First Wave (The Travis Combs Post-Apocalypse Thrillers) by JT Sawyer Read Free Book Online Page B

now,
I gotta ask a few questions that will help us out. Do you know where this
tunnel leads?”
    Becka stared down the dark shaft before them. “I
only came in here a few times with my cousins,” she said choking out the words.
“I know if you follow this passage here, it eventually leads into another huge
cavern with a couple of routes coming out the other side. There’s no water or
quicksand, if that’s what you’re worried about but it’s a long walk.”
    “Is it a tunnel like this or one where you have to
crawl around on your elbows?”
    “It’s like this all the way but pretty snaky. I remember
one of them ends up at a sealed off mineshaft but I don’t know about the
others.”
    “Thanks Becka. I’m going to be relying on you for
more of your knowledge of the area as we go along, OK.” Travis took his hat off
and ran a forearm over his dusty face, then turned to the rest of the group
sprawled out on the rock floor. “Let’s get moving. I want everyone to buddy up
and be responsible for the person you’re teamed with. Keep an eye on them and
their location at all times. Evelyn, you’re up front with Pete. LB and I will
take the rear. For now, only the first, middle, and rear individuals will use
their headlamps to conserve batteries. So, grab a partner and saddle up. We are
going to weave through this so we can get back to where the sun shines.”
    The formerly relaxed air about Travis, from weeks on
the river, had been swept away. He clenched the strap of his pack and hoisted
it on his shoulder. “LB why don’t you stay in front of me.”
    “You got it amigo,” replied LB.
    As they walked along Travis looked over LB,
remembering that he was very adept physically on the trip and a solid guy you
could depend on. “Just so I know where we stand, tell me what kind of
experience you have with firearms, LB.”
    “Went through basic training in the Army in the mid-90s
and then was a helicopter pilot for four years, so I had a decent amount of
training with firearms, but it’s been a long time. Before that, I grew up
hunting with my dad. Mostly shotguns and deer rifles but I did some pistol
training with .45s too. My dad had been in WWII in both theaters. He loved the
old .45 Springfield.”
    “Your father had great taste. That pistol you have
there is a classic 1911 similar to the one he used. How many mags did the
rancher have?”
    “I’ve got two spare in my pocket and a box of fifty
rounds.”
    “Let’s make every round count because it sure as
hell does.”
    “Yep, my thoughts exactly.”
    They wove through the dark passageway illuminated in
sections by the dim glow of headlamps, while the faint compression of grit
below echoed off the narrow confines of the chalky walls.
    Jim was walking behind Becka. “Where are you from young
lady?”
    She turned slightly trying to answer while keeping
from knocking her head on the low ceiling. “I used to live in L.A. I only came
out to my grandpa’s ranch in the summer. My mom and I were trying to get out of
the city after my dad died and the place went wild,” she said trying to stay
composed.
    “Did your mom get the virus too?”
    “She went like the others did a few days ago at the
ranch house. My grandpa locked her in the barn and wouldn’t let me see her
towards the end,” her voice trembled, as she began wiping tears from her dusty
cheeks. “Then I heard a gunshot one morning and knew what my grandpa had done.”
    “What happened to the rest of your friends and
family in L.A.? Did you hear about anyone surviving the virus there once they
were infected?”
    Evelyn interrupted, “Jim, that’s enough. The poor
girl’s been through a world of pain and doesn’t need to rehash it all.” She
whispered to the girl, “Becka, sweetie, I’m so sorry about your family. Nobody
should have to go through something like that,” Evelyn said, sneering back at
Jim.
    Becka’s face bore a deep grimace and her breathing
was restrained, with forced