THE KILLER ANGEL: Book One "Hard Player" (THE KILLER ANGEL TRILOGY 1) (12 page)

Rolling and kneeling, yet unable to breath with the wind knocked out of me, I reached for two pistols as Ben crouched nearby in a protective posture, but all danger had passed...for the moment.

Brick had already put two other horsemen on the ground as they had wheeled to fight, kneeling behind a log for protection, firing his weapon with deadly, swift precision. The remaining riders took off at a hard gallop, departing to whence they had come, eventually disappearing over the bare hilltop, leaving their flag and three lifeless bodies as evidence of their foolishness.

“You okay Nicki?” Brick asked. In later discussions, he described how clearly he could see the sharp scar on my cheek, prominently revealed by my exertion.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” I relaxed and shrugged, as I retrieved my rifle. “That was crazy! What the hell? Half good guys, half bad guys? What next? Racist Barbies? Killer Smurfs? I’m so disappointed.”

Taking a deep, refreshing breath of air, I knelt down on the ground for a moment to look over Ben. “Hey my old man, are you okay? What a hero...you too, Brick. Thank you forever my friend.”

“Always, Nicki, always,” Brick answered calmly as we all stood to resume our journey. “Well, we’d better get past ‘Jacksonhole’, or whatever they call it.”

As we walked, Brick voiced his thoughts, “What is it with these guys? I feel so picked on. You’d think I personally scalped someone in their family. We need to get as much distance between us and those creeps
before nightfall, just in case they feel the need for another exceptional crotch-kicking.”

We both chuckled at Brick’s words. Humor had become our means of dealing with death, sadness and shock, and just about every feeling in between...and it worked. As a a team, our strength and skill as a fighting force was rapidly evolving - deliberate, effective, overpowering.

Not knowing what kind of numbers the militiamen might have in reserve, and not being interested in fighting the living, despite the bigotry and hatred, we moved at a quick pace onto and through Jacksonport, stopping only when it became necessary to find shelter for the night.

In another time and place, maybe pepper spray would have been sufficient to deal with the abduction, but this was not that time, and there was no 911 and no police to rush to your aid. Now, survivors like us had to be savior, judge, jury and executioner...if we wanted to live.

~

The next morning found us approaching a larger municipality, which included an “olde town” style port that was visible below from a still very serviceable green metal bridge. Similar to many small ports along the Pacific coast, it occupied the terminus of a slow moving, wide river.

There were plenty of boats of all types and sizes in
view, more or less properly docked, which made sense given the circumstances of the epidemic. In some cases, though, there were masts protruding from sunken craft under the water, and a few smaller boats in the street, evidence of occasional stormy weather. There the detritus would remain, probably forever.

Studying the port from the bridge, I suggested that the area appeared unoccupied, and that it might be worth a visit. Brick somberly concurred, and we descended nearby stairs at our usual quick, but alert pace.

Noting my friend’s uneasy demeanor, I asked, “What’s up Brick?”

His reply was thoughtful, “I know what you’re thinking, Nicki, but neither of us can sail, Ben hates fishy things, and I don’t love the stuff, as you know, and...well...I’m not exactly an Olympic swimmer; more of a water-wings type, actually. Maybe you heard, I’m half plains Indian.”

I felt myslf smiling wryly; humor was in order,
“Reeee...heeee...heeeeee... leeee....!!”
A perfectly timed Ace Ventura moment.

Brick looked at me with pleading eyes, “Have mercy Nicki...please!” Ben seemed to share Brick’s worry.

“Sure, sure, sure.” I laughed. “No worries there,” but Brick knew that this might not go as he preferred.

~

Chapter Nine

“Gus”

~

E
XPLORATION IN these times was always interesting, definitely dangerous, and sometimes fruitful. This particular investigation resulted in the latter, in the form of Sam Gustafson.

Sam Gustafson, or “Gus”, was the former night caretaker for the small, primarily recreational, port facilities that Brick and I were scouting.

We spotted each other from a distance, gauging any potential threat. The man sat on the edge of a large luxury powered craft, no doubt the former toy of someone very wealthy. He waved us over as he stood up, apparently armed only with a holstered sidearm. I noticed Brick out of the corner of my eye as he watched me focus my study on the man, waiting for me to act. As I relaxed, so did Brick.

“Hello seekers!” It was a cheery greeting from the man. “Name’s Gus... Where ya headed?” He was friendly, early sixties, tan, whiskered and had a western twang. He was missing an upper canine tooth, which
looked like a recent loss, the gum being red and his lip swollen.

“Hi Gus. I’m Nicki Redstone; this is Brick Charbonneau; and my pal, Ben. We’re on our way to Braidwood, Oregon, where my grandparents live.”

“Oregon, huh? Beautiful. Nice war dog you have there.” Gus observed. “Charbonneau? That sounds like a French Indian trapper name. Redstone, too, for that matter. What tribe?”

“Lakota.” Brick replied pleasantly. “Sioux.”

“Ah, my favorite. Always wanted to meet a genuine Sioux...And you?” Looking at me.

“English and French Canadian.” I smiled.

“Well, please to meet you both...welcome aboard!” Gus said, standing up and stepping forward to greet us. He was about five foot four, wiry thin, and moved with a small limp in his blue overalls, but he seemed otherwise sturdy and fit. He turned out to be an excellent host...and a great friend.

Gus presented a feast for the us that day, comprised of more than seafood, out of courtesy for his two non-fish eaters. He had access to plenty of propane, so the ship’s galley was functional, and the fresh halibut certainly pleased my palate. “I never thought I would ever have this again. Delicious!”

Even Brick and Ben were impressed, devouring the pan fried catch in spite of earlier negativity. Simple foods and quiet pleasures were cherished more than ever before, and this would have been exceptional even before the world’s end.

“Brick, some caviar?” I offered the dish, knowing full well that he intensely disliked even a hint of fish flavor.

“No thank you; I’m trying to cut back.” With a deadpan expression, Brick held up his hand to emphasize the negative. With only the slightest hint of mirth in his eyes, an expression that was always hilarious to me, and all the mores so, I think, because of his natural good looks and noble bearing. He never let vanity or pride get in the way of being a comedian, a trait that we both shared.

Conversation, rumors, stories and updates were on order for the evening... it was how news traveled in the new age. Eventually, Brick broached a small bit of curiosity that had been in his mind, “What happened to your tooth, Gus? It looks like new damage.”

“Oh, it is...I had a little dust-up with a couple of young militia boys two days ago. Caught ‘em sneaking on my boat to steal a propane tank. Heck, they only had to travel into town a little farther and they could have all they wanted. Lazy bums. I chased ‘em off with a twelve gauge shotgun blast in the air, but the recoil knocked out my own tooth. How stupid do ya have to be? I miss that tooth...It was my favorite.” Gus grinned, revealing the gap once again.

“I guess those boys will bring their pappy back, even though we are well north of what they claim as “theirs”. Some reckoning due in their eyes, I’m sure. Let ‘em come...” Gus ended firmly with a twinkle in his eye.

Brick and I went on to relate our own more deadly experience with the Klan.

“Oooooweee! That’s serious!” Gus exclaimed, slapping and shaking the small breakfast nook table. “I should have known who you are! I just figured it out. I heard stories about you from a few different travelers passing by here and a few things on the radio waves. Yep, I’m not kidding! All the way back to that terrible fight you had near Fort Puller, maybe even farther back. Killed a thousand runners, from what I hear.

“I don’t know that all of the wild tales I’ve heard about you are true, or even if all of them are actually about you for that matter. Heck, until now I really doubted the existence of Fort Puller. But gossip still spreads - not much else to talk about - and it is plain to see the stories about a fire-eating actress and her testicle-ripping Indian friend were actually real, as much as I thought it was all just wishful thinking. Throw in Ben and wow, it all comes home. I am triple-thrilled to meet you guys! Somebody better write a book! I want an autograph! Heahh!”

I was amused by the news. “Hah, how about that Brick? You have become famous!” Then to Gus, “What’s the story on these KKK militia guys? I never heard about them in California, mainly just stories from the old south.”

“Ah, well,” Gus explained. “That’s because they were nothing before. I never even knew their names, I always referred to them as ‘the militia’...or the
“Doones”
.

Brick and I were quizzical. “Dunes? As in sand dunes?”

Gus feigned surprised. “No,
Doones!”
He said, spelling it out. “You two never heard of the
‘Doones’?
as in
‘Lorna Doone’?
One of the greatest books ever written in the history of writing? Ah well, it’s old, written in archaic English, so I can understand. It’s an obscure reference. If you ever do read the book, you’ll see the comparison.”

Gus smiled and looked at me, “From the sound of it, Nicki, you killed
‘Carver Doone.’
The baddest one in the bunch, and I mean B-A-D. I guess he probably thought he was invincible. Those militia boys are never going to forget you - either of you - ever.”

Gus continued: “Before they became ‘The Fifth Militia’, they were just tough fringe people living in the woods in a couple of old buildings and part of a cave, from what I knew of them before the epidemic. They didn’t have much, very clannish, mostly uneducated, and were pretty rough people. Backwards in many ways, not only in their lifestyle, but also politics and religion. They always had some horses and cattle, but I don’t know how they made a living. Anyone who interacted with them reported being fearful. I guess they liked to be intimidating.

“Narrow-minded bullies, really. Kept to themselves, mostly. Lots of rumors about them over the years. Immigrants from Tennessee, supposedly. They didn’t seem to be impacted much by the plague, almost as if they were ready, and - of course - after the dead
overran the living, the ‘militia’ had access to everything. Guns, fine clothes, pretty much anything they wanted...except females. Those were in short supply, as you may have guessed.” He finished grimly

Further conversation led to the conclusion that Brick and I could not linger for too long with Gus, as much as we would have enjoyed the break. Late into the evening, Gus announced that he was leaving, too, and offered his services as a skipper for the next leg of our journey.

“Go by boat?” Brick threw out the comment with obvious unease. “Hmmm....not crazy about the idea here.”

Gus was emphatic, “Look, you could bi-pass a hell of a lot of trouble, plus be at a port nearest your folks in Braidwood in much less time. I have the perfect boat, and it won’t take much to get it ready. A little sailor training for you all, a little prep, then we’re on our way.”

“What do you all say?” Gus waited pensively.

We looked at Brick. “Okay...I’m in.” He puffed it out with a big breathe.

Given the probability of a reconnaissance and then full assault by the militia, Gus felt that we safely had only one full day to prepare and train for the next leg of our quest.

~

There was so much to do, and only one day in
which to accomplish everything. The basics of sailing, safety, what to do in various situations, assignment of responsibilities, load provisions, and on and on.

The sail boat was a beautiful and almost new twenty-eight foot luxury model, with a small galley, a little toilet-shower compartment, and designed to sleep two, but four could be accommodated with no trouble.

We decided to leave port that evening and anchor farther out in the bay, past the bridge, which turned out to be a prescient decision.

As the dim morning light cast long shadows on the steel bridge, numerous horsemen in light colored cloaks were clearly visible between the green girders. By that time, though, our little crew had already hoisted anchor and were fortunately well out of rifle range.

Even as we departed, I felt, somehow, that my destiny would cause our paths to cross again in the future, a thought that filled me with a mix of trepidation and eager anticipation, for the new and growing responsibility I felt as protector of the innocent and defenseless burned stronger with every victory.

This fresh self-awareness revealed itself to me each time that I prevailed over those who would dominate and hurt others. I was feeling the gift of unexpected and remarkable power. My passion for the just fight was growing and - like the Knights Templar of legend and fact - I resolved to use my might for good, and oppose those who lorded their strength upon others to satisfy their lust, greed and sadistic urges.

As I stared at the receding image of the riders, there
was no music in my heart; no victorious laughter on my lips. I was warm with determined energy, and I could feel my cheek scar burning a slash across my face. From the corner of my eye, I could see Brick observing the riders, then over to me. Yes, I know that he saw my scar glowing, and watched me challenge my foe with a small nod.

“It is an honor to stand by you, Nicki Redstone.” He said. “And I will be there when we return. For every fight and for every reckoning, I will be there.”

I could not stop the silent tears of gratitude and pride that flowed from my eyes, an emotional display that I disliked intensely, but a fearless fire burned within me, and to have Brick’s support was deeply moving.

Brick spoke softly, “I thank my ancestors for allowing me to adventure with such a warrior.” I could only smile at his words.