by T. A. Sorsby
‘I’ve been doing that so far,’ I said, ‘seen enough action-based entertainment to gather that - I know films aren’t real, but seemed the sensible thing to do.’
‘Good on you. But there’s still a couple things,’ she said, flicking the fingers of my cupping left-hand until I moved it away from the gun, ‘that’s called tea-cupping. Cut it out. They’re always doing that in films. Must look better on camera.’
‘Okay, show me how to do it right?’ I asked, offering her the gun out, in the palm of my hand, barrel pointing away from anything we didn’t want to shoot.
‘Right, here, see?’ she said, settling it into a right-hand grip, finger over the trigger-guard. ‘Got your dominant hand on first, then here, where you’ve got your fingers and the uncovered grip? Support hand on there. Don’t cross your thumbs here, in line with the back of the gun, but you can cross them here, so it’s like you’re tying your right-hand thumb down. See?’
‘I’m with you…’ I nodded.
‘If you pick up a semi-auto like mine or Nev’s, same grip applies – keeps all your digits away from the moving parts. You don’t want to see what happens to a thumb when it gets hit by the slide. Same for catching escaping gasses from a revolver cylinder for that matter.
‘Cobra’s double-action, shouldn’t have to cock the hammer like you do with that antique, but that support thumb, the one winning the wrestling match with the main thumb? Use that to cock when you’re using the older piece. You’ll have more control over your recoil than tea-cupping.’
‘Simple as that?’ I asked, taking the gun back, and holding it correctly.
‘Despite being a form of combustion,’ she said, slapping me on the back, ‘it is not rocket science.’
‘You feel better about letting the civilians carry guns now?’
‘Ask me after we’ve been in a firefight together, I reserve judgement.’ She said, holding up a finger.
‘Last night doesn’t count?’ I laughed.
‘Hah! You didn’t shoot at anyone! Mr Keep Them Talking So Everyone Else Can Line Up A Shot. Good going, by the way.’
‘I don’t think that name’s going to stick.’
‘Don’t put yourself down on it,’ she said, leading the way back into the kitchen, ‘tense situation like that, someone needed to be the voice for the squad. You kept them focused on you, so we had all the time in the world to get ready for that fight, then you even tried giving them an out, offering up that diplomatic solution...’
‘I was just winging it.’ I said, folding my arms.
‘I’ve seen hostage negotiators have worse first days, is all I’m saying. When you met me as well – crazy lady holed up with a gun. Neville had only seen me a few times until then, but he should still have been the one to disarm and come talk me down, right?’
‘Perhaps I have some kind of death wish?’ I frowned, quizzical. ‘Where’s this going?’
‘You’re a better leader for this group than you give yourself credit for.’ She said. With a straight face and everything.
‘Oh.’ I stumbled. ‘Thanks?’
She looked like she was about to say something else, drew in breath, but let it out. ‘I occasionally overshare. Sorry. If you start on breakfast, I could inventory the new guns?’
‘As leader, I delegate guns to the expert, and take up kitchen duties. So it is written.’ I added, making a lordly gesture. She smiled. ‘Ah, but little did she know, that because we made sandwiches out of all the short-dated stuff yesterday, I actually don’t have to do anything…’
‘Now you can come help me count bullets and load magazines then. Come on, it’ll be fun.’ She lied.
We sat on the sofa with the coffee table dragged close, and set about ejecting the magazines from the sidearms, each of them rather like Neville’s, which he’d give to Anita - guessing they were of the same manufacture. All three were in various states of half-empty - or arguably, half full. Likewise for their spare magazines that I’d lifted from their vests.
‘They’ve been in a fight or two, if I were to guess.’ Anita said, examining a nearly empty mag.
‘You’re the detective, inspector.’ I reminded her.
‘Another group if I were to guess, someone else with guns. If it were just shamblers, they’d have spent their magazines and reloaded. Best reason to switch a half-spent for a full mag that I can think of, is if you’re going up against someone else with a gun, and might need to throw down some suppressing fire.’
‘That seems to be one of their tactics, judging by the one that got away. Not sure if that helps your investigation.’
‘Maybe they got into an altercation with those uniforms from last night - could have been loyalist Territorials, or PMC troops. They hauled ass to clear the pawnshop and setup overwatch after they saw the bodies, but I don’t know if that’s because they saw dead allies or dead enemies.’
‘Or just dead bodies in general.’
She nodded to that. ‘We’re not going to tell from staring at these. They’re nine-mill, and I’ve got a few spares ratting around my pocket. So empty the bullets out of those ones, I’ll clear the chambers and we’ll see how many usable mags we can get.’
I wasn’t exactly sure on how you did that at first, but managed to figure it out.
‘Damian and Laurel both have guns, but no pistols. You and me, packing pairs of pistols-’ I started.
‘Say that three times fast.’ She said.
I narrowed my eyes at her for a moment. ‘Morgan hasn’t got any kind of gun. Never fired one either. Do you think you could give her a live-fire lesson?’
‘Not sure how Nev would feel about that,’ she hummed, ‘not sure how I feel about that. She’s still a minor but…think I might be more on your side than his, where his daughter’s safety’s concerned. She’s smart, good to have around. If she could shoot, she’d be even better. Not far off service age either.’
‘Up for it then? I know it’s not like we’re burdened by the amount of bullets we’re carrying, but a few shots are better than nothing, right?’
She nodded. ‘Not here though. When we’re out later, if it’s safe I’ll set up some targets just before we head back.’
Three usable guns, each one with a full mag, plus three mags left over, with around half a dozen rounds a piece in them. Anita checked and reloaded her own weapons before sharing her spare bullets.
‘Now everybody’s armed. Great.’ She sighed, leaning back in the sofa. ‘I’m going to be fired so hard if this ever ends.’
‘Either that or you’ll get a medal. You should deputise us. Officially. There a ceremony?’
‘Nobody does that anymore.’ She said, perhaps a little despondently. ‘Time to wake the rest up?’
‘We’re burning daylight.’ I agreed.
Anita walked down the hall to knock on the Roberts’ door, leaving Laurel for an extra minute, while I went to the stairs for the other two. I gave a musical knock on Damian’s door, and heard a vague noise from somewhere within.
‘This is your morning wake-up call, D. You up and about?’ I asked. There was no reply.
Put yourself in my boots for a moment - if this were a normal day, you’d think it was a plain old case of oversleeping, but a vague mumble, in a zombie apocalypse, then no reply to a shout out? I clenched my teeth, feeling a cold sweat break out on the back of my neck.
‘Damian, Lucile, anyone in there?’ I called out again, pressing my ear to the door.
Rapid, shuffling footsteps grew closer to the door, followed by a rattling, clinking sound. I took a swift pair of steps backwards, and drew out the Cobra, keeping it pointed at the floor with two hands, finger off the trigger. Now would be a terrible time for a practical lesson.
The door opened, and Lucile stood there in a too-big powder blue robe, loose bottoms and white carpet slippers with a hotel brand on the front. Bleary eyed, she blinked at me, and my gun.
‘Well shucks. Good morning to you too.’
‘Sorry,’ I mut
tered, stowing it, ‘thought I heard shuffling feet. Guess it was your slippers…’
‘New safehouse dress code.’ She yawned. ‘Time to move?’
‘Sandwiches will be served upon arrival.’
‘Black-tie funeral?’ she sniffed.
‘Put on your best arse-kicking boots. It’s going to rain and I’d rather not be digging graves in a downpour with no central heating to come home to.’
‘Point.’ She nodded, ‘We’ll be up, see ya in a minute.’
‘Right on.’ I waved, turning back to the corridor.
*
Thirty Three
We ate, most people reloading and checking weapons, being sure to lock safeties and aim at the ground while doing so, under Anita’s instruction. It’s not like we were terrible for it before, or I’m sure Neville would have said something. I think it just gave her a task to focus on, rather than thinking about what came next.
Morgan, wisely planning for the future, took more meat out to be defrosting for tonight’s meal. The coolboxes and ice were doing a decent job of keeping the frozen stuff from thawing, but we knew it was just delaying the inevitable. Another day and it’d all be defrosting, we’d have to cook it and wrap it, or we’d lose it.
‘Presents, here.’ I said, picking up the Deserters’ guns from the table and handing them about.
‘But it’s not my birthday.’ Laurel beamed, giving me a one-armed hug, her rifle held in the other. While the flashlight was taped underneath the barrel, with Morgan’s help she’d also secured a long kitchen knife to the side as an improvised bayonet. She wasn’t getting caught out again.
‘Do you just like taping knives on things?’ she asked the girl with the hockey-stick-spear. There was definitely an element of the ridiculous about it, but I didn’t want to say anything.
‘Even if it holds up for one attack, its worth a little tape.’ Morgan said defensively.
‘Thought they looked like D&Es,’ Neville said, helping me pass the new magazines out. ‘Doe-Eastwick, they do the standard issue for the Territorial Army and some of the regional police forces.’
‘Same one as you had, right mon?’ Damian asked, putting his in one of the pockets of his coat.
Neville nodded. ‘Seemed a good buy, if the law were using it, had to be good. I’ve been happy with the purchase, especially recently. Need to pick up a customer review form.’
I held one of them out to Morgan.
Neville did a double-take.
‘No,’ Anita chided, before Neville could say anything, coming in from the side and gently guiding him be the shoulder away from his daughter, ‘no, we’re not putting it to a vote, Morgan gets a weapon, and I’m going to teach her how to use it.’
‘Really?’ she beamed, quickly taking it from my open hand, but not quite snatching it away.
Anita and Neville gave conflicting responses.
‘But really, yes.’ I said, giving Morgan the nod.
‘She’s too young-’ he tried.
‘We’ve been through this, with Edgar.’ I shouted over him.
‘Going out is different-’
‘Ain’t it better she’s armed and ready?’ Lucile joined in.
‘Girl’s responsible, she not going to shoot us in de back.’
It hadn’t quite escalated into a full blown argument yet, but it was getting that way. Not like Laurel at all to be the diplomatic one. ‘What is it you want?’ she asked Morgan, putting a hand on her shoulder.
Morgan looked at the floor a moment. ‘It’s my choice, Dad…’ she muttered, ‘but…I’ll do whatever you think is best.’
Neville left his mouth to hang a moment. ‘Uh, I think,’ he paused, scratching the back of his neck, ‘I think Anita might be right.’
Morgan looked up, eyes unblinking.
‘If you can teach her, sure. Just let someone else hold the gun until class is in session, okay?’ he pleaded.
Morgan walked up, and handed him the pistol.
‘Until you think I won’t go blue on blue.’ She said.
‘It wasn’t that, it was never that…’ he muttered, bringing his daughter in for a hug. We all got sheepish and turned away at that point.
The rest of us started to pull on our coats and jackets, securing weapons and making last minute checks. I kept Edgar’s old gun in the front of my hoodie and took the first aid kit we’d gotten from the Deserters’, squeezing it into a jacket pocket - it was only a small thing, a blister pack of painkillers, gauze, bandages, tiny scissors; same setup as Anita’s.
With the binoculars in the other pocket and the hoodie underneath, my jacket was starting to feel pretty bulky, but I’d be glad of the extra protection, and the waterproofing.
I didn’t think we’d need compasses, not really much chance of us having to do any orienteering, and I never was great at it to begin with. Still, I grabbed one just in case somebody else might need it, pocketing a couple of the flares and passing the others out to Anita, Laurel and Damian - the best shooters or the biggest guns.
‘What you thinking?’ Damian asked, quietly.
‘Sound, bright lights, we know they’re attracted to them. These flares could be a great distraction, just thought it’d be good to keep them around.’
‘Aye, save it for de right time.’ He lilted.
‘If we need to use the flares for communication, green’s good, red’s bad, right?’ I checked, raising my voice so they could all hear me. ‘Should have one of each.’
‘Nice one, Captain Obvious.’ Laurel snorted.
I bit my tongue a moment, and started throwing a bunch of sandwich boxes into a bag for the boot of the 4x4, knowing we’d be gone a good long while.
Anita picked up the bag of empty bottles from by the door as we were leaving. ‘Lesson plan,’ she said.
We filed out into the foyer after the usual trip down the thousand steps, Lucile and Damian nipping into Stan’s apartment to fetch the gas pump and something to drain the diesel into - a red plastic bucket with a spout.
While they were busy with that, everyone else kept their eyes on the park, watching for movement, except me and Neville. We made another trip into the landlord’s apartment, to grab the shovels we’d need for the Masons.
‘How you feeling?’ I asked him.
‘Is it a single father thing?’ he asked, face a mask of concern. ‘Do people think I’m not parenting her right, that I don’t have her best interests in mind?’
‘We know you do, its nothing to do with you being a single parent.’ I told him, passing the shovels out of Stan’s utility cupboard.
‘A gun though? You’re all sure about this? Her mother didn’t even like guns in the house…’
‘These are the crazy, modern, flesh-eating times we live in,’ I said, picking up the big green medical kit on our way out. ‘You know my thoughts on the subject already. Get her ready for the new world, just in case it lasts.’
‘She’s growing up, Kelly.’ He sighed, ‘She shouldn’t have to grow up too fast.’
‘She was doing that before this started.’ I smiled with a shrug. ‘Kids, man. What’s the saying? It takes a village? We’re not trying to step on your toes or anything. We just want to help take care of each other, that includes her.’
‘I’ll think on that…thanks.’
We re-joined the others, leaning on our shovels. It didn’t take them long to siphon off the diesel from the white pickup truck and pour it into Damian’s tank.
‘Start her up, I’ll drop these inside.’ Lucile said, reaching for the bucket after it was emptied. The smell of fuel was on the air.
‘Keep them with us,’ I suggested, ‘if we see a safe place to tap another likely looking vehicle, we may as well.’
‘It going to stink de inside of me ride.’ He said.
‘Hmm. Kelly’s right.’ Lucile mused, ‘It’s for a good cause. If we’ve got more gas, we get to ride the elevator again.’
‘Alright, deal.’ Damian sighed. ‘You know how to twist me arm.�
��
He and Neville took up the front seats, the three women in the middle, with Morgan and myself riding in the back again, holding onto the straps.
‘Parental suck-up.’ I muttered to her, keeping my voice low. Even the middle seats wouldn’t hear us over the engine and radio.
She looked at me with wide eyes and pouted.
‘That’s just cruel.’ I shook my head.
‘Is it not a teenage daughter’s prerogative to emotionally blackmail their fathers into giving them what they want?’ she asked, innocently.
‘He’s tearing himself up over this stuff, seriously.’ I said, giving her leg a gentle nudge with my boot. ‘Give him an inch next time, he couldn’t say no in front of everyone. Next time he asks you to play it safe, do it. For me.’
‘You’re the one-’ she started, but caught herself talking too loud, ‘encouraging me to be all independent, now you’re saying I should be wrapped up in the bubble?’ she carried on at a whisper.
‘Not full time,’ I sighed, ‘just give him a moment to adjust. Let him protect you again, just one more time, before he loses his little girl.’
‘He’ll never lose me…’ she said, swallowing hard.
I reached over, and put my hand on her knee. My throat was tight, and I didn’t know what else to say.
With the radio on, the car was filled with the sounds of saxophone and bass. GCR’s Jazz block doesn’t stop just because the world does. It did however, go on for a good long while. Five tracks must have played - hard to tell with jazz - before we got to the Masons’ cul-de-sac, without interruption from the DJ.
Zeds had been thin on the roads, we hadn’t passed nearly as many as we’d done on our previous jaunts. Perhaps all the gunfire last night had drawn them towards one place again. The 4x4 slowed to a halt at the mouth of the street, everyone craning their heads to see if we had company.
