THE KILLER ANGEL : Book Three "Journey" (THE KILLER ANGEL TRILOGY 3) by Myles Stafford Page B

must be at least one secondary or emergency egress for this facility. I owed it to the dead – and the possible living – to find it.
    Immediately departing through the shop from where we had entered, Ben and I set out to locate another way into the doomsday bunker.
    As we exited the building, however, it became immediately apparent that our search could not commence until the morning. A chilly dusk was rapidly approaching and we needed a secure layover for the night.
    I quickly grabbed a variety of foodstuffs and water bottles from a couple of shops, then headed outside formy position. It might have been safer inside the bunker, behind heavy doors, but hell itself could be boiling up the road towards this building and I would still not spend my night inside that hole.
    Passing a once attractive wine shop, I was tempted to take a bottle of some fine merlot and cheese, and then ease myself into sleep, but I could not. The dawn would require a clear head and crisp action. To deplete myself with alcohol would be foolish. Besides, I knew that I would sleep well. The day’s events had left me exhausted, body and spirit.
    I found a good, secure spot on a cliff face overlooking the town and, after a modest meal, lay down with Ben, completely fatigued. With my eyes closed I could smell the sweet, clean scent of wet pine trees. Ben pressed close, warming my side. I imagined myself in the calming comforts of Sheffield Abbey. Oh how I wished to be among those pleasant monks. Their gentle hearts could cure any sorrow.
Ahh
, so
long ago
...
    Sometimes this life is a miserable existence, but I am Nicki Redstone, and she is needed more than ever; I will carry on. Who am I to challenge that destiny?

    The next morning, following breakfast, I took extra time to brush down my beloved guardian, then carefully positioned his saddlebag harness. After servicing myown equipment and running through my mandatory fighting drill, I carefully secured the “tools of my trade” into their previously selected and memorized slots. All items had to be precisely where my muscles and my mind expected them to be – always.
    As I slipped my dagger into my braid and prepared to leave, I pondered the staggering speed with which the virus had pierced the immune systems of those in the shelter. Never before had I witnessed such an appallingly fast onslaught.
Was that how the virus had changed in the absence of fresh, untouched blood? Was it growing stronger and possibly a threat to us in the future?
It was thoughts such as those that made me realize that, sooner or later, a visit to the Center for Disease Control in Atlanta may indeed become necessary. But for the moment, I had a sad task that needed to be seen through...although before doing so, I briefly held my mission in check in order to honor those who had recently fallen. The flat rock face upon which I had leaned served my somber purpose.
    Leaving the cliff perch and making swift travel to the back side of the government bunker hill via the country shops road, the location of a “secret” shelter entrance became very apparent, even obvious. I made good time, as always, in spite of a leaden feeling holding me down, almost as though a great weight bore down on me, probably more the result of the emotional havoc wreaked upon my soul than any physical stress. Regardless, I pressed on.
    First, I encountered a string of deteriorating cars along the road; some were dark limousines, many of them apparently having been parked in considerable haste. Then, inside a fenced area, a dozen or so decomposing dark blue vans – military.
    Within that barricaded parking area was another smaller fenced perimeter; jagged ribbons of concertina wire secured the crown. The second fence contained a heavy gate and a substantial cinder block guardhouse, but the gate lock had been broken off and the entire place appeared to be abandoned. However, as I surveyed the compound, I noticed someone, a man, inside the guardhouse,