Eden's Root

by Rachel Fisher

  “Well if you can do it,” Fi said bravely, “then I can do it!”

  “That’s the spirit,” grinned Ross. “Ok, well do you have any time today? I’d like to just have you come out back on our range and try a couple of these out.” Fi sucked in and nodded. Ok, she thought, let’s get started learning to hunt.

  It only took two hours and a handful of successful target strikes for Fi to transform from hunting critic to fan. Thwap! Another arrow hit the target about four inches to the left of the center.

  “Whoop!” Fi shouted and was joined by excited shouts from Ross and Margie, who shuffled around in a little dance like a jig. She was smiling like a banshee now, she knew, and it was one hundred percent authentic. But that was ok, she thought. She was enjoying learning to use the bow. The bow was pretty freaking awesome actually, she thought, turning her wrist to examine it again.

  They were standing in the warehouse behind the shop where Margie and Ross had constructed a dusty archery range. Colorful targets attached to haystacks stood at distances, the yards marked by paint on the concrete floor. Fi’s last few arrows stood clustered in and around the center of the target, a testament to good instruction. Margie walked to retrieve them.

  “That is definitely the one, isn’t it?” Ross asked Fi, indicating the bow. She nodded. Yes, this one felt the best. It was light enough for her and she had adequate strength to pull it. Her shoulder and back ached a bit right now, but she knew she’d get stronger. “Good!” he said. “So now we just have to put together some training suggestions and regimen for you, ok?”

  Ross had explained all the moving parts and terminology on the bows he had selected for her. He explained the pros and cons of each one. His face lit up and he became more energized as he spoke, Fi noticed. He really enjoys this, and he likes teaching a little girl like me. She smiled.

  Then, Fi got all her shooting instructions from Margie, her awe only growing as Margie patiently instructed her and moved her body, hands, and fingers into the correct position. They had her try out all the bows so she could see how they felt to her. They made some adjustments and she made some adjustments and she successfully starting shooting each bow.

  Fi found that the compound bow actually felt easier for her and so she eliminated the crossbows right away. For a second she thanked herself for making the choice to find a way to get help with this…she had already made a better decision. The compound bow would be easier to carry around in the woods and she wasn’t likely to have tree stands and blinds…she was going to be standing and shooting. Then it was just a matter of selecting the best compound bow for her. At thirty yards she was already hitting the target pretty consistently with this one. She hefted up and down again, feeling its weight. Yes, I really like this one she thought. She smiled at Ross and held up the bow.

  “I will take it,” she said, half-jokingly. “Is there any way I can leave it here at your place and come back out to practice here first before I start training at home?”

  Margie nodded, “Sure sweetie. You should bring your mother with you for your next practice. I’m sure she would be so proud of you for this surprise you’re planning.” Though Margie’s voice was kind, Fi’s heart beat faster as she searched for a way out of that.

  “Umm,” she began, her voice small again as she cast her eyes down. “That is nice of you, but Mama doesn’t really get out much lately.” Fi sighed and looked up with wet eyes. “Is it ok if I just come by myself for a couple sessions?” Ross and Margie exchanged glances. She could tell they were a little uncomfortable helping a young girl without her parents’ ok. “I promise I will tell her I all about it and that I’m coming out here. Then I will take it all home and find a place to practice at home with Mama there. Is that ok?”

  “Yes, Marie,” Ross said. “That will be fine.” He took the bow from her and placed it behind the counter. She removed the release from her left forearm and handed it to him. “It took me three months of babysitting to save this up,” she said as she pulled cash from her backpack. “Lot’s of diaper changes.” Ross offered her a discount and at first she refused it, pointing out that she was already getting free lessons. But he insisted, so she accepted and kept a little more of her money. She’d take what she could get in life now, she thought, that was just being practical.

  “So how did you get here honey?” Margie asked.

  Fi was surprised by the question. “I walked from the bus stop on Clinton.”

  “Well, that is all well and good in the day, but it’s too cold and too dark for you to go back that way.” She grabbed her keys, “Get your coat, I’ll give you a ride home.” Fi started to panic, but she realized she’d just have to think her way out of it. She directed Margie to a house a block away from her own and said her goodbye. She assured her that she would come back the same time the next day to practice. Margie waved goodbye.

  “See you tomorrow honey,” she called and headed home. Fi waved and waited until Margie had turned the corner and then she walked home.

  On her way home she kept repeating the shooting steps in her mind, playing them like a recording: nock the arrow, attach the release, break the bow over, raise the bow to the firing position, aim the arrow, begin the release. Fi pictured herself starting to squeeze the release gradually and steadily with her fingers, perfecting the slow, patient squeeze.

  Surprisingly, Fi couldn’t wait to tell Papa about today. In some ways, she thought, this was just like the old days when he would ask her how her day was at dinner. And in other ways, she thought ironically, now her ‘day’ includes lying and bow hunting, so that was a little different. Oh well, she thought, at least it will be something positive to talk about tonight. She could tell him how Margie and Ross had planned to take her on a small hunting trip in a couple weeks. They had a friend with a reserve, they explained, who would let them go out there and give her a chance to fire her bow in the field. Fi trudged up the stairs to her home and walked inside.

  “Mama?” she called. “I’m home!”

  Fi was really looking forward to more bow hunting practice the next afternoon, but she also was feeling antsy to get started trying out the Glock. Its presence was weighing on her mind…and her pack, she thought sarcastically. The thing was heavy. Thinking about all the things she had to practice and learn, Fi she realized that she was going to need more time in the day. Tomorrow was a school day and she couldn’t keep wasting eight hours a day sitting in school. Though Papa was right that she couldn’t skip enough to draw attention, no one would be surprised if she missed some days here and there.

  She went to go find Maggie in her studio and put a smile on her face. Time to play the game, she thought as she began forming her plan for the next day in her mind.

  A New Found Friend

  ----------- Fi -----------

  Early the next morning, Fi swung her feet while she waited in a chair opposite the school guidance counselor’s desk. Her wide-eyed woe-is-me approach was very effective, she realized. Everyone felt sorry for her and believed her immediately, no matter what she said. The counselor was shaking her head and trying to say something reassuring about her father. Fi just nodded whenever it seemed necessary. As long as they let me go, she thought.

  “Of course we understand your need to take time with your father at home,” the counselor was saying. “Just make sure to stay in contact with your teachers so you can keep up with your assignments. No need to burden yourself any more by getting behind,” she explained. Fi struggled not to smile or laugh at the irony. Yes, her performance in the eighth grade was of serious importance now. She turned away to control her feelings, jiggling her feet.

  “So, can I go then?” she asked quietly. “I really wanna go see my Papa now.” The counselor nodded quickly and agreed.

  “Of course, of course,” she said as she placed the forged letter Fi had brought into her files. “I will let the administration know that you may be missing some days.” Fi dashed out the door before the counselor had even finished speaki
ng. She jogged down the hallway and out the doors of the school, breathing freely when she hit the cold dry air outside. It was time to try out a different type of target practice, she thought with a grin. She wondered what the counselor would have thought about the contents of her pack.

  When she had jogged for close to an hour outside of town she felt she was far enough from civilization to give firing the weapon a try. She’d found a long clearing with a large, soft, dead tree at the end of it. That would work for target practice, she thought. There was a light layer of snow on the ground and the air was extremely cold.

  She removed her gloves and retrieved the gun from her pack. It was heavy, and Jesus was it cold! The feeling of it in her hand made her shiver. Next, she pulled out her tablet and flipped to the article on the gun. At home Fi had worked with all the moving parts, learning her way around the weapon. Now, for the first time, she was going to load it.

  Fi cleared the snow and sat down beside her pack, cross-legged. She balanced the tablet on her lap and murmured to herself as she went through the steps to load the ammunition. Her hands shook with cold and anticipation as she carefully loaded a single round into the chamber. She got up and walked to a spot opposite the dead tree and slowly removed the safety. Holding her arms at shoulder height as she had seen in the videos, she took a deep breath, cemented her aim, and fired. A deafening explosion of sound erupted and the gun slammed into the meaty pad at the base of her thumb.

  “Ow!” Fi yelled as she dropped the gun. Wow, that hurt, she thought as she shook out her firing hand. And it had been so loud. Her ears were practically ringing and she was thankful that she had come so far from town. She examined her hand, convinced that she must have done something wrong. Or maybe it was just a matter of toughening up, she thought. Fi retrieved the gun and loaded it again. She went through the same ritual of getting ready to fire and took a deep breath. She fired again and the gun leapt into the meat of her hand in the exact same spot.

  “Ow-ha-how!” She squealed in pain. “Ooooooooof!” She breathed through her teeth as she set the gun down again. This time it hurt twice as much because she was already sore. It reminded her of the way it had felt when she’d fallen once on rocks. A large round rock had sunk into her palm as she’d caught herself. She squeezed her sore hand, shaking it out and peering at her palm. A small bruise was starting in the crook of her thumb. There as no way she was just doing something wrong. It had to be something else. She sat down with her tablet again to do some research, pulling her gloves back onto her icy hands. She searched and flipped through articles until she found one on the proper “fit” for a handgun. Even though she had never thought about it before, it made sense that a gun would need to fit your hand.

  After more study, she decided that what she really needed was a smaller .22. It was just as deadly and the ammo would be very available. She could even get the hollow point type. The article said this type, ‘doesn’t blow a hole through somebody, it just ping-pongs around inside them, tearing them up’. Yikes, she thought, nothing like a reminder that she wasn’t planning to fire at a tree trunk forever.

  Suddenly she remembered the tree trunk. With care, Fi set down her tablet and rose, her feet crunching on the snow and the small shrubs underfoot as she approached. When she drew near, her eyes searched the dark folds. Two feet into her search she stopped and threw her arms in the air. She found it! Surrounded by a bright patch of shredded wood, she could see the small hole.

  Wow, she thought. I actually hit it. She estimated that she’d been about fifteen feet away. Not bad. It looked like she had only scored one hit, but her hand had been pretty sore when she’d fired the second one. She definitely needed a new gun and now she knew what she had to do. Fi gathered her stuff together and headed back out of the woods. She was scheduled to practice her bow hunting again that afternoon with Margie and Ross. It was time to sneak home and ice her hand while she waited for Margie.

  Later that afternoon, Fi decided that she was pleased with the progress of the bruise on her hand. It was sore, but she could still practice. She would just make something up if they asked about it, she thought. It was frigid and she paced while she waited on the next street over for Margie’s car. They’d arranged for Margie to pick her up and Fi figured she might as well take the ride. She was getting more comfortable with the lie she was living every day. Even if she couldn’t really practice, it didn’t matter, she needed to get to Margie and Ross’s store so she could get herself a new gun. It was time to add stealing to her bag of tricks.

  They kept the guns in locked cases, but she knew that they trusted her enough to leave her unattended. They had already done it yesterday once they warmed to her story. Ross had even left a couple times with the cabinet keys still tucked under the register. It was easy, Fi thought. It mostly took the commitment to just go ahead and do it. When Ross disappeared into the back while Margie was in the restroom, Fi pounced.

  She slid behind the counter and grabbed the keys, locating the small one that unlocked the case on the wall behind the register. Carefully, she removed the small .22 Smith and Wesson she’d selected and then shifted the others to cover the gap. The keys jingled in her shaking hands as she fumbled with them, working to unlock the gun. Once it clicked, she breathed a sign of relief. This was more like it, she thought as she held the lighter, smaller weapon. She checked the safety and quickly slid the gun into her pack. Fi slipped out from behind the counter just as Ross emerged from the back, still on the phone.

  “You ready for practice honey?” Margie cooed as she stepped out of the restroom. Fi nodded, smiling shyly. She kept her eyes down, the demure little girl once again. Later that same day Fi also grabbed ammunition for both her guns. She decided to take an unnoticeable amount the next two times she came back. It would add up, she thought. All of her stolen booty was now tucked safely into Kiara’s bookshelf compartment for the night.

  Despite the effectiveness of the hiding spot, Fi was very careful to make sure the weapons were unloaded. She kept the Glock because she thought that it was better to have two guns than one. Next time she would also steal a hip holster for her gun so she could wear her gun and her hunting knife at the same time. Soon, she would wear them on her hikes so that she could get used to the feeling. In another week, she would also take her bow and get used to wearing the sling. Maybe even go on some personal hunting trips, she thought.

  She was looking forward to another overnight visit with her father. He would be impressed with her work: successful stealing, testing and selecting a better gun, getting more ammo. Even though she still had some of the money he’d given her, she’d learned more from the experience of stealing and she couldn’t buy ammo from anyone without raising suspicion anyway.

  Lucy’s car pulled up and Fi ran out the door. She knew that Lucy was just driving her now to be kind, not because she had any other errand. Sometimes Lucy would talk with her, but usually she was kind enough to just let Fi sit in silence. That was a tough one for Aunt Lucy, Fi thought with a smile. The woman could talk more and faster than anyone she’d ever met, always with flawless vocabulary, of course. They jokingly called her the grammar Nazi. Fi’s obsessive love of reading had molded her into a grammarian anyway, but Lucy sealed the deal with her constant corrections.

  “Say Hi to your Mama for me ok?” Fi nodded and ran inside. She knew that Lucy had already seen Maggie today, but everyone was so worried about her, about them. Her kindness made Fi sadder.

  Her father was deteriorating at this point and no one questioned her presence. Sometimes she spent more time there than the nurses on shift. With her fourteenth birthday just two weeks away, she worried that she wouldn’t have time to get all the information from him that she needed. He seemed to sleep more and more these days as he slowly drifted away from her.

  You Have to Gather

  ----------- Fi -----------

  When visiting hours ended that night, Mike turned to Fi.

  “So, what updates do you have for m
e?”

  His voice was tired and he often listened with his eyes closed, but she knew that he wanted to share the journey with her. Whenever they talked, he seemed animated and alive, despite his worsening condition. Mike was impressed when she’d told him about ‘bullshitting’ Margie and Ross to wrangle training in the use of the bow.

  “Tell me all about it,” he asked and patted the bed next to his legs. Fi hopped up onto his bed and snuggled next to him, being careful of his various IVs and cords. She lay in the crook of his arm and told him about trying out the gun and realizing she’d needed a different one. She described her heist, including the ammunition.

  “It was actually really easy Papa,” she said with enthusiasm. “I mean these people believe whatever I say and they just leave me alone with all their stuff.” She also told him about her successful gunshot. “I was shocked,” she admitted. “I didn’t expect to even feel like I could fire it at all, let alone actually hit something. But I just closed off my fear and pretended I was in a movie and fired. I had read how you had to squeeze evenly and then sort of let the gun fire when it does.” She went on, lost in her thoughts. “That wasn’t so different from the bow release actually. So maybe I shouldn’t have been shocked…that I turned out to be good at it.” Her father laughed into her hair, the sudden exhale ruffling it.

  “Aaaaah Fi,” he said. “Thank goodness you’re so good at everything you try,” he laughed.

  “That’s not true,” she objected. “What about every time that you tried to help me with my Algebra homework and I ended up a teary, snotty, wreck?”

  He smiled and rubbed her shoulder. “That’s true,” he agreed. “If algebraic equations are required knowledge for your future survival…” he said ominously, with a wicked smile.