THE KILLER ANGEL : Book Three "Journey" (THE KILLER ANGEL TRILOGY 3) (23 page)

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.
Maybe he had
...

One afternoon, a few days after her arrival, Scottie and I were showing Nicki around Camelot, when one of our security people, Lacey, came to me and said that someone was at the gate asking for information about Nicki or Scottie Redstone.

Leaving the ladies to enjoy their time together, I was keen to learn who was asking about them.

As I approached the new arrival security holding area of our double barrier main gate, standing inside I could see a tall, extremely well armed, handsome man; very fit and probably in his mid to late thirties. He was the epitome of the Native American, with long black hair, tan skin, and various other subtle accoutrements of Indian culture. He had wise, piercing brown eyes that studied me and my team with alert caution. This was a warrior, without any doubt, and he was calmly ready for
anything.

I was fairly sure of who stood before me.

I spoke...
“Parlez-vous français?”
It was the best that I could do.

“Oui,”
came the very easy and pleasant reply. There was a smiling, knowing look on his noble face
“Vous comprenez français?”

“Ah, no, I do not,” I said with a grin. “Brick Charbonneau?”

“Yes, none other,” came the immediate reply, “and you are?”

“Flynn Patron, at your service.” I motioned to Lacey to have the gates opened. Everyone stared; even the normally stoic Lacey, who was flushed and unable to speak. They all knew of this legend.

Brick, not the least put off by the reception, paced straight up to me with a long confident stride.

“Ah, Flynn! I am so very pleased to meet you! Nicki has spoken of you often, and you match her admiring descriptions.” I could tell that Brick was a man who did not needlessly flatter, and his words honored me. Even as a stranger, he hugged me like a long lost brother, nearly breaking me in half in the process.

“Let’s go Brick...I know that Nicki will want to see you right away. Scottie, too.”

Chapter Fourteen

“Marshall Arrives”

“M
ARSHALL KELLOGG just radioed an update; he’ll be here in thirty.” It was the latest news from Flynn’s radio assistant. I was excited, having not seen my future father-in-law in well over two years. We had grown very close before the epidemic, and Marshall was very much like a second father to me in every genuine way.

Right on time, in the coolness of a fine autumn afternoon, Marshall came blazing through the open gate in a fully operational, lightly armored, diesel powered delivery truck.

The gates were closed behind the truck and the vehicle was immediately surrounded by a half-dozen fighters who thoroughly examined the vehicle – sides, top and undercarriage – for anyone or anything that might have attached itself on the trip.

Finding nothing, an “all clear” was shouted and, after a couple of loud thumps on the truck, the team dispersed and the rear roll-up door appeared to raise
itself as Marshall Kellogg lifted the handle from the inside.