning a tan boonie-hat over his head. “There are a few hundred of us there and in outlying strongholds. We’ve spent the last few weeks slowly eradicating the RAMs in the nearby towns, but there’s only so much ammo. So far, we’ve managed to hold our own against the cartel, but they are a growing menace. Just in the past two weeks, they’ve shown an increase in military strategy.”
Travis crossed his fingers together and pondered what the man had said for a moment. “What the hell’s a RAM?”
“’RAMs are reanim
ated mutants,” said Clara. “That’s what the folks out of Phoenix were calling ’em.”
“So, this brings me back to my original question,” said Travis. “Why were you following us?”
“My scouts intercepted two bikers about a week ago,” Crawford said. “When they were done interrogating them, they found they were searching for a man about your age and build who traveled with a small group that used guerilla warfare tactics. We figured you might be that guy, especially after I witnessed your performance in the meadow. Unfortunately, after I sniped those fellas, we had to take off north to attend to other business, and it took us a few days to catch up with you.”
The shadows cast by the moonlight in the room were lengthening. Travis removed a water bottle out of his pack and took a long swig. “Well, I’m sure glad we had this little talk, but we should be shoving on now.”
“I don’t suppose you wanna tell me why those bikers are pursuin’ you?”
“To be honest, I’m not sure myself. We came across a piece of paper on a goon in the meadow that had my face on it. Looks like someone has taken an interest in my handiwork, maybe some bikers we dispatched earlier in the game.”
Crawford wrinkled his forehead and rubbed his chin. “Hmm, yeah, maybe,” he said, looking down at the ground in disbelief. Just then a voice came over the man’s radio. “Bulldog One, do you copy?”
“This is Bulldog One, go ahead,” he said, standing up and walking towards the door.
“We have two significant masses of RAMs moving towards your position within a mile radius. Looks like a few hundred coming out of the west end of Chino.”
“ETA?”
“Twenty minutes tops before they’re in the area. Sooner if they pinpoint you guys.”
Crawford paused. “Hold your current position. We are exiting the building in two minutes and will rendezvous with you. Get the helos in here. We’ve also got four friendlies in tow.”
“You guys have helos? How did you get those?” said Travis.
“What do you mean? We didn’t all revert back to the stone age and start livin’ in buckskins,” said Crawford. “Right now I’m sure you got a lot of questions, but we gotta roll.”
Travis studied him for a moment. The man handled himself with a quiet confidence and seemed like someone who was no stranger to combat operations.
“My best suggestion is to come with us,” Crawford said, grabbing his rifle. “The only way outta here is to the east, where our numbers are greater and the terrain our ally.”
Travis looked up at Katy, Nora, and Rachel, who were all nodding in agreement but waiting to hear a decision. “I could go for a change of scenery about now,” he said, grabbing his pack and weapon off the table.
Chapter 26
Squealing, rodent-like garbles could be heard in the distance as throngs of undead were moving in the street near the runway entrance, when Crawford and the group poured out of the building.
“How the hell did they find us?” Travis said.
“These things are smart and have heightened senses,” said Clara, who was in front of him, as they sprinted past the lookout tower and across the tarmac.
They ran past a dozen abandoned vehicles scattered around the runway until they arrived at a hole in the fence, near a cluster of manzanita bushes. One by one, they squirmed through the fence and bolted up a small embankment with more cover. Then Travis could hear the sound of three suppressed sniper rifles, and saw the men behind them, lying prone.
Crawford knelt down beside a slender man. “Where the hell are the helos? They should have been here by now.”
“Inbound in five minutes, sir,” said the man, firing another round into the head of a running mutant.
The undead had homed in on them after they emerged from the building and were now in a trot, within five hundred yards of the fence. Their screeching vocal sounds and ammonia-like odor permeated the night air.
“The rest of you spread out on this berm and wait for my command to start shooting. Travis, you come with me.” He and Travis ran parallel to the fence line for thirty yards. The older man dropped on one knee and opened his pack, taking out six grenades and handing three to Travis. “Next to me, I’m guessing you have some experience with these, so lob ’em at the vehicles on the runway. Let’s take some of these unholy bastards out and give the helos a beacon.”
“Copy that,” he said, pulling the pin out of the first grenade and hurling it under a blue Toyota pickup. As the creatures began swarming in, Crawford turned and yelled back at the group, “Fire!”
The Toyota went up in flames as twisted metal, limbs, and heads rained over the tarmac.
The three snipers had already dropped a dozen creatures with their rifles, which were equipped with nightscopes. Travis and Crawford picked out their targets and threw the remaining grenades, causing the runway to look like a series of miniscule volcanos. Undead remains were scattered in every direction, and Travis saw a hunk of burnt limb hanging on the fence with its flannel arm sleeve on fire. The creatures in the front half of the mass had been reduced or obliterated, but the crowd just swarmed over the carnage of remains and rushed towards the eight-foot-high fence.
Over Travis’s right shoulder, he could hear the hum of rotors as the two helos began circling in search of a landing zone. Crawford turned to him. “Go! Tell the others to get out of here. My snipers and I will cover your asses.”
Travis wasn’t used to being the first one departing from a firefight, and smirked in response. He shot off two more rounds into the head of a chubby undead figure climbing the fence and then bolted over to the others. He tapped them on the backs and motioned to a hilltop sixty yards away where the helos had landed. He did a quick reload of his AK as the women ran up the slight incline, peering at every bush and boulder along the way. The din of rifle fire and the fence rattling was all he could hear as the burgeoning mass of creatures climbed over like a ribbon of hungry ants. Once the women were secure at the helos, Travis scrambled back down the slope.
Crawford had run back over to the snipers, who had slung their rifles and were now hammering the creatures with their M4s. He patted the men on their backs. “Get the hell on that bird, now!” As they retreated, Travis and Crawford provided cover support. From the shadow of a nearby boulder, a gangly creature with an ulcerated nose hurtled itself onto the back of the last sniper. It quickly bit through his cervical region and flung him back. Crawford turned and dispatched the mutant, and saw his own man’s lifeless corpse coating the sand as bright red blood issued out from the carotid.
It was now down to double taps to the head, with the range down to forty feet. The slippery gravel slope of the berm provided some advantage, but there were just too many of the crazed beasts. The men began backing up, changing out mags and shooting into the crowd. “Crawford, you and your man get flying up that hill. I’ll buy you some time.”
“Don’t be too long; I’m buying beers tonight,” the older man said as he and the snipers sprinted up the hill. Katy and the others had their rifles back in action from the interior of the helo, dropping zombies along the fence line to Travis’s left. With a quick glance over his shoulder, he saw that Crawford and the other man were nearly at the helo. With sweat streaming down his cheeks, Travis emptied his rounds into three blue-mottled creatures bolting at him, then sprinted for the hill. As he ran, the sound of bodies splitting apart from rifle rounds coming from the helos could be heard behind him as each creature was dispatched within arm’s length.
Katy was hanging off the deck, waving him in with one arm as he ran up the rocky terrain and jumped into the helicopter while gunfire lit up the desert, strafing the hordes of undead racing up the hill in a frenzied lust.
The helos took off at the same time and swung hard to the right. The creatures abruptly stopped below them and shrieked while pawing at the air. The helos sped off, passing over several canyons and miles of untrammeled wilderness before making a beeline for Mingus Mountain, looming in the distance. T
ravis rested the butt of his still-smoking AK on the floor and planted his head against the back wall, taking a deep breath. Katy ran her hand over his face, brushing flecks of dirt away from his cheek as he stared down at the moonlit escarpment, which had returned to its former silence.
Chapter 27
“Enrique, la mujer esta aqui,” a stout man with a rifle shouted up from the room below in the Weatherford Hotel, in downtown Flagstaff. On the second floor dining room was the man’s boss, who stepped towards the railing and nodded. “Si, si,” he said, with disgust in his voice. Enrique’s ear had scarred over into a doughy edge since the meeting with Nikki, and he occasionally ran his finger over it, as if wondering when it would grow back and when the woman, la diabla and her ilk, would leave for good.
He mulled over his accomplishments of the last few weeks. The civilians in the small towns of Williams, Ashfork, and Paulden had been crushed, the scourge of undead being all that roamed there; the northern border of Flagstaff was lightly patrolled, but it backed up to the barren Painted Desert and trackless stretches of the Navajo Reservation, which posed no threat, that tribe being scattered in remote regions towards the Four Corners area.
The eastern recesses of the city were an irritant, with thousands of undead clamoring upon one another, trying to get through the blocks of razor wire and barricades of demolished cars that separated the downtown from the mutants. The creatures were too numerous to waste priceless ammunition on and too lethargic to be capable of getting beyond the barricades. Instead, Enrique’s men used the mutants for target practice, employing bricks they hurled off the roofs in their nightly drunken sprees. The stench of ammonia in the air and the high-pitched noises emanating beyond the barricade required Enrique to sleep with earplugs and the windows closed.
He thought there may be some truth to the news reports about elevation affecting the virus, as the majority of undead were sluggish, like in the classic dubbed zombie films he had seen when he was a kid living in Sinaloa, where the only other enjoyable distraction was kicking dogs around in the dusty alleys.
