THE KILLER ANGEL: Book One "Hard Player" (THE KILLER ANGEL TRILOGY 1) (16 page)

The journey to Hedley would be terribly difficult. Not only were there the deadly obstacles to which we had almost become accustomed, but now our travels would place us into the harsh climates of the barren volcanic moonscape parkland of central Oregon, the frozen Shackleton’s Pass, and then the subsequent near desert plains of Eastern Oregon.

In its entirety, our path would take us through almost every kind of terrain conceivable, and into dangers not yet imagined. Nevertheless, neither Brick nor I, nor Ben, for that matter, would hesitate in our determination. In the face of great opposition, our quest might be detoured, but it would never end unfulfilled, not while Nicki Redstone still lived.

As my soul stirred with renewed vigor, we at once noticed the extended absence of Ben. A shadow at the door immediately caught our attention, human but not
human. One of Doctor Cott’s creatures. It opened it’s mouth to screech and dropped dead instantly - I had delivered a 9mm bullet into its skull. Then, in the distance, we could hear a few frightened, suffering yelps.
Ben’s in trouble!

Weapons immediately at ready, Brick and I charged outside the building to locate our faithful friend, only to find ourselves surrounded in close proximity by dozens of runners, a few of whom bore Doctor Cott’s small control boxes.

Instantly, like a light switch being flipped, the creatures turned to full, ravenous, insane runner mode, maniacally charging en masse towards the door. It was a deadly shock force that was too close to repel in place.

We jumped back inside and slammed the door, but it had no lock, only a doorknob. As Brick pushed his weight into the metal, I grabbed everything I could find to prop against the door. It would hold for only a few seconds. Then, pounding and tearing began on the roof.

Damn it! No way out!

I grabbed a grenade from my vest, showed it to Brick, pulled the pin, and tossed it at a back corner wall behind the boards. Seven seconds later it blew a very nice hole in the cinder blocks.

“Come on!” I yelled as I pulled the pin on my last grenade and tossed it towards the front door, which flooded with runners. We raced to the the back of the building.

The small bomb exploded, sending runner scrap
everywhere, as Brick and I charged through the newly created aperture in the rear wall.

We bolted out through that hole, unaware of a steep drop immediately outside. My vest caught on a low-hanging branch, which saved me from the fall; but Brick, on the other hand, went full-tilt into the green abyss, half rolling, half falling for what seemed forever.

There was screeching behind me. I turned quickly, simultaneously pulling two pistols from my vest and firing immediately, dropping two screaming runners into the verdant landscape below. The bodies piled up fast before me. Instinct, training and experience took charge of my actions. I was angry, angry at everything, and I turned that emotion onto my opponent.

I stood up, and easily unhooked myself from the life saving tree, and steadily, calmly blasted into the charging creatures; my fury turning me into a remorseless, precision killing machine.

Dying runners fell over the ledge in their momentum, as gore from their shattered heads splattered my vest. I emptied both guns and pulled out two others, and used them at close range with effective, terminal power.

I exhausted the magazines of those two pistols, and then pulled the last gun from my backside, but it proved unnecessary. Nothing within my vision moved. Nothing. The world was silent. I could smell the stench of the flesh eaters and the crisp odor of gun powder.

I was in calm control, with all senses sharp and aware. I noticed that my ears were ringing and that my
hearing was muffled, as though a pillow blocked all sound. It was strangely quiet. My breathing was heavy but normal. The scar near my left cheek burned as though singed, almost as if salt was in the wound. I felt the flush of exertion and the beads of sweat that soaked into my clothes

I picked up my pistols and reloaded. My rifle was gone; probably somewhere over the ledge, having been knocked from my hands in the near fall.

My hearing was returning to normal.

I called out to Brick...nothing. It was getting late.
Tough. Come and take me if you care to try
, I thought.

I unraveled the heavy duty, braided fishing line from the pouch in my vest, tied it to a tree, and began the tortuous and fatiguing process of sliding down the treacherously steep incline.

I must find Brick... and I must find Ben
...

My family and friends lived still; I could feel their presence and see their images. I would never waiver and never stop. I would find them all - they could could count on me. My heart beat with the drive of unyielding loyalty. I could feel the warmth of tears in my eyes and the sting on my cheek as I clenched my teeth. My determination was uncompromising, relentless, unflinching. I felt raw, burning power -
nothing and no one could stop me!

~

~

End of Book One

~

~ About the author ~

The author, writing under a pseudonym, is a former Army officer, career operations manager, business owner, adventurer, and father of three
.

Myles Stafford completed his undergraduate work at Oregon State University and earned his Master’s degree from the University of Southern California
.

Author email:

[email protected]

THE

KILLER ANGEL

Trilogy

~

THE KILLER ANGEL

Book One

“Hard Player”

THE KILLER ANGEL

Book Two

“Legend”

THE KILLER ANGEL

Book Three

“Journey “

by Myles Stafford

© 2013, Myles P. Stafford. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

© 2015, Myles P. Stafford. All rights reserved. First print edition. Revised.