Read Online THE KILLER ANGEL : Book Three "Journey" (THE KILLER ANGEL TRILOGY 3) by Myles Stafford - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Myles Stafford
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If more are close by, I would rather know it now then find out once we’re on the ground. Of course, since this gun is suppressed, I could probably fire off an entire magazine and not alert any but the very closest of runners.”
I knew much about runners, most of my knowledge gained in tight spots and desperate situations. From my first frightening encounter in a Phoenix hotel so long ago, to the sniffers who tracked me into a tiny California jail where Ben and I had intended to spend a quiet night.
My education was paid for by the sad deaths ofothers on too many occasions, deaths that I could not stop, and will never forget. Not even the gentlest of the animal kingdom were spared when unrelenting and savage hunger enraged a runner. I recalled my encounter with the terrible death of a calf a year ago as it cried out in pain, an unpleasant flashback in my mind. In one short breath, I executed its tormentors, and then had no choice but to end the life of the poor, broken and mutilated creature.
Before darkness fully descended, I finished cleaning, oiling and organizing my gear, reestablishing the precise location and function of every item on my person, regardless of its purpose or importance, as I had done a thousand times before.
Then, I commenced runner assault drill, rapidly handling each weapon as though in combat, popping out magazines and loading new ones, each precisely located in its pouch. I explained each action and purpose. I could find every knife, every pistol, every item on my body, my vest and my pack with maximum speed and in the dark. I trained with two hands, then left handed only, then right handed. Losing the use of a limb is always possible in every fight, and it is a risk that need not mean disaster if training is thorough. My legs, too, were weapons equipped, as I trained for all manner of attack.
Runners do not stop – ever – nor do I
.
I wanted to deliver every gift of survival to these boys that I possibly could. Maybe it would save their lives. Who knows? Maybe one day they would save mine.
Training under the inquisitive and devoted gaze of my young – but temporary – associates was somewhat uncomfortable; however, I wanted them to learn, and they were exuberant students, so I explained the reasons behind everything that I did, all along answering their enthusiastic questions with patience and genuine concern. These young guys were clumsy and unprepared for survival, which was surprising, given that we were approaching two years into Armageddon. They understood forest living and camp craft, but actually knew very little of city survival in the new age, so I wanted them to have the benefit of every gift that I could give them.
I went through my nightly fight regimen multiple times, and encouraged them to develop a similar program. Their weaponry was terribly limited, so I gave them my thoughts on the minimum equipment that their arsenal should contain, and my reasoning for each item. I extracted promises from both of them that they would immediately ramp up their offensive and defensive equipment load. Lou and Josh were good students and eager to learn; they quickly grasped the importance of each lesson and the value of creative adaptation.
With some regret, I eventually broke the news tomy fine new friends that I could not take them on as companions in my quest. With Brick being the one and only exception to my rule, I traveled alone.
The guys took it hard. They were fans, for sure, and I detected no hidden “lovelorn obsession”, only the most noble of intentions. Their dream “job” was to join up with their idol and press forward with rescues and deliverance into some glorious and unknown future. But their vision was blurred by youth; my life was too often filled with disquiet and tragedy. I would happily trade it all to grow old in quiet comfort with my Kip, raising a family in Oregon, and forgetting this awful business forever.
To me, Joshua and Louis Beauchamp were like
I knew much about runners, most of my knowledge gained in tight spots and desperate situations. From my first frightening encounter in a Phoenix hotel so long ago, to the sniffers who tracked me into a tiny California jail where Ben and I had intended to spend a quiet night.
My education was paid for by the sad deaths ofothers on too many occasions, deaths that I could not stop, and will never forget. Not even the gentlest of the animal kingdom were spared when unrelenting and savage hunger enraged a runner. I recalled my encounter with the terrible death of a calf a year ago as it cried out in pain, an unpleasant flashback in my mind. In one short breath, I executed its tormentors, and then had no choice but to end the life of the poor, broken and mutilated creature.
Before darkness fully descended, I finished cleaning, oiling and organizing my gear, reestablishing the precise location and function of every item on my person, regardless of its purpose or importance, as I had done a thousand times before.
Then, I commenced runner assault drill, rapidly handling each weapon as though in combat, popping out magazines and loading new ones, each precisely located in its pouch. I explained each action and purpose. I could find every knife, every pistol, every item on my body, my vest and my pack with maximum speed and in the dark. I trained with two hands, then left handed only, then right handed. Losing the use of a limb is always possible in every fight, and it is a risk that need not mean disaster if training is thorough. My legs, too, were weapons equipped, as I trained for all manner of attack.
Runners do not stop – ever – nor do I
.
I wanted to deliver every gift of survival to these boys that I possibly could. Maybe it would save their lives. Who knows? Maybe one day they would save mine.
Training under the inquisitive and devoted gaze of my young – but temporary – associates was somewhat uncomfortable; however, I wanted them to learn, and they were exuberant students, so I explained the reasons behind everything that I did, all along answering their enthusiastic questions with patience and genuine concern. These young guys were clumsy and unprepared for survival, which was surprising, given that we were approaching two years into Armageddon. They understood forest living and camp craft, but actually knew very little of city survival in the new age, so I wanted them to have the benefit of every gift that I could give them.
I went through my nightly fight regimen multiple times, and encouraged them to develop a similar program. Their weaponry was terribly limited, so I gave them my thoughts on the minimum equipment that their arsenal should contain, and my reasoning for each item. I extracted promises from both of them that they would immediately ramp up their offensive and defensive equipment load. Lou and Josh were good students and eager to learn; they quickly grasped the importance of each lesson and the value of creative adaptation.
With some regret, I eventually broke the news tomy fine new friends that I could not take them on as companions in my quest. With Brick being the one and only exception to my rule, I traveled alone.
The guys took it hard. They were fans, for sure, and I detected no hidden “lovelorn obsession”, only the most noble of intentions. Their dream “job” was to join up with their idol and press forward with rescues and deliverance into some glorious and unknown future. But their vision was blurred by youth; my life was too often filled with disquiet and tragedy. I would happily trade it all to grow old in quiet comfort with my Kip, raising a family in Oregon, and forgetting this awful business forever.
To me, Joshua and Louis Beauchamp were like
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