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

situation for us, since it would be easy to mistake me for a runner, and Ben too could get hit in the mess. Unfortunately, my options were limited, so I waded into the mayhem with two pistols drawn, ready for runners at close range. Within seconds I was charged by three of them, each of whom I quickly put down with bullets in the skulls, one apiece. Then more. I could hear Ben snarling and fighting, but I could notsee him. I yelled out, “Ben! Dan! Molly! Girls! It’s Nicki here!!”
    It had grown quiet and Ben came over to me as the dust began to settle, panting heavily and in good spirits, black runner vomit sticking to his fur. There were runner bodies strewn about, a few of them with their throats torn out or necks broken, the result of Ben’s crushing jaws.
    A few disabled runners continued to move, grasping at me with extended arms and bulging eyes...those were silenced...without anger, yet without hesitation. I had dealt with the inhumanity of being the executioner long ago, many, many times over. I learned to expel emotion from the process, and accepted the necessity of permanently terminating the half-dead, a grim but important “business”. The approach kept me mentally stable and emotionally strong.
    Although my hearing was dull and muffled from the pistol fire, the further lack of any sound whatsoever was unnerving.
    It was so quiet!
    A light breeze slowly cleared the dust as I looked about. I lowered my guns.
    I could see the Claytons’ small wagon, with the donkey still attached and unmolested, but there was no sign of the Claytons themselves. As I moved about the field, I noticed a large, thick tarp on the ground, and the unmistakeable smell of gasoline in the air.
Could it be?
I thought. “Mr. Clayton?” I spoke out.
    “Nicki?” Came the reply. Sure enough, the Claytons’ defense had been to hide under the tarp in a small depression and scatter gas around themselves to mask their scent. There they were, dusty and unharmed, all four of them, along with the two dogs. I was relieved and thrilled to find them in fairly good shape, if not terribly frightened.
    I doubted that the tarp would have supplied more than a few moments of security, knowing the nature of runners, especially the sniffers, but it was possible, I surmised, that the gas odor may have thrown them off of the hunt. Nevertheless, those nearly deadly circumstances provided stiff reinforcement of their need to strengthen their fighting skills.
    I searched the distance for Brick, and was soon relieved to see his long stride covering ground in the distance. I could see that he was not alone, as it appeared a prisoner was in tow. Ben trotted out in greeting, tail wagging in eager happiness. Clearly, he had been energized by the recent action.
    As they drew close, the prisoner’s eyes revealed consternation at the carnage. His hands were thoroughly zip tied behind him. With no ability to defend himself, he stayed silently close to Brick, so there was no need for any leash.
    “Comment ça va?”
Brick said jovially. “I see you had fun here, Nicki, much more than I had. Is everyone okay?”
    “Ça va bien,”
I replied,
“Oui. Beaucoup deplaisir.”
My French always made Brick grin. I had to jab him, “Brick...Brick... Slow down a moment; take a whiff. Do you smell something? Sniff that? Ninety-one octane petroleum, maybe? Yes...I’m sure of it...”
    A frowning sniff, then, “Please don’t say it, Nicki.”
    I couldn’t resist, “That’s what I thought. Kind of makes you feel at home now? My great Sioux friend,
‘Smells-Like-Gas’
.” It brought back a fond memory of our first meeting, which seemed so very long ago. Before he became the
Great Brick Charbonneau
, Brick had tried using the gasoline odor as a runner deterrent. It probably worked a little, but it was more useful as a tool for teasing.
    “The Lakota will never believe that you are my prisoner. Never. I’m probably going to do a sun dance later to fix the insult,