But there was no running that day. I continued to lean nonchalantly on the post, waiting patiently for a reaction. I was certain it would not be long.
Less that two minutes later, a voice from the wall spoke, somewhat tremulous “Hello! Who are you?”
“I’m Nicki, from North Hollywood, traveling alone with my companion, my canine friend.” It was difficult for me to think of Ben as a pet, which he was not. “His name is Ben.... and you would be Friar Tuck, I presume?” Humor could not hurt.
A pause, then a small chuckle from within. “Nooo, only humble monks here...but we could use Robin Hood for sure, for sure.”
Hmmm...was that a Scottish accent? This could be amusing, I remember thinking at the time.
“May I come in, sir?”
One of the big doors slowly opened, just enough to allow Ben and me to enter. Upon it were the words:
“Know ye gentle guest, the Rule of St. Benedict holds here, our silence is our bond to the Lord. A safe bed and simple fare awaits. No innocent traveler is denied. Enter and depart in peace.”
Ah...a real life abbey! Interesting...I thought.
As was ever my way, I entered, confidently, yet fully alert, and was pleased to see twelve monks, dressed alike in heavy brown robes; all silent with amazed expressions. No one said a word, which rather surprised me, “You can’t talk?”
In reply and all at once in chorus they blurted out many excited words, heads bobbing and faces full of cheer, “Oh yes, oh yes, yes, yes!” Until the Friar Tuck chap held up his hand and kindly stated, “AHEM.... We can only speak in reply to a question dear lady, so be forewarned that any answer to your query will likely be met with an overlong, mostly unnecessary and probably VERY boring answer.... ahem!!!”
Much chuckling, smiling and head nodding followed.
What a jovial bunch! I felt instant love for the entire group.
Some chit chat and introductions were made all around and, not surprisingly, the head monk advised that he was pleased to be known simply as Brother Tuck, or “Friar, if you like”, noted with a smile and a nod...and chuckles all around. “I’m the abbot here at Sheffield Abbey.”
“May Ben and I stay here tonight, sir?” I asked as I scratched my guardian’s neck. One cannot be timid in these times. If permission were denied, I would have no time to linger.
“It would be our pleasure, of course and most definitely.” Came the quick reply. “Brother Tom and Brother Chen will show you around our humble piece of heaven, but first you will want to cleanup, I’m sure.”
The two friars then calmly and quietly guided me down a long hallway to a small guestroom. Sparse in its adornment, brown and drab, it was nonetheless homey, clean and comfortable. I allowed myself only a few minutes to wash up, as I was keen to learn more about my new friends. I trusted my instincts and felt safe in dropping most - but not all - of my many weapons and gear on the bed. I found Brother’s Tom and Chen patiently waiting nearby - silently, of course. I then proceeded on tour with the two smiling monks, much to their great pleasure and pride.
These Trappists had created a simple, yet picture perfect home in this land of the lost and damned. Truly peaceful. Vegetables, fruits, eggs and honey. Quite a setup and off the beaten path. I was generous with questions, which were all received with pleasure and an effusiveness seldom seen in any setting.
I pondered how it was that the monks were evidently unaffected by the virus, and when I broached the topic, my guides indicated their puzzlement, as well, although they were naturally inclined to offer their survival as a blessing from heaven, which it may well have been.
The evening meal was simple, yet hardy: Potatoes, lentils and onion stew, fresh carrots, scrambled eggs, beer and milk. Conversation and laughter was sparkling and perfect, and there was no fear of the noisy revelry, table pounding and clanking of mugs.
There were somber moments, too, as it was important to discuss current events and the condition of the outside world. These simple men had received very little news after all communications ceased, other than that gleaned from the infrequent and wary traveler. I covered the bases in great detail, and offered my thoughts and suggestions for their own survival, number one on the list being to stay put and to increase their protective force, if that were possible. I advised that, sooner or later, there would be those unwelcome strangers who would come to their door with unkind intentions and unreasonable demands. I was relieved to see that my new friends took my words thoroughly to heart.
Young Brother Tom had been beside himself to speak for awhile, his cheeks blushing with anticipation, but he needed an opportune moment, which meant that he needed the right question from me. Finally, guessing the issue, I asked, “Ahhh, Brother Tom, do you know me?” To which Tom replied with a huge grin and a deep breath, “Ah yes, oh yes, oh yes, I watched ‘Prime Target’ before becoming a Trappist! I was always a fan. I know your face! I know your fiance’s face! What a fine man! I am so happy to meet you! I...I...I..”
“Brother Tom...uhh hummm” Gently, from Friar Tuck. Then, once again, silence, permeated with smiles and chuckles all around, along with a few clanking mugs and pats on Tom’s shoulders.
A perfect night, untouched by horror, followed by a second night, then a third. A paradise of tidy vegetable gardens, precisely pruned fruit trees, and beehives. Oil lamps and a warm bath set the perfect mood for a medieval dream. Ahhh....never to be forgotten.
Those few days in that abbey have forever remained fondly among my best, most soothing memories.
On the third morning, I buckled up to leave my new friends, even though I made the very genuine promise to return with my twin sister, Scottie, and my future husband, Kip Kellogg.
As always, my weapons were cleaned, oiled and carefully serviced. I thoroughly inventoried all items and fixed each into a specific position that I could access in complete darkness without fumbling about.
The monks had courteously cleaned and treated my leathers, bringing them almost to new condition. I was convinced that someone there had a background in leather working. Very nice!
I had noticed a few infections and ailments among the monks, and when I asked about it Brother Chen explained that their medical supplies had long dwindled to virtually nothing, consisting of aspirin, antacids and bandages. The monks feared leaving the confines of their abbey, so healing was more difficult than it should have been. I left them my entire supply, including antibiotics, bandages and strong pain medication. No prescription necessary. They were indeed grateful.
I then hugged the monks in farewell, each and every one, with warm, glistening eyes all around. Hard times make fast friendships, and these would last a lifetime.
I will return here - no matter what happens, I will return, I promised myself. Then, Ben and I left their sight and their plain, walled paradise, and entered into the world of the unexpected and be-damned, once again.
~
Within an hour of my departure from that peaceful compound, the atmosphere seemed to match my return to grim reality, devolving into a misty, drizzling coolness, with a light rain softly popping on my leather jacket.
I briefly pondered the wisdom of recommencing my journey that day, but Ben was energetic and happy, panting a foggy breath in the chilly morning air, so we continued north at our typically brisk pace.
The monks had assisted me with my travel plans, at least as much as they were able, given the circumstances. Not a trip-tik of course, but still helpful. I would shoot for about twenty-five miles of travel on a fairly straight azimuth to a little municipal airport, which would be my layover for the night.
About half way there, Ben’s ears alerted us to something disturbing in our path; then the squealing sound of an animal in fear pressed us off the road.
Moving with the stealth of a thief, we soon found two runners savaging a cornered calf. It was very young and badly injured. Knowing that other runners were probably moving toward the commotion, I nevertheless leaned against a mossy tree and popped t
he two monsters with precision from a moderate distance.
Moving to within a few feet and seeing the suffering animal’s sad condition up close, I could not help but end its misery with a single, merciful bullet, and then leave the area quickly. It always hurts, even now.
I remember thinking, “sons of bitches,” as hot tears burned my cheeks for that gentle creature. I loved cows, and most soft, gentle animals. The rain had stopped, but the stinging chill increased, cutting deep as a brisk wind had kicked up. Normally, my mood was unaffected by weather, no matter how foul, but that day the cold and gray dragged heavily on my normally high spirits.
It would take time... it always did.
~
I reached my goal, the country airport, later that day. It was wide open and clear in all visible directions. That was nice to see. So often there were creatures, feral dogs, scraggly cats or grimy runners mulling around, doing who knows what. Hungry, probably. The monsters seemed to be constantly starving.
The place had been cleaned out. No runners. No bodies. No supplies. Only a few broken planes in hangars. Very quiet. Very empty.
Then, a pleasant surprise in the farthest hangar, which was closed up tight.
Balloons. Hot air balloons. It was an interesting discovery. Yes, very interesting, with great potential.
I knew virtually nothing about those things. What had my father told me? Chase cars to follow the balloon? Power line hazards? At the mercy of the wind? I carefully considered the wonderful possibilities. I pulled out my map and studied carefully.
I crunched a freeze dried protein bar and, looking up, noticed that there was still a weather sock blowing in the breeze, torn though it was.
Aha, okay, okay...we can do this. First, prepare for the night, I thought.
Close up the hangar, airtight. All access points sealed and secure. Prepare for any emergency. Sleeping on top of the balloon bags will be fine, even if a bit lumpy. Fly away the day after tomorrow... It was a good plan; but then, aren’t they all?
The next morning, I learned everything that I could about balloons from the paraphernalia laying around. As I studied, I began spreading a huge purple bag and all the accoutrements for a flight out on the runway, working up quite a sweat in the process. There seemed to be multiples of everything that I needed. I had chosen the largest available balloon with a basket that could hold extra fuel tanks, which were in ample supply.
Using a hand-truck and cart, I managed to muscle the necessary materials into the open. Everything seemed ready, so the only thing I lacked was a steady northerly wind. Every time I stopped to wipe my brow and catch my breath, I would look up at that tattered windsock. If only that thing would blow north...
After a second good night’s sleep it was time to move. The wind looked good. The balloon inflated slowly...but...by God, it did!
Then I heard a very distinctive “POP, POP” in the distance - gunfire. Then more, lots more... it was approaching my position. Now what?
I peered around the basket of my almost fully inflated, beautifully colored balloon. Two young-looking women were riding bikes hard, directly towards me, trying to shoot at a dozen screeching runners who were converging on them from different directions. The inflated balloon was an obvious beacon for the two survivors.
In that moment of aloof observation, I pondered: Oh my God, how did these girls get this far? Pretty outfits, nice hats and terrible shooting skills. Are those ear buds? No wonder they were jumped. They were not going to make it.
Damn it! There went my fine day and carefully prepared plans...
“Get over here!!” I stepped out shouting. I was ready...as always. That pack of running dead seemed unusually fast. Were they getting faster? Don’t they ever run out of juice?
“Ben...Inside!” I pointed to the hangar. Without hesitation, Ben moved swiftly to the nearest door and once inside turned to follow my actions with a slight nasal whistle of worry - he was ever loath to leave my side.
I easily dropped the three leading runners, which tripped up several of those immediately following. With fearful, noisy breathing and sweat soaked shirts, the girls passed me and ran inside the hangar as I followed them in and then slammed the door behind me. Seconds later, the terrifying creatures hit the door hard. Splintered glass from the small window sprayed everywhere from the impact, as the booming noise of their pounding and screeching reverberated throughout the building. It was the kind of sound that launches a manageable crises into wild-eyed panic, usually a fatal condition.
I remained calm and focused; I had been there before and had heard those sounds - and worse - many times.
I knew that the creatures would break through soon, though; their blood senses were up, drenched in our scent and sight; they would never stop until they grasped their quarry - or were killed.
The attack soon developed into a large swarm, something I had faced in the past, mainly on that dark trip from Phoenix to Los Angeles, but only in the company of other experienced fighters - heroes who ultimately fell in the struggle, having succumbed to relentless enemy onslaughts. Only I remained to carry on and, by choice, always alone.
I dropped several more of the damned through the door’s window slot, but more were visible in the distance, clearly focused on our location. This would get ugly real fast.
Damn it! I hate company! I remember thinking; I disliked the burden of carrying others. It was too late for those kinds of recriminations, but I considered, even then that those girls might cost me everything.
The banging, screeching and hot, gagging odor compounded the potential for panic. I had to keep everyone calm and under my control.
One of the girls was bleeding. Damn! The ragged tear in her bicep looked like a deep bite. Bleeding had stopped and the wound was dry, but her eyes were clear and hopeful. I had seen similar injuries many times before. I knew it would not be long. There was time yet, but her hope was in vain. I flipped the toggle on my rifle to “auto” and emptied 30 rounds into the horde. It was effective.
I loaded a new clip, backed up, turned around only to find myself staring into the horrible face of the newly dead, which was a always a jarring experience. The transformation had occurred faster than ever before. Black syrup vomited from her mouth and nose as she jumped and buried her teeth into my leathered arm. Damn that hurts!
As I had trained myself through a thousand repetitions, with my free left hand I smoothly slid a pistol from my vest - cocked with a round chambered. One bullet later and the infected young woman no longer moved.
Outside, the remaining runners had agitated themselves into a screaming, suicidal frenzy. They could smell us - and they wanted to eat.
I looked around. The other girl was a useless, cowering lump in the corner.
“Ben, stay.” He understood. He barked and snapped at the heaving door and grasping arms, his ears back and flat against his skull. Perfect.
I grabbed the petrified girl’s arm and shouted. “What’s your name?”
“Gena!” Came the breathless, wide-eyed reply.
“Stay with me Gena!” I ran out the back door while the runners were distracted by Ben’s commotion, loading another magazine as I moved. “Let’s go!!” I dragged Gena along at a gasping sprint to the balloon and jumped in.
As though I did it for a living, I fired that noisy, hot jet, shoving a mass of warm air into the already mostly inflated balloon. It lurched and tugged as its ropes creaked. In the the near background the sound of runners screeching and banging intensified as Ben raged his courageous defiance.
“Go, go, please let’s go!!” Gena pleaded with me. Rising from the basket floor, she reached to undo ropes that held us to anchors.
“Shut up and sit down!” I shoved her back with my foot; perhaps more firmly than was necessary. I was beginning to dislike this girl.
I withdrew a sharp blade from my kit and whistled loudly. Seconds later, Ben rounded the hangar corner, rocket fast. My whistle, combined with Ben’s movement and subsequent sc
ramble into the basket, immediately attracted the runners.
“Pull the slip-knots and cut the rest!!” I shouted and passed the knife to Gena. I fired my rifle. Pop pop pop. One runner after another fell to my calm precision until I emptied the magazine. Experience and training definitely paid off. I dropped that smoking hot weapon and grabbed for my pistols. The balloon briefly rose up, taunting us with freedom, but it was too late. The creatures swarmed the basket and in their frenzy pulled it to earth, halfway knocking it over and nearly spilling us out with their clawing, scrambling, tearing, and biting.
I could feel my eyes flooding with tears as my pistol blew chunks off of the heads of five more creatures before the swarm overwhelmed me. The balloon finally, slowly lifted off as I fought for our lives. It was hand to hand then. Ben crunched the neck of one of the three remaining runners in the basket while another ripped into his fur. The third monster latched onto my chest, spewing nasty black tar onto my normally spotless leathers. In the corner of my eye I could see that Gena was entirely useless. I was finally able to push a rod from my arm into the eye of the runner that held me in its death grip, then I skewered the one digging into Ben. The third dropped lifeless from Ben’s jaws with a nearly severed head.
I was breathing hard. “Never fight a man with tears in his eyes,” dad always said. I guess it goes for girls, too, I thought with a smile and a feeling of relief. I had done it again...survived.
Ben would be fine; no skin broken. He appeared to be entirely unaffected by the trauma, and actually seemed happy for a simple, loving hug, which I provided with gusto.
Now this Gena...hmmm.
THE KILLER ANGEL: Book One Hard Player (THE KILLER ANGEL TRILOGY 1) Page 3
