THE KILLER ANGEL: Book Two "Legend" (THE KILLER ANGEL TRILOGY 2) (10 page)

We moved carefully forward, hoping with little optimism that there were survivors. Ben stayed close by my side. Total loss scenarios made us all uneasy, but Ben’s protective mode always ramped up when we entered such places.

Brick had been right, the sandbagged area was the final stand for the defenders. There were bodies everywhere, men and women, many of them the remains of uninfected survivors. Judging from the piles
of runner dead, those folks fought valiantly to the bitter end.

I noticed something that we did not usually see, “Not one person with back injuries; they all died facing the enemy. All are armed. No panic. These people stood their ground.”

“We stand among heroes, Nicki,” Brick replied in solemn respect.

He pointed to a large, carefully painted, blue Star of David on a small building at the back of the roof. It had been defaced with a spray painted swastika. As we approached the small structure, it became obvious that considerable reinforcement had been added to its exterior.

“This must be the safe-house.” I said, as we guardedly stepped up to its only entrance, a closed steel door.

Shouldering my rifle, I pushed on the door. It was not latched, but would only budge a little.

Brick added his weight to my effort, then the door gave way with a rusty creak. A fallen warrior had slowed our entrance, even in death.

The sadness within made us both step back. A dozen children and a few adults, all dead. Runners had breached the sanctuary and a terrible fight had ensued. It seemed that the monsters had been beaten back, but the end was apparent to the survivors, and it was evident that most of them chose to take their own lives, rather than fall to the cannibals who hungered for them. Close range executions and suicides were an unhappy,
yet familiar sight to us.

“These people were likely assaulted because of their religion,” Brick remarked, as we stood in the doorway. “So much bigotry and hate, even in the apocalypse.” It was sadly evident that there were no survivors within the shelter.

Out of the corner of my eye, in the shadows nearby, I detected a lean, muscular arm rising, a large pistol aimed at Brick. A millisecond later, the arm dropped, a bullet having been placed into the owner’s eye.

I never hesitate
...

Brick closed the safe-house door as I walked over to examine the would-be assailant. A tough looking female wearing a leather vest. Her shoulder displayed a large “5
^th
” tattoo. I leaned the body forward with my foot and examined her neck, wherein a red swastika tattoo was emblazoned.

“The
fifth? ”
Brick remarked. “I wonder if they are affiliated with the Fifth Militia. It’s a long way to the coast, but there could be a connection.”

I had been thinking the same thing. The Fifth Militia was a toxic Ku Klux Klan troop of thugs with whom we had engaged in fatal confrontation on the Oregon coast a few months earlier. Three of their number fell to our weapons in a fight that they provoked.

“Maybe so,” I replied, “We will have to remain alert to the possibility that their brethren could be anywhere, and I’m sure that we are not on their ‘special friends’ list.”

As we resumed our journey, recalling the
mezuzah
above the gate, a thought occurred to me, “Brick, how is it that you seemed to know something about everything?”

“Ah, a nice compliment from Nicki Redstone,” came his reply. “The answer is curiosity. Growing up, I was curious about everything; I wanted to be a walking encyclopedia of knowledge. It perfectly suited my chosen profession as a history teacher.

“I had read once that Leonardo da Vinci was the last human to comprehend all of mankind’s knowledge which, at that time, was not vast. True or not, it was something to ponder, and the notion impressed my young mind. The rest you already know...”

Brilliant!

Midway from Whitehorse to our next stop, we passed a large utility substation, which was surrounded by an ordinary, but sturdy chain-link fence, topped by barbed wire. Secure but unappealing. It contained the usual array of rather ugly metal utility objects resting on gravel. By itself the place was very ordinary, but within the enclosure were a few small children working hard, almost frantically, raking and digging a garden in an area cleared of gravel. They were skinny, dirty and they appeared to be bruised.

Without being seen, we stopped a short distance away to observe and ponder this sight. The children
seemed unhappy and weary; not demonstrating the usual high spirits of kids their age. There was no talking; no laughing; no singing.

The source of their misery soon became evident as we heard growling obscenities and yelling from a voice within a small, makeshift hut built inside of the enclosure. The children looked at the shack in obvious trepidation, cowering close to one another. They did not yet know that their protectors had arrived.

Within a few seconds, a large, pot-bellied, brute of a man, still wearing a dirty utility company shirt, emerged from the building; filthy, bearded and apparently drunk. He was enraged at something and charged the kids, who scattered.

Brick and I swiftly moved to intervene. The man kicked one girl so hard that she flew into a steel post and fell to the ground, shaken and frightened.

“Stop that!” Brick yelled in anger.

The abuser was stunned at Brick’s command and further shocked by our presence. We cleared the distance to the fence in seconds. The thug had reached for a gun in his belt, but stopped in obvious concern for our more formidable weapons, which were aimed upon him.

“Open the gate or we’ll blow it off it’s hinges!” Brick continued.

On that silent, windless day, no one moved. The villain cursed at a child to open the gate. We immediately stepped inside, pea-gravel crunching underfoot, magnifying our presence.

I was surprised and impressed to see Ben firmly place himself between that nasty figure and the innocents, a low growl emanating from his powerful, protective form as he eyed his nervous opponent.

Ben could easily shred this man, which was probably what he deserved. Somewhere in his existence, Ben had learned to incapacitate runners via crushing and ripping their necks; a feat of raw animal power that I had witnessed in awe many times. I knew that bringing down this villain would be easy work for him. In spite of the trip-wire tension of the moment, my heart nevertheless beat with renewed pride and affection for my fearsome friend.

“Come here kids,” I said.

As I looked over the children, who willingly came to my side, I could see that they were malnourished, neglected, unwashed and abused. Fury grew within me.

Brick and I studied each other, considering the moment. This was a predator, but perhaps not a murderer. Do we end the almost certain threat to others now, or do we leave him with some ineffective warning? A difficult decision.

Brick took the man’s pistol and ordered him to the ground. “Stay there!” He ordered.

I nodded to Brick, who went to examine the hut as the sweaty, sour smelling man lay down on the ground, grumbling and cursing, small rocks and sand sticking to his oily skin.
Such a nasty human being
...

“Not much there, Nicki” Brick said upon returning. “Guns, ammunition and food supplies - and lots of
trash. One cot. That’s it...only one. What a worthless creature.”

One of the girls, her beauty shining through her rags and dirty, unkempt hair, asked timidly in the sweetest voice, “Are you Nicki Redstone?”

“I am,” the polite question was a little surprising. “and this is Brick.”

“And Ben,” she completed my introduction.

The children’s eyes went wide, glimmers of hope appearing in their sweet faces. The thug on the ground became suddenly very quiet and completely still.

“We can take you to safety,” I said to the kids, who were already clinging to me and rubbing Ben. “Do you want to go with us?”

They looked at us, heads bobbing in the affirmative, saying nothing, but their bright eyes revealed happy anticipation.

“Then it is done. You are with us!”

But what to do with the man who had enslaved and abused them?

Brick had his eyes on me as I evaluated the bully. The evil-tempered brute was clearly a human predator. I had long ago vowed to never let any such creature live to torment the innocent if I could help it, and I had honored that vow on more than one occasion.

Still, in spite of that oath, it was not in my nature to kill someone in cold blood, certainly not a defenseless man on the ground.

Brick sensed my unease and stepped in. He precisely understood my dilemma, and hoped to spare
me one more burden on my bruised conscience. He picked up the man’s revolver and emptied it of all save one bullet.

Speaking to the prostrated man in an even tone, who was now shaking in his cowardice, Brick announced, “You have two options: You can shoot yourself in the knee or I can shoot you as I would a runner. Pick up the gun and make your choice.”

Such calm, yet forceful words from this former, laid-back school teacher. We were both changing so very much in this new world, becoming far more than we ever were, or ever would have been before
...

I moved the children out of the enclosure and away from view, with Ben following.

A few minutes later, I heard the sound of a single gunshot; cries of pain followed. The kids giggled a little and put their hands over their mouths, their new freedom revealing suppressed glee that lay dormant for far too long.

As Brick rejoined our little band of survivors, I embraced my trusted friend and brother.
“Merci beaucoup, mon cher ami. ”
I said.

“Fortunately, he took the first option.” Brick smiled. “I’m not sure that I could’ve managed the second.”

“I completely understand, Brick,” I said, but I was not so certain that I would have given the man an alternative to a swift death, which caused me to consider my own increasingly dark sense of morality and what I was becoming. I was glad that I did not have
to find out. Brick, ever vigilant of my well-being, had done the right thing to handle the matter, sparing me further mental anguish.

Chapter Six

“Fort Hope ”

“I
NEVER saw your scar so sharp like that; gonna have to do something about it. Scary stuff there.” Brick was trying to cheer me up as we reviewed our actions and walked with the children, discussing strategy. The kids were becoming perky, natural curiosity taking hold, and they began asking about my scar and other things that seemed to puzzle them, which was heartening.

Food, clothing, and supplies for the children were first on our list of priorities. The kids had no family, which seemed evident from the start, and they confirmed the notion upon further careful discussion.

Following a hearty meal, and after equipping the kids with necessary supplies, we made camp for the night a couple of hours out of Whitehorse on the roof of what had been a two-story high school.

“Ah, we’re getting so close; I can feel Hedley from here,” Brick announced. “It should be smooth sailing from now on. No worries; no trouble.”

The layover was a good, relatively secure location, with plenty of food and drinks retrieved from its cafeteria kitchen. We rigged a shower station for the kids and had them thoroughly clean themselves after first giving them hair cuts. Then it was time for a good night’s sleep.