First
Wave
Travis
Combs Thrillers
Volume
1
by JT
Sawyer
Genre:
Post-Apocalyptic Fiction, zombies
Publisher: JT
Sawyer
Number of pages:
192
Word Count:
57666
Cover Artist:
Melody Simmons
Book
Description:
Special Forces
veteran Travis Combs just wanted to forget his weary years of leading combat
missions while taking an extended rafting trip through the Grand Canyon.
As he and his
group complete a 22-day trip on the Colorado River, they find the world has
unraveled from a deadly pandemic.
Now, he has to
show his small band how to live off the land and cross the rugged Arizona
desert, while evading blood-drinking zombies, gangs of cartel bikers, and a
rogue government agency.
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Excerpt from First Wave
Prologue
August 26, Ten Days
before the Pandemic
Doctor Robert
James Pearson lowered the silver-rimmed glasses on his nose as he gazed at the
clear vial before him. His technicians in the research lab next to his office
had gone home for the day. The only noise came from the hallway outside, where
he could hear the comforting footfalls of security personnel doing their
evening sweeps in the high-security facility on the outskirts of Albuquerque,
New Mexico. He stroked his thin gray goatee while marveling at the precious
substance in the vial.
After
thirty-eight months of toil in his lab, his research for the Department of Biodefense
was complete. The viral load he and the other scientists had perfected in the
modified avian flu strain had passed the initial series of animal testing and
the antidote was ready to use, if necessary. They had painstakingly taken the
original 1918 virus and magnified its replication capabilities. This super virus dramatically increases the
onset of necrotizing bronchiolitis while instigating diffuse alveolar damage.
The subject will typically perish from internal hemorrhaging within twenty-four
hours of exposure, he had proudly stated in a recent briefing to his
funders.
The Biodefense
officials had assured him that his research in neurophysiology and virology was
critical to arriving at an antidote before terrorists could complete their own
strain of the new virus. Now, over three years later, he could wrap up this
voluminous project and resume his work at Stanford. Pearson was part of a six-man
group of researchers who conferred through daily videoconferences, comparing
research data. They were the brilliant minds behind the resulting antidote that
could potentially save millions of lives.
As he pondered
the accolades he would receive from his contemporaries in the scientific
community, the landline phone on his desk rang, jolting him back to the
present. Very few calls ever came in on this phone, and he picked up the receiver,
squinting his eyes and tensing his lower lip.
The trembling
voice on the other end was his colleague, Doctor Emory from Chicago. “Are you
alone?”
“Yes. It’s a
little too quiet in here, to be honest,” Pearson said. “Only the security
guards and maintenance staff are around at this hour.”
“There isn’t
much time. You need to leave now,” the other man said hurriedly. “Take your
notes, laptop, and the vaccine with you. Somehow, the virus has been unleashed
in Europe. Soon it will be on our doorstep.”
Pearson
interrupted his friend’s hurried exclamations. “What are you talking about? How
do you know?” said Pearson, clutching the phone and thrusting his shoulders
forward over the edge of the wooden desk.
“That new agency
we met with last week…and that woman…they came to my office looking for me a
few hours ago. They killed my assistants and took everything.” He paused, his
breath racing over the phone. “I escaped, but the others…they’re coming for us
all. Get out of there now. You have to disappear. Go to your fallback
location.”
“Wait, what…what
do you mean….why would they….” Pearson paused, and his eyebrows scrunched
together as he heard the sound of muffled gunfire coming from the hallway. His
eyes darted to the brown door leading into his small office. He tried to
dismiss the noise as a janitor’s cart tipping over, or another sound—anything
other than what he had heard. Then the rhythmic pattern of gunfire shuttered
through the hallway again as he heard people shriek and collapse to the floor.
Pearson’s face
looked frostbitten as his world constricted. He placed the phone down and
grabbed the vials of vaccine from the desk, along with his laptop, and thrust
them into a compact metallic briefcase. He could hear the password keypad being
activated for the exterior lab wall across from his office, and the sound of a
woman’s voice issuing commands. The familiar swishing sound of the first set of
air-locked lab doors opening followed next. With a white-knuckled grip on the
briefcase, he pried open his office door to see three armed men and a woman
with a black vest enter the lab. The first series of doors closed behind them.
Pearson swung
open the office door and bolted in the opposite direction, heading for the
stairs. His tan blazer fluttered like a cape as he ran down the stairs to the
emergency exit. He entered the security code, and the pressure-sealed door
opened to a dimly lit parking lot. After the door slammed, he stopped and
turned around, then activated the biohazard alarm for the building. He didn’t wait
to see if his actions were successful in sealing the intruders inside as he
sprinted for his black Volvo. As Pearson sped towards the security gate, he
could see the door ajar on the checkpoint booth. The security guard, a portly
man he had greeted each morning for years, was lying face down atop a blood-sprayed
console.
As he raced
away, he kept waiting for the roar of police sirens heading to the facility,
but there was only the expanse of the lonesome desert road enveloping his car.
On the seat beside him was the silver briefcase containing the vials of
vaccine.
His constant
furtive glances in the rearview mirror matched his racing thoughts. If the virus could be contained in Europe
then there might still be hope of preventing it from turning into a
catastrophic pandemic. But how long had it been? If quarantine was unsuccessful, then widespread fatalities would
commence within two weeks. He reflected on the recent meeting that Emory had
mentioned. That icy-eyed woman with the
neck scar said her employer would be overseeing vaccine distribution in the
event of a bio attack. How was she involved? What was she doing at the lab?
Twelve miles later, the remote two-lane
highway ended at a T-section as the last glimmer of sunlight streaked across
Pearson’s pale cheeks. The faint lights of vehicles driving on the interstate
could be seen in the distance. A hundred yards down the road, a green sign
indicated Albuquerque to the east and Flagstaff to the west. Reluctantly, he
edged towards the west entrance ramp. This would be the safest direction for
now, and perhaps offer a chance to salvage humanity’s future.
About the Author
JT Sawyer is the
pen name for the author who makes his living teaching survival courses for the
military special operations community, Department of Homeland Security, US
Marshals, FAA, and other federal agencies throughout the US.
He has over 25
years of experience testing long-term survival skills in the desert, mountains,
and forest.
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