"Well, I hope you continue writing it," he smiles with sincerity. "Who's it about?"
"I... I don't know. It's something that has been floating around in my head recently." My face feels like red hot fire again, but I keep my head turned down, praying Jake doesn't notice.
"Hey as long as you don’t tell me it’s about that Thomas guy. I don’t think you should trust him."
I'm not sure why, but this irritates me more than I expected.
"Oh yeah, and why is that? Do you think you and Kye are the only two good guys? The only ones who could possibly escape from the Army?! Ugh!" I moan, grabbing at my inflamed side.
"Are you okay? May I see?"
"I'm fine."
“Oh, come on, Emma. Please, let me see."
I lift up my shirt to show the large green and yellow bruise on my right hip and stomach.
"Yikes. Maybe we should give you a break from hand-to-hand for a day or two. How about we practice shooting. It might still hurt your bruise but at least it won't be direct contact. What do you think?"
Part of me wants to say no. To tell him to shove off with his concern for me. However good intentioned it may be. I don't need him telling me what I'm supposed to think about everything and everybody.
"Yeah, sure. Sounds great," I say, allowing my annoyance to articulate my words.
"Okay, well, we can't practice here but there is an old gun range a few towns over. We can practice there. It will help muffle the sound. Bright and early tomorrow morning then?"
"Sure," I pick at the guitar for a moment before shoving it aside and rising from the couch. "I'm going to bed."
"Emma," Jake catches my hand before I can get away. His warmth penetrates my skin, sending a small thrill through my body. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you or try to tell you who you can or can’t think about. That wasn't... it wasn't necessarily what I was trying to say."
I nod, pulling my hand away.
"The song isn't about Thomas. I'll see you in the morning."
****
The sun has barely risen when Jake and I head out the next morning. He already has his gun attached to his belt and another bag of everything we may need for the day. He made me give him my gun, saying that if I can't shoot it properly, I probably shouldn't have it yet. He's probably not wrong. Still, like always, I keep Will's knife with me. Tucked between my sock and shoe.
The day is already hot and sticky with humidity as we climb into the jeep. My bare legs stick together with sweat, and Jake has small sweat droplets beading around the top of his head.
Still slightly miffed about last night, I keep quiet most of the drive. Jake doesn't bother me, letting me ride out my mood in silence. As we drive, my mind shifts to the landscape.
Streams twist in and out of sight flowing from a larger river. Beautiful old houses are sprawled across giant parcels of land with great tall trees planted sturdy in the yards.
We begin nearing town as the houses become closer together and the streets become more numerous. Up ahead, brick buildings form in a row as we approach Main Street.
"Are you concerned at all about Ragers in this area?" I ask, unsure why we would come to this historic little town.
"No. They evacuated and cleared this town out before I even left the Army. A lot of wealthy people resided here; they were taken into containment and Kye's platoon came to evacuate the rest. The only Ragers we could see are those that have wandered into the area."
"They evacuated the residents here?" My face scrunches as I try to make sense of the government's decisions.
"Yeah, but who's to say what happened from there.
I close my mouth, thinking, feeling Jake's eyes flick back and forth between me and the road. I knew from what Dad wrote about Will that some towns were being evacuated but I always wondered why. Why were some towns evacuated and left empty while others had all their citizens changed to Ragers and left for dead?
The buildings begin to become lower and sparser as we come to the end of the short Main Street. Before we clear the small town, Jake turns into a narrow side street and parallel parks among the other few cars.
"We only have a short distance to walk. It's about a block up." Jake is out of the jeep and at my side in a matter of seconds, helping me climb out. He grabs his bag out of the back and we walk to the front of the street, turning back on to Main.
"They converted the old Kmart into the gun range about five years ago or so. My dad used to take us up here for practice all the time."
"Why did your dad decide to take the vaccination?" Something flickers behind Jake's eyes at my question, but I'm not sure what it is. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to pry. You don't have to answer that."
"No, it's fine. He, uh, kind of lost himself a bit after my mom died. She had cancer and passed away when I was fifteen. My dad sunk into a depression. He drank way too much and bounced around from job to job. We were barely scraping by.
"I felt like I had to be the adult, so when I turned sixteen, I got my first job. I worked every day after school and every weekend to help us pay the bills. When I heard about the vaccination, I saved up for months until I had enough money to buy it.
"He was touched by me wanting to buy it for him, but he tried to convince me to take it instead. I insisted though. I pushed him into taking it because I thought it would make him feel better. It's all I wanted. My old happy, involved father." Jake nods his head to himself and I can see his eyes turning an even lighter shade of grey as he wrestles with his own guilt.
"It did work. He came back for a while and was happier and more alive than he had been in ages. Then we learned that we needed monthly re-administrations. The cost was ridiculous. That's why I ended up joining the Army. The enlistment bonus was enough to cover four months in advance. I would keep sending my checks home to help with whatever else they needed and more doses."
"What happened to him?"
"Honestly? I'm not entirely sure. I asked Jamie before, but she always says he died before she met Anna and nothing more." He leads me to the double front door entrance of the abandoned gun range, jiggling the metal chains looped across both handles. "Kye and I placed this chain and lock around the doors last time we were here. We wanted to keep out the stragglers."
He retrieves a key from his bag and proceeds to undo the lock and chain, holding the door open wide for me once he's done.
"Wow," my voice reverberates lightly as I walk into the great big empty room. Display cases and shelves line the walls, but much like the jewelry store in downtown South River, they all sit empty. A stale musk fills my nostrils as disturbed dust particles float in the sunlight streaming through the glass doors. "I really didn't expect it to be so empty in here for some reason."
" Kye said his platoon was ordered to gather all the weapons and ammunition to take back to the base. Follow me." He leads me to another set of double doors with a sign above it that reads "Firing Range."
"Are we even going to be able to see back here?” I've never been to a range before but from what I've seen in movies, there are no windows. Only rows of fluorescent lights.
"Don't worry, you'll be able to see fine." He leads me past a few rooms to a door at the end of the hall. I can already see the light coming from within. "After you," he grins, pushing the door open.
My jaw drops as I walk into the room, eyes growing in amazement. The old super store must have had some serious renovations when it was converted. There are twelve separate stalls designed in grey with a twelve-foot ceiling covering up until the shooter’s station.
Beyond that, the range extends approximately one hundred yards with a twenty-foot glass ceiling. The glass ceiling gives the space an atrium like feel, revealing the blue cloudless sky above and filling the space with plenty of beautiful, natural light.
"This is..." but words fail me.
"Right? Pretty cool. The owner told my dad and I once that he wanted to give the feel of an outdoor range without having to actually be in the searing heat. He built
the walls out of brick to keep the temperature down and even had the glass made with anti-glare technology to keep visibility as clear and accurate as possible."
Jake walks over to a drawer and pulls out a sheet of white paper with a black outlined human upper body. He carries it to a booth and clips it in the hanger before hopping over the counter and pushing the target sheet back to a reasonable shooting distance.
"Ready?" he smiles after jumping back over the counter.
"I guess?" Jake hands me my mom's gun and sets the nearly emptied boxes of bullets on the counter. "I've shot a gun once before, remember? It's what drew Jamie and Anna to me when they found me."
"I remember. Jamie told me how they found you; drew a bunch more to you from all the noise you were making."
"I... I don't think I ever properly apologized for that. For being the cause of Anna's death." My voice trembles a bit as I say this. Jamie never made me feel like it was my fault, but deep down I always felt it was.
"What are you talking about? You weren't the cause of her death. It's the nature of the world we live in now."
"Doesn't that seem messed up? Shouldn't we be trying to do something? Find a way to get the cure and stop whatever the hell the government is trying to do?" I plead with him.
"The only thing we should be doing right now is learning how best to protect ourselves so we can minimize the chance of getting killed." I open my mouth to retort but he cuts me off. "Which, leads me to asking – what do you know about guns thus far?"
Breathing in deeply I push aside my frustration with his complacency. I vow to myself to bring it back up once I've finished training.
"I know that this switch is for the safety and I would squeeze here to release the... magazine, I think?" He nods so I continue. "And I know it hurts like hell when you fire it."
"That's called the recoil," Jake laughs. "The first rule of gun safety is to treat all guns as if they are loaded. In our case, they typically are."
"What does that even mean?"
"Basically, don't point it at anything you wouldn't want to shoot. So not at me and not at your toes, and never place your finger on the trigger unless you are ready to shoot. Go ahead and release your magazine and tell me how many bullets you have in it."
Jake watches patiently as I struggle to release the magazine. I grunt as I squeeze so hard my fingers hurt. Finally it releases, clattering on to the bench.
"Whoops," I smack it down onto the counter, keeping it from scooting off. "Okay, so it's pretty full. Uh, 14 left."
"Sixteen is all the magazines will hold so let's add two blanks to the top. I don't want to waste too many real bullets, but I also want you to feel comfortable with the recoil and with firing fast. We'll see how it goes but I'm thinking two blanks for recoil, two or three regulars for aim and then three for speed."
"Uh huh, sure." I shrug. My hands struggle pushing down the blanks, but I manage to shove them in finally. I slam the magazine back into the gun, satisfied that I did it without any help. "I want you to try a couple of different stances to see what is most comfortable for you. With practice, the stance will start becoming second nature to you. Here, spread your legs into a wide stance." I follow his instructions as he continues, "Okay, now bring your arms together at eye level so you can aim. This is the most common stance. It's called the Isosceles. The downside to this one is that you are balanced side to side, but not as much front to back. Let's practice moving around and getting into that stance. You can pretend fire at me and we'll see how you feel. Actually –" he lightly tugs the gun from my hand, "let's take your magazine out for safe measure."
I stick my tongue out mockingly as I take my gun back from his and I jog to the other end of the booths. Jake chases me playfully as I swivel and turn, struggling to get back into position. Each time I call "Boom" we laugh light-heartedly and Jake tells me where my bullet may have gone. Soon my movements are fast and jerky, and I pinch my lips together each time I stumble forward when I should have my feet firmly planted on the ground. "I think you hit my foot with that one."
My stomach hardens as I tighten my grip on my gun and try to start focusing more on my stance rather than the speed of my movements. I think through each step meticulously, trying to put it all together.
"Argh, " Jake whispers into the knap of my neck, pushing my gun down with one hand and wrapping the other around my shoulder. A shiver runs up my spine as he whispers, "You're bitten."
"Ugh! Jake, I suck at this!"
"You are focusing too much on being precise and not enough on maintaining your stability. Let's try the next position. It should make the stability part much easier."
"Okay, what do I do for it?"
"It's actually small modifications on the Isosceles. Go ahead and get into that stance. This is actually the method the military teaches. Take your dominant leg and move it up slightly so it's not quite a foot length ahead of the other." He pats my leg and delicately leads it forward a few inches.
"That... that actually feels better."
"A little more balanced all around, right? Keep in mind that you may not always have time to get in the perfect stance. The most important thing to do is to be squared with your target when you shoot. Let's practice running around again."
When I've successfully "boomed" at him eight separate times, Jake leads me back to our booth and has me push my magazine back into the gun. He walks me through using the slide to load the first blank into the chamber. From my stance, he helps me adjust my hands on the gun to get a good grip.
"Are you about ready to shoot?" he asks, eyes watching me as I stay stiff in my stance.
"Uh huh."
"Emma," he laughs, "try to loosen up a touch. Now, every time you fire the slide is going to come backwards. It ejects the old round and loads a new one. Try not to move your hand up, otherwise it will smack right into you. Go ahead and aim. Line your front sight with your rear sight. Whenever you’re ready."
I aim straight ahead and cautiously move my finger to the trigger. When I pull, my arms vibrate and my shoulders lurch back from the recoil of the gun, but I am able to keep mostly in place. The powder from the blank disintegrates in a cloud of white.
"How did that feel?"
"Well, it didn't hurt as much as it did the first time I used it."
"Great. Go ahead and fire the second blank and you'll be on your regular bullets from there."
I fire off again and then steady myself, deciding where to aim. If I'm going to be fending off a bunch of Ragers I should probably aim for their head or heart, right? A loud crack fills the air as I release the first real bullet.
"Center mass, that's great for your first shot."
"Not when I meant to shoot him in his head."
Repositioning myself, I try again, breathing deeply as I close my left eye, using my right eye to focus. One… two… three… fire.
"Well, I hope you weren't aiming for his chest that time," Jake smirks as we see where the bullet went through the middle of the target man's head, "if so, you missed big time."
"Oh, shut up," I beam as adrenaline rushes to my head. Feeling pumped, I fire through the other four rounds rapidly and set my gun down, safety locked, so I don't try to keep going. Jake jumps the counter again, retrieving my paper out of the hanger.
"Hey, look at that," he says, laying the paper in front of me. " Excluding the first shot, you got three out of five rounds to his head. Great job."
"Well, thank you for being such an awesome teacher." I smile widely, proudly taking in my target practice man.
"Let's get packed up so we can head home and eat. You can roll him up and take him with us if you'd like. Rub it in Kye's face how good you did."
"Um, yes. I will most definitely be doing that."
We pack up our belongings, lock up the gun range again and head back to his jeep.
"Are we going to take a different route home?" I ask curiously as Jake revs up the engine.
"Yes. But first, I've got a bit of a sur
prise for you. I want to show you something. Is that okay with you?"
"Of course. What is it?"
"Just hang on."
He puts the jeep in drive, and I grab the handle above my head as we belt out of the parking space. He turns the car onto main street, and we fly away from town with the bright sun shining down on us. My hair whips around in the warm summer wind and I tilt my head back against my headrest soaking it all in. My heart feels lighter and more free than it did on our earlier drive. All of my remaining anger dissipating away with the morning clouds.
Within minutes a great beautiful river comes into view, sunshine gleaming off of its vast surface. We drive a little further before Jake turns into the tight road lined with large full trees. At the end of the drive is a small empty parking lot, surrounded by trees on all but one side. The last side is open to a view of the river and a walking path that leads to green space, benches, a pavilion and more.
"This is beautiful," awe rings through every syllable that comes out of my mouth while I stand at the start of the walkway. Jake grabs our bag and we walk the path to the park.
"I thought you might like it," he chuckles, "thought it might remind you of home."
"No, this is so much better. The river back home was really more of a separation between downtown and the suburbs. I mean, there were some small parks and walkways, but it definitely wasn't as peaceful as this. Especially once they put the fence up."
Jake and I find a bench swing to sit on and he pulls out our lunch.
"I packed up some sandwiches and crackers for us before we left this morning so we could come out here," he tells me, handing me my sandwich before unwrapping his.
"Jake, this is so nice. Thank you."
We eat a few minutes in silence before Jake breaks it, asking, "How long had the fence been up before you left?"
"One year and seven months," I spit out.
"But who's counting right?" He coughs as he chokes a moment on his sandwich, amused by my tone of voice.
"That fence going up signified the end of a lot for me. The path I thought I was on, finishing school and going off to college. Everything bad that happened, my brother and dad being drafted, Will and Mom dying, Lauren being taken. It all started with that stupid fence."
A Whisper in the Flame (The Ragers Series Book 1) Page 19
