THE KILLER ANGEL : Book Three "Journey" (THE KILLER ANGEL TRILOGY 3) (15 page)

Running...!

Running hard...!

Controlled breathing... precise movement
...

Dark alley-way... runner turf... two of them... on us... fast... powerful
...

I see them Ben
...

I stopped, turned and fired two nearly silent missiles, but only one was necessary, the first shot having entered the forehead of the lead runner, exiting the skull and piercing the second runner right through the eye. Black-blood spraying a nearby store window front as they both crashed into a heap on the ground.

A lucky shot
.

Once again fully in control of my physique, Ben and I slowed our movement to a cautious trot, angling up the street closer to the perimeter fence of the slavers’ fort. There I set the clock alarms and deposited them behind various obstructions, out of view of anyone approaching from the compound. Volume on loud, which gave out only an occasional and meaningless
“pop”.

Then, being careful to stay out of sight, I quickly marched to the highest street with a direct view of my target. Once there, I found the perfect vehicle for my purposes – a cement mixer truck. It would never start, and the tires were almost entirely flat, but it might do nevertheless. I entered the dusty old cab and studied the gauges. There was just enough air in the system to release the brakes. I muscled the steering wheel to aim the tires towards the fort, then jammed it in place by kicking in a two-by-four block of wood. Then I disengaged the drum, pushed the transmission into neutral, and released the brake.

I was thrilled to see the dead behemoth slowly, yet magnificently groan to life a final time and for one singular reason –
to destroy!

It was time for punishment, Redstone style
.

Leaping out as the mechanical beast lumbered up to speed, I took off in a sprint to the finish, pushing my body to its limits as though Scottie were racing me. I could hear the crashing sound of the truck as it smashed through the fence, catching the occupants in complete frightened surprise. Its demolition was far greater than I had hoped, as it smashed through the chain-link barrier, dragging a large section with it, then it burst through the back fence and ultimately halfway into the river. Several men were snared and pinned beneath the fence.
Perfect!

Panic immediately ensued.

You reap what you sow, damn you!

I arrived at a wooded area with Ben close on my heals, near the far side of the former school, close to the main gate, then secluded myself from view...and waited. Ideally, I would have wanted to free the prisoners first, but that was not feasible, so a direct approach through the primary entrance would have to suffice.

Almost noon.

As the excitement within the compound accelerated, I notice a separate small, fenced area close to where I had stopped; even the top was covered in chain link. Within it were twenty or so very excited runners. I could smell their rank odor and the stench of rotted flesh. There were skeletons and half-eaten corpses on the ground, most with hands in handcuffs.

My breathing was heavy at the sight, and I closed my eyes for a moment as fury took over my soul. I could hear yelling nearby; people were running everywhere. I trotted over to the fenced-in creatures.

The entrance to the runner enclosure was wired shut and latched with a standard hurricane fence curved handle. I undid the wire as the runners charged me, but the gate held. I pulled out the braided line stored in my vest and looped a piece over the latch, then took off at a quick pace, stringing it behind me as I ran nearer to the fort’s main gate.

At precisely 12:00, my CD music blared to life with familiar tunes. The noise was far louder than I had
expected, and I knew it would carry – and attract undesirable guests from several blocks away. I smiled grimly at the thought.

There was panicked commotion within the fence as two dozen men and a couple of very hard looking women ran about, every one of them holding some kind of weapon – rifles, shotguns, pistols or machetes. What a crew, looking angry and tough, although very uncertain and nervous.

I easily recognized the “Chief” as he yelled out orders. A half-dozen men exited the gate and ran towards the radios. Within a minute or two I heard the direction of sound change as one radio was silenced.

Then the popping of gunfire commenced. Sporadic at first, then more rapid. As I had expected, there were enough runners in the area to liven things up, although I doubted that such a well armed crew would have much difficulty with the high speed opponents.

As the sounds of a fight escalated, another crew was sent out, although they proceeded more timidly it seemed to me.

I had devised my plan and carefully solidified my thoughts. I would not hesitate - hesitation meant death. I recoiled at the thought of being an executioner; taking a living human’s life was dark business that hurt the soul, but I had made my decision: These predators must fall, and I would bring them down. In another world I would be a vigilante, outside of the legal system - no doubt correctly excoriated and imprisoned for what I
had done. But this was not that world. In this existence and at that moment, I was all that stood between the worst kind of sadistic, human garbage and the innocents upon whom their savagery was inflicted. I had the skills and I had the tools to right those wrongs. There would be no mercy and no hesitation. I would lose no sleep over my deeds that day.
God forgive me
.

Action always gave me clarity. No fog. I become totally aware as my senses fully engage. Focus is sharp. Sounds and smells are crisp. My mind takes in the details: analysis, decision, execution. No tunnel vision. No hesitation. The world slows down as I speed up.

I took aim, and in almost complete silence, the man at the gate crumpled to his knees – unnoticed by anyone, a wet, red line pulsing down his neck. Then he sat back against a wooden post as life left his body; the soft sound of my rifle providing no indication that a danger greater than runners had arrived.

My goal was to protect and free the captives within, being mindful that I now had two enemies with which to contend, both the ganglanders and the runners. My thoughts, my body and my emotions were in sync – speed, reflexes, energy, confidence, determination. My mind was clear, my vision sharp; I felt my power...
and it felt good
.

I could still hear music and gunfire in the distance

Someone pointed at the dead gate guard. “Jess, you lazy idiot! Get up!”

With that, the Chief moved angrily towards the
gate, then he too fell, breaking his face on the pavement as a puff of air sent a deadly message through his chest. Very quickly, I dropped three more outlaws, creating further confusion among an already highly stressed - and now leaderless - crew.

Suddenly, the two dogs that I had seen earlier showed up, curious and seeming to recognize us – they were the Beauchamps’ beagles. Their presence at my location endangered not only Ben and me, but themselves as well. As much as I hated doing it, I pulled out a small can of pepper spray and sent a thin stream of red liquid in their direction. The beagles took a few sniffs and ran off with barely a sound.

I immediately scrambled up a nearby tree, dragging Ben up behind me, then pulled the cord, opening the runners’ gate and unleashing a horrifying mob of starving, fast-moving creatures, ghastly and merciless. They ran straight for the noisy souls within the fort. Once they were past us, we sprang from the tree and followed the terrifying creatures in.

The released runners made their appearance, charging through the gate at an unbelievable speed, their ghoulish eyes set upon the agitated slavers. Abject fear and complete chaos then took hold. The survivors turned their backs and ran for the nearest building, yelling at each other; totally degraded and demoralized, with the fast knocking down the slow, followed by the insane, marauding cannibals who dragged down anyone who lagged. It was a horrifying spectacle, yet I felt no
pity or remorse for the punishment that I had unleashed.

Moving with determination, I entered a building identified by Mannat and found the prisoners crouched in a corner, shaking, unarmed and fearful - five in all.

“I’m here to get you out.” I said as they first looked at me in shock, then in hope at my words. “Are there any others?” Those young people were weak, half starved and badly abused, but they stirred with renewed energy.

“Yes, I have two sisters in the kitchen...there,” a handsome boy said softly in an accent similar to Mannat’s, pointing to a nearby structure.

The intermittent sound of men screaming, accented by sporadic gunfire, continued nearby within the compound, but - of greater concern to me - the teams that had been dispatched beyond the gates seemed to have ended their struggle, as the earlier popping noise of their discharged weapons was absent, and the blaring radios in the distance had gone silent. I had to get the prisoners out before the outside gangs returned and launched into us.

“Follow me...come on now!”

“Nicki Redstone...” one girl said. I turned to look at her; they knew me, and all stared at me with big eyes, “thank you.”

I smiled encouragingly, then walked along the back side of the nearest building with Ben nearby, waving my new friends to follow. Meeting no resistance, we entered the kitchen, but found it empty. “Where are
they?” I said as pandemonium and gunfire continued outside. The one who thanked me opened a walk-in pantry, and looking within, I could see huddled in a corner, partially camouflaged by bags of rice were two females. Upon seeing their comrades, they jumped out to join us, looking at Ben and me in wonder.

Outside, the earlier bedlam had become noticeably calm and almost quiet. My little band of survivors grabbed handfuls of food items and drinks as we made for the back door, when two burly thugs barged into a large, open area near the stoves.

“You ain’t going nowhere you little sons of bitches.” Short-barreled shotguns were aimed directly at me. Everyone froze.

“Holy shit, Duke,” one on the brutes announced, a sweaty man with long hair and a fancy leather coat, “that’s that Redstone bitch the chief was always talking about.”

The one called Duke glared at me for a moment, then said, “Well, well, the bloody ‘angel of death’ herself; huh, ‘bitch angel’ I say.

Wait for it
...

Wait for it
...

Then it happened!

A snort from Ben...
his timing was perfect
.

The two men looked over at Ben for barely a second – a tiny fraction of time that almost every important moment of my new life was built around.

And that was all I needed
.

As Duke and his partner glanced at my powerful ally - in that little slice of time - I pulled two pistols from their holsters, a move practiced and used a thousand times, and sent both fiends to hell before they could blink; two bullets apiece, rounds already chambered in the barrels and ready for anything. I never hesitate...to hesitate is to die.

Violence was the only solution in this dark, nightmare world; there could be no negotiation – there were no prisons, no SWAT, no police, no rehabilitation. Just me. While I still breath, I will forever fight the inclination of the strong to dominate and enslave the weak, this I swore.

My little band of survivors stared, eyes wide, speechless.

“Let’s go,” I said, my ears ringing and muffled from the blasts. Even though it had healed, my left ear ached anew from the damage suffered in the government shelter.
Discard that thought!

We stepped outside and I turned to my companions, “Can you use guns?” To which they all nodded in eagerness.

They were munching on snacks as I passed two of my three remaining pistols to the group, along with two additional bullet clips and quick instructions. The group quickly decided who would handle them. They looked at the warm guns in appreciation and awe, causing me to smile.

The compound was silent. No voices, no runners,
nothing.

I peered around a corner as I led my little clan toward the opening torn by the cement truck near the river. I saw bodies scattered everywhere; there was no movement of any kind. Strange. Where were the returning reinforcements?

Then, through the wide jagged fence opening on the far side of the enclosure, I saw five or six people entering cautiously. There was something odd about them. These were not the leather clad and bejeweled slavers I had seen earlier. No, their attire was simple, and each wore a tall, black or navy blue hat.

The newcomers moved into the compound unchallenged, and as they drew closer, my new friends stood, tearfully looking at the approaching men. “They are our friends; our family,” a young woman next to me said. I then realized that the tall hats were the turbans of Sikhs. At last, it seemed that this terrible sadness would know a happy ending.

I soon noticed an attractive woman running towards me; it was Mannat. Tears flooded her eyes as she embraced me. I watched as her companions, men and women, paired off and moved efficiently into each building, and several times heard the “crack” of gunfire. Dark business was being mercilessly prosecuted.

As I pondered this thought, I noticed movement near the wreckage wrought by the cement truck. I quietly walked over, Ben by my side, and found two
runners panting and clawing as they frantically worked their way to something pinned underneath the twisted hurricane fence.

The moment before I dispatched the sorry creatures, the object of their hunger was revealed - a large, frightened, long-haired man in a western style trench coat. I could still see rust colored stains on his right hand and sleeve from the brutal slayings of Louis and Joshua Beauchamp.

“They’re going to eat me...help...” he pleaded in a whisper. Fear was the only emotion evident on his face as he watched an ugly death approach. I was unmoved. His legs were broken and pinned under heavy debris, and the runners – grotesque monsters with black goo sliding from their mouths in anticipation - were only a few feet from their quarry.