THE KILLER ANGEL : Book Three "Journey" (THE KILLER ANGEL TRILOGY 3) by Myles Stafford Read Free Book Online

characteristic that was gained through experience and triumph.
    It is true that Nicki suffered at night, in sleep. I would sometimes wake in apprehension at the sounds of a struggle, only to see her hands pushing at something in the air, sometimes her legs would kick out. Even in darkness, I could see her face burning with anger, and sometimes I saw fear - the only time I witnessed the expression on her beautiful face. Ben and I both worried for her. Sometimes he would nudge her into relaxation, and sometimes I would speak quiet phrases of French to ease her to softer dreams. Out of necessity, she was sensitive to sound – we all were.
    Nicki Redstone was born for this world, this I believe. She was, is, and forever shall be my friend, my daughter, my blood-sister, and even my mother. I stand by her always.

    “Nicki”
    W E APPROACHED Brick’s South Dakota homestead from the northwest in the mid-afternoon on a clear, warm day, stopping on a grass covered bluff to survey the land and catch our breath. Ben rolled in the turf, scratching his back with obvious pleasure.
    “I’m thinking of upgrading my
equipage.”
Brick announced, wiping sweat from his brow, watching Ben.
    “Oui?”
I sensed a bit of Brick Charbonneau banter “In what way, oh Great Hunter?”
    “Full body armor,” he said, drawing in a deep breath, “I mean full, head to toe, like a football player; face-mask, helmet, gaiters...the whole thing. I wouldn’t even need a gun.”
    “I would pay a dollar to see that. Seriously.”
    “A whole United States greenback...the
Québécois
are truly a generous people.” Brick grinned.
    “I really can see it, though,” I continued, “the next biker-type that we see, give him your best,
‘I need your clothes, your boots and your motorcycle’.”
    “Hah...not too shabby, Nicki.
Terminator Deux?
I never heard
‘Ahnold’
in a woman’s voice. Nice twist.”
    “I do what I can...”
    Then, from Brick, “How about this one,
‘It’s not a tuma... not a tuma.’
”
    “Meh. Not awful. It’s overdone. Give me somethingnew.” I replied.
    “An opportunity to break into the
biz?
Indeed, I shall work on it.”
    “Seriously, though, full body armor? It’s not a bad idea, really,” I acknowledged. “In some of the tight spots we’ve found ourselves, armor like that would have been nice. Of course, it would be hot and would slow us to a walk on the long haul, but in the Pinebluff fight? Damn!”
    “On a more serious note, Nicki,” Brick paused for a moment, “You know that I am half French-Creole and half Lakota-Sioux.”
    I nodded.
    “My parents raised me to respect and enjoy both cultures. My wife, on the other hand, is a very modern woman, but she is a full Sioux sister.” Brick considered for a few seconds, “She and her family sometimes felt that I was too ‘white’, and not entirely in tune with the history of our people, especially the mistreatment that our nation suffered through much of the last century. One would think that in this Armageddon such things would not matter, but I wanted to prepare you, just in case. It would be nothing personal towards you, even though it may feel that way.”
    Brick paused to solidify his thought; then, “What I ask you to remember, Nicki Redstone, is that I am your friend - always and forever - and I will stand between you and...everything. Nothing is more important than that. Not my life and not my wife.”

    Brick’s home - It was evident that someone still lived there, since a small vegetable garden was maintained next to the pleasant, isolated two-story structure, and the front porch was swept clean. Weeds had not overtaken the walkway, and cows grazed nearby. All in all, a very normal, pastoral scene in a post-apocalypse land.
    As we came to within shouting distance, Brick yelled out, “Hello, is anyone home?” Eventually, there was movement behind a window curtain, then the door opened slowly. We remained in full view to give the occupants a