THE KILLER ANGEL: Book One "Hard Player" (THE KILLER ANGEL TRILOGY 1) (7 page)

As we moved to the back of the enormous store in dim light, there was a sudden, crashing noise. Ben growled, but before anyone could react, he was dragged up in a net, a snarling, raging mess. I whipped around and immediately found myself facing a shotgun. The man behind the gun was close and had obviously been waiting patiently for us.

I looked over to Brick and saw him on the ground holding his head, bleeding. Someone, a man, stood over him, holding a small bat.

Those were two nasty looking guys, eighteen or nineteen years old, but big, and high on something. One had amputated human fingers on a string around his neck.

Then, in a dark corner behind a counter, I noticed a woman strung out with rope, naked. Blood all around her.

The guy with the shotgun came up to me and pulled out plastic police cuffs, saying over his shoulder as he prepared to bind me, “Nice work Todd.” Todd grunted and threw out some vulgarities and racial epithets.

I tell you now that my adrenalin was raging, and that always caused me to shake. As my captor approached, I looked at Brick. He knew me well enough now to recognize that I was sizing the guy up in my own, unique style...preparing myself.

Wait for it my friend! I
thought.

The animal spoke to me, “Just relax little sister and no one gets hurt. Easy. Easy. That’s it...Hey, your woof woof will make nice snack later.”

I could clearly hear my father’s words:
“Never, ever surrender to a ruthless enemy.” And these dudes were about a ruthless as they get
.

As soon as the man’s hand was on me, I twisted swiftly and forcefully to one side, and with all of my wiry might slammed my heel into his knee, snapping it backwards. I ripped out a pistol, whipped around and put a bullet in Todd’s eye, killing him instantly.

I turned back around to find the big guy next to me wailing on the ground, his shotgun out of reach, his lower leg bent upwards at a bizarre, broken angle.

“Hey, girl, I’m sorry! Just kidding, you know? Drugs do crazy things. I’m a nice guy! I never hurt nobody, I swear! I’m just a farmer. Todd did the bad stuff!” So much sincere whimpering.

Yeah, right
. I fired one round and put him down.

I simultaneously pulled out a second pistol and slowly backed up to the wall behind me, as I quickly surveyed everything - floor, ceiling, doors, cabinets - for any additional threats. I had foolishly walked into this one - never again.

Once I satisfied myself that there had been only two opponents, I looked over at my friend, and spoke, “I will never leave anyone like them around to prey on others.,.I swear.” I spoke firmly and without remorse as I studied Brick’s reaction. He nodded in understanding
and agreement.

I then cut Ben down and moved to look over Brick’s injury. “Maybe a concussion; we’ll have to park somewhere for at least a day.”

Sadly, the woman in the back of the store was dead. She was beautiful and calm in death. We untied her, then wrapped her in a blanket, moved her to a back room and placed her head on a pillow. It was the best that we could do. To this day, I sometimes ponder how she came to be there; where her family was and what kind of person she might have been. All questions that would remain forever unanswered; only one of many ghosts to haunt my unhappy dreams.

We dragged the two dead predators out into the street for scavengers to desecrate as they desired.

I always keep myself alert to hideouts, escape paths and secure places to spend a night. As a result, I had noticed an armored bank car half a block away, and, remembering the bank truck back in LA, decided to move there for the rest of the day. It made for tight quarters, and the engine would not even produce a click, but it was secure and provided good visibility.

I had not sufficiently replenished my medical kit after leaving the abbey, so, placing Brick into the relative comfort of the armored car, I took Ben and searched nearby buildings for anything useful. There wasn’t much, but I returned with a few aspirins that would ease Brick’s discomfort.

Ice was obviously out of the question, and I could find no chemical cold packs anywhere, so cool water on
a cloth would have to suffice. I did find some spam and heat tabs in a hardware store, and then cooked us all a hot meal, tea included.

“I better count my money...” Brick joked. The truck was loaded with stacks of it. The bills made useful fire tinder, but that was the extent of its value in the post-apocalypse universe.

Night had fallen.

Ben watched something through a gun port, pointed ears aimed in alert. I moved next to him, and through the thick glass, in the distant darkness, I could see dozens of runners converging on the carcasses of the two dead hoods.
Wow... So many!
They hunkered down quietly for the rest of the night, but later, I could hear that disgusting, croaking noise as the gorged creatures crouched like giant, shadowy toads along walls and down side streets.

Before falling into my usual fitful sleep, I pondered having killed - executed, really - the two predators that day, and considered how little it bothered me.

I could remember a time when seeing a killing in some murder-mystery movie would make me flinch and queasy. I would jump at the sound of a gun or a spooky scream. I smiled at the reminiscence. So laughable when compared to the nerve-tingling screams of a runner chasing blood and flesh. What a happy time it was before the end.

Later, while working in Phoenix, as the runner virus epidemic became a real world threat, I witnessed a killing first hand in an otherwise very ordinary diner,
when one man shot another crazed patron-turned-runner who tore into the neck of a hapless waitress. It took me days to get over that shocking, terrifying event.

Then came my turn, in the hall of my hotel. The end of everything happened so fast. Runners were showing up everywhere, and at unbelievable speed. Television news, while it still existed, first sensationalized the transition from human to runner, as if it needed exploitation. That entertainment approach ended when it became apparent that this was not going away, and that every person on earth was in immediate danger. Conversation and debate ended; how to survive then became the only topic of discussion.

A security guard friend of mine at the convention gave me a 9mm Glock with three full magazines, and a quick review of how to use it. If not for him, I would probably be dead now.
He’s probably dead, too
, I sometimes thought, rather grimly.

The first time I used the gun was to kill another hotel guest who jumped me in the hallway. I was totally shocked by the assault, but not frozen to inaction.

The black crud and stink on that guy was intensely horrific as he viciously attempted to bite into my face. I fired that gun into his chest at close range, and kept firing until the gun was empty, disabling, but not killing the homicidal man. It took a little longer for me to learn the techniques for stopping and killing a runner, but learn I did, with precise effect and without hesitation.

I stayed in my room for a week after that, mostly in the closet, eating from the room’s mini-bar and drinking
from a full bathtub of water. I was just too afraid to leave, even after the power was out - no lights, no phone, no television - nothing.

I stayed quietly in that room, cringing in horror and shock at having shot the man, and further terrified at the sounds of death and fighting in the hallways and street.

The killing of that first person-turned-runner required days to move into the background of my conscience. Over time, I learned what it took for my mind to recover from shock. Some events ceased to disturb me entirely, while others that hit me with significant or novel shock would sometimes take a few days to leave the forefront of my thoughts. Until they did, I pressed on, but those traumatic moments would weigh down my psyche, my mood, and to a degree, my energy. But I always recovered - always.

One of my worst early shocks, however, was the first time that I felt compelled to shoot a “normal” person, a guy who was beating to death some little old man with a bag of groceries on the street. It was ultimately what brought me out of the seclusion of that hotel room sanctuary.

As clearly as if it happened only yesterday, I remember watching from my balcony window as a large, leather wearing sadist took the elderly man’s goods, then - clearly for the pleasure of it - began beating, kicking and stomping on the defenseless target, over and over. The sight and sounds of that brutality caused my blood to boil over until the war god of courage and action that coursed through my veins
finally took control, causing me to yell out in full-throated rage. Yes, I remember.

I grabbed my pistol - even then, always loaded, always ready - and in a white hot fury I charged down the stairs, not giving a second’s thought to who or what might my stand in my way.

Within seconds I confronted the abuser. I commanded him to stop. He laughed at my challenge and immediately moved towards me with a crowbar, laughing and cursing.

As a few useless witnesses watched from windows above, I put the man down calmly with one bullet. Calm I was, but soon adrenalin raged through body, producing an uncontrollable trembling. It was not fear, I knew, it was body preparing for and demanding action.

I now see that critical moment as my rebirth, as a new beginning. I saw the glimmer of my future as Nicki Redstone, and I began to understand
.

The death of that old man caused me great and unforgettable anguish, even though he was a stranger to me. I half carried, half dragged the him to my room, where he died that night, being able to talk only briefly. But it was that little bit of soft conversation that made me weep in sorrow, feeling him slowly die in my arms was more than my heart could bear. I never before even imagined such an event in my life.

And what about the murderous criminal that I killed only a short while earlier? For him, I felt nothing...nothing at all. I solemnly vowed - then and there - that I would never allow any such predator to
run free if I could help it. Yes... I was beginning to feel the future - my destiny.

Kip...where are you? Tu me manque, mon amour
...

I dropped onto my bed, exhausted, and stared at the ceiling, the days’ events rolling through my thoughts, my body tensing with each explosive memory.
What was happening to the world? What was happening to me?

Slowly and finally,
I
unclenched my fists, relaxed my jaw, took a deep breath, and softly eased into the all too temporary respite of an uneasy repose.

~

The next morning, the runners from the previous night were nowhere in evidence. Brick seemed as good as new and wanted to move on, since Dufton really had nothing to offer. We would continue in a northwesterly direction as a comfortable, increasingly bonded team. Brick would travel north with me to my grandparents home, then in the spring, he could head east to his family.

In spite of the obvious dangers, we decided to try the river again, since it afforded many excellent advantages. On the water, more gear could be transported, all tied down and waterproofed. We procured good quality flotation vests for all three of us, along with a new, larger canoe.

Gliding down the river was generally smooth going, but as it widened, slowed and angled to the
southwest, it became clear that we would have to walk again. We had made good time over those three days on the water, always anchoring off-shore at night.

On our final canoe-borne morning, we all took a dip in the river’s cleansing coolness, had breakfast bars with hot instant coffee, then we became pedestrian trekkers once again. I felt the energy in my legs and was glad to be again on foot.

The map showed the city of Hawksville to be a fews hours due northwest.
Didn’t they nuke Hawksville?
I pondered.

The municipality of Hawksville had reportedly experienced the first “runner” virus outbreak in the United States. Supposedly, the bug had been contained there, as was initially reported to the public, but that report was pure fiction, however hopeful.

On a distant and high approach to the city from the hilly southeast, I could plainly see the mighty and unmistakeable damage that nothing engineered by man or nature has yet surpassed. “Oh my God, they really did nuke this place...” It was all I could say.

Sure enough. The evidence was unmistakable. Twisted metal; fried trees and homes; everything blasted from a town center air burst. It was a terrible sight; but then, what wasn’t these days.

“It should be safe to enter, if you want to.” Brick remarked without any emphasis. “The radiation would have subsided to a reasonably safe level by now, at least enough for a quick look-see.” Brick seemed to know everything, reminding me of my father.

“I’ll pass on that, if you don’t mind.” I replied. “Let’s take the beltway around.” It proved to be a long road, with the blackened city darkening our moods, a somber reminder of horrors yet to come.

The beltway was fairly clear, so on the long slopes we hopped on a car or truck and coasted downhill. It was nice to move so fast. Occasionally, we even manually started a stick shift vehicle and were able to sputter along until some blockage or broken road hindered forward movement. I remember thinking, rather wistfully,
Ah, I miss my car - heat, air conditioning, and quiet, fast travel
. One of the luxuries that I longed for the most.

~

Chapter Six

“Camp Puller”

~

A
WEEK later, Brick and I were still making our way along the interstate. Detouring to hamlets for supplies, always with great caution.

With dusk two hours away, we chose the town of Pinebluff for our layover, and settled in for a night on the rooftop of a three story brick feed and farm supply building. There was a clear view in all directions, with a sturdy metal door securing access. Water collection barrels that some previous occupant had set up proved to be clean enough for cooking. A few planter pots contained a couple of small, ripe watermelons.
Not too shabby
.