THE KILLER ANGEL : Book Three "Journey" (THE KILLER ANGEL TRILOGY 3) (25 page)

On several occasions, she invited me to join her.
One such excursion, in particular, simple though it was, highlighted the unpleasant tendency in humans for the strong to dominate the weak.

After a few hours hike from one of Flynn’s “hotels” and with a team of five well-armed companions from Camelot, including Diego and Marguerite, of course, we arrived at our target.

Speaking to Brick and to me, Scottie said, “Sometimes these guys can get violent fast; usually, I approach alone. They don’t fear women, even armed as I am. The psychology of male dominance always works in our favor. You can go with me, Nicki, and Ben, too, but I’m sorry Brick – I think your presence would scare someone into action, maybe even shooting.”

Brick understood, of course, and set himself into a position where he could observe through his rifle scope.

Scottie looked at Diego and Marguerite, who clearly knew the plan, “Ready?” They nodded in reply.

Another team member stood facing away, guarding our backs and flanks, as Scottie’s protectors moved to camouflaged positions that paralleled what would become Scottie’s approach. The other two fighters trained their scoped rifles on the compound. Everyone was obviously experienced at this very delicate procedure; each knew exactly where to go and what to do.

Scottie was supremely calm. “I’m glad you’re here, Nicki; I feel complete, somehow, walking side-by-side together with you.”

“Yeah, me too, Scottie; this seems so right.” I replied. “Here and now, with you, this is where I belong. Daddy would be proud.”

With Ben faithfully at my flank, we stepped into the open, near where young women and a few children were picking late harvest tomatoes and placing them in baskets. Three bearded men, dressed in black and wearing wide brimmed, wicker hats, stood silent watch; large gauge shotguns resting across their forearms.

“Everyone is here,” Scottie said. “Three men, five women and six kids. At least two of the women are pregnant.”

We stopped when it was obvious that we were spotted.

“Hello,” Scottie shouted, “we would like to talk with you.”

There was a brief hubbub among the men as the women remained frozen in position.

“Keep working!” One deep voiced, thin old man ordered. He looked like the shadow of a scarecrow in his black attire. “We know who you are; we don’t want no trouble. This is my family! Go away! Everyone is here because they believe in the
‘Word’!
This is their home!” The men were clearly nervous; agitated. The women and children furtively glanced our way as they hunched over their labor, but said nothing.

Scottie muttered an aside to me, “Uh huh, I’ve heard that one before.”

Then out loud, “We’d like to talk; this is my sister,
Nicki.” With those words, the tension level went up immediately. Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked up. Dark eyes under thick eyebrows went wide. Evidently a real break in the monotony. The men pulled closer together, gripping their weapons, hands nervously flexing on the wooden stocks.

Scottie couldn’t resist a sisterly jab, “I guess they know who you are, Nicki. Not too happy, though. ‘Must have heard one of your jokes.”
Humor from Scottie?
I smiled at the unexpected levity.

“We said we don’t want no trouble!” A tremulous voice barked out. “We don’t hurt no one. Just read the bible and work the land.”

“That’s fine, sir, but we would like to talk to the ladies, just for a moment. Would that be okay?” Scottie replied with a smile.

I was proud of my sister. There were no police, no investigators, no family services, no courts – no one to protect the innocent and abused. But Scottie had developed a system that worked well and gave the oppressed a chance for freedom. I was thankful that survivors like her and her comrades were willing and capable of accomplishing the task. In the bigger picture, I remembered that my Kip and his rangers, and Captain Carter and his soldiers, worked towards the same goal, and I was doubly appreciative that the power of courageous, kind hearts proved stronger than that of dark souls.

I studied the three before us. Pretty ordinary; I’d
seen their type before. Religious zealots who used their beliefs to lord themselves over others. Not excessively dangerous, but not to be ignored.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Scottie’s hands feigning relaxation, but I knew her well and recognized her preparation for action. I was already there. We were within easy pistol range.

Another bearded, deep voice snarled, “Go away! Leave us be!”

With that, Scottie’s pistols were up faster than any human could follow; mine were positioned simultaneously. Ben, too, was ready, having witnessed many similar confrontations with me. His ears were back and his muscular body was tense and imposing.

From either side of the farmers, our over-watching guardians revealed themselves promptly, their rifles aimed at the threat. From behind us, our remaining comrades came forward carefully. Brick calmly moved up next to Ben. It was an effective, overpowering display, as it was intended to be.

“Place your weapons on the ground, then lay yourselves down. We will not harm you. We only want to talk.” The men complied and were zip tied where they lay, hands and feet. The women and children were examined and found to be unarmed.

While the men were kept secured, Scottie and I took the “family” to a private spot for conversation. Brick stayed with the remainder of our troupe where, with Scottie temporarily occupied, he was bombarded
with celebrity comments. Even our prisoners pitched a few awed questions. I smiled at how well he handled the attention; he was growing accustomed to the routine, and was very relaxed about it. I had to admit one thing, he definitely looked the part. He was indeed a heroic figure; a living legend. The evolution of his story would make interesting reading in a hundred years.

I have always been proud of my great friend, Brick Charbonneau
.

Later, while reviewing the day’s events, Brick remarked to me, “Only a solid-to-the-core person can withstand the corrosive effect of power; the dogmatically religious types seem to be especially susceptible. It’s a pernicious human failing.”

Good grief
...

Brick could be one amazing philosopher, but I had to jab him. “Brick... Brick... did you just say ‘dogmatically’ and ‘pernicious’ in one breath? Those are very big words...very big.”

His dark eyes flashed humorously through a suspicious squint. “Yes...and you don’t know their meanings...hmmmm...let me think on that for a few days.”

“No one uses words like that in conversational English. That’s for textbooks. I don’t want us to be facing down a bunch of goons and hear you say something like, ‘Nicki, there are some ‘pernicious’ guys in here. Okay? It’s just not good for my reputation.”

We both chuckled with Brick’s reply, “Ah, yes, I see your point.”

Easy, harmless humor. It was an important pillar of our friendship... and mental health
.

“That was a fairly routine encounter, Nicki,” Scottie explained that evening, as we privately enjoyed a glass of dark red wine and a tray of fine cheeses in her quarters. “There is no typical, of course, but our religious interventions usually end up the same way. Even so, we always try to plan for the unexpected. You never know, so it’s best to remain on guard, never complacent.”

Scottie paused and looked at me with unexpected compassion, tilting her head ever so slightly. “You’ve seen some of the worst, Nicki, I know.” I nodded and smiled with sadness at my twin.

“For us, the most dangerous are the slavers – the real criminals who think nothing of snuffing out a young, innocent life. Deadly and vicious. We take no chances with them. Usually, after observation, we act quickly.” Scottie eyed me firmly before continuing. “In most of those cases, we take no prisoners. I won’t let any slaver escape to torture and dominate others. You understand?”

“I made that vow long ago, Scottie,” I replied. She knew that I had lived up to my oath more than once.
Taking life was not something I was proud of, but as long as I was able, I would never allow any living being to be tormented by any predator, whether runner or human – the later being the worst, by far.

“Besides the religious fanatics,” Scottie continued, “we deal with the slavers, the militias, the survivalists, the KKK types, and the occasional sadistic traveler. Sometimes they are a mix, but we’ve established protocols that work well for each – preventing surprises is an obsession for me, and that obsession has saved us from many tragedies.

“Most of the sadists have left the region or are dead. Those are the ones that we tracked, located and punished with determination and vengeance. We are fanatics about it.”

Scottie took a more relaxed pose and softly rubbed Ben’s back. “The groups that remain in the vicinity are, overall, reasonably decent folk. Sometimes they even cooperate with us. Others have modified their organizations so as not to create conflict with us. It’s an acceptable approach as far as I’m concerned. We didn’t set out to be the ‘law’ of the land, but it has worked out that way. Somebody had to do it, I guess.”

“You’ve had a tremendous impact on the entire region, Scottie. God only knows what atrocities would go on here without you. I can see why you won’t leave.”

“Not yet, anyway,” Scottie replied, “not until I know that the area is stable and will stay that way when Flynn and I depart.” She paused introspectively,
smiling. “And Marshall? I don’t think you will ever get him to leave, though, other than temporarily. He’s having too much fun. Who knew?”

With that, we both chuckled, then stood up and embraced in silent cheer. It was good to finally hear Scottie’s sweet laugh; almost like old times.

“You arrived just in time, Nicki; I was losing myself... becoming someone... or something... not ‘us’. You know?” I nodded as my eyes watered. I hugged my sister again, held her close, and kissed her scarred cheek.

“Je t’aime jusqu’à la fin ma soeur.”
I loved her more than life.

“Je t’aime pour toujours, Nicki.”
I never doubted it.

Scottie knew my story - every detail of it - and she knew that I had faced my own demons, and was nearly lost to them. Scottie and I were true twin sisters, bonded to the soul – and always would be.

We stood, face to face, smiling, simultaneously raising our glasses, and with one voice made our soft salute:

“Redstone...”

I studied my beautiful sister. The damage to her eye was healing, not so red, I thought. No doubt the virus side-effect was helping. And the scar?

Well, we were the Redstone twins, after all
...

Departure

Departure day had arrived. Leaving Scottie was proving far more emotionally difficult than I had imagined.

The prior evening I executed my self-imposed obligatory drill, although that time the rehearsal required a sharper, more relentless edge - it would divert my mind from the impending sadness of separation. I gripped each weapon with speed and efficiency, always pushing myself with the intensity demanded of a life or death skill – this was no game. Magazines were popped out and new ones loaded, each located precisely in its pouch. I could find every knife, every pistol, every item on my body, my vest and my pack with maximum speed and in complete darkness – without thinking; without fumbling.

Faster...faster...faster!

As always, I trained with two hands in unison, then left-handed only, then with the right hand. Using legs and arms, I switched up the phantom onslaught, responding with an instantaneous defense or preemptive attack of my own. I was ever open to modification. If I could glean some advantage from experience or observation, I would evaluate the concept and incorporate it into my kit. This was for my life, and for the lives of others
...I must be perfection!

It was an important day. Everyone was present – Scottie, Flynn, Marshall, Brick, Ben and me.

Flynn reported that three days of transmitting our intentions had been successfully acknowledged by Gus in Baton Rouge. He would await our arrival on the Mississippi, an event that Brick and I estimated would require three to four weeks of easy land travel to accomplish, barring unforeseen detours or delays (which were all too likely).