THE KILLER ANGEL : Book Three "Journey" (THE KILLER ANGEL TRILOGY 3) (14 page)

“They’re slavers,” my new companion explained, as in darkness I tended to her injuries and needs. I knew exactly what her words meant. In this world, everything was bountiful and free for the taking, except for one thing: living human bodies. Bodies to satisfy lust;
bodies for labor; bodies for torture; bodies for every cruel vice of the sociopaths and psychopaths who survived the doom of civilization.

This corrupt camp of felons profited from their own lack of humanity. Deep within my soul, I knew that my decision to stop and investigate was a good one. Some might say that it was my destiny to detour there as I rushed to Florida, but to me, that aspect was unimportant. My very being had changed so much over the last two years that – to my core – I could not tolerate the existence of cruelty and sadism, and would do all within my power to stop it. I intended to right the many wrongs committed by these degenerates, and to eliminate the potential for any further atrocity.

“These are the worst possible people. They mostly kill men outright, unless they have some need for hard labor, or want to entertain themselves with blood sport,” Stella continued in a strange accent. “These are awful human beings, most terrible. They call their leader “Chief”, a vile, vile man.” I could feel Stella’s emotions, a mixture of anger, frustration and pain.

The “Chief” - I knew the type. I had seen his kind before in my journeys. The torment that they delivered was that of the powerful and amoral...those who saw themselves as answering to no one in an age when there were very few who could raise a challenge and cause hesitation in their depravity. As long as I was permitted to do so, I would be one of those few. I hungered to burn out this evil wherever it grew.

We continued to converse softly as I made us comfortable for the night. Stella watched my careful preparations. I skipped my weapons drill, but I nevertheless serviced and placed all gear in precise positions for the night, as always.

“I don’t recognize your accent, Stella,” I said gently. “Middle eastern?”

“Punjabi. My parents immigrated from India. We are Sikhs.”

I thought about this for a moment. What was it my father had said about the Sikhs? Soldier-saints or something? Ah I remember, the Sikhs will defend the powerless, regardless of faith.
That I like
...

“An interesting religion, as I recall, of which I know almost nothing. Although, I do recall my father saying that if one were inclined to adhere to a particular religious belief system, then perhaps Sikhism might be the most admirable.”

“Thank you for those kind words...and - actually - my name is
Mannat Singh...”

“Oh?” That was a surprise.

“I would not name myself to the “Chief”, so he called me
Stella, his little whore.”

I said nothing at this unpleasant revelation.

“And I know who
you
are.” Mannat continued quietly, with a gleam of hope and anticipation in her dark eyes. “We spoke of you often in my family. You are said to be a
“living angel”...the
last one – immortal, unstoppable. My father did not believe that you could
be real, but I felt otherwise. I always hoped to meet you one day. If only you had been sent to us sooner...but you are here now, and I now know and believe that what we have heard of you... a myth my father said... it was not just rumor and storytelling. You are real...so incredibly real; and you can fix this. I know you
...Nicki Redstone.”

The glowing words and sincere emotion of this gentle young lady honored me to the point of soft tears, and the hope in her eyes made me pause. I would not disappoint her. I would right this wrong, or die trying. More and more, I understood that this was indeed my grim destiny, although I could not help but wish, more than ever before, that Kip and Brick were by my side on this one.

“There is one more thing, Nicki,” Mannat paused, “A large bounty has been place on your head.”

For at least another hour, Mannat and I discussed the Chief’s operation and how he managed to thrive. She drew maps of his ragged little fortress near the bridge, at least as much as she could remember.

“I’m sure my father is searching for me, Nicki,” Mannat said.

“We live a few days from here. Someone must have been watching our protected home, my mother’s for generations, for we were surprised while my father and
uncle hunted. The Chief’s men took me and my brother while we gardened behind fences.”

“And your mother and brother now?” I said.

“My mother did not survive the initial epidemic, and my brother,” then Mannat paused, her voice breaking with emotion, “My brother was defiant and could not be cowed. He now hangs from the bridge.”

With those words my heart beat fast and my muscles ached for action; I could feel a hot flush on my face. Destiny, once again, was upon me.

Leaning over and placing a hand on Mannat’s slender shoulder, I said softly, “I will fix this, I promise you. Rest now.”

With those words, we lay back to sleep, with Ben curling up between us. For me, the night was especially difficult. My mind could not relinquish itself to complete slumber, and my body responded in kind, fighting old fights, and preparing for a new one. In the morning, I awoke feeling fairly rested, but ravenous from the exertion of a fitful sleep.

“I’m going with you Nicki,” Mannat announced bravely. “I’m skilled with weapons and can guide you into the lair.”

She was tough, that was certain.

“No Mannat, you must leave and find your father. I cannot have you with me. If you know me, then you
know the only companions I take with me are Brick and Ben.”

Passing two pistols to her with spare clips, I continued, “Take these. Find your father and live a long, happy life. Maybe I will meet your family one day.”

With that, we exited the building at first light. Mannat knew her way home, although I had misgivings about sending her off alone. Still, she assured me that she was equipped and competent to survive on her own, and this gave me confidence.

As I watched her disappear in the distance I knew it was the correct decision. These were hard times and she would have to survive on her own. Eliminating this foul remnant of the worst of mankind could not wait, and I would not take her with me into the fight.

I was there, able and strong, and my creed demanded that no one else would suffer at the hands of these marauders. Worse than runners by far, these predators had tormented their last; they just did not yet know it.

The challenge was great for this former actress of twenty-eight, but I had overcome so many daunting obstacles, and seen so much death over the last two years that, while difficult for certain, I felt confidence in my abilities to once again prevail. Even so, I missed the good cheer and powerful arms of Brick Charbonneau.

Having thoroughly examined the placement and
function of my gear, in particular my weapons, I burned images of my quarry into memory - descriptions, locations, layout... all provided by Mannat in detail.

The Chief’s little fortress was actually the remains of a single-story elementary school, positioned near the river, down a long slope from the small town center. The fence had been reinforced, but was mainly a barrier to runners. No doubt the thugs therein felt confident that they could handle any human adversary, since the force of thirty criminals was substantial when compared to anything for many hundreds of miles. Indeed, who could challenge such an army of sadists when they were equipped with an arsenal scrounged with impunity from armories and gun shops?

From a secluded, distant vantage I studied every corner and opening through my rifle scope - memorizing access points; who went where; and analyzing avenues of travel and escape. The thug fortifications abounded with weaknesses - and I would exploit them.

The air was fresh and cool, causing my breath to fog slightly. I sighed as I looked around this little city, situated in rolling hills; still beautiful in many ways, in spite of the decay and abandonment. A movie theater; shoe stores; restaurants; a coffee shop; trees; bike racks. I missed those happy times, but I was a different person then.

Where would civilization go from here?
I mused. All I could do was to help get us to a better future, if
that were still possible.
Damn, I could go for a coffee right now
...

I passed a milk bone and water to Ben, then cracked open a dusty handful of pistachios, swallowed a couple of vitamins, and drank a protein shake – we would need energy for this endeavor.

I looked back down at the former school grounds in the distance, studying its perimeter and defenses as I snacked. Strange; two familiar looking, medium-sized, brown and white dogs lingered near the gate. Ben and I would have to be mindful of their presence, since our scent or movement might attract their attention and alert the defenders to my presence.

I knew where the captive women were normally held, although I could see several dirty and haggard girls working outside in a garden. A few equally sad looking men were building something nearby, partially obscured by vines of some type, when several armed tormentors pulled two of the workers from their tasks and pointed to a gate in the fence. Even at this considerable distance, I recognized those prisoners, the red and white letterman jackets making it obvious; those were my ever hopeful fans, Joshua and Louis Beauchamp. I was immediately on full alert.

As the noticeably defiant young men slowly moved to the gate, the brutes tripped one and knocked down the other, viciously kicking and rifle-butting their defenseless targets. One of the boys, it looked like Louis, rose up in a rebellious stance, when a big, long-
haired man in a full length, western style coat moved straight into him, punching repeatedly, hard and fast.
That’s enough! He’s just a kid! Can’t you see he can’t take anymore?

I felt a fist in my own stomach at this sudden development. My friend fell to his knees, curling over. Then, to my intense shock and horror, I saw dark red covering the boy’s shirt and realized...in unrestrained agony... that Louis wasn’t being punched...no...not punched... he was being stabbed...over and over and over!
OH DEAR GOD!

In an eye-blink, another thug pulled a pistol, pointed it down and with a “crack crack” both prostrate forms ceased moving, a bullet apiece in their beautiful, noble heads.

I screamed in explosive, impotent rage. I could not control myself and I did not care who heard me. I nearly vomited in that moment of trauma. I was completely powerless to act, being far out of rifle range.
“BY GOD YOU’RE GOING TO PAY!!”

It was urgently time for action; this had to stop. My heart beat hard and fast, flushing with adrenaline as my mind reeled in horror and uncontainable rage. I trembled with anguish and hatred. This was Robin Chase all over again, only I knew those boys, and felt great responsibility and terrible grief for them. Should I have kept them with me? Could I have protected them? Would they live still had I given them a chance? Dear God... such misery in a world of unending suffering!

Was it thinkable for one small girl to take on such a large group of vicious killers? Some might judge the task unacceptable for even a team of well-armed fighters...so what? I did not consider such doubtful thoughts; not for an instant. I was trained for action, not hesitation, and my mind immediately formulated and modified the approach that would bring terminal violence upon those barbaric fiends.

With no patience to watch anymore, and with muscles quivering to interrupt this filthy maggots’ hole, I sprinted to a nearby small appliance store. Finding several large portable CD players with alarm capability, I loaded them with batteries and CD’s, and then checked them for proper function. They all worked fine. My mind was a machine now; plans were clicking through like a computer – evaluated, refined, implemented. No emotion; precise, effective action only. The goal: destroy this human corruption. Who could imagine that anyone in their right mind would take that challenge? Certainly not a “girl” - no. It is indeed a strange new world.

This town was active with runners, in spite of the gang colony below. The signs were everywhere, but the rush of my mind required immediate, rapid movement, so I worked fast and relied on Ben’s cues and my own experience to identify threats. Indeed, the grotesque creatures we encountered barely had time to lock bloodshot eyes on us before the pneumatic throat of my rifle sent them into a silent, immediate end. I never
hesitated. I charged on to execute my plans.