THE KILLER ANGEL : Book Three "Journey" (THE KILLER ANGEL TRILOGY 3) (8 page)

Waking in the morning with an empty and depressed feeling, I cheered myself by remembering how, before meeting Brick, I sometimes sprinted through winding back roads of California with Ben, thrilled at my invincibility and a song in my heart as I traced my way north to Oregon. The thought livened my spirit and I marched on with a lighter gait.

I recalled sweaty days back in middle-school,
running track in Florida with my twin sister. That hard endurance training gave me another foundation for survival in the post-apocalypse.

Scottie was a long distance athlete, breezing through the miles with stamina, whereas I was always a sprinter, using up everything that I had within minutes. I would run until I thought my lungs would burst as I pushed through extreme limits. Not always victorious, but I would never, ever quit, and I never stopped trying, even though I was sometimes dangerously close to running myself into a delirious, gasping heap on the school pavement.

Such good times
...

Chapter Four

“River”

O
NE SURPRISING side-effect of the runner virus was exceptionally good health for those who proved immune to the airborne disease. Virtually all of mankind’s ailments disappeared within the first year following the pandemic. No cancer; no diabetes; no heart trouble; no malaria; no colds...almost nothing. The surviving population, when nourished and protected from harm, became almost like new. Over time, gray hair vanished; skin became clear and youthful on older survivors; injuries healed well. Everyone enjoyed a high level of fitness. It has been proposed that life-expectancy will be much extended, but confirming that theory will, of course, take many, many years.

There is also evidence that the birth rate is significantly down, but whether that is a psychological reaction to life in the new age, or the result of change brought on by the runner virus is unknown.

Keeping compass and map directed towards the Missouri River, my goal was to acquire some manageable watercraft wherein Ben and I could make reasonably secure and swift travel to the Mississippi, and then debark somewhere in southern Louisiana.

My father had taught me the art of land navigation, a skill that was honed when GPS satellites failed. Brick further increased my capacity for understanding wilderness travel, along with some basic tracking education, although he had an extreme natural ability that I could never come close to matching.

In less than a week after saying goodbye to my great friend, I was pleased to see the expanse of the mighty waterway from a hilltop advantage. By late morning Ben and I were on the water in a small day sailer. Thankfully, I had learned the basics of sailing from Gus off the Oregon and California coasts, frequently practicing the skill under his kind schooling.
Ah, I miss that fine man
. This type of watercraft was useful, being stable, efficient and roomy, with space for a few extra supplies and a small covered area to shelter us from rain. I was determined to stick with the craft as long as the river provided clear passage.

Generally, the flow was smooth and wide, with a noticeable current, so Ben and I were able to make good time as I kept us tacked generally far from shore. The days were often long and monotonous. I missed Brick’s company, as he was an excellent conversationalist, being well versed in a great many
topics, and he often stretched my mind with positions and opinions that I had not previously considered. I know that, on occasion, he would take an obnoxiously divergent thought purely to create debate and stimulate creative thinking. I learned a great deal from him. He must have been one mind-bending teacher.

Brick gave me considerable insight into the Native American experience, educating me on many events, injustices, failures and successes of which I was entirely clueless. He had the remarkable capacity to examine and describe history from multiple perspectives, eliminating as much modern bias as possible. His expansive knowledge of history encompassed many peoples, including his own Creole and Sioux lineage, of course, and revealed a remarkable, yet modest brilliance. I have always been enormously proud to call Brick Charbonneau “friend”. What an honor it was to have stood by his side.

I often wondered how my mighty warrior-teacher-friend was faring in my absence. Oh how I missed his sturdy and witty companionship.

Chapter Five

“Tracking Nicki”

- Brick -

F
OLLOWING Nicki Redstone was usually easy, but catching up with her was impossible, a difficulty that did not surprise. Beginning my pursuit nearly a week after her departure was terribly frustrating, though. It had not taken long to comprehend that my wife and I no longer shared any connection whatsoever, emotional or otherwise. Further, it became exceedingly apparent that her attentions were focused on my uncle, even if furtively. Strangely, I was not in the least fazed by that awareness; I had experienced far too many greater events than to be disturbed by something so ordinary. At her request, and without ceremony, we ended our relationship; “split the blanket” some would say. We would never meet again.

I knew Nicki’s general direction of travel and ultimate objective, of course, and the occasional traveler whom I encountered easily identified her, even
if she never spoke to them, something that was not uncommon for Nicki. She was cautious and therefore disinclined to engage strangers, unless there was a good reason for doing so. Nevertheless, she was distinctively attired - noticeably so, even at a distance – if you were lucky enough to see her at all. Plus, with Ben by her side, identification was not difficult for anyone who paid attention.

Survivors who did see her were often excited about the event, a “Nicki Redstone sighting”, as I called them in teasing humor. My description always made her chuckle in the past. Nicki was a quick wit and had an easy laugh, which often brought comfort to those who might otherwise be petrified in fear. I smile at the thought even now as I write.

Those few who actually met her usually enjoyed a meal in her company and, on rare occasion, were permitted to camp within the screen of her unbroken vigilance and unyielding protection. They would describe her routines at night with a certain amount of awe, and reported having a wonderful, secure night of sleep when she was near. Nicki had that effect on people; I witnessed it many times. Survivors, not only children, often would plead with her to remain with them. But she could not.

I was keenly familiar with her preferred nighttime layovers, and the occasional pistachio shells and milk bone crumbs often provided heartwarming verification that I was on the right path to my dearest friend.

Sometimes the trademarks of her movements were as pronounced as dynamite in a cardboard box, but when she took to river travel her trail was not so easy to follow, and I fretted about missing her departure from the current. With each day of that trek I fell a little farther behind her. I easily deduced that she was moving faster than normal; Nicki’s determination to find her sister was revealed in her impatient pace. That pace must have taken a toll on her physically, since it exceeded my own stamina. I was losing weight in my effort to keep up. I ate constantly, but was always hungry and thirsty.

Many days into my journey, I was forced into a lengthy detour off of the river, which proved advantageous to my mission, since, as expected, I soon learned that my friend had earlier taken the same path.

I glanced occasionally at my map, mainly from habit, since Nicki’s direction of travel would be the most direct route back to the river, straight across what was essentially a peninsula. Strangely, I detected that she had backtracked across a small creek, a tactic that would mean she was being followed. Indications of trouble were not anywhere evident, something that was always a relief to me.

I surveyed the horizon and soon spotted a forest ranger tower not far from the bridge. I had to smile, as I
knew my friend would have rested there for the night, so I moved promptly for a closer look.

Examination of the elevated facility was gratifying, and numerous puzzling questions were swiftly answered. She and Ben were clearly in good health; there had been no expended ammunition, and it seemed that she had trusted in the company of two male survivors and their pets, at least for the night.