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

Clearly, it had been used recently for observation, since there were lawn chairs, coolers, and vegetable plants growing there. It was getting late, so we co-opted the position, barred all access, checked for booby-traps, and laid out our gear for the coming night, as we munched on some sweet carrots growing in a trough.
    “It’s puzzling,” Brick commented, “but I really feel as though these guys have taken off. But why? To fight another day?”
    “Maybe,” I replied. “They have almost everything they want, and what they still need they can take from the weak. Maybe they choose not to risk confrontation with someone who can actually fight back. That might have been the message our little escapee delivered. He must have developed some concept of our capabilities from his experience with us. The Claytons had said thegang wasn’t big, and was comprised of all ages. They may not have had the heart for a real contest. It’s too bad, if so. They’re a murderous bunch, and I hate to see them run free to inflict suffering on others.”

    The next morning was cool and calm. Looking about from the rooftop upon which we were perched, the little town of Grayrock indeed appeared to be completely abandoned. Typical of all post-apocalypse communities, there were signs of decay everywhere. Tall, dry grass and large weeds sprouted from streets, sidewalks and rooftops. Open doors and broken windows revealed foliage growing unrestrained into shops and homes. Small trees were pushing up in the oddest places.
    We examined the conglomeration of boutique shops and snack bars, eventually locating the remains of Andy and the Clayton’s dog, Blue. Both had been left where they had fallen and, although decayed, were undisturbed. We did what we could for the their bodies, paid our respects, and moved out of doors for fresh air.
    The slow, but obvious crumbling of civilization was especially depressing in that little town, so we moved on. There was nothing for us there, not even a loose runner to manage, since the former occupants had evidently cleared the place of everything and everyone.
    “We’re a few years away from it, but have you thought about what we do to replace batteries when they finally all expire?” Brick queried.
    “Hmm...good question,” I replied. “I’m sure we could find a hand cranked radio; I’ve seen a few here and there. The same with hand held lights, although they are bulkier and don’t last as long. Our head lamps and rifle lights, though, those would be difficult to replace.”
    “Canned goods expire, too,” I continued the thought as we pedaled on at a good clip. “But I think the freeze dried stuff will keep almost forever, and we seem to never have a shortage of fresh fruits and vegetables. I guess we’ll be okay in the long run.” Resourcefulness was a virtue, and survivors were learning to be increasingly creative.
    Of course, we had access to anything and everything we desired - jewelry, gold, priceless art and important documents; it was all ours for the taking, but none of that mattered anymore. It was sometimes fun to handle finery in expensive stores, or actually pick up and study otherwise untouchable museum objects that were once owned by important historical figures, but all of those priceless effects were now nothing more than wonderful, disintegrating reminders of what once was an amazing planet. The only things that really mattered in this new age, besides people, were those materials that enhanced survival.
    We were making good time on our journey, pushing hard each day to clear the many miles before us, rapidly increasing the distance from Hedley and my beloved Kip, and my Gramma and Grampa. Oh how I wished to return there to the comforts of home, good food, fine wine, and fun conversation.
    Brick was the perfect companion for a journey such as this - intelligent, compassionate and empathetic; he was often aware of my thoughts before I spoke them.
    Mid-way through Wyoming, on a clear