THE KILLER ANGEL: Book One "Hard Player" (THE KILLER ANGEL TRILOGY 1) (11 page)

Four of the brutes went down in the blast, and the other two were cut down in an instant with our rifle fire.

We moved in immediately, eyeing the RV and the four men knocked down by the grenade. Two were dead. Two were incapacitated, cursing and wailing on the ground - Mouse-dick and the skateboarder.

“Shut up.” Said Brick as Ben and I moved to the RV, rifle up and ready. The side door was open. It was empty. I returned to the campfire; the two boys whimpering and squealing.

No conversation was necessary. Both prisoners were incapacitated, their legs badly damaged, with bleeding nicks all over their upper bodies. I observed Brick as he studied the nearby chained-up runner, then he looked at me.

I nodded. Again, no words were necessary; we
understood each other.

The naked runner had been chained in such a way that the leash could be hauled tight to its tree, or given a run of about fifteen feet. Some horrifying sport for these animals. I shortened the leash on the screaming monster, then we dragged the two filthy hoods through the dirt to within a few feet of the runner and tied each of them by their necks to trees on their own special leashes, not without a great deal of pleading, begging, cursing and threatening.

“Remember that older couple you killed this morning? They were friends of ours. Good friends. Like family. It’s your turn now.” Brick’s grim words sent the two curs into a squealing panic, which only heightened the frenzy of the chained-up runner. “Welcome to hell.”

Brick loosened the runner’s leash, and it immediately went after the skateboarder, who kicked and begged for help, as the other cretin could only cry and watch. It would only be a matter of time.

We departed immediately, and left Satan to exact God’s revenge. We delayed our journey long enough to wrap and bury the bodies of Abe and Mary in a single shallow grave, side by side.

I was forced into so many sad and terrible situations that were not possible to imagine in my earlier life. I longed for the happiness and sweet simplicity of that time. Brick and I both felt demoralizing grief for days, and this episode would haunt our dreams forever.

Chapter Eight

“The Fifth”

~

E
MPTY PLAYGROUNDS. Abandoned zoos; ballfields; amusement parks; derailed trains; broken planes. The list was endless. All were reminders of a past that was gone forever.

I could feel myself evolving, becoming a darker version of my former self. I resisted the change, determined to keep as much of the old Nicki Redstone that my family loved and cherished; the comedian in me who could break up dinner with perfect timing and humor. My twin sister, Scottie, and I always played well off of each other, much to everyone’s amusement.
We are a fun family
, I often recalled, I
must not lose myself
. But it would not be so easy.

I was on a quest, and that quest required the stern ability to be a fighter, an executioner, and a survivor... always, always on edge, with a tight tripwire that could leap into action from a sound sleep - always planning, always prepared. In this mindset, it was difficult to hold onto a personality from an easier, more comfortable
time. Nevertheless, I reminded myself that I was a Redstone and, hopefully one day, a Kellogg by marriage. I would never allow a tough life to force me to give up my heritage. Never.

~

Because of the warnings of old Abe, Brick and I decided to bi-pass Sacramento and stick to back roads and small towns. Passing rivers, villages, and orchards, we eventually came to an old abandoned barricade, probably put up by a nearby municipality. We had seen similar barriers before, and it had the usual script of warnings and instructions.

“Road block, I guess.”
I said with in my deepest voice, with a slow mid-west accent.

“Starman
? You’re doing
Starman
now? That goes way back.” My powerful friend said smoothly with a smile.

“Of course! You’re no source of entertainment, Brick, so I’m carrying the load for the two of us. I have an expansive repertoire, so hang on to your diaper,
Kicking Bird.”
I chirped with a clicking, sweet accent.

“Jesus,
Dances With Wolves
, too. Wow.” And we laughed, finally breaking days of deep depression with back and forth impressions from various films and television shows, now all forever in the past.

Always remembering their immense value, I proposed a distant water tower for the night’s layover, as it was ideally situated for a perfect view of what lay
ahead and, of course, it afforded excellent protection for the night. We easily broke the gate lock and then hoisted Ben to the first level, thirty feet up.

Having eaten, comfortably situated ourselves and serviced our gear, we relaxed after dark, and soon noticed a luminescence above the trees in the distance. Brick and I climbed up much higher and sat on a landing with our feet dangling over the edge.

The elevated vantage point revealed an astonishing sight: full blown city lights. Occasionally, in our travels we had encountered road signs powered by solar cells, and those were marvelously bright wonders in this age of technological austerity. But this...an entire city?

“Wow...I did not expect that. Amazing!” I exclaimed.

“It is indeed beautiful,” noted Brick. “I never realized how comforting city lights are. Maybe the most obvious sign of civilization. Traffic signals; neon signs; billboards; I miss them all.”

“Yeah...me too.” I sighed. “Hydro-electric maybe? Surely no nuclear facility would have been left running. The glow must attract attention from many miles around. Hmmmm... maybe this mystery is one to skip. What do you think, Brick? What do we need there, even if it is properly civilized?”

“Oh yeah, I agree,” acknowledged Brick. “We don’t need the delay or the possible trouble. There must be all kinds of people - and things - attracted by those lights, circling the town day and night. I don’t see us passing through without a fight. The place could also just be a
ghost town, beckoning to passers-by, but with little to offer... except for air conditioning, hot showers, working microwaves, DVD players, video games, and....”

I laughed; Brick can be so funny. “Okay, okay, I get it chief
‘I live off the land’
Charbonneau. If you want to go in, then we go in, damn the torpedoes, weapons of mass destruction, and maybe vampires.”

Brick: “Only kidding. I agree with you, Nicki. Let’s skip it. Just dreaming a bit. Still, what a sight, though, eh? We may never see anything like it again.”

There was silence, then Brick added, “I would fight a horde of flesh-nibblers for a cheeseburger right now.”

I chuckled, “You just don’t give up...”

We mused over the lighted town for a long time, as Ben kept doleful, yet protective eyes on us from below.

~

The sun revealed itself at dawn with an orange horizon and waves of long, thin wispy clouds. In a world without electricity, one tends to live by the sun.

It was difficult to disengage from Ben in the morning, so warm and cozy. I was loathe to move.

“Comment ça se va, mon ami?”
Brick asked, noting my stillness.

“Ça va pa.”
I replied. “I dreamed of home - Kip, my family; being young and carefree, with silly problems and the adventures of a normal life ahead. I
don’t ever want to forget; I must not lose who I was - never - even though who I am today keeps me alive.”

“Que sera sera.”
I added with no hint of humor.

After a quick snack, we marched off, filled with the spirit of confident determination. And why not? We had overcome challenges and perils only dreamed of before humanity became an endangered species.

It took longer than planned to circle that small city. The lights did indeed attract both the living and the dead, but not to the extent we had expected. There were a few small roving patrols of hunters whose sole purpose appeared to be to eliminate runners, but Brick and I chose to avoid them, which was more of a gut reaction, rather than for any specific reason.

Clearly, someone had organized an operation in the town, but observations and rumors from occasional interaction with other travelers raised enough concern such that we did not feel at ease until we were miles past the place.

Ultimately, we decided to make a beeline for the coast and travel north from there. We had been hearing recurring stories of areas that were nearly impassable along the interstate leading to Oregon, for one reason or another, so the coast provided an acceptable alternative. This revised path was clearly out of our way, but the road seemed correct and appealing, and offered interesting possibilities.

It took almost ten days to travel the roughly 160 miles to the coast, which was not bad, all thing considered. Each day required stops, starts and detours.
If an opportunity presented itself for provisioning, a judgment had to be made regarding value versus delay.

Every sleep stop was made early, giving time to find a good position, an escape plan, a backup position, and a rendezvous location should we be separated in the dark. We had learned our survival lessons well and never, ever skipped our established protocols. We tried to have a thoroughly understood “Plan B” for every possibility, whether in camp or on the trail.

Once in place, we would clean and repack our gear, oil and check our weapons, eat, and then plan out the next day’s course of travel. Multiple repetitions of fighting drills and procedures would follow, then relaxation and sleep. The nightly routine was comforting - and it kept us alive. Far too often, we encountered the somber remains of others who failed to maintain a life totally centered on 24/7 survival.

~

Upon reaching the ocean, we headed due north, passing through little villages that were comprised mostly of deteriorating residences and shops. A pleasant life in another time, now these were nothing more than damaged relics and ghost towns that were quickly being reclaimed by nature.

A few days up, after passing one of the many, often still attractive coastal hamlets along our way, Brick noticed movement in the distance behind us, at least two miles away, downhill on a very long, sparsely
wooded slope.

I looked through my rifle scope. “Sniffers, I think. Half a dozen, maybe. Looks like they have our scent. We better move on and look for good cover. They will likely attract others.”

We increased our pace, although there was no protective structure of any kind visible anywhere. This would be an open area defense wherein we still had the advantage of good visibility and long range fire. Managing six runners would not be difficult, but we nevertheless prepared for worse.

As we moved quickly north on the two lane winding road, a large, deforested hill to our right unexpectedly revealed horsemen at the top.

“Cavalry? Here?” Observed Brick. “Five riders, maybe six. They’re checking us out.”

The riders were indeed observing us, but it was quickly apparent that also they had their eyes on the sniffers.

Before long, the horsemen took up an easy gait in our general direction. The natural equine noises and movement soon sparked the sniffers madness, and - even in the distance - the resulting screeching was chilling as the starving creatures were excited with unquenchable blood lust.

Far from stopping or dismounting, having closed to within fifty yards or so of our position, the horsemen turned sharply away and charged off at a trot, then a gallop, towards the runners, drawing long sabers in anticipation of combat; a flag streamed from a pole
attached to the saddle of one rider.

For some reason, the power and thrill of the attack reminded me of my oldest sister, Tara, with thick, flaming red hair flowing behind her, like a Valkyrie descending with thunder from Valhalla. Indeed, even in the distance, I could clearly hear the pounding of those horses’ hooves.

Within minutes the riders pitched into the runners; swords sweeping down in efficient execution. It was all over in seconds.

Witnessing the charge, I remember thinking:
That was glorious; out of another time...fantastic!

Brick, however, was noticeably uneasy, a reaction that immediately dampened my enthusiasm. Something was not right. “Nicki, did you notice the flag?”

“Yes, red circle with a white cross. Some Christian group?”

“Christian is debatable.” Brick shook his head. “You are familiar with the Ku Klux Klan?” I was. “That’s their symbol, and they are generally unfriendly to the red man. Strange to see them in California, and I did not see them in our tour book. Just what we need.”

The riders, having paused for discussion, began retracing their steps towards us, two by two. We feigned relaxation, but prepared ourselves for action.

When close enough, one of the riders, not unpleasantly, held his hand up, looked directly at me, and loudly announced, “Greetings from the Fifth American Mounted Militia. This is Militia land. State your business here.”

The troop had spread out into a loose semi-circle around us, the KKK flag boldly displayed next to the obvious leader. They all had various types of facial hair, old fashioned, more or less. They wore large, light colored cloaks, expensive looking range gear and Stetson hats, obviously intent on presenting an old-style, western image.

Brick replied pleasantly, “We’re just passing through, headed to Oregon. We thank you for your assistance.”

The speaker completely ignored Brick’s courteous response, and did not take his eyes off of me. “You and your dog may join us. The Indian has one hour to get through Jacksonport, the next village. Let’s go.” He turned, nodded to one of his men, and in a flash they wheeled their horses to depart, when suddenly one of the riders nearest to me, a massive fellow with an enormous bushy black beard and long-gauntleted gloves, grabbed me by my pack and effortlessly hoisted me onto his saddle in front of him, and took off at speed. He clearly had no idea what he was up against.

Ben, my ever protective and giant German Shepard was on the man’s back in an instant, clearing the ten foot leap in a single bound. Simultaneously and without a sound, I dropped my rifle, pulled a six inch dagger from my left wrist and plunged it overhead deep into the man’s eye socket, killing him instantly. As he fell from the saddle, his great form, pulled Ben and me to the ground with him, cushioning us both from the crashing hardness below.