THE KILLER ANGEL: Book Two "Legend" (THE KILLER ANGEL TRILOGY 2) by Myles Stafford Page A
Authors: Myles Stafford
Ads: Link
revelation, an epiphany.
I did not want to be her enemy!
I felt shame at the many bawdy descriptions of what we would do with her if she came within our reach. What corrupt, vain fools we were.
At that pivotal, pain-filled moment, I became a believer. I would do good and help others selflessly, if only I would be allowed to do so.
Please, God, let me live! Deliver me!
...And He did...
Since that moment of rebirth, I have devoted my heart and soul to helping others in every way possible, striving to cleanse the stains on my conscience and my soul that I created by harming others.
I can never do enough
...
Chapter Five
“Eastern Oregon ”
T HE NEXT morning, the Kincaids were up early with me. Survivors tend to live by daylight, and my fine hosts knew that I wanted an early start. I had explained my destination, advising that Wade and Jeff were good people to know, and discussed the current value of radio communications.
I assured the Kincaids that I would pass their greetings on to the two soldiers, along with an invitation to visit as special guests in the Kincaid home. I left a ‘thank you’ note of heartfelt gratitude on the bed.
Scout and Tara would not let me go, holding on to me and squeezing so hard that I had to laugh and beg for release. “Nicki, oh please, please come back to us!” They repeated over and over, to which I promised with a laugh that - one day - I would indeed return.
Ben and I walked off and turned back to wave one last time. The entire family remained there in the distance, waving until I was out of sight.
Ben seemed thoroughly reinvigorated, so wetrooped off at a quick trot. I knew that we could make it to Jeff’s and Wade’s compound by late afternoon, barring any unforeseen delay.
As we moved on, the weight of buried sorrow began to haunt me once more. The farther we traveled from the Kincaids’ small paradise, the heavier I felt, depression weighing me down. Try as I might, I had difficulty shaking it off. Ben sensed the disquiet in my soul and offered as much comfort as his brave heart could muster.
The swarm encounter of the previous day remained in my thoughts, as I reviewed the event and my performance. What changes in action would have produced better - or worse - results. To survive after being overwhelmed is a rare thing, although, miraculously, I have done so more than once.
In a maniacal scrum, runners rip each other from their target, and pile upon one another, thus paralyzing themselves in the frenzy. Once in close contact, a common defender’s mistake is to push at a runner with hands open. But fingers are glowing snacks to the monsters, and once fingers are gone, all is lost.
I’ve come across a hundred massacres and the remains of the truly dead; many of the lost were absent their fingers - a clue to their demise, if any such evidence were needed. Runners too, often lack fingers, a very specific and disturbing indication of someone’s terrible last moments. One must train to be automatically in a “fist fight” with the tidal wave of a swarm; it’s not something you can think about as ithappens.
Even though training, creative thinking and skill have been critical to my survival, a large ego has no place in my kit. Luck has made the winning difference too many times to allow such arrogance.
A survivor must be ready -
always!
About mid-morning Ben alerted me to activity in the distance - people moving in our direction, down the same narrow road upon which we were traveling. I was certain that they had not seen us as we skipped off to the side into hiding. I was ready for anything, as was Ben. The travelers did not move rapidly, certainly not at my speed.
When they came closer, I could make out three figures, all male. One had a familiar gait. I smiled.
“Comment ça va mes amis? ”
I barked out as they passed.
They were startled and whipped around to look at me, standing nonchalantly by the road where they had just passed. I had to chuckle; we
I did not want to be her enemy!
I felt shame at the many bawdy descriptions of what we would do with her if she came within our reach. What corrupt, vain fools we were.
At that pivotal, pain-filled moment, I became a believer. I would do good and help others selflessly, if only I would be allowed to do so.
Please, God, let me live! Deliver me!
...And He did...
Since that moment of rebirth, I have devoted my heart and soul to helping others in every way possible, striving to cleanse the stains on my conscience and my soul that I created by harming others.
I can never do enough
...
Chapter Five
“Eastern Oregon ”
T HE NEXT morning, the Kincaids were up early with me. Survivors tend to live by daylight, and my fine hosts knew that I wanted an early start. I had explained my destination, advising that Wade and Jeff were good people to know, and discussed the current value of radio communications.
I assured the Kincaids that I would pass their greetings on to the two soldiers, along with an invitation to visit as special guests in the Kincaid home. I left a ‘thank you’ note of heartfelt gratitude on the bed.
Scout and Tara would not let me go, holding on to me and squeezing so hard that I had to laugh and beg for release. “Nicki, oh please, please come back to us!” They repeated over and over, to which I promised with a laugh that - one day - I would indeed return.
Ben and I walked off and turned back to wave one last time. The entire family remained there in the distance, waving until I was out of sight.
Ben seemed thoroughly reinvigorated, so wetrooped off at a quick trot. I knew that we could make it to Jeff’s and Wade’s compound by late afternoon, barring any unforeseen delay.
As we moved on, the weight of buried sorrow began to haunt me once more. The farther we traveled from the Kincaids’ small paradise, the heavier I felt, depression weighing me down. Try as I might, I had difficulty shaking it off. Ben sensed the disquiet in my soul and offered as much comfort as his brave heart could muster.
The swarm encounter of the previous day remained in my thoughts, as I reviewed the event and my performance. What changes in action would have produced better - or worse - results. To survive after being overwhelmed is a rare thing, although, miraculously, I have done so more than once.
In a maniacal scrum, runners rip each other from their target, and pile upon one another, thus paralyzing themselves in the frenzy. Once in close contact, a common defender’s mistake is to push at a runner with hands open. But fingers are glowing snacks to the monsters, and once fingers are gone, all is lost.
I’ve come across a hundred massacres and the remains of the truly dead; many of the lost were absent their fingers - a clue to their demise, if any such evidence were needed. Runners too, often lack fingers, a very specific and disturbing indication of someone’s terrible last moments. One must train to be automatically in a “fist fight” with the tidal wave of a swarm; it’s not something you can think about as ithappens.
Even though training, creative thinking and skill have been critical to my survival, a large ego has no place in my kit. Luck has made the winning difference too many times to allow such arrogance.
A survivor must be ready -
always!
About mid-morning Ben alerted me to activity in the distance - people moving in our direction, down the same narrow road upon which we were traveling. I was certain that they had not seen us as we skipped off to the side into hiding. I was ready for anything, as was Ben. The travelers did not move rapidly, certainly not at my speed.
When they came closer, I could make out three figures, all male. One had a familiar gait. I smiled.
“Comment ça va mes amis? ”
I barked out as they passed.
They were startled and whipped around to look at me, standing nonchalantly by the road where they had just passed. I had to chuckle; we
Similar Books
