THE KILLER ANGEL : Book Three "Journey" (THE KILLER ANGEL TRILOGY 3) Read Free Page A

possessed, the one talent that had - so far - proven unbeatable, was the speed of my hands - both hands. That gift did not make me invincible, but that speed, combined with resourcefulness, athleticism and, above all, confidence, had given me the edge in every conflict. I prayed these capabilities would never fail me.
    I remained calm and at ease...but I lacked patience.

Chapter Two
    “The Weak”
    I T WAS an explosive moment requiring an immediate decision to separate or commit to unified action – the lives of our new friends could well have depended on the result. Failure was more likely if we remained together.
    Split up!
    Brick and I rarely separated, for many excellent reasons. Once two people were disconnected in the “new wilderness” without a very specific travel route, destination point, and a backup assembly plan, it may not have been possible for those two people to reconnect. If one party was lost or waylaid by trouble, how would the other person find them, unless a specific contingency was always in place? There were no cell phones, no GPS, no police, and no one to assist.
    We tried two-way radios, but found that the added weight, unreliable range and connectivity, and relatively limited battery life were just too inhibiting to make them worthwhile. Solution: Stay together. It was simply too dangerous to separate if your strategy and objective called for connected movement. If you lost track ofsomeone in this comparatively primitive environment, they might not ever be seen again, their absence a permanent mystery. Imagine the difficulties and fear in such a situation, searching unaided and alone.
    In spite of our extreme unwillingness to split our team, Brick and I found ourselves in precisely that unwelcome situation one month out of Hedley.
    While traveling through a fairly open and hilly area of western Montana, we encountered a fine family, the Claytons, consisting of a grandfather, his grown daughter, and her two beautiful high school age girls. In tow were two big, friendly mongrel dogs. They also had an old mule pulling a small cart of goods, which was an unusual sight.
    We had sometimes considered the assistance and speed of equine travel, but the unavoidable noise of the animals makes them dangerous companions. Horses, by nature, can be loud creatures, chomping, snorting and releasing gas like a firecracker, and to combine those dangerous negatives with the care that they required simply made them all too impractical. Plus, I could never forgive myself if we were jumped by runners and some dear saddled companion was brought down and savaged by the ravenous creatures. Still, the Claytons had a mule, and it seemed to work for them.
    The family was en route to Hedley, Oregon, where they hoped to begin a new life in the relative security of the slowly growing community. These folks were former “doomsday preppers” - shelter escapees; bunkerdwellers - “survivalists”. Almost none of their type did, in fact, survive, since very few bunkers were designed to block an airborne virus, and those facilities that could forestall such a catastrophe were never designed for permanent habitation. I had seen a few. Most were empty; some remained the tragic habitation of runners, no doubt the former occupants.
    In spite of the positive nature of their journey, those gentle people proceeded in a state of mourning, having recently lost the only other man in the group a few days earlier, the twenty-year-old brother of the two girls.
    “We thought we were doing great when we reached Grayrock.” The grandfather, Dan, explained, “We were in good health and great spirits, no runner problems there, but then...we were taken by surprise in a country mall.” One of the teens wiped tears from her eyes as Brick and I listened in silence over a warm campfire. It was a sadly familiar story.
    Dan continued, “We were spread out a little in the mall when a rough group of guys came in, five in all, but I think there may