“Lotta lead inside, lotta powder, lotta power,” he said. “It’s what you’re shooting now.”
“And we all know size matters,” she said.
He wasn’t sure if she realized how loaded that comment was.
“Can I see the target before I shoot again?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
They walked up to the target.
“One shot made all those holes?”
“Yeah.”
“Now I really want to shoot it again.”
“It’s your shoulder.”
“I’m a big girl.”
They walked back and she assumed the stance, again.
“How many times can I shoot it?”
He took a deep breath. “Every round you shoot is gone forever. But there are four more rounds in the tube.”
“Can I shoot them?”
“Yes,” he replied. “But you have to work the slide between shots. Jack one into the chamber.”
She looked at him quizzically.
“Bring it up to your shoulder. Your left hand is on the pump. Pull it back toward you to eject the spent shell, then push it forward to load a fresh round into the breech. Do it quick. Shoot it, pump it, shoot it, pump it, and keep doing it until it’s empty. Be a man about it.”
She smiled, brought the gun up, and worked the pump to load another round in the breech. “Like this?” she asked. She was learning fast.
“That’s right,” he said.
She acquired the target, pulled the trigger once…jacked the slide…twice…jacked the slide…three times…jacked the slide…fired the final shot, jacked the slide again and stopped.
She turned to him. “Was I man enough?”
It was his turn to smile. “Did it hurt you?”
“I wanna cry, but I’m a man, now, so I can’t,” she said and rubbed her shoulder. “It hurts, but I like it—the gun, that is, not…” and she rubbed her shoulder some more, “…what it does to me.” She handed him the shotgun.
He nodded. He admired her spunk.
“Maybe…” She paused. “…later I can try the M1?”
“Sure.”
She looked at the targets. “Let’s look at them again,” she said, and he put it down with the other guns and they walked back through the snow to the target.
“Did I hit it every time I shot it?”
“Looks that way. You’re a natural.”
“Yeah, I’m amazing,” she said with a smile on her face.
They walked back to the guns and when he started to hand her the AR-15, she said, “That one’s ugly.” She examined it closely while he held it. “But it’s a beautiful kind of ugly.
“Kinda like you,” she casually threw in and he didn’t know how to take that.
“Does it kick, bad?”
“Almost not at all.”
She looked at him skeptically. “You’re not lying, are you?”
He stared back at her without saying anything.
And, as if that were answer enough, she said, “I trust you. Let me shoot it.”
Elation! She trusted him!
“This is a Colt AR-15 H-Bar,” he said before placing it in her hands. “All the H-Bar means is that it has a heavy barrel. I’m not sure what’s gained and what’s lost with it, but it was the only one I could find and afford before the weather changed. So, when I found it…”
She nodded. He didn’t have to finish the sentence.
“The barrel makes the rifle heavier than it has to be, but I was told the larger barrel also dissipates the heat better, which presumably makes it a little more accurate, and it makes the gun a little steadier when you’re trying to place shots precisely.”
“Whatever that means. I wanna shoot it,” she said impatiently taking it from him, and he laughed.
He showed her how to work the bolt, then he showed her the safety and made her alternately turn it from fire to safe, back to fire and then safe, again. Then he said, “Pull the trigger.”
She looked at him quizzically and said, “It’s not loaded, yet.”
“Pull the trigger.”
“Okay,”
She tried to pull the trigger. It didn’t pull.
“It won’t fire with the safety on,” he said. “Now, flip that thing to the ‘fire’ position.”
She did.
“Now, pull the trigger.”
It clicked.
“That’s how the safety works,” he said.
He took a loaded magazine from his pocket and showed her how to put it in. Then he had her work the bolt, again.
“Now that the magazine’s in and, you worked the bolt, there’s a round in the breech,” he said. “It’ll fire, now. Put the safety on.”
She did.
“Can I ask a question without upsetting you?” she asked in a serious tone.
“Go ahead.”
“Did she like guns?”
He shook his head no, and with that she brought the rifle up to her shoulder.
“You’ve got to flip the safety off before you shoot,” he instructed, and she flipped it off with her thumb. Then she took it down from her shoulder.
“It won’t hurt?”
“I promise,” he said.
She smiled and brought it up, again. “I trust you.”
He got that heady feeling, again.
She brought it down, again. “The sights are different.”
“Oh, put the safety on,” he said and abruptly stepped forward until he was behind her and adjusted the rifle back up to her shoulder, “It’s a peep-sight. You get the top of the front sight in the middle of the ring…” and, without intending it, his wrist was on her breast, again. This time he left it there. He thought, she must know it’s there, but she didn’t act as if she’d noticed anything. But now a flood of unexpected emotions he’d been holding back coursed through him.
“And whatever’s in a line with it, is where the bullet is going,” she said finishing his sentence.
“How far’s it shoot?” she asked.
“I read that the bullet will go a couple of miles, but the reputed effective range is just a few hundred yards, depending on the rifle, the round, and the shooter. I guess there are guys who can make it effective to six or eight hundred yards. I can’t. What I’ve done is I’ve sighted it so it’s zeroed at fifty yards and, because the bullet travels through the air in a shallow parabolic arc, the bullet stays within point of aim from just beyond the barrel to about two hundred and forty yards. After that it drops seriously, It’ll only be about seven inches low at three hundred yards. But if someone’s three hundred yards away, I’m going to be running; it’s not likely I’m sticking around and risking my life.”
She laughed. “But three hundred yards is pretty far.”
“Sometimes. If they’re shooting back, it’s like they’re next door. Now, line up the sights,” he said and stepped away.
“I can shoot?” she asked without looking back at him.
“Go ahead.”
“It’s…not too…heavy,” she said spacing her words as she sighted in on the target. Then she was quiet until she pulled the trigger and the gun barked.
She looked back at him, but Zach was watching the target through the binoculars.
“That’s pretty good,” he said. “Shoot again.”
“I don’t have to work the bolt again?”
“No. Each time you fire it, now, it’ll jack another round in until the magazine’s empty.”
She looked back through the sights. Three seconds later she fired again then lowered the rifle.
He shook his head when he saw the new hole right next to the first.
“Three more,” he said.
She nodded and brought the rifle up again and took her time acquiring the target… “Whoops,” she said and flicked the safety off. She looked through the sights again, then fired the rifle once…twice…three more times, in the space of about five seconds.
When she finished, she hugged the gun to herself.
“This is mine,” she said. “I love this gun.”
“Put the safety on,” he commanded, and she realized she’d made a mistake. She liked that he was on her about it.
It was his turn to sound skeptical. “You say you haven’t shot before?”
“No,” she said giddily. “Am I doing all right?”
He shook his head in disbelief. “You’re doing very well. Some people are just naturals.”
“Did you do this well when you first shot?”
“No. I had to work at it.”
“Are you good now?”
“Yes.”
First, he picked up the brass from the snow and pocketed it. Then he started to walk toward the target. It had been clear through the binoculars that three of the five rounds were within the confines of the 10-ring and the other two had hit just below, in the 9-ring, but he had to see it first hand.
He’d only gone a few steps when he felt a sudden sickening thud to the back of his head.
He spun around in anger.
Danielle was bending over making another snowball as fast as she could. The rifle was leaning with the other guns against the stump beside her.
It took him a second to realize what she’d done. When he started running at her she dropped the uncompleted snowball and, yelling, “Ohhh!” she ran as fast as she could to her sister and had her out of the box and up in her arms just as he reached her. She held Whoops up as a shield and he stopped.
“You’ll hurt Whoops!” she yelled. She was laughing.
He glared at her. “You can’t hold her forever,” he said.
“Yes I can. I love my sister. I can hold her for a million years.”
He took a step closer but instead of stepping back she scrunched her upper body in the almost impossible task of hiding behind the baby as she laughed.
He got closer, almost face to face with her and grabbed her shoulders. She was about to say something else when, suddenly and impulsively, he kissed her on the lips.
He held the kiss until her shoulders slumped. Her grip on her sister slackened and she started shaking her head. She twisted her shoulders to get out of his grip and, when he released her, she took a step back.
With her eyes cast to the snow and her head still shaking “no,” in a flat voice she said, “Don’t you ever do that again…ever. I want to go back to the road, right now.”
He wanted to say, “I’m sorry.” He wanted to say it was a horrible mistake. He wanted to say something to make up for his impetuous act, but there were no words in the universe he could find. Whatever it was that he thought was developing between them, it wasn’t there. He brought his hands up, and still, no words came out. “Sorry,” was all he could muster and he slowly turned and, now defeated, he started back to the cabin.
He’d gone four steps when he felt another thud to the back of his head.
When he turned, Whoops was back in the box and Danielle was trying to make another snowball, but there was no time. He was coming after her.
She threw the snow down, grabbed her sister in her arms, and started running, yelling “Ohhhh! …Whoopsie, run for your life!” She was laughing. Stupid was barking and leaping in the snow.
Zach caught her as she turned and tried to push him away. She was falling backwards with him, Whoops between them, Stupid barking, trying to include himself. He had her pinned in the snow and she laughed as she tried to keep the snow out of her face.
“You’re treacherous!” he yelled.
“It’s payback!” she screamed. “You deserve every mean thing I do to you, ’cause you’re mean. You could have told me about that damned deer. But nooo,” she said, no longer laughing but wide-eyed and staring up at him from the snow. “You had to make it a complete surprise and scare the pants off of me. Do you realize that every time I’ve gone out to the outhouse I was afraid I’d run into a bear or a mountain lion or the boogieman? Then I opened that door and a dead deer was hanging there…and you didn’t tell me!” she screamed.
“Then the way you were always taking my sister away from me…” she yelled. “Wait,” she said in an ordinary voice, “we can’t count that ’cause you were being nice.” Then she yelled, again, “But I didn’t know you were being nice, so that counts against you, too.”
“What?” he asked incredulously.
She started laughing, again. “Yes, that counts against you, too.
“And then you didn’t tell me you’d changed your mind about Stupid. Nooo, I had to find that one out for myself, too. You’re an asshole. I was out here peeing in the snow behind the cabin, so I wouldn’t have to see him hanging dead in the shed, and I slipped and wound up sitting with my bare butt in my own yellow snow.”
He started laughing.
“It’s not funny,” she insisted, though she herself couldn’t stop laughing. “You’re an idiot. You’re the one who should be named Stupid.”
Then, she raised her head out of the snow, her face just an inch from his own and in a mean voice she said, “But you’re not even good enough to be called Stupid. From now on, I’m going to call you Shit Head, capital ‘S’ capital ‘H.’” She dropped her head back and kept laughing.
“We’re back to that? You’re going to call me Shit Head?”
She stopped laughing, smiled sweetly and said, “If you’re nice to me, I’ll call you Mister Shit Head.” Then she laughed, again.
He didn’t move off of her.
They stopped talking.
They stopped laughing.
They watched each other’s eyes.
His head got closer.
Whoops started crying.
He let his lips touch her lips ever so lightly it was almost as if it wasn’t happening. But she lifted her head a little and, with her free hand on the back of his head, she pulled him down until there was full contact. They stayed like that until Whoops’s cries turned into a howl. Their lips parted.
“There’s something else,” she said.
“What?”
“Neither one of us is perfect…well, actually, you’re not…”
And he smiled.
“…but stop treating me as if I’m Sandra.”
She was serious, now. “When we first met, I knew you didn’t like me, and later on I came to realize it was because of Sandra. And now, I know you like me, but you’re being overly nice to me, and it’s still because of Sandra. Don’t get mad at me for this, but I’m not Sandra. Start treating me like I’m Danielle.”
“How old did you say you are?”
“Seventy-two.”
He smiled. “Deal.”
He got off her, and he helped her to her feet.
Whoops was wailing, now, and Danielle hugged her, then she held her in one arm and brushed the snow off her with her other hand.
“Oh, no, she’s cold,” she laughed. “She’s got snow in her new tiny little snowsnoot. Let’s take her inside and get her warm.”
Zach didn’t say anything but he took her elbow and guided her to the long guns. He gathered the three of them in one arm. A sense of relief swept through both of them as they walked back to the cabin—the four of them—and with each step her right arm bumped his left.
“We’re even, now,” she said with finality. “You can’t do anything mean to me or you start a whole new round. And if you think I was bad this time…‘treacherous,’ you said?…” She let it hang there.
“I’ll do anything I want,” he countered.
“Not if you know what’s good for you,” she warned.
“Have you always been a bitch?”
She thought a second. “Yeah. That’s why those men were going to shoot me in the field.”
“Really?” he asked.
“Yes,” was her one-word reply, and he knew she was telling the truth.
He put his left hand on the small of her back and kept it there until they reached the cabin door. He opened it and let her in first. They spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning up and moving jars and jerky to the cellar. He t
alked to her about the guns and told her about the air rifle he had in the closet that allowed him to keep his shooting-eye on the cheap. “Rounds of ammo for my rifles were up to over a buck apiece when the ice age started, but I could get a thousand pellets for the air rifle for less than fifteen dollars and keep in practice.”
“And I’ll bet you’ve got more than a thousand pellets—a lot more.”
He smiled that she would know.
Early in the evening they sat on the couch together and talked.
When it got dark, he opened the couch into a bed and they slept on it together.
Chapter 30
September 3
“Why are you being so quiet?” he asked.
They’d awakened early and he’d taken Whoops into the bed between them.
She threw an arm over him. “I’m just thinking,” she said.
“About what?”
There was a long pause.
“Why I’m doing what I’m doing.”
“What are you doing?” He knew what she meant: sleeping with him. But he wanted her to talk about it.
“I haven’t told you what they did to me at that…” The only word she could find was “…place.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I want to, but not now. It still hurts,” and she started to cry.
When he reached to touch her face she said, “No! I’m okay. Just let me get over it.”
“When you’re ready,” he said.
“Okay.” She knew he wanted to know, but she was glad he wasn’t overtly inquisitive because she wasn’t ready to confront her feelings. “But first I want to tell you, the other girl who was out in the field, her name was Anne, and she was hoping that by sleeping with every guy there, she’d be safe. She was trading sex for security. Now, I’m wondering if that’s what I’m doing to save me and Whoops.”
“Did you offer them sex?”
She looked at him accusingly. “No,” she said curtly. “They just took it…except in the field. That’s when I told them I’d do anything if they wouldn’t let Whoopsie suffer,” and he knew she’d hit a sore spot when she started to cry, again.
He reached to hug her and she said, “Don’t do that right now. Just give me a few seconds.” And he took his arm away.
“First,” she said, “I want you to know, that what they did to me has changed me; it’s left a scar on my soul. Does saying it that way sound right?”
Danielle Kidnapped: A Novel of Survival in the Coming Ice Age Page 31
