THE KILLER ANGEL: Book One "Hard Player" (THE KILLER ANGEL TRILOGY 1) (9 page)

Jack took note of my observation. “We’ve learned a few things, one of them is to always stay armed. You never know when a runner situation can develop; it can
happen so fast, as you probably know.”

He continued to explain, “We have separated our community into fenced off blocks, generally keeping each block occupancy down to about twenty people, although there’s nothing strict about it.”

“When the mess hall serves food, we keep it to around twenty or so eating at a time. Same thing with entertainment. If something happens in one block and control is lost, then it stops at the gate. The gates aren’t locked, of course, just latched, since that has been enough to stop runners so far.”

“We have pretty much everything here in nearly unlimited supply. We have warehouses stacked to the ceiling; a large family compound, too, with schools, training areas, and so on. Almost like before.”

“Nicki, you can stay as long as you wish, but like so many others who pass through here, we know you probably have someplace to go. When you are ready, we can supply anything you need. Food, medicine, guns, ammo...even explosives, if you like. We’ll even teach you how to use anything you are unfamiliar with, although from the looks of things, you could probably teach us a thing or two, and for any knowledge you can share, we will be grateful.”

I had questions, but the discussion was interrupted by a soldier with two stripes. “Excuse me ma’am. Sir, you wanted me to remind you when your shift started.”

“Thanks Steve.” Captain Carter replied. “It’s my shift as a mess hall server.” I was surprised. Jack smiled. “We all share duties here; there is no caste
system. In the field we maintain strict combat chain of command, but here, we are all equals, other than for specific business that requires some level of authority. We adjust as we go. Adapting to the times... and it works. I’ll see you in two hours. Feel free to look around. Corporal Steve will take you to the doc, and remain nearby and available if you need him.” And with a wave, the young captain was off.

The corporal and I left the dining compound and, as we wandered the grounds, I noted the maintenance, “Everything is so clean and organized. This place is like new.”

The corporal replied, “It’s actually an older, abandoned Marine facility called “Camp Chesty Puller”, which we inherited after the world ended. The men call it “Camp Puller” for short - no disrespect intended. We moved in and the chain-of-command decided to keep things tight. Everyone does their part, and it works. Even Captain Carter. You know he’s in charge, right?”

I pondered that. “He seems so young.”

Corporal Steve replied, “Not nearly as young as he looks. My old sergeant major said that he remembered Captain Carter as a captain when
he
was a corporal, and he said the captain looked exactly the same! That would make him a very senior captain, I guess.

“We had a few more senior officers here, but they all left to find various loved ones. Many of our soldiers did the same thing. Everyone had and still has that option. Heck, most of the former higher ranks relied on
Captain Carter’s advice for just about everything anyway. It’s only natural that he was given command. Thank God he accepted. Those that remain with us are here willingly... they are here for a purpose.”

“Wow...and what is that purpose?” I asked.

“To provide a safe haven for the living, and to seek out those in need of assistance or rescue. On a daily basis we send out patrols to find survivors in need. Sometimes people are trapped, but others simply require provisions or medical aid. We do what we can, bringing them here, if they wish. It’s still a very active area.”

As the corporal spoke, I noticed a woman in a wheelchair, whose long black hair reminded me of Brick. She even had a similar feather. Maybe a Sioux, too? My heart sank as I thought of my great friend.

As we drew closer to the back of the wheelchair, I realized that this was no woman, but in fact a man, whose left arm was in a cast. I was in shock.

“Brick?? BRICK!!!”

“Nicki!” Brick responded. Our hugs and cries drew the attention of passers-by. Reunions were rare here, and every one offered a unique and emotional story.

“You were dead! I know you were dead!” I choked out between tears, as Ben almost knocked Brick out of the wheelchair with the bouncing enthusiasm that only a giddy canine can produce.

“And you also, my wonderful French sister. I missed you!!” Brick buried his own unashamed tears into my shoulder. “When I woke, I struggled beneath a
heap of runners, and as I moved I felt desperate hands pulling upon me - which initially I thought were runners - but the hands were those of soldiers of the US Army, thank God. I couldn’t move; I was broken. I begged them to find you, but there was no trace of you anywhere, and they rushed me away with promises to search for you. Of course, with no evidence of you to be found, it was feared that you had turned runner. Lord, there were so many dead and half dead all over. I never before saw such a horrible mess close up.”

With as much restraint and calm as we could muster, Brick and I quickly caught up on each others’ adventures, laughing and crying at various moments, with Corporal Steve listening intently to every word.

“Holy crap, do I have a story for the boys tonight!” The corporal was later heard to remark.

Brick ended with an explanation of his condition, “So, I was just released by the doc. Not too bad, all things considered; nothing broken. I will be healing for awhile, but not for as long as the doc said. We Charbonneaus heal fast.
Smells-of-Gas
is ready to dust off and move out when you are. Wagons ho!” He said grinning, eyes glistening with happiness.

I could not stop smiling. I would never leave without him.

The corporal departed with a sharp salute as Captain Carter strolled up, having finished his food serving duty. He was surprised that Brick and I knew each other, but Brick had been brought in by the night patrol that had rescued the survivors the previous
evening, and the lack of communication over some details was not unexpected. I was discovered and brought in early in the morning by Captain Carter’s search team. In fact, I learned that he was the one who identified my escape route. He had pondered why so many runners had leaped off of the roof at one location, and concluded that they were after something or someone. Thankfully, he followed up on a hunch to check the next roof over.

As we passed the latrines, a man with three stripes, said, “Nice work yesterday, sir, thank you very much.” As Brick and I looked quizzically at the captain, he smiled and commented, “Yes, I do latrines, too. It’s all voluntary, of course, but leading by example puts everyone in the right frame of mind. We work as a team in garrison and in the field. Every job is essential to survival and quality of life. Morale is good here.”

I asked the obvious question, “How is it that you have an intact military unit, when everything else has been decimated.”

The young captain replied, “Well, I hope we are not alone. I believe there may be pockets like ours in other places; there must be.”

He continued in answer to my question, “We were a battalion-sized unit on training maneuvers in the desert ranges not too far from here. We were isolated and on alert until the first nuke was delivered. It was not long after that before command and control quickly went to hell.”

“Our isolation must have been a big factor in our
survival, plus we were spread out into small units, which was standard for our type of outfit. We were especially lucky to be in a “live fire” training situation at the time, so we had tons of ammunition.”

“Although, for reasons still unknown, we suffered a lower infection rate than the general population. We still lost a few squads initially to the rapid runner conversion, but we adapted fast, stayed in sections, and learned to react effectively. Those first few weeks were absolutely beyond stressful - our nerves were on a shaky trigger finger edge every second.” The captain paused introspectively, finally shaking his head to dispel some horrible vision.

“We eventually moved to this place, which was essentially abandoned and occupied by only a few runners. We cleared it out, then set up our segmented environment, and have only had one failure since arriving. We’ve learned to extend fuel life with preservatives, run various generators, and we already had the in-house expertise to maintain vehicles. You pretty much know the rest...”

We stopped in front of a small, curved Quonset style building - military, all the way.

“And here we are at Doc Sandy’s. I’ll catch you both later.” And the captain departed for other matters. He was obviously a very busy man, and key part of the morale and cohesion of this community.

~

“Damn! Nicki Redstone!?! I don’t believe it!” A young, attractive lady in white with a stethoscope exclaimed with a big grin and wide eyes as soon as I stepped inside.

Brick looked at me quizzically. “You know each other?”

“Oh no,” said the the clearly excited medic. “But I have been a huge fan of Nicki Redstone ever since I was in high school. I can’t believe you were part of the team that put up the huge runner fight everyone here is talking about! Oh my god! I’m not surprised! I always knew you were the toughest woman in Hollywood! Of course, now I get it...your German Shepherd, and Brick, of course, who I’ve already patched up. Brick, you didn’t tell me!”

Brick’s eyes were big. “I didn’t know. Nicki...you didn’t tell me you were famous. My white captive is a celebrity. My standing among the Sioux just went up. I will probably be promoted to a two-feather guy.”

“Whoa, not that famous. Just a minor sparkle in a panoply of stars.” I replied with exaggerated humility, “That was another life, gone forever, I guess. Besides, I knew you’d raise the ‘
white captive’
ransom price.” Always good fun with Brick. I felt so happy.

“Hmmm...” Brick studied me, a twinkle in his kind eyes.
“Panoply
, I like that.”

I grinned, “I use big words sometimes. I might say another one later.”

Doc Sandy turned out to be an Air Force medic. Very dedicated and very highly skilled. In another life,
a few of my injuries would have been sutured right away, but Sandy felt that too much time had elapsed since the damage was inflicted.

“I’m sorry, Nicki, but there’s not much that I can do for that gash on your cheek. It should heal okay, but it will always be visible, most especially when you exert yourself or get angry. The butterfly will keep it closed and clean for now.”

“Cool.” I replied, but I was disappointed.

Brick could read my mind, and voiced his own thoughts, “My wife would love you...and that scar.” I think that he was actually proud of my very visible wound, which made me grin. I guess it would lend emphasis as he retold war stories, which he loved to do and was quite good at.

After a tetanus shot and a few more cleaned up cuts, plus some “anti-scar” cream, Sandy pronounced me fit for action.

“Nicki,” Sandy said, “I’m really honored to meet you. This is a highpoint for me and it will be a great story that I can tell for years. Please let me know if there is anything I can do for any of you.”

“Thanks so much, Sandy.” I replied. “I’m so happy to know you...and to have you as a fan. I can’t help but smile about it.”

“By the way,” I continued, “Why am I not a runner? I’m so cut up, some of the infection must be in me.”

“Yeah, me too.” Brick said. “And in the lunch line I was getting worried about my hunger. I was really
starving and the cook’s leg was looking tasty.”

“That’s not likely at this stage.” Doc Sandy laughed. “Initially, the infection did spread readily through casual contact, but it mutated quickly into a viral form that was contracted only through deep muscle penetration - a successful bite from a vector, a runner. As you know by now, the virus only affects humans...at least so far.”

The doc looked over Ben, too, and finally announced, “You are all in amazing condition, given what you’ve been through. The people here could really use you for a variety of things. Can we entice you to stay with us?”

I immediately scotched that idea, “As soon as Brick is better, we move out. Gotta get to my grandparents in Oregon, and Brick has family in the Dakotas.”

“Ahhh” The medic exclaimed. “That’s similar to what I have heard from a lot of folks, not that we see many travelers here anymore. It’s how this outfit lost over half of its surviving command, and most of the officers and senior NCO’s...the search for family. Whether they stay or go, we keep records on every person we can, living, dead and undead. These will be meaningful and helpful to others in the future. So far, though, we have never had a single match, but we still keep it up.”

Brick had a good question, “Doc, are there other operations like this anywhere?”

Sandy’s answer was uncertain, “There were, but now we just don’t know. We have good local patrol
radio contacts, but the communications we enjoyed with other distant locations have almost all gone silent. Some were military, some were militias, some were surviving residents who banded together.

“Occasionally we still pick up contact from ham radio operators, and a few things from overseas, but less and less as power sources die. We use a lot of solar power here, so others must be doing the same. We just don’t know what has happened, so we are rebuilding, learning and adapting - always.

“Our radio guys are still on the air twice a day, noon and midnight, transmitting and listening on short wave and FM, sending out our location and situation. It works and brings other survivors in to safety.”

Brick and I would spend more time with Doc Sandy in the days ahead, as well as with many of Camp Puller’s survivors, talking over old times and sharing stories. New arrivals always brought their own tales of adventure, and the dearth of entertainment made brief celebrities of anyone who made it to this haven.

Nicki Redstone, Brick Charbonneau and Ben made special news in the camp, and excitement for fans, and we were happy to provide the diversion from the constant flow of unsettling news that seemed to be a part of daily life in the post-apocalypse.