“Poutine?” I suggested.
“Damn it...did you have to say that? Now you are just being insensitive. Ah, yes, poutine. The greatest food on earth, next to pizza, and both are completely out of reach. I really don’t know why I hang out with you, Nicki Redstone, I really don’t.” Brick feigned irritation. “Ah, poutine and pizza, that would be heaven.”
“And a nice Cabernet.” I added, which was entirely doable.
“Ohhh yeah, let’s keep and eye out for some.” We both daydreamed as we walked. I removed the final dressing from my facial wound. It felt surprisingly good.
“Damn fine scar. I definitely like it.” Brick stated. “I must have one too, only bigger.”
“Pas un probleme, Mr. Charbonneau; I’ll put in an order with the next horde we meet. I’m sure they will be happy to help you out with that one.” Actually, Brick had his share of scars, but somehow his were all below the neckline, an observation that I would tuck away for the appropriate “get Brick” moment, one of my favorite pastimes.
~
Eventually, we came across the inevitable obstacle, which was a frequent occurrence, although this one was unusual: a blown out dam. There was no way to tell what had caused the failure, but it was a mess, with debris, upended cars and destroyed buildings visible a long way down. Plus, there was no apparent way across the rushing water below. A road led up river and our map indicated a bridge thirty miles away. We had no other option than to press on to that crossing, which we could make by the middle of the next day.
A few miles up river we came to an abandoned adventure training camp, with a few intact buildings near the former water’s edge, which was now much lower than it had been before the dam collapsed.
Locating canned goods, root beer and wild, slightly green apples, we enjoyed a hearty lunch. I noticed a solid wood frame tower device with cables arching down to the far side.
“Is that a zip line?” I was somewhat amazed.
We walked over and studied the apparatus. It appeared to be intact and functional.
“What do you think?” I asked Brick.
“Hmmm...look before you leap,” came Brick’s reply.
“Ahh,” I said, “no guts no glory!”
Brick eyed me, “Measure twice, cut once.”
I smiled, “He who hesitates is lost.”
“Dammit! It’s very high...very high,” Brick slowly shook his head, looking down, “And you are much lighter than I am.”
I laughed, “That’s why I’m going first!”
A nearby hut contained the necessary harness for multiple guests, all of it in serviceable condition. We worked out the details and carefully studied the far side. This could work. I would go first, test the line’s stability and clear the far side, followed by Ben, then Brick.
Luckily, the entire plan worked to perfection. It was an exhilarating ride, one that I regretted being able to do only once, but there was no easy way back for a second run.
“What a kick in the crotch! I should have done that years ago. I don’t know why I was so uncomfortable with the concept!” Brick exclaimed as we gathered up our gear and continued our journey.
~
For survivors of the epidemic, there were a thousand dramatic stories at every turn, most involving severe loss. Many times those stories made for interesting re-telling, even without embellishment. I was one of the fortunate few to have survived every one of my own adventures, good and bad.
Along the way we sometimes met other travelers, usually in groups of two or three, but not often. Caution was essential.
Brick and I were aware that paranoid trekkers hid from us, and sometimes, through caution learned from experience and observation, we avoided contact with other travelers, especially larger, unpleasant looking groups. Admittedly, our antisocial behavior was as much a dislike for strange company as it was from a cautious outlook.
For the most part, I had found that these hard times brought out the best in most survivors. Still, even in this period of great sorrow, there were those who could not curb their base desires and sadistic instincts; the worst of mankind, ready to take full advantage.
In all ages of history the villains are found, of course; the highwaymen, the tyrants, the rapists, the bullies - those with power who were too often disposed to abuse those without. Brick and I did our best to defeat this savage predilection when we encountered it, but there were times when we simply had to walk away from a fight. Eventually, however, as we journeyed together and gained experience and power, we stopped avoiding those “times”. Indeed, when the need was great, we would even seek out the scourge and end their ability to harm.
Meeting any stranger on or off the road was always a tentative event. Survivors learned to be wary of ambush, trickery, con or thief. Brick and I developed a sixth sense about the intentions of weary travelers whom we encountered, but it was the canine instincts of Ben that almost always first identified trouble.
Sometimes we would trade with friendly souls, always helping those in need when we could. Rarely, we would spend the night together in the security of companionship, making quiet merry around a small fire, sharing news, rumors and any information of value. We were very surprised on increasingly frequent occasions to hear travelers voicing recognition of us. Evidently, word was spreading, which was something that Brick and I pondered as a temporary curiosity.
Encountering people was not really so common; but we covered much more terrain than the average traveler, so we probably saw more survivors than most. Runners, too, seemed to be becoming somewhat more in absence, something we noticed but did not regret.
“They’re dying of starvation, especially here in the backwoods.” Offered a cheerful, older man, Abe, who, with is wife, Mary, settled down for a pleasant evening with us. They were kind, generous folk; the type of people for whom Brick and I always developed a fast fondness. “The direction you’re headed, though, I imagine you will run into swarms of the poor dead devils. All from the city and suburbs, moving out in clumps, more dangerous than ever, if that’s possible. The Sacramento area is especially bad. Awful, awful.”
Mary and Abe were towing a nice, sturdy red wagon that was loaded with supplies. It would not have been a practical device for us, but I could see its advantages. These were good people who were headed to the relative safety of some fort that they had heard was rumored to be near Pinebluff.
“It’s no rumor and no fantasy.” Brick stated. “We came from there over a week ago.” As we went on to describe what Abe and Mary could expect at Camp Puller, their relief and growing elation was visible. We provided specifics about location, directions and obstacles, raising their hopes and confidence, which cheered everyone.
Mary, just as sweet and kind as anyone could imagine, smiled with eyes glistening at the news. She produced a tin of fine chocolates that we all shared and enjoyed. After a calm night, we bade farewell to our new friends on a cold, damp morning, but not before making multiple suggestions on how to better protect themselves along the way.
Even then, perhaps in some small premonition, I wished that we could do more for Abe and Mary, and felt sadness at not being able to guide and guard them to their journey’s end. I was feeling a growing responsibility for the welfare of others, and sometimes chafed at being unable to be in multiple places simultaneously to aid those in need. More and more, I could see that survivors needed assistance, and I had the skill and the tools to do so. I felt a developing urge to apply my talents for the sake of others. Kip will help me figure out this dilemma...
Brick and I pushed ourselves hard for the next few minutes down a damp road, slick with wet, green algae. It was still misty and chilly, and the morning dew was pooled in leaves on the asphalt. Each breath produced a puff of fog. It was great to be alive.
Suddenly, in the distance behind us, there was a ‘pop’, then another. Then one more. Then silence.
Brick and I looked at each other, and then, without comment, retraced our steps, but now we stayed of
f the road, moving smoothly, efficiently...and ready.
We passed our previous night’s campsite.
I re-checked my weapons, loosened my rifle, and took it off of safe. Brick was ready, too, anticipating the worst, hoping for the best.
It wasn’t long before we came across Abe’s and Mary’s little wagon, broken - smashed, as if for fun - its contents ransacked, scattered. Not the work of runners.
Still moving slowly and silently through the woods, just off the road, we soon located Abe and Mary lying in the road, holding hands, but not moving. After a few seconds of study, as I provided overwatch, Brick went to check on the couple. Both dead; shot in the head. Abe twice.
Brick came to me. “For their little wagon of things? They had to kill them?” Brick’s eyes watered red and his face was flushed with anger. “Oh dear God, I will never get over this...those gentle folks were so close to a new home.”
We looked at each other, but said no more. We knew what had to be done, and immediately moved out. For the first time, I felt a burning sensation in my cheek, sensitivity in my new scar. It would not be last time.
Between the two of them, it was hard to tell who was the better tracker, Brick or Ben, and they worked off of each other in a way that I could only marvel at.
Brick would find something, make a soft whistle, then Ben would hustle over, sniff, and off they would go, with me trailing fast. The path to those criminals was easy to follow, though, since those guys believed themselves to be bad enough to handle anything. They would soon learn otherwise.
Moments later, we heard voices ahead - rough, young, filthy, street toughs. I backed off and moved somewhat to the side with Ben, as Brick took point. Brick signaled “stop and wait”, then moved out of view.
Upon returning, he whispered, “No sentries, but they have a miserable looking pit-bull chained to a stake. They have a big motorhome that they are living in. Six guys are visible, but I can’t see inside the RV. Plenty of guns and knives, but they’re stupid, dirty, foul-mouthed and just sitting around boozing and snorting cocaine. They’ve got a runner, too, alive; chained to a tree. Female. Naked. ‘Hate to think of what that’s about. A real nasty bunch.”
We moved in a little closer to study our quarry. There was loud talking from the camp. The day was warming and steam was rising from the moist forest floor. Six ugly looking bottom feeders were lounging around a fire.
“You shouldn’t have killed the bitch, shithead.” A heavily tattooed, greasy looking dude said. “I wanted her to suck my dick.”
“She would’a bit your mouse-dick off, so shut up about it before I kick your stupid ass.” A blonde, curly haired skateboarder looking guy said.
On and on it went, as we silently observed... and prepared to punish the fiends. Even outnumbered, this seemed easy. I looked at Brick and held up held up a precious grenade. “Seven second fuse.” I whispered.
“I’ve got mouse-dick and the skateboarder, if they run.” Brick said quietly.
“Cool,” I replied. “I’ll take care of anyone else leaving the blast. We both need to watch that RV.” I pulled the pin, hesitated briefly, then tossed it into the fire.
One of the gangbangers remarked, “Very funny, Stick.” Then it exploded with much more violence than I expected. The concussion made me wince and my ears rang as bits of shrapnel sprayed through the leaves near us.” Thank you Captain Carter...
Four of the brutes went down in the blast, and the other two were cut down in an instant with our rifle fire.
We moved in immediately, eyeing the RV and the four men knocked down by the grenade. Two were dead. Two were incapacitated, cursing and wailing on the ground - Mouse-dick and the skateboarder.
“Shut up.” Said Brick as Ben and I moved to the RV, rifle up and ready. The side door was open. It was empty. I returned to the campfire; the two boys whimpering and squealing.
No conversation was necessary. Both prisoners were incapacitated, their legs badly damaged, with bleeding nicks all over their upper bodies. I observed Brick as he studied the nearby chained-up runner, then he looked at me.
I nodded. Again, no words were necessary; we understood each other.
The naked runner had been chained in such a way that the leash could be hauled tight to its tree, or given a run of about fifteen feet. Some horrifying sport for these animals. I shortened the leash on the screaming monster, then we dragged the two filthy hoods through the dirt to within a few feet of the runner and tied each of them by their necks to trees on their own special leashes, not without a great deal of pleading, begging, cursing and threatening.
“Remember that older couple you killed this morning? They were friends of ours. Good friends. Like family. It’s your turn now.” Brick’s grim words sent the two curs into a squealing panic, which only heightened the frenzy of the chained-up runner. “Welcome to hell.”
Brick loosened the runner’s leash, and it immediately went after the skateboarder, who kicked and begged for help, as the other cretin could only cry and watch. It would only be a matter of time.
We departed immediately, and left Satan to exact God’s revenge. We delayed our journey long enough to wrap and bury the bodies of Abe and Mary in a single shallow grave, side by side.
I was forced into so many sad and terrible situations that were not possible to imagine in my earlier life. I longed for the happiness and sweet simplicity of that time. Brick and I both felt demoralizing grief for days, and this episode would haunt our dreams forever.
Chapter Eight
“The Fifth”
~
EMPTY PLAYGROUNDS. Abandoned zoos; ballfields; amusement parks; derailed trains; broken planes. The list was endless. All were reminders of a past that was gone forever.
I could feel myself evolving, becoming a darker version of my former self. I resisted the change, determined to keep as much of the old Nicki Redstone that my family loved and cherished; the comedian in me who could break up dinner with perfect timing and humor. My twin sister, Scottie, and I always played well off of each other, much to everyone’s amusement. We are a fun family, I often recalled, I must not lose myself. But it would not be so easy.
I was on a quest, and that quest required the stern ability to be a fighter, an executioner, and a survivor... always, always on edge, with a tight tripwire that could leap into action from a sound sleep - always planning, always prepared. In this mindset, it was difficult to hold onto a personality from an easier, more comfortable time. Nevertheless, I reminded myself that I was a Redstone and, hopefully one day, a Kellogg by marriage. I would never allow a tough life to force me to give up my heritage. Never.
~
Because of the warnings of old Abe, Brick and I decided to bi-pass Sacramento and stick to back roads and small towns. Passing rivers, villages, and orchards, we eventually came to an old abandoned barricade, probably put up by a nearby municipality. We had seen similar barriers before, and it had the usual script of warnings and instructions.
“Road block, I guess.” I said with in my deepest voice, with a slow mid-west accent.
“Starman? You’re doing Starman now? That goes way back.” My powerful friend said smoothly with a smile.
“Of course! You’re no source of entertainment, Brick, so I’m carrying the load for the two of us. I have an expansive repertoire, so hang on to your diaper, Kicking Bird.” I chirped with a clicking, sweet accent.
“Jesus, Dances With Wolves, too. Wow.” And we laughed, finally breaking days of deep depression with back and forth impressions from various films and television shows, now all forever in the past.
Always remembering their immense value, I proposed a distant water tower for the night’s layover, as it was ideally situated for a perfect view of what lay ahead and, of course, it afforded excellent protection for the night. We easily broke the gate lock and then hoisted Ben to the first level, thirty feet up.
Having eaten, comfortably situated ourselves and serviced our gear, we relaxed after dark,
and soon noticed a luminescence above the trees in the distance. Brick and I climbed up much higher and sat on a landing with our feet dangling over the edge.
The elevated vantage point revealed an astonishing sight: full blown city lights. Occasionally, in our travels we had encountered road signs powered by solar cells, and those were marvelously bright wonders in this age of technological austerity. But this...an entire city?
“Wow...I did not expect that. Amazing!” I exclaimed.
“It is indeed beautiful,” noted Brick. “I never realized how comforting city lights are. Maybe the most obvious sign of civilization. Traffic signals; neon signs; billboards; I miss them all.”
“Yeah...me too.” I sighed. “Hydro-electric maybe? Surely no nuclear facility would have been left running. The glow must attract attention from many miles around. Hmmmm... maybe this mystery is one to skip. What do you think, Brick? What do we need there, even if it is properly civilized?”
“Oh yeah, I agree,” acknowledged Brick. “We don’t need the delay or the possible trouble. There must be all kinds of people - and things - attracted by those lights, circling the town day and night. I don’t see us passing through without a fight. The place could also just be a ghost town, beckoning to passers-by, but with little to offer... except for air conditioning, hot showers, working microwaves, DVD players, video games, and....”
I laughed; Brick can be so funny. “Okay, okay, I get it chief ‘I live off the land’ Charbonneau. If you want to go in, then we go in, damn the torpedoes, weapons of mass destruction, and maybe vampires.”
Brick: “Only kidding. I agree with you, Nicki. Let’s skip it. Just dreaming a bit. Still, what a sight, though, eh? We may never see anything like it again.”
There was silence, then Brick added, “I would fight a horde of flesh-nibblers for a cheeseburger right now.”
I chuckled, “You just don’t give up...”
We mused over the lighted town for a long time, as Ben kept doleful, yet protective eyes on us from below.
THE KILLER ANGEL: Book One Hard Player (THE KILLER ANGEL TRILOGY 1) Page 8
