THE KILLER ANGEL : Book Three Journey (THE KILLER ANGEL TRILOGY 3)

by Stafford, Myles

  “I could not save him, Nicki...I could not save him... I still feel the guilt. I keep thinking, maybe I should have driven into that mob. I know we would have all died, but...but...I cannot escape it... I could have done better...”

  Then Scottie broke down and wept...so did I. We cried as we had never cried before, in each others’ arms. Inconsolable in our grief; unforgivable in our failure. We were trained for moments like that, but at that most important moment, neither of us was ready, and one of us was not even there. We had both saved so many, but could not save our own.

  Scottie sat back and slowly composed herself to continue, “Mom and I made it home. She could no longer comprehend English; even in French she was confused and withdrawn. It was all craziness. We were in shock. The world was ending fast. Mom was failing, I could see it, declining emotionally, physically. I had to be strong for her.”

  “Flynn was a hero, forcing me into action, to become the machine that our father wanted, but I could do nothing for our sweet mother. Her life force waned, and within two weeks she had passed.”

  Scottie paused, then, “Doomsday had arrived. Later, I returned to the site of our father’s death and found only his bloody jacket. I buried it next to mom...at home.”

  My sister and I embraced again, using our bond and our strength to dull the emotions of the living nightmare that had become our existence.

  Hours passed and our conversation drifted to calmer matters. Eventually, as sunset darkened the room, the suite door opened and in walked Flynn Petron, Scottie’s husband, looking exactly as I always remembered him.

  “I’ve been looking for you two!” Flynn almost shouted in his smiling, always good-natured way. “Ah, Nicki, I’m so happy to see you!” A statement followed by a wrestler’s embrace that caused my back to pop. He hadn’t changed a bit - the same handsome, loving and fun man as always. “I couldn’t believe it when I heard you were here!”

  “What, no weapons?” I asked, as he appeared totally unarmed.

  “We are safe here, but...” with that, grinning, Flynn turned around to reveal a pistol in a backside holster. “Just a precaution, of course.” I had noticed two spare magazines in a sleeve pouch, which I thought was an interesting way to carry spare ammunition. He then grabbed at the pistol, pretending in exaggerated panic that he couldn’t quite reach it, making me laugh - something I did infrequently. Flynn could always make me laugh, though. Here, at least, was someone who seemingly had not changed at all, a thought that uplifted my heart and gave me hope. Scottie smiled softly in approval and obvious affection.

  In spite of his irrepressible good nature and fit, muscular physique, I eventually noticed subtle changes in Flynn’s appearance and demeanor. He had aged, definitely, and there were worry lines on his kind face. And scars. Yes, he too had not traveled the apocalypse road unscathed. Part of his scalp looked as though it had been ripped up, but it had healed well. Burn wounds, stitches, and what probably had been a compound fracture of his left arm were all evidence that life had not been easy there.

  As Flynn, Scottie and I continued light conversation, Ben had taken to exploring the suite, ultimately focusing on a corner couch that was loaded with pillows. I noticed a bright-eyed, feline face looking in calm alert at the German Shepherd interloper.

  “Scout? That’s Scout!” I went over to give the old tabby a tender rub, which he welcomed with a familiar purr. “The motor is running,” something my mother always said. I couldn’t believe that Scottie’s cat was still around. I hadn’t seen the cute little guy in years, and I knew that he was at least twenty, which is very old for those animals.

  “He was skin and bones when we found him; starving and thirsty,” Flynn explained, “but he pulled through just fine, as you can see.”

  Scout had indeed “pulled through”, being the same old, slightly chubby, tabby-gray cat that I remembered. So very few pets had survived Armageddon, either being destroyed by their former owners, or dying of starvation in the prisons that were once their homes. Although I was thrilled to see the gentle fellow, his presence made me feel the pangs of homesickness that could never be healed.

  Flynn had a project that required his attention late into the night, so Scottie and I retired to her quarters, exhausted after a very long and eventful day.

  Later that evening, as I lay awake near my sister, a candle burning quietly in the corner, I could see her hands clenching and her face contorted into an angry, yet fearful grimace in fitful, antagonized sleep. I knew the look well, a terrifying reliving of her life’s worst moments, and there were no doubt many. Overpowered in fights to the death.

  Scottie may well have suffered more than I to have changed so much. I barely recognized her. Perhaps I was unrecognizable to her, as well, but the change in my twin seemed to go beyond grief... there was something else there, a dark hardness that was somehow vaguely familiar to me.

  Slowly, carefully, I lay down next to her petite form, and placed my hand upon her arm. Scottie calmed and her hard breathing relaxed, and then we both finally sank into a deep, empty slumber.

  Chapter Twelve

  “I Will Find You”

  IT WAS a new day, bright, beautiful and fresh. I awoke aware of the great sadnesses that touched all who survived. But survivors moved on or perished.

  Scottie had essential rounds to make and morale to boost. Her visible, physical presence was uplifting; increasing confidence, sustaining effort, and giving everyone involved energy and a heightened sense of purpose. They were doing great things.

  Before departing, she provided some wonderful, yet puzzling news: Brick was en route to our location; probably only a few days away. Flynn’s new “Radio Camelot” daily advisory always describe the location of each “castle” and what survivors could expect within. He also happened to mention that Nicki Redstone was a special guest at Camelot, information that would assist Brick, not that he needed help tracking me, but it might shorten his journey.

  I was thrilled to hear that my dearest friend would soon be near, but I could not help but consider the reasons for his absence from his home in South Dakota.

  As I enjoyed a light breakfast in Camelot’s small cafeteria, Flynn joined me for a cup of coffee, while Scottie met with various section leaders. I could tell that others in the facility were doing their best to politely ignore my presence, although it was clearly difficult for some... furtive glances tell so much, but I had grown accustomed to the attention. Good manners prevailed there and interruptions were few. Finally, Flynn and I took our coffees and moved to the privacy of a small conference room nearby. There were questions to which I knew he had the answers.

  “What happened to Engleton?” I began, “The place looks like it was nuked, but I’ve seen blasted cities before and they look nothing like that.”

  “Ah yes,” Flynn looked at the ceiling, “it is strange, and we don’t know for sure, but here’s what I think.” Knowing Flynn, his “opinion” would be backed by considerable research.

  “Engleton was definitely nuked, but either they did something different or something went wrong. Warnings went out and folks were cleared away. Supposedly there were two strikes, for some reason, or at least two major events occurred nearly simultaneously. First, something huge penetrated underground and must have smashed into the aquifer, instantly vaporizing lakes of underground water and pushing up the massive mound that is visible today. Then there was a second hit that caused the scooped out area on top and pushed everything out from the center.”

  I pondered Flynn’s description, “What about the smell?”

  “Yes, yes... remember the annual muck fires that we had almost every year during drought?” I nodded...ahh...that was the familiar smell. “Not only was the aquifer vaporized by the first blast, but the second hit had such an intense heat ring that a county sized amount of that muck material ignited. Normally the fires were comparatively small in the old days, usually being started by lightening. The government cracked open those bombs about two years
ago and that stuff is still burning. ‘Better to just stay out of the area altogether!”

  “Wow.” It was all I could say. But something more immediate was firmly pushing against my emotions; it would no longer stay silent in my mind.

  “Flynn...” I began with hesitation, “In my travels I have encountered survivors - good and bad - who seemed to have had an unusually fearful opinion of Scottie...” I remembered that I, too, had caused some to fear me, but only those who proved themselves to be the worst kind of human vermin, and far beyond any possible redemption.

  Flynn looked at a small architectural “bug” model on a shelf that I recognized as one he and Scottie had worked on together when they were college freshmen, a much more innocent time. “Yeah,” he began, “I guess you’ve noticed that Scottie has changed.” I nodded, sitting back into the cushion of a creaking wicker chair.

  “Of course, we all changed to some degree,” he continued, “but the point of no return for Scottie happened almost a year ago. Throughout the shock and craziness of the epidemic, we managed to survive and even thrive, if you could call it that.” He paused for a sip.

  “Scottie had an adventurous spirit, and she kept everyone going. She is totally your twin all the way - speed, ambidexterity, courage... everything. Heroic, even to me.” Flynn looked at me and smiled, but even through that easy grin I detected a sadness beyond that which all survivors feel.

  “Part of Scottie’s focus has been to rescue others in desperate situations; to protect the weak, and to provide shelter and security for those who needed it.” Flynn looked at me warmly as he spoke. “You Redstone sisters are so much alike...”

  “My life, my focus, my drive has been to make her dreams come true; to find the real-world ways to make them happen...and to keep the ‘Redstone’ cheer and wit alive in her.” I, too, understood the importance of humor to survival, as did Brick, who often used amusing banter to drag me out of dark depths.

  “A year ago, we heard rumors of a gang of brutes that were trading in children, which became an immediate priority for us. The rumors turned out to be fact. We found our targets in what had been someone’s prized mansion at one time, and with a little reconnaissance, we easily overcame their defenses. It wasn’t difficult. You would be impressed, Nicki, at how efficient we are at this kind of thing now. Scottie and I work out the details, then she leads the guys in. Our system never fails, so these bad-boy wannabees didn’t have a crickets chance against a truck tire. Ohhh yeah.”

  “By the time our penetration was over, four thugs were dead on the outside and a few others ran away. Inside, we subdued two creeps and a creepier woman, probably in their twenties, decked out in leather and gold jewelry. Very nasty. We had them zip tied and sitting in a corner of a large game room of some kind on the third floor. They sat there laughing, spitting and cursing us. If they had only known what awaited them...”

  “We found boys and girls there; young, too. Maybe half a dozen. Obviously abused... dirty... severely starved. Scottie talked quietly to the older kids for a few moments. Even in their fear, I could see their beautiful, young eyes gleam when she spoke to them; she was so tender, so gentle, and they knew who she was. Everyone here knows who she is, of course. Word travels, yeah?” I nodded.

  “But then, suddenly... rage... there was such frightening, ferocious rage in her eyes... uncontrolled...I had never seen it before.”

  Flynn’s eyes began to water as he continued, “She had her two protectors, Diego and Marguerite, take the kids out as those beasts continued to jeer at us and make lewd comments at the kids. I had a bad feeling that something awful was about to happen, but I was still totally unprepared. Faster than I could blink, faster than anyone could have reacted, Scottie put hollow-point bullets into the unprotected groins of all three of those prisoners... blood and bone chips splattered everywhere.” He paused and slowly shook his head as the haunting memory crossed his vision, then calmed himself, looking at me with his gentle eyes. “You girls were always so goddamn fast, you know?

  “Those three were scared then; I mean really scared. Not belligerent and tough anymore. They realized their lives were over, and they were afraid. Who wouldn’t be? The room stank of their fear. They became true believers as they writhed and moaned in agony. By herself - probably running on pure adrenalin - Scottie dragged them to the windows. She tied heavy electric cords around their feet as they bled and cried and begged for mercy, urinating and defecating on themselves. I watched in horror as Scottie kicked those miserable creatures out the windows, upside down, blood and stink flowing over their faces. On the last one, the woman, she hung a plank of wood on which, in large letters, she had splashed paint. It read:

  I WILL FIND YOU

  S.R.

  Flynn paused a moment, then continued softly, “So, overnight, our problem people cleared out; not just out of this town, but pretty much the whole state. I guess the story must have spread fast. I heard later that those three lived for almost two days, groaning and pleading for help, but nobody cut them down - ever.”

  He paused and looked at me, “Scottie was never the same after that. Very dry. No humor. No warmth. Still Scottie...but not Scottie. We had seen so many bad things...so many awful things, but she always rose above it and made something good out of each terrible event. But now...this time...I fear she may be lost forever, Nicki.”

  I thought about those words. My father always said that hard times can make some very hard people. He probably never imagined that he was speaking of his own daughters.

  I hugged my brother-in-law as he wept gently on my shoulder, my own tears soaking into his soft flannel shirt. I understood and could feel Scottie’s transformation through such unchecked fury. It was the same out of control rage that I feared in myself. My twin sister had been pushed to the precipice...and she had fallen over. In my soul, I knew I would have done no differently.

  Kip – I need you!

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Excerpts from ‘Flynn’s Story’”

  I MET the Redstone twins while I was in college, when Scottie and I were both aspiring undergrads in the school of architecture, which was not so long ago - but sometimes that life seems as though no more than a dream now. Did I ever live so happily?

  Everyone knew who they were, of course...they were twins and they were gorgeous! But, beyond those natural traits, they were just...cool. Scottie and Nicki were sincerely friendly to everyone and excluded no one, taking a hard stand against snobbery and arrogance.

  The Redstone girls always walked with a confident sense of purpose, as though their destiny lived within, awaiting the time when it would become reality and not just dreamed; although the reality that we live now was no one’s dream.

  In addition to being classmates, Scottie and I were already great friends and, at least for me, there was a desire for something closer; something permanent. Maybe Scottie felt this, too, but I knew then (and still do) that without Nicki Redstone’s approval, any potential relationship was DRT (dead right there). I admit it, yes, I was a little apprehensive about the prospect of Nicki’s “review”.

  When I was first introduced to Nicki, she looked me up and down, not impolitely, but with a thorough, penetrating study that made me feel as though she could see into my soul and read my mind. Ohhh yes, I remember that look; the subtle intensity; head slightly tilted; hands on her belt, almost as though poised to easily slide onto pistol grips that did not yet exist. I squirmed a little inside, I admit this! Thankfully, I passed the examination. Ever since, though, when I have seen a repeat of Nicki’s penetrating evaluation of others, I smile and think, woe to the impure.

  Scottie and Nicki were indeed very different young women, and yet, in many important ways, so much alike. It became evident to me that they were connected on a level that most humans could not detect, but I noticed it right off. The subtle glances; the nods; the easy communication without words. I was kind of envious, to be honest. They easily counseled each other on all matters, great
and small, and were quick to criticize, but equally quick to compliment and encourage.

  They were both ridiculously, annoyingly fast with their hands, and I often carried around sore knuckles from being beaten down in the game of “slap hands” too many times. I laughed when Kip Kellogg refused to play at all. Having been around longer than I, he declared in feigned disgust that he had learned his lesson and would not submit to the abuse.

  At Christmas time, their father, Carson Redstone, in sort of a family tradition, would offer five dollar bills to anyone who could catch the money when he dropped it between thumb and forefinger. No one – and I mean absolutely no one succeeded, except for Nicki and Scottie, of course. Those two never missed, so naturally, the game was over when they played. Mr. Redstone would announce, “This is why I’m always broke!” Ah, I miss those times so very much. The prelude to their power was evident, even then.

  When my dear, sweet sister-in-law, Nicki, was brought into the Camelot compound following her fight at the old Redstone homestead, I could not believe the transformation. Viewing her from the upper floor window of our radio room with binoculars, I had to rub my eyes, shake my head, and slap myself to confirm that I was awake. Ferociously armed; dirty and somewhat banged-up - yet nonetheless beautiful - Nicki looked far more deadly than I had imagined from the radio descriptions. Imagination is one thing, but the reality was beyond imposing. I had not seen her since before the epidemic, so the impact on my mind was doubly jarring, even when viewed from a distance.

  Bruised, cut, and scarred, with that often described white line on her cheek standing out as though Michelangelo himself had placed it there in frustrated anger, she strolled in alongside Scottie ahead of our small team with the confidence of a god. Indeed, the two of them, Scottie and Nicki, looked as though they had been dispatched from Mount Olympus by Zeus himself to kick some tail and to give mankind a hand.