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

by Stafford, Myles

  I was always on the lookout for useful items to add to my kit, and would quickly discard a tool or weapon for something better, or occasionally augment my gear if I found a worthy piece to add - weight was an ever present and critical factor in my evaluation.

  An LED headlamp and extra batteries was stowed in my small pack. A solar charged watch on one wrist and a woven survival rope bracelet on the other. One hundred feet of braided 200 lb fishing line packaged into an interior jacket pocket. Re-worked climber’s harness and saddlebags for Ben, with a solid carabiner clipped on top.

  With high quality, featherweight sleeping gear, plus medical items purloined from a walk-in clinic, I could travel light and very fast. I always took special care of my teeth. There were no dentists to keep them perfect. A small radio always turned softly on, sometimes with an earpiece. You never know...

  The only protection that some said I lacked was headgear, but I was on the lookout for something workable. I had tried different helmets and face guards, but the limitations they placed on my vision - especially my peripheral sight, and on my hearing, mobility and overall comfort during lengthy exertion, made such protection more of a liability than an advantage. Nevertheless, I was aware of the exposure, and often hoped to find something effective.

  I tried staying put for awhile in a giant, concrete-walled, members-only store near my apartment in Burbank, waiting for word from Kip, having made it home after months of travel from Phoenix, where I had been on a shoot and at a convention. Kip and I, always preparing and planning, agreed to meet at Gram’s and Grump’s house in Oregon should we be separated by any catastrophe, such as an earthquake. But the apocalypse? Who knew? When the end came, it happened fast. I was in Phoenix and Kip was in Chicago. The Oregon Willamette Valley was a logical emergency destination for both of us.

  There was nearly an unlimited supply of everything in that big store, and it was easily defended and very secure, but it was terribly boring, just waiting for something to happen... or to die. The monotony of each day slowly sliding by was driving me insane. The extreme boredom intensified the urge to find my family, to gather them together and to begin life anew. I did not allow myself to face the very real possibility that some, perhaps all of them may not have survived. No, that was not the Redstone fate. So, decision made, I amended the notes that I had already left for Kip at our apartment, then moved on, taking only Ben, my powerful protector and most devoted friend, with me on this long, lonely, dangerous journey north.

  I had tried motorized travel, when such was still available, but jammed roads just made it impractical, noisy and obvious. A pretty girl was still under threat from more than the running dead.

  A mountain bike was great sometimes, but not in tight areas. A runner could come out of nowhere and then a rider is stuck dumping the bike and reaching for a weapon, and then scrambling in a hunt for refuge, especially if the assault was a horde.

  Hiking was best, stealthy and nimble. Although that Brink’s truck did look inviting...but unspoiled gas and engines that would start were becoming increasingly difficult to find.

  Ah well...press on.

  I set my sights on Oregon, where my grandparents lived. They were smart and tough. They would be okay. Everyone would rendezvous there, and then sunny days from then on. I was filled with youthful optimism, I guess...and thoughts of family good times. I knew, with certainty, that Kip would be there, too, but he would have to travel many difficult miles from Chicago. He was a rugged guy; he would make it.

  No worries. Stay positive. Stay focused. Keep heading north.

  ~

  Chapter Two

  “On the Road”

  ~

  IT WAS so quiet that first day out of town, and the breeze felt good. Map and compass study was a daily regimen for me, and I became good at it. I wanted to make twenty miles before my first target stop. I picked up supplies along the way and kept moving, mostly in silence.

  It was no surprise to see human remains almost everywhere; mostly bones, though, usually wearing clothes. Many were torn apart, either by the running dead or by scavenging animals. Cars were left in all conditions. It was quite a nightmare landscape, although on a sunny day, with a bright blue sky and birds singing cheerfully, my mind could be tricked into believing it was indeed only a bad dream - but only briefly. It was plainly evident that the world did not need mankind to carry on. The apocalypse was purely a human experience, affecting nature in mostly positive ways.

  At least the stench had generally cleared by the time I commenced my journey out of town. So had the flies. It would have been easy to be consumed by sadness and tears, but that would only weaken the spirit. Still, sometimes...

  Twenty miles made for a very good day, with plenty of time to scout out a place to rest and collect a few provisions. I acquired drinks and canned food from a small grocery store. No runners in evidence; their numbers seemed to be in decline, at least in that area. Probably not enough humans on the menu, I thought with a smile. No living people visible, either, which was preferable to me.

  Now, how about someplace to relax for the night and freshen up...

  I very rarely stayed in the comparative comfort and shelter of an abandoned car. Soft and dry, sure, but I felt them to be overly exposed, minimally defensible and with a zero backup escape.

  Multiple cars in a wide open plain with no other option would work better than nothing, but a lone car anywhere was especially dangerous as it was a natural beacon for other travelers, a few of whom were dangerous.

  RV’s used to be great for a shower, when the engines still worked. Most of the time I had to make do by bathing from a bucket or in a stream. As far as I was concerned, cleanliness was an essential ingredient to good mental health and a positive outlook. There were few things quite as uplifting as combing out clean hair and donning fresh clothes.

  Today, a small town sheriff’s office looked secure, so I vaulted up its front stair access and began my carefully developed examination. Bars on the windows and a sturdy back door. Good. I quickly cleared the two room building, and secured the access points. An hour remained until sundown. Perfect!

  I lugged a five gallon jug of water from the floor of the sheriff’s storage up onto a shelf, poked three holes in the plastic container, and then enjoyed a decent, trickling shower. Cold, of course, but it was thoroughly refreshing after a long day on my feet.

  I had splashed water everywhere, but who would care if the floor was soaked? This place might never again see another human guest. Even so, I never intentionally vandalized relics of the past or trashed an abandoned residence. It’s not in my nature.

  Early on, I had encountered a few survivors who couldn’t wait to destroy priceless works of art or burn down a mansion... simply “because they could”. It was the wanton destruction of civilization and history, and I would have no part of it. Only one of the many reasons that caused me to journey alone.

  Following a light meal, I was quite satisfied to bed down in the safety of a holding cell with Ben’s furry warmth taking the edge off of the night’s chill.

  Not too shabby!

  ~

  Night sweats and stressful dreams. Shakes, sometimes. Many fearful images; dark moments relived. Terrible, unforgettable losses. Friends and acquaintances who died in terror. I could save them all now, of this I have no doubt whatsoever. Indeed, I have faced and conquered far worse since those early days. But I was not yet ready; not who I came to be. I was not equipped mentally or physically. I wasn’t experienced. I was not yet calm in the fight. I was like everyone else - stricken with panic and nearly petrified. When danger exploded around me I tried to take effective action, but my thinking was scrambled with the chaos that enveloped me. In my dreams... running, running; often chased. PTSD probably. So much to absorb for a young lady from the genteel suburbs. No counselor here, though. Nope.

  In the near total darkness of that prison cell my eyes snapped open. I always slept lightly, unlike my pre-epidemic years; but as ti
me passed, I quickly trained myself to be alert to every subtle change in noise. And something was not right. Ben sensed it, too, of course. I could feel his fur ridge up stiffly on that powerful back. Then he produced a very low growl, a warning that I never dismissed.

  I easily slipped into leathers, shoes and weapons. My gear was always ready for fast movement, and I could don it all equally well with or without light.

  Peering outside, I saw numerous hunched over figures moving under a full moon... runners? They actually seemed to be searching for something... or someone. Searching... That was a new trait.

  “Dammit. Not on my list of the top three things I wanted to see tonight.” I whispered to Ben, amusing myself. I had learned that humor was a natural part of calm for me in moments that might otherwise be stressful. This had become almost routine for me... but I never permitted myself to become complacent. That mindset could easily lead to catastrophe.

  One grotesque creature, in another life an athletic male, stopped by the station door, inches away. Then another. Then half a dozen. I could actually hear sniffing... and then that awful, unforgettable stench wafted into the room, making me recoil in a spasm and nearly vomit. Then, in an instant, that horrible, frenzied runner screeching started, attracting all within hearing, exciting their wild cannibal urges. The monsters began pounding and slamming the door with fists and heads, clawing and charging onto and over each other to get inside of my small fortress.

  Runners are entirely lacking in any courtesy for one another...

  I could see Ben’s beautiful eyes on me in the moonlight. He had that concerned, doleful look he gets sometimes...but not a sound did he make, not a whimper.

  I stroked his cheek briefly. That’s my boy. Don’t worry, we’re not on the menu tonight.

  It was time to make some noise and exit. I never accepted a no-win situation, and always planned an escape. Survival demanded planning, and I was compulsively consistent about it, as I was with every aspect of my live or die existence.

  There was no short supply of high octane alcohol in this place, so I poured it on everything, then cranked the static from my radio on full volume, fired a spray through the front door, lit a newspaper on fire, and tossed it and the radio in as I cautiously moved out through the back door. Always know your exit route!

  What a mess! We quickly moved a block away, and could easily see that at least two dozen runners were swarming in and around the burning police station, some on fire. The radio static, the growing fury of the flames, and the screeching orgy of runner insanity served the dual purpose of easing our escape and gathering every runner within earshot to the party and away from me.

  My back-up plan led us to a nearby small township water tower. Hauling Ben in his climber’s harness, I struggled up that cold, wet ladder to the first level. He seemed to get heavier each time I did this.

  I was breathing hard by the time I was able to block the ladder access. I spent the rest of the night cuddling Ben’s warm fur on that hard metal deck. Slightly chilled, but secure, and not the first or last time I would carry Ben.

  ~

  As I dozed, I remembered leaving home after high school to live my dream in Hollywood. It was a difficult goodbye; I loved my family and home dearly. There were so many wonderful memories trying to keep me there.

  Before long, I met my fiance, Kip Kellogg, on set. He was a tough, young guy - a war vet with a heart of gold. Very smart. Very handsome. Tremendously principled. A genuine love story for the ages, as my mother would say..

  We had career success, too. We worked well in the business, gained solid actors’ credentials, and never had to work second jobs, although we were always building, creating and brainstorming when we weren’t on set. The actor’s life would never be everything to us, in spite of our mutual passion for the business.

  Many young people recognized us, I suppose, and I became accustomed to the attention. To be completely candid, Kip and I were unusually successful in an industry where most wannabees have only ugly personalities to their credit. Even my twin sister, Scottie, would be occasionally stopped by a loyal fan all the way on the other side of the country, and even once in London when on holiday. It made me laugh when I learned of her fan interaction, and of course Scottie did not mind, although she was sometimes put off when small groups of people, girls typically, would stare and point at her.

  Oh, how I missed my sister...

  For breakfast, Ben and I enjoyed spaghetti and meatballs from a can heated over chemical tabs, sitting on a thin foam mat thirty feet up an old, rusty water tower. Not awful, really.

  A clear view in the damp morning air revealed the still smoking police station ruins and a few of the sniffing runners rolling around on the ground, naked and charred, their clothes having been burned off in the flames. None killed, it seemed. Odd behavior, that sniffing and pack movement. Something I always would remember and watch for.

  The orange morning horizon revealed a large, white cloud in the distance, mushroom shaped; just an ordinary cloud, though, but it brought back memories of the nukes. China tried them first to stop the hordes, but the EMP following detonation destroyed large swaths of technology: communications, computers, diagnostics, transportation... pretty much everything.

  The United States held off as long as possible. Everything was tried first to halt - or at least to slow - the runner onslaught. Chemicals, fire, small bombs, then bigger bombs. But large numbers of runners were intrenched everywhere - buildings, basements, subways, sewers, stadiums, churches, warehouses, and hardened security compounds.

  By the time America’s leaders understood that the virus was more than a temporary catastrophic event; that it was, in tragic fact, the annihilation of the human race, the resulting efforts to control it were all just too little and far too late.

  At least when atomic weapons were finally cracked open by the US military, it was done with as much compassion as possible under the circumstances, not like the malignant government activities portrayed in many thrillers. These were air-burst weapons that had been designed to kill over a large area without widespread destruction or lingering radiation. Even so, the weapons did little good.

  Such a vivid memory...

  First, paper fliers were dropped, telling survivors what was happening and when. Also, there were constant radio and television emergency broadcasts. Then armored vehicles and air crews went in to save as many people as possible. But it was intensely difficult to evacuate a family from a building that was surrounded by hordes of ravenous killers who relentlessly swarmed the rescue trucks. It was a bloodbath, and many heroes died trying to help, but it was the only way.

  The United States reportedly used only a few nuclear weapons on the most overrun population centers early on. There were rumors of more after national communications failed and the power grid was lost.

  As with the Chinese, the overall damage to high tech systems was just too great, to say nothing of the heartbreak of knowingly killing trapped survivors. Any resulting benefit did not some seem worth the horrible price.

  I shrugged off those dark thoughts, gave Ben a warm hug, and then climbed that cold, steel water tower ladder further up. Ben knew the drill. Time for a little reconnaissance. In my past life I hated heights, but now climbing to useful vantage points was routine, and no longer an issue. Once at the top, I almost habitually flicked my braid to my back, feeling the thin, stiff dagger firmly sheathed therein; it was a strange source of confidence for me, as was the ever present close proximity of the pistols in my vest.

  At the highest level I could see for a wonderfully long distance down the road, but detected nothing of concern, only green hills, scattered trees and a few houses. It was a gorgeous view, but I could not linger. I had to move on.

  Once we were back on terra firma, I strapped on Ben’s saddlebags and we took off at a trot. I wanted to make 25 miles that day. Headed north. Always north.

  ~

  Chapter Three

  “Sheffield Abbey”
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  ~

  THREE UNEVENTFUL days later, while looking for an off-road night spot, I came to a smooth, grassy clearing, in the center of which was a very old, high walled adobe ranch, with large arched, solid double doors blocking the entrance. Even though I felt somehow calmed by the obvious serenity of the pastoral surroundings, the setting was nevertheless strange. The scene was out of place, even out of time. Still, the overall effect was definitely familiar to me; something recognizable, yet not unpleasantly so.

  For awhile, watching with piqued interest from the treeline, I took it all in and considered this increasingly puzzling view. Before long, rather gentle seeming men in brown robes appeared along the top of one beige colored wall, doing what could only be described as household chores, sweeping and the like. I could hear the soft musical tones of male humming, but there was no talking.

  A small door opened on a side wall and a little, chubby fellow came out, dumped a bucket and then sat down on a stool, wiping sweat from his partially bald head, muttering something. I was somewhat taken aback. Are you kidding? I remember thinking. He looks like Friar Tuck! Monks? Really? Do they still exist?

  I had no experience with such a phenomenon, although I faintly recalled by father telling some story about silent monks, but I could not bring his words into the forefront of my thoughts, not at that moment. Still, the memory was a positive one, so, after a few more seconds of contemplation, I took a chance.

  “Hey, hi!” I had not spoken in awhile...my voice was raspier than normal, not at all sexy; probably more masculine than anything.

  I could almost see the man’s eyes pop out of his head. The poor fellow ran inside and the merry humming within stopped at once. I truly did not intend nor expect to cause such alarm.

  I pretended to relax at a respectful distance with Ben sitting next to me, hoping that my calm demeanor would lower the tension level, although I nevertheless kept a thick old fence post somewhat between myself and their wall as my fighting instinct was simultaneously feeling the proximity of my various armaments without actually touching them. One must always, always be prepared for the unexpected. Should there be a problem I knew precisely what to do - without hesitation. I was well trained and thoroughly experienced. Weapons up, fire a spray, then move to previously identified cover. If needed, my sprint from there had already been mentally reconnoitered. Always be the hard target. Yeah, my papa had trained me well.