Free THE KILLER ANGEL: Book Two "Legend" (THE KILLER ANGEL TRILOGY 2) by Myles Stafford

was protected by multiple layers of sandbags. Barricaded windows and doors blocked access, but one large corner of the building had been blown out and had collapsed, providing a ramp up for the attackers.
    We moved carefully forward, hoping with little optimism that there were survivors. Ben stayed close by my side. Total loss scenarios made us all uneasy, but Ben’s protective mode always ramped up when we entered such places.
    Brick had been right, the sandbagged area was the final stand for the defenders. There were bodies everywhere, men and women, many of them the remains of uninfected survivors. Judging from the pilesof runner dead, those folks fought valiantly to the bitter end.
    I noticed something that we did not usually see, “Not one person with back injuries; they all died facing the enemy. All are armed. No panic. These people stood their ground.”
    “We stand among heroes, Nicki,” Brick replied in solemn respect.
    He pointed to a large, carefully painted, blue Star of David on a small building at the back of the roof. It had been defaced with a spray painted swastika. As we approached the small structure, it became obvious that considerable reinforcement had been added to its exterior.
    “This must be the safe-house.” I said, as we guardedly stepped up to its only entrance, a closed steel door.
    Shouldering my rifle, I pushed on the door. It was not latched, but would only budge a little.
    Brick added his weight to my effort, then the door gave way with a rusty creak. A fallen warrior had slowed our entrance, even in death.
    The sadness within made us both step back. A dozen children and a few adults, all dead. Runners had breached the sanctuary and a terrible fight had ensued. It seemed that the monsters had been beaten back, but the end was apparent to the survivors, and it was evident that most of them chose to take their own lives, rather than fall to the cannibals who hungered for them. Close range executions and suicides were an unhappy,yet familiar sight to us.
    “These people were likely assaulted because of their religion,” Brick remarked, as we stood in the doorway. “So much bigotry and hate, even in the apocalypse.” It was sadly evident that there were no survivors within the shelter.
    Out of the corner of my eye, in the shadows nearby, I detected a lean, muscular arm rising, a large pistol aimed at Brick. A millisecond later, the arm dropped, a bullet having been placed into the owner’s eye.
    I never hesitate
...
    Brick closed the safe-house door as I walked over to examine the would-be assailant. A tough looking female wearing a leather vest. Her shoulder displayed a large “5 th ” tattoo. I leaned the body forward with my foot and examined her neck, wherein a red swastika tattoo was emblazoned.
    “The
fifth? ”
Brick remarked. “I wonder if they are affiliated with the Fifth Militia. It’s a long way to the coast, but there could be a connection.”
    I had been thinking the same thing. The Fifth Militia was a toxic Ku Klux Klan troop of thugs with whom we had engaged in fatal confrontation on the Oregon coast a few months earlier. Three of their number fell to our weapons in a fight that they provoked.
    “Maybe so,” I replied, “We will have to remain alert to the possibility that their brethren could be anywhere, and I’m sure that we are not on their ‘special friends’ list.”
    As we resumed our journey, recalling the
mezuzah
above the gate, a thought occurred to me, “Brick, how is it that you seemed to know something about everything?”
    “Ah, a nice compliment from Nicki Redstone,” came his reply. “The answer is curiosity. Growing up, I was curious about everything; I wanted to be a walking encyclopedia of knowledge. It perfectly suited my chosen profession as a history teacher.
    “I had read once that Leonardo da Vinci was the last human to comprehend all of mankind’s knowledge which, at that time, was not vast. True or not, it was something to