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

ponder, and the notion impressed my young mind. The rest you already know...”
    Brilliant!

    Midway from Whitehorse to our next stop, we passed a large utility substation, which was surrounded by an ordinary, but sturdy chain-link fence, topped by barbed wire. Secure but unappealing. It contained the usual array of rather ugly metal utility objects resting on gravel. By itself the place was very ordinary, but within the enclosure were a few small children working hard, almost frantically, raking and digging a garden in an area cleared of gravel. They were skinny, dirty and they appeared to be bruised.
    Without being seen, we stopped a short distance away to observe and ponder this sight. The childrenseemed unhappy and weary; not demonstrating the usual high spirits of kids their age. There was no talking; no laughing; no singing.
    The source of their misery soon became evident as we heard growling obscenities and yelling from a voice within a small, makeshift hut built inside of the enclosure. The children looked at the shack in obvious trepidation, cowering close to one another. They did not yet know that their protectors had arrived.
    Within a few seconds, a large, pot-bellied, brute of a man, still wearing a dirty utility company shirt, emerged from the building; filthy, bearded and apparently drunk. He was enraged at something and charged the kids, who scattered.
    Brick and I swiftly moved to intervene. The man kicked one girl so hard that she flew into a steel post and fell to the ground, shaken and frightened.
    “Stop that!” Brick yelled in anger.
    The abuser was stunned at Brick’s command and further shocked by our presence. We cleared the distance to the fence in seconds. The thug had reached for a gun in his belt, but stopped in obvious concern for our more formidable weapons, which were aimed upon him.
    “Open the gate or we’ll blow it off it’s hinges!” Brick continued.
    On that silent, windless day, no one moved. The villain cursed at a child to open the gate. We immediately stepped inside, pea-gravel crunching underfoot, magnifying our presence.
    I was surprised and impressed to see Ben firmly place himself between that nasty figure and the innocents, a low growl emanating from his powerful, protective form as he eyed his nervous opponent.
    Ben could easily shred this man, which was probably what he deserved. Somewhere in his existence, Ben had learned to incapacitate runners via crushing and ripping their necks; a feat of raw animal power that I had witnessed in awe many times. I knew that bringing down this villain would be easy work for him. In spite of the trip-wire tension of the moment, my heart nevertheless beat with renewed pride and affection for my fearsome friend.
    “Come here kids,” I said.
    As I looked over the children, who willingly came to my side, I could see that they were malnourished, neglected, unwashed and abused. Fury grew within me.
    Brick and I studied each other, considering the moment. This was a predator, but perhaps not a murderer. Do we end the almost certain threat to others now, or do we leave him with some ineffective warning? A difficult decision.
    Brick took the man’s pistol and ordered him to the ground. “Stay there!” He ordered.
    I nodded to Brick, who went to examine the hut as the sweaty, sour smelling man lay down on the ground, grumbling and cursing, small rocks and sand sticking to his oily skin.
Such a nasty human being
...
    “Not much there, Nicki” Brick said upon returning. “Guns, ammunition and food supplies - and lots oftrash. One cot. That’s it...only one. What a worthless creature.”
    One of the girls, her beauty shining through her rags and dirty, unkempt hair, asked timidly in the sweetest voice, “Are you Nicki Redstone?”
    “I am,” the polite question was a little surprising. “and this is Brick.”
    “And Ben,” she completed my introduction.
    The children’s eyes went wide, glimmers of hope appearing in their sweet faces.