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Back Angels of Vengeance Save as PDF
Chapters (68)
  1. Blurb
  2. CONTENTS
  3. Dedication
  4. CHARACTER LIST
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. 22
  27. 23
  28. 24
  29. 25
  30. 26
  31. 27
  32. 28
  33. 29
  34. 30
  35. 31
  36. 32
  37. 33
  38. 34
  39. 35
  40. 36
  41. 37
  42. 38
  43. 39
  44. 40
  45. 41
  46. 42
  47. 43
  48. 44
  49. 45
  50. 46
  51. 47
  52. 48
  53. 49
  54. 50
  55. 51
  56. 52
  57. 53
  58. 54
  59. TWO MONTHS LATER
  60. ONE YEAR LATER
  61. TWO YEARS LATER
  62. FOUR YEARS LATER
  63. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
  64. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  65. Also by John Birmingham
  66. ALSO BY JOHN BIRMINGHAM
  67. Copyright
  68. Cover

Unlike the fat pigs, the two meth heads were razor-thin with sunken cheeks. Their teeth were worn nubs, consumed by the constant need for sugar. You could turn a pretty good trade in Kansas City if you started cooking up crystal meth in an abandoned home or disused McDonald’s. Workers trying to get through gruelling shifts or long drives frequently resorted to it, trading short-term alertness for long-term health problems.

Their eyes stared out at her now from darkened pits. One man caught her looking at him, and smiled back with real malevolence. Not that one, she decided.

She wished she had something to read, something to hold in front of her face and hide behind, but no way was she going to waste money buying a copy of the local newspaper. It would just be filled with the usual garbage from the resettlement authorities, proclaiming Kansas City to be a paradise found. Not a word of the meth epidemic, of course, or the shootings, stabbings and other crimes that were a regular occurrence in the lives of most people here. Or at least, the people she knew. Sofia took to staring out of the window at the big rigs as they grunted and rumbled around on the tarmac. Occasionally one of her fellow diners would finish his meal, get up and leave, but most of them seemed content to sit for a while. She wasn’t sure what they were waiting for. The weather wasn’t likely to improve, and it wouldn’t be light for many hours. Perhaps they were all worried about bandits.

Sofia picked at her fries when they arrived, hating the oily taste. But the more she ate, the hungrier she seemed to grow. After half an hour, she had finished the lot.

She became aware that the two youngest drivers, the speed freaks, were staring openly at her. They appeared to be talking about her, pointing, greatly amused by something or other. It made her wish she’d been able to stop by the apartment. Papa kept three guns there in a cabinet: his saddle gun – a sort of sawn-off shotgun he’d always carried with him on horseback – his Winchester repeater, and the .357 Colt he had been teaching her to use. She would’ve been grateful to have that handgun with her now, tucked inside the waist of her Levi’s, hidden under the weight of her hoodie top.