THE KILLER ANGEL : Book Three "Journey" (THE KILLER ANGEL TRILOGY 3) (20 page)

Did I do good daddy? Are you proud of me?

A swarm of at least another one hundred runners spewed through a hole in the brick wall that surrounded the once beautiful subdivision, less than two blocks away, racing for me, their ugly, bloodshot eyes set upon their mindless addiction.

So this is how my story ends
...

I looked up at the gloomy sky, thinking how wonderful it was. My eyes watered slightly with emotion as the cool drizzle spattered my face. I briefly closed my eyes...
I don’t want to leave...not yet... I want to keep my place in this world
.

Shaking my head, I prepared myself for this final massed attack, as I knocked down chargers that came first in twos and threes. I had the time to reload two pistols, fifteen rounds apiece, but could not retrieve my rifle for the distant targets. They came far too fast.

It was then that she stepped in...through the blur of my angry tears I could see her clearly
.

At the moment of my own, unstoppable death, she was there...striding confidently towards me from almost nowhere.
Was I dreaming?
She stood next to me in a relaxed pose.

“Here they come!” was all that she said, tilting her head slightly with emphasis as she looked at me with
Redstone calm.

It was Scottie.

With those words we both turned our guns on a relentless foe, sending those cannibals to a skull-piercing death from which they would never rise.

We opened up our weapons with magnificent effect, dropping dozens of frothing runners into stumbling, ignominious deaths, their faces scraping into dirt and asphalt.

I believe that the shock and ferocity of our smashing force must have been witnessed from above by the heroes of all wars past; surely gaining us a place in their noble pantheon. This was valor at its finest; twin executioners, with skills precisely honed to the demands of the new world; containing the brilliance and courage to prevail in a last stand fight to the death. I was proud to be there with my sister.

It then soon became apparent that others were in the fray with us; four in total. Two warriors, a man and a woman, stayed especially close to my sister, permitting nothing to approach or challenge her. Those two would give their lives for her, that was clear.

One overly bold and energetic fighter, large and muscular, moved forward ahead of our line, and in an instant was bowled over by the speed and fury of the mob, savaged before any of his comrades could give aid. The damage was irreversible; death was swift and ugly.

Then, suddenly, it was over. Calm. Quiet. Muffled
hearing. Heavy breathing. Stiff hands. Scattered bodies and gore. The smokey, comforting smell of gunpowder in the air. Soreness everywhere.

With sublime timing, the rain stopped and a moment of clear blue heaven revealed itself through a small tunnel in the clouds. A few seconds of calm silence, as steam rose from the damp and bloodied asphalt.

I could again sense my father...smiling.
Ah, my daughter, it’s okay now... it’s okay...I am proud of you
.

“Thanks Daddy.”

“I like the braid, Redstone.” The calm voice was immediately recognizable to me, even though it was flinty cold and cut-steel hard, lacking entirely in any warmth or emotion.

“Scottie?” I knew it was my darling twin sister, finally, after all this time, disconnected by the years and distance, but still bonded mentally, nonetheless.

I stepped over slippery gore and black-blood carnage to embrace my sister, slowly, carefully. She had changed much. Like me, she was physically scarred, at least as much as I was, maybe even more, with the most pronounced damage being the severe injury to her right eye. A dark red orb rested in that gorgeous face, the once beautiful brown iris within was barely visible. A white slash ran from above her brow down to her
cheek, no doubt the same wound that damaged her eye. I wondered if she still had vision in it, but did not ask.

A tan leather jacket, gloves, cargo pants, a rifle, a pistol, spare magazines, and a large Bowie knife hanging upside down from her shoulder – that was it. Pretty ordinary stuff, given the circumstances.

Her guardians were nearby, cautiously observant. Even as they attended to their lost comrade, the man and woman who stayed close to Scottie in the fight maintained their vigilance. They were rough looking, and extremely well-armed, clearly her very alert, very possessive protectors.

My heart was beating fast; this was not the reunion that I had for so long imagined, joyful and full of laughter. I hardly knew this hard woman, and the thought made me weep inside.

Two fighters examined the remains of their fallen comrade, gently covering the head and upper body with a jacket.

Then suddenly, a faint, pained groan escaped from a heap of marauders.
Ben!
I ran to the stinking pile of horror as Scottie watched without expression, and began dislodging bodies until I was able to clear my friend, his matted fur slick with black tar.

Exhausted, filthy, limping and scarred, Ben had not been dealt a death blow, nor was he in any way seriously disabled. This dear animal had a special god watching over him.

Fatigued and still panting from the recent exertion,
Ben nevertheless firmly stayed by my side, appearing puzzled by Scottie. No doubt her appearance and scent troubled his perceptive canine senses, so he waited for my next move, as always.

Retrieved from a pocket, Scottie used a small moist towel to wipe my face. “This is not a good place to catch up. We need to get you and Ben cleaned up in a secure location. Let’s go,” Scottie motioned to me, and then paused, looked down, and said in a warmer tone, “Hello Ben, I am pleased to meet you.”

Ben looked at me briefly, then strolled closer to my sister for a sniff and a gentle rub. Scottie always had a special connection with the animal kingdom. Thank god for Ben, since his presence brought out something in Scottie that I feared was perhaps forever lost – her tender heart.

Within a few hours of easy foot travel, our pace slowed as we approached a large compound fronted by a pair of sturdy gates, one behind the other, that were separated by a small, secure enclosure. “This is home, at least for now,” Scottie said as we turned a corner, looking at me with slight gleam in her eye - pride maybe?

I looked onto a single, five-story building, situated in the middle of a cleared area – not a natural clearing per se, since there had obviously been other structures
nearby, offices maybe, or retail shops. But it was all low rubble now, surrounded by high barbed wire.

The remaining building itself was a nice, smaller hotel in its former life. Parking had been in the basement, which was secured by large gates, and all windows on the first two floors of the building were entirely blocked up. We continued walking towards the structure. I could see movement near the main gate.

“We call it ‘Camelot’, our first of six completed locations so far. I came up with the concept of converting hotels into secure bases for us...and it has worked beautifully.” Scottie glowed. “They’re nearly perfect. Each had ideal sleeping quarters, an existing food service facility, and several of them had swimming pools on the roofs that we covered and converted into giant fresh water cisterns. We collect rain water and keep it potable through frequent testing, or pump up water and purify it. Flynn figures out how to re-pipe the existing systems and the resulting water pressure is great.”

“Wow,” was all I could say, being both stunned and impressed with the accomplishment. In spite of everything, they were both still the consummate architects.

“That’s not all,” my sister continued. “Flynn scavenged solar panels from all over and rewired the buildings to give us power. We have plenty for lights, cooking and some air-conditioning, which is quite a luxury here, as you can imagine.”

I fully comprehended her words, since the Florida summer heat can be unbearable.

“We have a fully stocked kitchen, medical clinic, and armory, of course. We also make diesel fuel.”

That revelation surprised me. “Diesel fuel... for transportation?”

“For several things – diesel generators and so on, but yes, also for transportation. We don’t drive much though; the diesel is time-consuming to make and it has a much shorter shelf-life than gas, so we keep the ingredients available, then make it when necessary for planned excursions. It’s something that Marshall Kellogg came up with.”

“Kip’s dad?” I was happy to hear his name. “How is he? Is he here?”

“No, Marshall is not often here Nicki,” Scottie smiled slightly, “but I’m sure he will be roaring up once he learns that you are in town. Right now he is at Windsor, our newest ‘castle’.”

“And how will he learn?” I queried.

“I’ll explain everything, my sister; but first, let’s get you and Ben cleaned up.” I had forgotten the residue of my all too recent runner encounter.

Scottie took me to the suite that served as home for her and for Flynn. Tidy and comfortable, the room brought back memories of happier times, since they had warmly decorated it with items retrieved from our family home.

I dropped my gear on the floor just inside the door;
it would stand some thorough cleaning. Scottie did the same, then we both moved to the small bathroom.

Together we took a moment to look into the mirror above the sink, as we had done hundreds of times before in our youth. The sisters who looked back at us, however, were so very different from the image of my memories. Somehow, I expected our younger, beautiful selves to be there still, gleeful, mischievous and animated, but what I beheld was entirely different.

Beautiful, yes, though nearly empty of innocent joy and eagerness; no longer youthful; no, those were the faces of mature women - calm, confident, hardened in uncounted mortal trials - enured to suffering and deprivation. Physically damaged, yet somehow, all the more attractive for it. I felt pride in what I saw...in what we had become.

Fresh, clean and invigorated, we exited Scottie’s suite wearing comfortable clothing from her simple wardrobe. We remained armed, but not heavily so.

“Let me show you Flynn’s newest ‘toy’.” Scottie led me to a room on the top floor of the fortress. “He only recently started up full operation. We went nuts trying to find equipment that functioned correctly. After far too long, we realized that the Engleton EMP had fried most delicate electronics in the area, so we ‘shopped’ much farther away from the blast center and – eureka –
success. Soon we were in business with ‘Radio Camelot.”’

What had once been a nicely decorated accommodation for hotel business guests, was now a mechanical facility decked out with electronic equipment, some of it humming with powered life... radio life - receivers
and
transmitters. Larger than I had seen before, except at Camp Puller. Fans blew a breeze from several directions, and an air-conditioner pushed chilled air into the space. One woman working there smiled and nodded as we walked in, but she did not seek to engage us in conversation, seeming to immediately understand that Scottie needed privacy. The woman left the room.

We sat down on a cushioned sofa, another rare luxury for me.

“Previously, we were using much smaller radios, mostly portable.”