It was uniquely strange behavior for runners. No screeching. No grasping. No sniffing, searching or milling around, which is always their expected behavior.
Watching tensely, and feeling the proximity of our weapons, we observed the five runners as a slow, dim morning light further illuminated their ghastly forms.
Then, an additional surprise. The creatures began walking forwards; treading eerily, not running. As they passed just outside, I could see their horrible eyes focused on us; their mouths snapping and hissing. Yet they walked by, each with a small egg shape visible on the base of their skulls.
“Weird,” I said softly.
“Yes, very,” Brick confirmed the observation.
We stepped outside to investigate, prepared for a fight, if necessary. Seconds later, something unusual moved in our direction from a far treeline. A vehicle? It appeared to be a propane powered golf cart with a man and a woman in it. The runners had stopped a football field length away, frozen as if only harmless mannequins, their backs to us. Farther on, beyond those grotesque creatures, in the increasingly bright morning light, I could discern what appeared to be a heavily fenced enclosure containing a few buildings. One had electric lighting. Solar power, probably.
The cart driver looked rough; his hair stringy and oily. There was a sneer on his thin face and a shotgun in his hands. “What’re you doin’ heah?” He snarled.
The woman was large, massively so, in height and girth, with short cropped mud colored hair; her face remarkable in its lack of pleasant appeal. She wore a long white coat, and raised up her hand, which held a thin, brown cigarette, “Quiet Seth.” She commanded. There was something cruel evident in this woman, sadistic maybe..
“I’m Doctor Jane Cott.” She continued coolly, taking a puff. She had an odd demeanor and a clipped, unemotional way of speaking. “Neurosurgeon. Those creatures are my research subjects. Radio controlled. I would have punished you had you damaged them. You will come with us.”
Brick glanced at me, smiling, his eyebrows raised. As with so many others, this woman had no idea of who she was dealing with.
“No thank you, ma’am, we’ll just keep moving. We have business elsewhere.” I stated with minimum courtesy.
I studied our possible opponents. Brick knew me and my “unique” ways, having observed my human analysis many, many times without ever interfering. He knew that I had my own unique style of evaluating people and situations. Even though Brick could handle anything that came his way, as his own tactical intellect was unmatched, yet, with me, in moments of danger or crises, he always deferred to my judgement. I know his was a premeditated decision, based solely on a chivalrous, respectful and trusting approach to our relationship as a fighting team - and as great friends.
In his own mirthful story-telling, Brick sometimes explained to rapt listeners, as he drew a finger across his cheek, that if he saw my scar reveal itself in bold definition, then he knew that action was imminent. “Get ready for trouble! Nicki Redstone is in the house!” He would exclaim with gusto to everyone’s amusement. I was accustomed to his habit of encouraging hero worship among my fans. He truthfully narrated our many “adventures”, often in great detail, but he made them all the more exciting by adding his own special blend of colorful adjectives. Always the raconteur!
Back to the doctor...
“Business...hmmm...not my concern.” The doctor replied. “I’m interested in the animal.” She waved her cigarette at Ben. “Canis lupus familiaris - and a Deutscher Schaferhund, too. Magnificent specimen; probably military elite. Perfect for my work.”
Dr. Cott raised both arms in the direction of the radio-controlled runners, like a god displaying her power. “You can see what I’ve done with runners. No one else could do this, even before the plague. But my work is far from finished. I need other subjects. I’ve been searching for a higher order animal like yours for three months, a prerequisite to my work on living humans, my ultimate goal, of course. This animal is the perfect specimen.” Her eyes almost glowed with desire.
That was all I needed. Before either Seth or the doctor could react - almost before they could blink - Brick and I had our rifles in killing position at very close range. Youthful reflexes and experienced skill make a dominating combination.
Neither Seth nor Dr. Cott moved. Shock registered only momentarily on the doctor’s face, then she squinted and nodded, more in recognition than surprise. “Huntress. Hunter. Dog,” she said calmly, puffing her cigarette once again. “Nicki Redstone. Brick Charbonneau. Your reputations are known to me.”
Seth’s wormy face displayed utter shock, his mouth hung open. Doctor Cott continued; a crooked, forced smile cracked her otherwise unreadable face. “You must join me.”
“You have your answer.” Brick loudly announced. “If you or your creatures bother or follow us, we will not be so friendly.” And with that, Brick, Ben and I moved out, giving Doctor Cott’s stationary and macabre runners a wide berth.
~
That night, Brick and I reviewed and debated the day’s events, considering, back and forth, whether or not this doctor and her henchman warranted further investigation.
“Brick, did you hear that accent on Seth? Not my favorite. Maybe it was fake; he might have been auditioning for a part in my next project. If so, he’s hired. I’m calling my manager tomorrow.”
“Ah yes,” Brick observed. “A fine character actor. He had bad teeth, too, which was a nice touch. Do you think they are married? They must have handsome children.”
“Hah! No doubt!” If they only heard our banter...
We continued the discussion in more serious tones. There was something horribly sinister about Dr. Cott’s actions, which might produce tragedy for other, less prepared travelers, a troubling concern for us. For the time being, however, we decided to table the matter and stay on track - we were too close to our destination.
We would soon regret that decision.
One day later, Brick and I were very surprised to approach a substantial, but apparently completely abandoned blockade on the outskirts of Braidwood, situated on a flat area, midway up a very wide, heavily wooded hill. It had high fences extending in two directions as far as we could see. It appeared to be a very large encirclement.
We had encountered many roadblocks before, of course, but this one was different - larger, less ad hoc, almost permanent - with guard towers, motorized gates, and a number of evidently related buildings and fenced compounds nearby. Who had the time and resources to build this?
The area was deserted, but not in the usual disarray of neglected, rapidly abandoned civilization.
We moved up to the gate as Ben snooped around, his typical reaction to most unexplored environments. There was a large sign on the gate, which was latched, but not locked. My heart was in my throat. The sign read:
DANGER - DO NOT ENTER
Radioactive contamination
Braidwood atomic detonation area
Evacuees transferred to HEDLEY, OREGON
See lists in Bldg #3
I felt severe panic, a sensation that I had rarely ever experienced, and deeply disliked. My heart was racing. From the beginning, I had deluded myself into believing that my family would remain untouched by the horrors that I had witnessed. It was a survival tool for me, I guess, but reality was slamming into me now with brutal force.
I had been certain that in Braidwood I would find peace and happiness, just as before; but, at that moment, as an overpowering sense of loss washed over me, for the first time in my life I felt a horrible, rising fear that this would be a loss that even I could not withstand.
Brick could see me turning pale, faltering.
Years later, in somber tones, he remarked that he “had never before seen such a lost look on that heroic face. It was a terribly demoralizing experience, one never to be repeated.”
Brick took me by my shoulders. “Come on, Nicki...let’s go check out building number three.”
Number three was clearl
y marked and easy to find - a small gray, hastily erected, windowless cinder block building with only one door.
As Ben continued his nearby scout, Brick and I entered the structure and noticed cork boards standing in rows with typed lists stapled upon them, although a few boards also had hand-written lists and many notes tacked up.
“Oh please, please, please...” I pleaded as we studied the lists. My fingers were shaking as I quickly moved through the names. “Oh there, dear God, there! My grampa and gramma escaped! I’m going to pass out.”
I caught my breath. “But wait...What is the handwritten star next to their names?” The star had an arrow pointing down. I looked to the page bottom. Another star was there. My heart was beating faster. A note, dated only two months earlier:
Nicki. Meet you in Hedley. I love you forever!
Kip
“Oh my God! My family and my love all in one place! It’s a miracle, Brick!”
We shared tears and hugs of tremendous elation, better news could not have been expected. The world was going to be okay, or so it seemed at this one, spectacular moment.
The journey to Hedley would be terribly difficult. Not only were there the deadly obstacles to which we had almost become accustomed, but now our travels would place us into the harsh climates of the barren volcanic moonscape parkland of central Oregon, the frozen Shackleton’s Pass, and then the subsequent near desert plains of Eastern Oregon.
In its entirety, our path would take us through almost every kind of terrain conceivable, and into dangers not yet imagined. Nevertheless, neither Brick nor I, nor Ben, for that matter, would hesitate in our determination. In the face of great opposition, our quest might be detoured, but it would never end unfulfilled, not while Nicki Redstone still lived.
As my soul stirred with renewed vigor, we at once noticed the extended absence of Ben. A shadow at the door immediately caught our attention, human but not human. One of Doctor Cott’s creatures. It opened it’s mouth to screech and dropped dead instantly - I had delivered a 9mm bullet into its skull. Then, in the distance, we could hear a few frightened, suffering yelps. Ben’s in trouble!
Weapons immediately at ready, Brick and I charged outside the building to locate our faithful friend, only to find ourselves surrounded in close proximity by dozens of runners, a few of whom bore Doctor Cott’s small control boxes.
Instantly, like a light switch being flipped, the creatures turned to full, ravenous, insane runner mode, maniacally charging en masse towards the door. It was a deadly shock force that was too close to repel in place.
We jumped back inside and slammed the door, but it had no lock, only a doorknob. As Brick pushed his weight into the metal, I grabbed everything I could find to prop against the door. It would hold for only a few seconds. Then, pounding and tearing began on the roof.
Damn it! No way out!
I grabbed a grenade from my vest, showed it to Brick, pulled the pin, and tossed it at a back corner wall behind the boards. Seven seconds later it blew a very nice hole in the cinder blocks.
“Come on!” I yelled as I pulled the pin on my last grenade and tossed it towards the front door, which flooded with runners. We raced to the the back of the building.
The small bomb exploded, sending runner scrap everywhere, as Brick and I charged through the newly created aperture in the rear wall.
We bolted out through that hole, unaware of a steep drop immediately outside. My vest caught on a low-hanging branch, which saved me from the fall; but Brick, on the other hand, went full-tilt into the green abyss, half rolling, half falling for what seemed forever.
There was screeching behind me. I turned quickly, simultaneously pulling two pistols from my vest and firing immediately, dropping two screaming runners into the verdant landscape below. The bodies piled up fast before me. Instinct, training and experience took charge of my actions. I was angry, angry at everything, and I turned that emotion onto my opponent.
I stood up, and easily unhooked myself from the life saving tree, and steadily, calmly blasted into the charging creatures; my fury turning me into a remorseless, precision killing machine.
Dying runners fell over the ledge in their momentum, as gore from their shattered heads splattered my vest. I emptied both guns and pulled out two others, and used them at close range with effective, terminal power.
I exhausted the magazines of those two pistols, and then pulled the last gun from my backside, but it proved unnecessary. Nothing within my vision moved. Nothing. The world was silent. I could smell the stench of the flesh eaters and the crisp odor of gun powder.
I was in calm control, with all senses sharp and aware. I noticed that my ears were ringing and that my hearing was muffled, as though a pillow blocked all sound. It was strangely quiet. My breathing was heavy but normal. The scar near my left cheek burned as though singed, almost as if salt was in the wound. I felt the flush of exertion and the beads of sweat that soaked into my clothes
I picked up my pistols and reloaded. My rifle was gone; probably somewhere over the ledge, having been knocked from my hands in the near fall.
My hearing was returning to normal.
I called out to Brick...nothing. It was getting late. Tough. Come and take me if you care to try, I thought.
I unraveled the heavy duty, braided fishing line from the pouch in my vest, tied it to a tree, and began the tortuous and fatiguing process of sliding down the treacherously steep incline.
I must find Brick... and I must find Ben...
My family and friends lived still; I could feel their presence and see their images. I would never waiver and never stop. I would find them all - they could could count on me. My heart beat with the drive of unyielding loyalty. I could feel the warmth of tears in my eyes and the sting on my cheek as I clenched my teeth. My determination was uncompromising, relentless, unflinching. I felt raw, burning power - nothing and no one could stop me!
~
~
End of Book One
~
~ About the author ~
The author, writing under a pseudonym, is a former Army officer, career operations manager, business owner, adventurer, and father of three.
Myles Stafford completed his undergraduate work at Oregon State University and earned his Master’s degree from the University of Southern California.
Author email:
[email protected]
THE
KILLER ANGEL
Trilogy
~
THE KILLER ANGEL
Book One
“Hard Player”
THE KILLER ANGEL
Book Two
“Legend”
THE KILLER ANGEL
Book Three
“Journey “
by Myles Stafford
© 2013, Myles P. Stafford. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
© 2015, Myles P. Stafford. All rights reserved. First print edition. Revised.
THE KILLER ANGEL: Book One Hard Player (THE KILLER ANGEL TRILOGY 1) Page 12