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

paces away. The effect was terribly depressing.
    Ben and I stood motionless as Tim spoke with a few men, no doubt reporting in. I scanned the crowd, some sitting at tables, but many were standing. We must have made an interesting image for these people. Gorgeous Ben, with his harness and saddlebags, and me, covered in leather, weapons and a small backpack. No doubt a very strange sight to these people who, in many ways, probably still lived in an artificial version of the world that disappeared two years ago.
    Ceiling microphones picked up voices as a speaker crackled above my head.
    “Mr. Secretary,” Tim began, “I’d like to introduce you to Ms. Scottie Redstone.”
    Scottie Redstone? Where did they get that?
My mind remembered Tim’s fear at first meeting me.
Why would Scottie instill such terror?
    I could see faces move, expressions change, some pointing, mostly in wonder, as though looking at a celebrity...or a zoo animal.
    Ben lay down and relaxed on the floor, sensing that this might take awhile. His calm settled my tense nerves; I had not been on stage in a long while.
    “Welcome, Ms. Redstone,” words slowly spoken in a sonorous, western twang by a fatherly looking, white-haired, bearded gentleman. “We were hoping to entice someone to aid us, but we never hoped to engage someone of your stature. We hope you can forgive ourmethod. We are aware of your reputation for searching out and ending oppression where you find it. Please...please be assured that we truly need assistance, and are reaching a point of desperation, but we would never intentionally set out to harm or imprison anyone.”
    I noticed that Tim had taken a chair, looking relieved and thirsty. He was gulping water and rubbing his thighs.
    “I get that, sir, no harm done,” I said calmly with a firm voice, although inside I knew I would not have been so easygoing had I found myself tangled in their foolish net trap. “Also, I am not Scottie Redstone.”
    Those words were met with puzzled looks, maybe even some alarm. The secretary looked at Tim, who shrugged.
    “That’s Nicki Redstone,” a teenage boy spoke up. The Secretary looked at the boy, then at Tim Gardner, who was looking very drowsy.
That’s odd
, I thought.
    Then a hubbub and murmuring recommenced across the room. I could hear a gaggle of comments as some looked in disbelief, while others pronounced their “I told you so...” to anyone nearby. It was humorous and worthy of live theater; but this wasn’t a stage, and I could not delay. It was obvious that they thought Nicki Redstone could do anything; I wished that were true.
    I spoke up loudly, “He is correct. I am Nicki Redstone. I don’t want to be rude, but I have urgent business elsewhere. How can I help you?”
    The talking and movement among the crowd onceagain ceased as the Secretary spoke, “We have supplies for approximately another eighteen months. Before outside, two-way communications ended, which was quite some time ago, we were advised that the CDC in Atlanta had developed a vaccine. We cannot leave here without one. We need someone to go to the CDC and bring the vaccine to us, if indeed such exists. To be blunt, we hope, pray and ask that you are that someone.” It was a very tall order placed in a brief statement.
    The room was silent; hundreds of hope-filled eyes were upon me. I stood next to Ben and gently rubbed his warm neck. I looked at the many passive, yet pleading faces; faces from another time. Only a very few children. Even with vaccine, these people would have difficulty surviving in the outside world today. They had no “runner training”, plus there were other predators – the living kind. I saw very few among them who looked capable of physically handling the harshness that would be required to endure. These people would need someone who could see them through, but I was not sure that I wanted to be that person. However, those were details that could be managed later. Bringing them a