Nurse Alissa vs. the Zombies | Book 3 | Firestorm

by Baker, Scott M.

  We didn’t.

  We weren’t.

  Whenever a crisis struck another part of the world, we all watched in awe from the comfort of our homes and pitied those who were suffering. Never once did we think it could ever happen to us or, if that thought crossed our mind, we pushed it aside. We were too busy worrying about the present to plan for the future. Our daily routines revolved around trivial distractions. Sports, politics, video games, social media. Now that all those frivolities are gone, we’re faced with an entirely different world none of us are ready for.

  I used to come to this cabin to get away from it all and relax. Now I would kill for the commotion I tried to avoid. The isolation is disturbing. We are stuck here. No planes fly overhead. No cars pass by on the road at the foot of the mountain. No signs of civilization exist at all. It’s too risky to go anywhere. We might get overwhelmed by a horde of deaders or, even worse, inadvertently lure them back here. Even if we did go out, where would we go? Nothing is open. No one is around.

  Everyone here tries to cope with the isolation as best they can but it’s slowly wearing away at our nerves. I spend as much time as possible exercising or sitting out here on the porch in the sun, reading or writing. The other day, a squirrel jumped up on the railing. I spent ten minutes feeding him bread from my sandwich. (If Archer had been sitting with me, things would have ended differently.) I had never spent the time to notice nature before. Now it’s the most relaxing part of my day.

  When this crisis is over and the world goes back to normal…. No, the world will never go back to what we consider “normal.” It’s intriguing to imagine what society will be like when this has passed.

  I thank God Paul had the foresight to realize what would happen and took the appropriate measures. Everyone in this cabin owes our lives to him.

  The line between paranoia and preparation is razor thin.

  “Alissa, are you ready?”

  Kiera stood at the door to the porch.

  “Ready for what?”

  “Target practice.”

  “You’re going?”

  “Yes.” Kiera beamed. “Uncle Nate said he’d show me how to use a gun.”

  “Then let’s go.” Alissa placed her pen between the open pages of her journal, closed it, and joined the others inside.

  Kiera walked up to Nathan and Miriam. “We’re ready.”

  “What do you mean ‘we’?” Miriam asked.

  “Uncle Nate is going to teach me to shoot.”

  Miriam shook her head. “I never approved that.”

  “I did,” said Steve from the couch where he read a book. “She needs to learn how to defend herself if she’s going to go on supply runs with you.”

  “She’s not going on supply runs with us.”

  “I did last time.”

  “And you nearly got killed.”

  Using his finger to hold his place, Steve closed the book. “If I remember correctly, she saved your lives.”

  Kiera smiled the way only a teenager who had won an argument with her parents could.

  Miriam stood her ground. “She won’t be going with us again.”

  The smiled faded, “Why?”

  “Because it’s too dangerous. You’ll stay behind and keep an eye on Stevie.”

  “I don’t want to be a damn babysitter.”

  Miriam bristled. “Language, young lady.”

  Kiera looked to Alissa for support.

  “We can discuss that later,” said Steve, trying to broker a truce. “The fact remains that Kiera needs to know how to use a gun to defend herself.”

  “She’s only fourteen.”

  “Don’t worry,” Nathan jumped in. “I used to train people who were going for their concealed weapon permits. I’ll teach her gun safety and how to use one correctly.”

  “Does that mean I can carry one around like you do?” asked Kiera.

  In unison, the four adults said, “No.”

  Kiera frowned.

  “What about it?” asked Steve.

  Miriam sighed. “I guess I have no choice.”

  Kiera pumped her fist.

  Alissa leaned over and whispered in her ear. “Don’t push your luck.”

  Gathering their weapons and some spare ammunition, Nathan led the way to the makeshift shooting range on the opposite side of the mountain.

  * * *

  The makeshift shooting range comprised nothing more than a wooden beam ten feet long and six feet off the ground, anchored on each end by two more wooden beams dug into the ground. Nathan had found an ideal location along the top of a ridge overlooking a gully. No trees were behind them for bullets to ricochet off. The gully was steep and wide enough that any deaders attracted by the gunfire would not be able to sneak up on them, nor could any humans approach without being seen or follow them back to the cabin without being detected.

  As Alissa and Miriam stapled paper targets to the wooden beam and practiced shooting, Nathan stepped Kiera to the side and went over safety procedures with her.

  “This is a Glock 23 semi-automatic pistol. It takes .40 caliber rounds. These are hollow point.”

  “What are hollow points?”

  Nathan removed one from his pocket and handed it to Kiera. “A normal bullet is made of rounded metal for penetration effect. They will pass clean through a body and out the other side, leaving a small clear path. These collapse on impact, becoming a jagged metal disk that rips through the body. It’s the difference between hitting a watermelon with a regular hammer and a sledgehammer.”

  Kiera handed back the bullet.

  “I’m stressing this because an accidental discharge can be deadly to those around you, which brings me to the three rules you always have to follow when handling a weapon. If you forget these rules, I’ll slap you on the head until you remember them.”

  “You wouldn’t do that.”

  “If he doesn’t, I will.” Miriam flashed Kiera a disapproving glare and went back to practice shooting.

  “Rule one. Never point the barrel at anything you don’t want to shoot. Always keep the barrel pointed downrange. If you’re carrying it in your hand in the field, keep it pointed at the ground. That way, if the weapon accidentally fires, you won’t hurt anyone. Understood.”

  Kiera nodded.

  “Rule two. When holding a firearm, always place your trigger finger on the frame, not the trigger guard.” Nathan showed Kiera what he meant. “This way, when you’re ready to fire, you have to make a conscious effort to move your finger to the trigger. If you rest it on the trigger guard, your finger could slip or you could unwittingly wrap it around the trigger.”

  Kiera positioned her fingers in the proper holding stance and studied it for a second. “Gotcha.”

  “The third rule, and the most important one, is be aware of your surroundings. When you fire a round you are responsible for that round until it either hits something or falls harmlessly to the ground. This is extremely important in combat situations. If we’re being attacked by deaders, and you must use your weapon, know what’s beyond your target. If your mother or father, or Little Stevie, or anyone, is near your line of sight, don’t pull the trigger. If your target moves, or you miss it, or if the bullet passes through, you could accidentally kill or wound one of us instead.”

  “What do I do in that situation?”

  “Change your angle.” Nathan aimed the Glock at a large pine tree off to their left. “What’s behind that tree?”

  “Other trees.”

  “Follow me.” Nathan circled ninety degrees to his left, still citing the Glock on the tree. “Now what’s behind that tree?”

  “Open valley.” Kiera’s eyes widened. “I see what you mean.”

  “Now let’s cover safety measures. When I first give you a weapon before we leave the cabin and upon our return, you must follow these procedures to ensure everyone’s safety.” Nathan went through the steps slowly, visually showing Kiera as he described the routine. “First, eject the magazine from the wea
pon.”

  Nathan popped out the fully loaded magazine and slid it into his back pocket.

  “Pull the slide back until it locks open.”

  The round in the chamber flew out and fell to the dirt.

  “Check inside and make certain there are no rounds in the barrel or the magazine chamber. Feel around inside with your pinky as a secondary check. Look away for a few seconds. Then visually check inside the weapon a second time. Where did I keep the gun trained when I did that?”

  Kiera pointed in front of them. “That direction.”

  “It’s called downrange.”

  “Downrange.”

  “Excellent.” Nathan released the slide back into its normal position and showed her the next steps while verbally walking through them. “To load it, slide the magazine back in, and do it hard so it locks in place. Pull back on the slide and let it go. That loads a round in the chamber. Aim and fire.”

  A single bullet exited from the barrel, falling harmlessly into the gully. Holding the Glock by the grip with the barrel pointing downrange, he offered it to Kiera. “You try it.”

  Kiera reached for the weapon, pausing momentarily, not sure how to take it. She grasped the Glock by the barrel. Nathan released it. Kiera placed her left hand on the grip and transferred it to her right hand, her fingers away from the trigger. She followed the procedures Nathan had taught her, although taking much more time as she went through them in her mind. She performed each task perfectly, although somewhat awkwardly. When finished, she pointed the barrel at the ground and smiled.

  “How did I do?”

  “Excellent. I’m proud of you. Are you ready to shoot?”

  “Fuck yeah.”

  “Kiera.” Miriam had stopped firing long enough to flash her daughter the “mom look”.

  Nathan suppressed a grin and led her back to the shooting range. As Kiera stood at the firing line, he stepped forward and attached a target to the wooden beam and rejoined the others.

  “To fire, hold the weapon in your right hand.”

  Kiera did, but with her forefinger resting on the trigger guard.

  “Kiera!” Nathan barked.

  She realized what she had done wrong and quickly placed her forefinger on the frame. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

  “That’s okay. Don’t do it again.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Now place your left hand on the weapon.”

  Kiera cupped the bottom of the grip in her left palm.

  “Don’t hold it that way. There’s a good chance your left hand will push up, throwing off your aim.” He removed Kiera’s hand and placed it so her hand cupped the three fingers holding the grip. “You have better control this way. When firing, always keep your fingers on the frame and away from the barrel. That slide will tear up your finger. Raise the weapon so your right eye can see down the barrel but not too close. You don’t want the slide recoiling into your face.”

  “You’ll shoot your eye out,” joked Alissa.

  Nathan flashed her a stern expression then went back to training. “When the fluorescent dot on the front site is lined up with the two dots on the rear site, that’s where your bullet will hit.” Nathan stepped back. “Line up on the center of the target and fire a round.”

  Kiera took a good thirty seconds to line up the shot and fire. The recoil startled her. The bullet struck to the left and below center, barely hitting the silhouette.

  “Try one more.”

  Kiera did, doing so in less time. The bullet struck close to the first one.

  “I suck at this.”

  “No, you don’t,” Nathan reassured her. “You drop the gun to your left to compensate for the recoil. This time take a deep breath before firing, aim, and slowly exhale. Try to keep your gun steady. Fire two rounds.”

  Kiera did. The bullets struck within the black kill zone, missing the center by two inches.

  “Awesome.”

  “Don’t get cocky.”

  Each bullet drew closer, the last two hitting the center of the target.

  “Bitchin’.”

  “Kiera,” Miriam chastised her daughter again.

  Nathan patted Kiera’s shoulder. “You did a bitchin’ job.”

  Miriam huffed.

  “Reload and try again.”

  Kiera went through the procedure as Nathan had showed her, raised the Glock, and emptied the magazine. Five rounds hit the center of the target, four struck within the black kill zone, and the last four punctured the head.

  “What happened?” asked Nathan. “The last three missed their target.”

  Kiera ejected the empty magazine, slid it in her back pocket, and checked the weapon for lodged rounds. “I aimed for the head. It’s the only way to take down the deaders.”

  “Impressive.”

  “That’s my girl.” Miriam beamed with pride, having forgiven her daughter’s earlier language.

  “Hand me the Glock.”

  Kiera paused for a second. Nathan had not covered this. After a few seconds, she held the Glock by the bottom of the grip, the barrel pointing down, and passed it to Nathan.

  “How’d I do?”

  “Excellent.”

  “Better than me,” added Alissa.

  “First time gun users are usually better because they haven’t developed the bad habits the rest of us have.”

  “And we play video games.” Kiera turned to her mother. “See, all those hours playing Doom and Resident Evil paid off after all.”

  Miriam sighed.

  “Can we do it again?” asked Kiera.

  “Tomorrow. I don’t want to waste too much ammunition.”

  Nathan rubbed Kiera’s head. She rolled her eyes the way only a teenager could.

  “Let’s get back to the cabin,” said Nathan.

  * * *

  Chris and Shithead were waiting for them when they returned, the latter curled up beside his master and keeping a close watch on Archer. As Miriam and Alissa made dinner and Nathan set the table, Kiera spent thirty minutes telling Chris and her father about her first shooting experience. Steve pretended to hang on her every word. Chris chatted with her about it, asking her questions and offering his own advice on gun safety and shooting. Since none of what he said contradicted what she had learned, Nathan didn’t intervene.

  After dinner, Miriam and the kids retired to the living room to play games while the others sat around the table chatting. Not about the outbreak, deaders, or the end of the world. They engaged in a normal conversation about books, movies, sports, and any other topic people normally talked about. It felt good, like a return to normal times.

  Nathan had finished telling the others about Seabiscuit, the book he had read years ago about the famous racehorse, when Chris sat forward.

  “That reminds me. You’ll never guess what I saw a few days ago. A survivor riding a horse.”

  “Are you serious?” Stephen asked.

  “I was on my front porch with my morning coffee when I saw him heading north along Route 302 toward Jericho.”

  “Did he seem…” Alissa searched for the correct word. “…friendly?”

  “Hard to say. He had a backpack and saddle bag, and carried an AR-15, but other than that I couldn’t tell.”

  “I hope you didn’t attempt to get his attention?” asked Nathan.

  Chris shook his head. “I watched him until he turned the bend and then waited fifteen minutes. He never came back.”

  “Good.” Nathan sounded relieved.

  “I wonder who he was and where he was going?” Alissa asked.

  “I thought that as well,” Chris responded. “He didn’t seem frightened or in a hurry. Strange as it sounds, I found it comforting to know that we’re not the last ones alive.”

  “He’s probably wandering the countryside thinking the same thing.” Stephen stood and limped into the kitchen. “The poor guy probably believes he’s that last man on earth.”

  “I can assure you he isn’t.” Nathan grew solemn. �
�Most are in hiding, like us. The rest are the unlucky ones like your horseman who are stuck out in the open and those he definitely wants to avoid.”

  “Way to kill a good time,” Alissa teased.

  “I’m being honest.”

  “You’re being paranoid. We’re safe up here.”

  “For now.” Nathan left the table and joined Stephen in the kitchen.

  Chris waited until Nathan could not hear him and whispered to Alissa. “Don’t be upset with Nathan. As a cop he’s trained to go into every situation hoping for the best but expecting the worst.”

  “I wouldn’t be alive if Nathan wasn’t prepared to respond on a moment’s notice, so I can’t fault him when he gets this way.”

  “You’re right about one thing,” Chris offered in consolation.

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s a lot safer up here than it is out there on your own.”

  Chapter Three

  Joel Evans rummaged through the few remaining plastic bottles scattered across the floor, not finding anything of use. Body lotion, shampoo, underarm deodorant, toothpaste, hair dye, and a few gummy vitamins. Everything else had been stripped clean, especially the first aid section. Even the children’s Band-Aids had all been scavenged, although in a way he was relieved. He didn’t want to have to suffer the indignity of covering a major wound with a row of Band-Aids with images of Elsa and Olaf. Joel picked up the bottles of gummy vitamins and dropped them into his backpack. Who knows? Maybe they’ll come in handy. Besides, it’ll be a humorous story to one day tell his grandkids. If he lived that long.