THE KILLER ANGEL: Book Two "Legend" (THE KILLER ANGEL TRILOGY 2) (6 page)

That little launching pad came in handy on our day of departure. In the direction opposite that of my intended travel, and high into the sky, I fired off an air horn - with the trigger locked on, lightly padded for its hard landing. That thing sailed well over two hundred yards and squealed for a long time on the ground. More runners appeared than I had expected, but those were all focused on the siren’s wail, so we took off without
disturbance, away from our fine home.

Ben was amazingly patient with my efforts, and it all paid off in the long run - many, many times over.

I would give my life for Ben, and I knew he would do the same for me
.

Chapter Four

“The Kincaids ”

W
E AWOKE to a fine, green, rain-forest morning, with a foggy mist rising off of the damp earth. The air smelled fresh and clean. I gave Ben a quick bite, packed up, and then we took off in gray shadows before the sun tipped the horizon.

Within an hour we approached the street entrance to a well-kept, older, two-story home, set back slightly from the road. I could see tended flower beds along the driveway and numerous signs that the home was occupied.

I had not investigated earlier, as my mission to find Ben would not be overridden. Now, though, I felt compelled to swing in for a moment and trade updates with the occupants. All indications were that nice people survived there.

The front door was wide open which seemed odd. I announced myself from afar and waited, watching. Then several more times as I stepped up to the porch. Silence prevailed.

I stepped inside.

A slight crackling noise alerted me to a solar-powered radio that had been left on low volume.

Although artfully decorated, clean and organized, the home interior seemed in need of some attention. There were dirty dishes piled up; the trash cans were full; clothing and other items were piling up. Multiple bottles of medication were scattered across a TV tray - potassium iodide, Prussian blue, DTPA, antibiotics, pain pills and nausea treatments. I immediately recognized the condition that required such a mix - radiation sickness. Someone there was terribly unwell.

Then, faintly, I heard a weak “hello” from a room behind the kitchen. I cautiously looked around the corner and saw a pale, thin figure lying in bed, slightly propped up on two pillows.

“Wait here Ben,” I said softly.

I entered the room and found a curly-haired young man, well-groomed and still handsome in his sickness; early twenties, probably. It was obvious that he did not have long to live.

Pulling a fresh water bottle from a netted pouch on my pack and breaking the seal, I found a straw, then placed it between his chapped lips. He swallowed gratefully.

“Where’s Ben?” he whispered. The poor man somehow recognized me, or knew of me. His words made me suddenly aware of my appearance - guns, gear, gloves, braided ponytail... easy clues as to my identity for anyone who cared.

I called out, “Ben!”

Ben padded gently forward, tail wagging slightly. He sniffed my new friend and relaxed his head on the bed as I sat down in a nearby chair.

“Can I do anything for you, dear sir?”

“Ah”, he replied, “not even Nicki Redstone can help me, done in by my own foolishness.” After a pause, the sad man - only a boy really - said weakly, “But it is enough that you are here. I am honored... honored.”

“Please tell me your name...” I asked.

“Josh,” came the nearly inaudible reply.

His time was close; the signs were obvious. I held his hand tenderly, then leaned over to kiss his forehead. He had such kind eyes.

“You can sleep now, Josh,” I said softly, holding his cheek in my palm “everything is okay. Have no fear; I am with you.”

His grip tightened briefly, then slowly relaxed in mine. Life passed from his body.

It hurts every time, and gets no easier. As tears fell from my eyes, I studied his face, memorizing it, then carefully arranged his bed. I would not be able to bury this stranger, but at least he was home. What better final resting place.? I closed the windows and pulled the front door behind me.

It was life in the apocalypse
...

We resumed our travel with good speed, as I forced myself to munch nuts and dried fruit along the way,
although I had no appetite. We had to keep moving; we had to stay energized.

A few hours down a dusty jeep trail Ben went into alert, his sharp ears flattened, a sign of extreme danger. My mind snapped out of melancholy and into fighting mode.

We were in a flat area, semi-cleared, not ideal for security or defense, so I moved us off quickly into the woods. The view was unobstructed for a long way up the trail, with another large open area visible in the distance.

Within moments, through my rifle scope, I identified two young girls in a clearly panicked rush - maybe ten years old - running hard in my direction. As they drew closer, I stepped out of the treeline into full view with Ben, directly in their path..

The girls slowed, panting and perspiring heavily. They looked at Ben and me in surprise and hope, then ran straight for us.

Good lord! Twins!

“Hide! Hide!” They whispered urgently, pushing me into the woods. “They’re coming!”

Then the object of their fear became evident as a pack of ugly creatures appeared in a sunny glade only a football field distant, hunched over along the ground - not running, but still fast. I’d seen this before. The first time was a year ago outside of a small town sheriff’s office that I had used for a rest stop - sniffing runners - and they were definitely on the trail of these girls. The runners would never stop until they ripped living flesh
apart - or were killed.

A skinny feral cat skidded past in fearful panic.

I could hear Ben’s low growl as I prepared for the coming fight. It was a good sign that he was regaining his old, confident self, weak though he still was. I was feeling better, too, fully energized, as my senses sharpened and my mind calmed and analyzed every aspect of the situation - distance, sunlight, wind, sound, smells - everything became sharp. I leaned against a tree and steadied my aim.

The first two runners fell before any sound reached the pack, the explosion of gunfire that would announce my presence and our location.

Then, nerve shaking screeching commenced immediately, as expected, and so did the rot eaters bloody assault. That screaming, combined with a simultaneous insane rush, had instantly transformed many defensive lines into mob evacuations, a terminal condition for all.

I remained calmly focused, and continued to fire, sending hollow-points into muscle and bone. It was the only way to survive such an onslaught, something I had experienced many times before.

“Get up in the trees and take these!” I calmly yelled at the girls, an order to which they quickly complied as I passed them each a pistol, leaving three for me. I knew that runners could climb with frightening speed if they had anything to grip, but my action might divert the demons into making me their only target.

Moments later, a pistol fell on the ground next to
me. Ben and I looked up at an apologetic face. It was hard to hold a gun and climb a tree, especially under these conditions.

One breath later another pistol fell. I heard two sweet voices say the word, “Sorry!” from above. Ben looked at me and I shrugged. At any other time it would be a moment of humor.

“That’s okay girls. No matter what happens here, don’t move and stay completely quiet. You will be fine.” If they did as I instructed, Ben and I would remain the only targets.

The remaining runners covered half the distance in just a few seconds. I would stop them. I studied my devoted companion. I knew that there was only limited fight in Ben, and this mob looked well fed and powerful, so I would have to ensure that the attacking swarm maintained their focus on me. I popped out the nearly empty clip, pounded a fresh magazine once on a fallen log, and slammed it into its compartment.

Pop - pop - pop. I continued knocking down the creatures, but could see more emerging from the far side of the glade. It was grim work but, so far, I was the victor. I felt a smile n my lips - this was my life now. I would not fail these children.

Three nasty specimens survived to make it to me, leaping over a large log that blocked their path. Their ghastly, wild-eyed, screaming faces charged the last few feet as Ben ripped into the neck of one. I dropped my rifle and drew a pair of pistols and easily put down the other two, then prepared for the next wave, only
seconds behind.

With the children overhead, there could be no retreat. A final stand would be made where I stood, despite the weakness of the position. Ben and I would remain in place and see this through. It was apparent that he was spent, shaking and weak, but still he remained on his feet, fire and fight in his sparkling eyes.

“We’re going to be fine my little man.” Loving words to my friend.

A quick, gentle scratching under Ben’s chin, then I holstered my pistols, retrieved my discarded rifle, and then slammed home another full magazine. Releasing the bolt, I stood, legs wide, slightly crouched over, and fired into that charging and enraged menace, feeling my heart beat with each shot, making each one count. I could feel my power, and it felt good, exhilarating even.

But I hated the exposure...

My mind was racing through possibilities for escape, each option discarded as I came back to the anchor of my position with these girls. Even though I could perhaps escape, abandonment was not even a remote consideration. I would not let them perish!

Five monsters out of many made it to us the second time, and those five fell to my pistols and Ben’s powerful jaws. I could see, though, that our situation was becoming dire, and my chances of survival were shrinking rapidly. This was a surprisingly large mob, masses of runners having become scarce with time, although a year earlier they had been all too common.

Many more creatures broke through the woodline into the clearing, but their attack suddenly changed direction. A distraction - gunfire! A lot of it, too.

I could see what looked like sticks flying towards the runners, then explosions in the midst of the pack that shredded bone and flesh alike, probably pipe bombs.

I continued to fire. The combination of bullets and explosives quickly wiped out the mass. Two more savage assaults and it was all over. Muffled silence followed - ringing ears and the smell of gunpowder, familiar sensations after each successful encounter.

Bodies and pieces were everywhere. That field would remain an ugly tableau of deadly living and horrible dying in the new age. There was no one to clear the mess. No one to bury the corpses.

I waited, listening, watching. Eventually, two women and two men - fairly well armed - appeared to the left of the clearing. The girls dropped from the tree, picked up my pistols and handed them to me, and then ran to the adults, avoiding the bodies that littered the field, but seeming to barely notice the carnage. They had adapted to this new life. What choice did they have, after all?

I clicked the safety switch on my rifle and holstered my guns. I then loaded full magazines into all weapons, collected empty clips, then checked my gear and prepared to meet those folks.

Observation and analysis. They obviously were not the blood parents of the children, since the twin girls
were white and the four adults were black. I had seen similar connections many times before. It had become common for families to form out of those who survived the initial epidemic and subsequent runner onslaught. Those new families were as tight, if not even more strongly bonded, than those formed from blood ties. This group appeared to be no exception.

I stood waiting. They stopped at a respectful distance and looked around. There were at least thirty dead runners within a few feet of Ben and me, and many, many more strung out into the distance. All six of them remained silent, looking at us, conducting their own evaluation.

Finally, one of the ladies spoke with great emotion. “Thank you for saving our daughters. We are forever grateful.” The sincerity was evident in her voice, and in the faces of her companions.