by JT Sawyer
“You’ll see him again, my dear.”
“Not sure I want to see that one again.”
“Of course you say that now, but if he came walking up these steps, your eyes would say different. Besides, Pete’s with him. He’s in good hands.”
“What! Pete left with him?” she said, biting her lip. “That bastard. He gave me this speech the other day about how he was going to walk off into the wilds and didn’t need anyone’s help. Now Pete’s along for the trip?”
“Travis is the kinda fella who needs to keep people at a distance until he can be sure he, and they, won’t get hurt. He cares for you, Katy—that much was obvious to everyone who knew you two. That neither of you can admit that to yourselves is another story.”
Katy tied her hair back in a ponytail, giving Evelyn a sideways glance.
“Don’t give me that look. You know darn well what I’m talkin’ about. It seems like the world has fallen apart, but the challenge of men and women communicating their feelings hasn’t changed one bit,” Evelyn said, smiling and shaking her head.
LB walked through the front door and stepped onto the porch. “Mornin’, ladies.”
“Nothing good about it so far,” Katy said, getting up and walking down the street.
“Something I said?” asked LB.
“Nope, she just needs to be alone right now.”
“I heard a lot of movement in the hotel. Seems like everyone is gearing up for something big. Did I miss out on the invite to the fiesta?”
“Not sure. All I’ve heard since we got back is endless talk about Flagstaff. Something is brewing up north.”
****
“We’re fifteen minutes out from the LZ,” shouted Crawford above the hum of the rotors. “We’ll drop you about twelve miles southeast of Flagstaff near Lake Mary. From there, you can infil up the mesa into town. My scouts near Sedona said the city is still crawling with RAMs, but if you stick to the small canyons that skirt past the old Sherriff’s department, you should be able to avoid any entanglements. From there, it’s your show, Pete.”
Travis tucked radio buds into his ears, while Pete did the same. He did a radio check with Crawford and then turned off the device to conserve the batteries. Travis leaned forward. “Give us until tonight to get into place. Then we’ll radio in at 1900 and give you a sit-rep.”
He turned on the red light of his headlamp and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “Mind giving this to Katy when you get back? I’d appreciate it,” he said, handing it to Crawford.
“You boys watch your top-knots, and I’ll see you on the extract,” said Crawford, stowing the paper.
They did a final check of their weapons and glanced over each other’s pack straps, along with the AKs and tactical vests laden with magazines. Crawford had provided them with radios and suppressors for the Glocks, along with a few smoke grenades. The pilot leaned his right arm back, indicating the approach to the landing zone as both men readied to set down.
Travis turned his headlamp off and leaned towards Crawford. “You never did buy me a beer.”
“Next time around then, Sargent,” Crawford said as both men jumped onto the soft ground, disappearing quickly into the darkness of the ponderosa pine forest, while the dust from the ascending helo swirled around the tiny meadow.
The Longest Day: A Novella in the First Wave Series
By JT Sawyer
Copyright
Copyright 2014 by JT Sawyer
No part of this book may be transmitted in any form whether electronic, recording, mechanical, photocopying, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction and the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, incidents, or events is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Thank you for your interest in the First Wave Series. Stay tuned for forthcoming books in the post-apocalyptic genre. You can also get updates and survival tips by signing up for my email notices at [email protected] or by visiting http://www.jtsawyer.com
Kingman, Arizona
Chapter 1
Logan Mitchell was squatting over his solar-powered laptop while concealed amidst a tangle of manzanita bushes. The device pulled up an infrared presentation of the surrounding city. Resting on the ground beside him was his M4, while his second-in-command, Talia, was keeping an eye forward. Sunrise had just arrived over the mesas bordering the desert city of Kingman, and the sandstone cliffs were glowing red with the first rays of light.
“This is the third town in the past two weeks we’ve searched, and still no sign of Travis or Pearson. Where the hell can these guys be? Did they raft all the way down to Vegas for chrissakes?” Logan whispered.
“Trav always was the kinda guy to run a cowboy op—he’d fit right in here in Arizona,” Talia said, sweeping her rifle scope over the burnt-out buildings before them.
Travis had been a part of Logan’s covert unit for three years after leaving the army. As far as his friends and family were concerned, he had been in the Special Forces until the day of his discharge. The less they knew about the shadow world he operated in, the better. He and Talia, along with dozens of other highly skilled operators, had been running missions in the Middle East and Africa under Logan’s command. Their sole focus was to thwart the growing scourge of well-funded bioterrorist cells that had been rearing their heads in developing nations. The money trail had all led back to an organization with roots in Europe and the U.S., but little else could be discerned about their structure. On their last mission in Pakistan, Travis and Talia were the only two operators to survive the chaos of a brutal firefight. A week later, with the death of his fellow team members gnawing away at his conscience, Travis told Logan he was through and he left the unit. Though Logan had kept tabs on Travis from a distance during the ensuing months after his departure, he knew it was best to leave him to lick his wounds for a while. He would pull him back into the fold when the time was right. The pandemic had caused those plans to be moved up sooner than expected and Logan required Travis’s specialized skills once more, even though keeping him out of the loop, for the time being, had been necessary. If things had gone smoothly, he would have extracted Travis and Pearson himself, but the early days of the virus had decimated many of his teams and unraveled his logistical network.
Logan scanned the satellite imagery around the city’s perimeter, searching for any signs of life. “If Pearson’s handler hadn’t gone dark, we’d have the vaccine already and not be constantly stabbing in the dark at every desert town in the Southwest.”
“Tango at my twelve,” whispered Talia.
Logan looked up and saw a creature moving out from between two brick buildings a hundred yards away. He closed his laptop and slid it back into his rucksack, then picked up his rifle. The creature’s desiccated face emerged from behind the two-story building, its contorted lips flapping as it staggered down the moonlit parking lot. Torn, blood-soaked garments hung off its gangly figure, partially obscuring its blue-mottled skin. It paused every few feet to sniff at the air, its milky-white eyes darting amidst the abandoned cars in search of the human prey it sensed in the area.
The creature hobbled forward, emitting a guttural exhalation while its bony arms pawed at the air. It moved past a black van and onto the curb by the city park. Logan looked through the sights on his rifle’s scope and released a slow, controlled breath. The last thing he wanted to do was send a round downrange from his suppressed rifle, but if the creature closed in on his team’s position, he would have no choice. Besides Talia, the four other men on his team were similarly concealed in the bushes alongside him. He could see more creatures coming out from between the buildings, trudging along the parking area behind the first zombie.
“ETA to helo extract is eleven minutes.” He heard the voice of the pilot in his earpiece. We’re not going to maintain our position here for even three more minutes if those RAMs home i
n on us, he thought. Logan wondered how a small town like Kingman could even have so many creatures left in it, considering it only had around twenty-eight thousand people before the virus. Now the only residents were several thousand undead that lurked around the clusters of abandoned buildings near the city square.
Logan’s team had been systematically sweeping the low desert towns of western Arizona for several weeks. This was another one they could check off their list, as there appeared to be no signs of the two men they were searching for. You’re the ghost I hoped you’d be, Travis, but you could make this just a little easier for me. We’re running out of time.
Prior to this mission, he had informed the president that the arrival of the second wave was supposed to be sometime in late winter or early spring—if the predictions were accurate. He was one of the few people who spoke with the president on a regular basis, as his efforts in the war on bioterrorism prior to the viral outbreak had provided him with unique intel on how to combat the enemy. If he had only been able to locate Pearson’s handler, they wouldn’t have to be burning up such precious time in a geographic scavenger hunt. Most of the other researchers who had worked on the virus were accounted for, but Pearson was a critical piece of the puzzle.
The creatures were moving in unison now as the lead zombie stopped and gave out a loud snort. It was only thirty yards away and kept huffing and sniffing the crisp air, then glancing ahead towards the cluster of bushes.
Logan’s western base of operations was headquartered in Montrose, Colorado, and he was used to the RAMs moving slower near that mountain town. Here in the desert, he had to remind his team that the creatures bore no resemblance to the sluggish zombies at higher elevations. Logan had already lost one member of his team the day before, when the man was jumped by a zombie after descending a stairwell in the hospital. One bite on the man’s ear was all it took, and then infection set in by the next day, which was a lot faster than past cases Logan could recall.
He had heard all the scientific postulations on how the virus was supposed to spread and the timeline once you were infected, but something had changed in recent weeks. Their lack of success in finding the remaining scientist was gnawing away at him. He kept these details, and his own doubts, hidden behind a disciplined, steely exterior.
“Tangos at my three o’clock,” said the voice on his comms. It was Chad this time, a lithe operator who was the team’s training officer. He was twenty yards to Logan’s left, keeping tabs on the courtyard that was about to turn into the landing zone.
“How many?” Logan said.
“Looks like about three dozen.”
Dammit, he thought. No way we’ll get everyone on that helo without someone getting chomped.
“Prairie Falcon, do you copy?” he said into his mic. “Meet us at the secondary extraction point. I repeat. We are heading to the secondary extraction point.”
“Copy that,” said the pilot’s voice on the other end. “ETA four minutes.”
Logan pulled two smoke grenades off his vest and pulled the pins, tossing one straight ahead and another to his right, then he whispered into the mic to his team, “In ten seconds, move to the secondary LZ. Talia and I will provide cover fire.” The open desert behind their location led to a series of sports fields, and afforded the next best place to land.
The smoke billowed out of the canisters, filling the park and nearby street with a mist of silver-blue that was illuminated by the sun which hung low over the courtyard. The low drone of rotor wash was emanating from behind the buildings to their right as the four operators sprung into a low squat and began trotting along the line of bushes.
Logan was watching his men retreat when he heard two suppressed rounds coming from Talia’s rifle. Next to him, Talia was the best shooter in the group, having been a high-level operative with the Mossad until world events barred her from going home. The other warriors were a mish-mash from counter-terrorism units within various alphabet agencies. All highly skilled warriors Logan had worked with in many parts of the globe and individuals he had organized from the remaining agencies after the virus struck. He had worked within joint special operations units for over a decade before gaining command of his own covert unit, and had a reputation for being a pit-bull once he was on the trail of someone that needed to be eliminated. He had the utter respect of the warriors working under him, as they knew he was the kind of person who could operate outside the law without being corrupted by his own power.
Another burst of muffled gunfire issued out as he squatted next to Talia and began firing. He took aim on a zombie ten yards away, spraying its head onto a park bench. “Let’s roll,” he said, tapping her on the shoulder. She stood up and ran behind him as they made their way through a dense trail of overgrown shrubs. The other operators were fifty yards ahead and he could see the Blackhawk landing a half mile away in a nearby baseball field.
The creatures were filing into the park, hobbling over the trail of woodchips and ornamental cacti. Their shrieks pierced the cool air. Logan and Talia were in a hard trot, weaving in and out of the tangled bushes, until they came upon the cusp of the playing field. Logan could see the other four team members running in the open for the helo.
As he and Talia sprinted out onto the field, Logan caught movement off to the right. A cluster of twenty zombies was ambling out from behind a storage unit. They were moving in unison, like a school of fish, but their progress was slow. He looked at the operators ahead and saw that they had enough distance to make it to the helo before the horde got close. He motioned for Talia to stop alongside a dugout. “Let’s wait one minute—I don’t want those RAMs spotting us because then we’re gonna get caught between them and the creatures behind us.” He turned over his shoulder and could see the other mass of undead staggering towards them, sixty yards away.
As Logan turned back to the helo, he saw a single creature bolting out ahead of the rest of the pack on the playing field. It was moving faster than any RAM he had seen before, bounding on all fours like a lion chasing a gazelle. The other operators were focused on the helo and unaware of the approaching creature. Logan raised his M4 and peered through the scope, preparing to take a shot when the creature sprung on the rear man, Chad. The operator went down tumbling in a ball as the zombie clawed and bit through his neck; the creature’s hands flailed wildly as the man’s face was quickly shredded. The other operators turned and opened fire, dispatching the beast. The rest of the horde was still thirty yards away. Once the operators saw their teammate had been nearly decapitated, they staggered aboard the helo.
“Goddammit, Chad!” said Logan.
“How did that fucking RAM move so fast?” said Talia.
They didn’t have time to interpret the scene. Logan nodded towards her. “We gotta go, now!” They sprinted away from the dugout to their left, towards a two-story referee booth. The other creatures behind them were bee-lining for their position. Logan and Talia double-stepped up the stairs to the weathered plank-board booth, which had a front bay opening out onto the playing field. He climbed over the lip of the wood structure and pulled himself up onto the roof, then extended a gloved hand to Talia.
The Blackhawk had just lifted off from the field and was swinging their way. Zombies were now pouring up the creaky wooden stairs of the referee booth. Talia and Logan opened fire, piling up bodies on the stairs, which created a temporary glut of movement. The helo was hovering overhead, its landing bar level with the roof. “Go,” yelled Logan as Talia slung her rifle over her chest and hopped on board. Logan let off another round into a creature climbing on the roof and then leapt into the helo cabin.
The Blackhawk peeled hard to the right and flew over the playing field, swirling a cloud of sand around the horde of zombies. Logan gripped an overhead handle as he stood, staring down at the mangled corpse of Chad below.
He looked back at the rest of his team, who were strung out on the benches beside him. Matt, a stout warrior with dark hair and a vertical scar on his cheek,
shouted over the noise of the rotors, “What happened back there? One second the RAMs are twenty meters off and the next thing I know, one of those fuckers blows through Chad from outta nowhere.”
“We saw it too,” replied Talia. “First there was the slow-moving pack and then that creature came sprinting past them.”
While the others spoke to each other, Logan turned back to the raw desert landscape below, glancing out over the mesas and sinewy canyons. The second wave isn’t supposed to hit for another twelve weeks. Travis, I sure hope your bones aren’t lying in some canyon right now—you’ve got something that may turn the tide for us.
Chapter 2
Red slivers of dusk were piercing the horizon as Travis peered through his binoculars at the faint outlines of seven men a hundred yards away. The bikers were concealed near some low boulders that hung out over the rim of a small canyon a few miles from downtown Flagstaff. He and Pete had spent most of the daylight hours observing the streets and any activity coming into town. Their trek in had revealed only a handful of undead roaming the woods in small clusters, and they had been able to steer clear of the slow-moving creatures. The biker presence was evident from the convoys arriving from the west and the concentration of armed guards around the main courtyard square that Travis had spied through his binoculars.
Glassing the buildings in the distance, he could discern rows of razor wire and cars piled four high around the main hotels in the center of downtown. He saw hundreds of armed men milling about the sidewalks and smashed-out storefronts. “Looks like they’ve got a possible command center in one of the buildings,” he said to Pete, who was busy shoving some jerky into his mouth.
