By Dawn's Early Light

by Jason Fuesting

  “Yeah, not too long ago actually. Damn near identical, though what’s the machining at the end of the barrel?” Eric asked as he inserted a magazine and racked the slide.

  “Attachment point for a suppressor. I thought you guys used suppressors?”

  “You guys?”

  “Uh, freelance property recovery specialists, such as yourself? Turing told me. No judgement from me. We all do what we need to do to survive.”

  Eric blinked. Freelance prop-oh, pirates. As he slid the pistol into the holster at his waist he commented, “Oh, well, yeah, but ours were integral to the barrel, not screwed on.”

  Byron turned to Rick and asked, “You have any suppressors for that?”

  “Some, yeah. You want one?”

  “Now that I think of it, yeah. Suppressors for both, if you wouldn’t mind.” When Rick returned with two black cylinders, Byron asked another question, “You wouldn’t happen to have subsonic loads for any of these?”

  Rick nodded. “Short supply though, compared to the rest.”

  “Hollow points?”

  Another nod. “Short supply.”

  “You guys have a range around here?”

  “Backyard.”

  “Thanks,” Byron said as handed Eric two spare magazines for each weapon. Following Byron, Eric found himself the subject of a few curious stares from unfamiliar people. Curious as they might have been, no one said anything.

  The pair emerged onto the back porch to find a long flat area that ended in several sizable dirt mounds at varying distances behind the house. A short distance in front of each mound stood a wooden framework. Eric noticed a simple box sitting on a bench against the back wall as he and Byron walked towards the back steps.

  “Think there are targets in there?” Eric asked.

  “Worth looking,” Byron replied. Eric’s hunch proved correct.

  A few minutes later he stood facing a set of targets about ninety meters distant with Byron next to him.

  “You’ve got three magazines for the rifle, so let’s test your zero first. Put the suppressor on and take the left target,” the old soldier said.

  “Okay.” Eric slid the suppressor onto the barrel and twisted as Byron had shown him. His bruised arm ached as he brought the rifle up. As he peered through the iron sights, Eric found the white paper targets easy to lose track of with the snowy background. Gently pulling on the trigger, Eric braced himself for the recoil. The rifle bucked against his shoulder with a sudden bark.

  “Hit, left of center, twelve centimeters. Two centimeters high”

  Eric glanced over. Byron was holding a set of binoculars to his eyes. Eric frowned and steadied himself. Pull.

  “Hit, left of center, thirteen centimeters, one centimeter high. One more time if you would?”

  Scowling, Eric wound the sling around his off arm and drew a bead on the target again. Pull.

  “Hit, left of center, eleven centimeters, even. Adjust your windage, you’re off.”

  Eric frowned as flipped the selector to safe and looked at the rifle.

  “I’m not familiar with this style of irons, do you know how to adjust them?”

  “Dial on the rear sight. Instructions are on it. Adjust fire to the right, say six or seven clicks. Shoot when you’re ready, don’t wait for me.”

  Bah, I should’ve seen that. I’m blind. Eric adjusted the dial six clicks in the direction indicated on the sight. Wrapping the sling around his arm again, he took up his shooting stance and squeezed off three shots over as many seconds.

  “All hits, looks on average high one centimeter. You’re still left by two. Adjust the front sight down one click, rear sight right by one and resume fire, just two this time and don’t rush it.”

  Adjustments made, Eric leveled the rifle at the target and pulled the trigger.

  “Bullseye, both shots more or less. Give me five at the center of the next target over.”

  As requested, Eric shifted and dropped five shots into the neighboring target.

  “Not bad, all clustered pretty tight. Curious how you’d do at long range shooting. How much training have you had at this?”

  “Just what Fox thought was necessary. He insisted everyone on the ship be proficient with most of what was in the armory in case we got boarded. We did monthly qualifications while we were out. I’ve been shooting rifle a little less than a year.”

  Byron harrumphed. “Empty the rest of that magazine, same target. Don’t want to be wasteful, but I need a better picture of your skill than five shots.”

  Eric nodded and brought the rifle back up. Clearing his mind, he thumbed the selector to fire and calmed his breathing. Pull. Eric’s thoughts drifted as he sent rounds downrange and he lost himself into the process. Desi’s hand rested on his shoulder as she walked him through using a rifle. He could still smell her perfume over the burnt gunpowder when the bolt slid home on an empty chamber.

  “You’re a good shot with a rifle, I’ll give you that. Groups are pretty tight for someone with only a year’s worth of monthly quals. Either you’ve got natural talent or whoever your instructor was knew what they were doing.”

  “Both,” Eric replied, stowing his rifle against his chest as he’d been shown.

  I miss you guys, Desi.

  “Well, let’s get the pistol out of the way,” Byron said and led Eric over to a much closer target stand. “Same drill, suppressor, five shots to verify zero, followed by the rest of the magazine.”

  Eric drew the pistol and screwed the cylinder onto the end. He had to shift his arm around the bulk of the rifle securely slung to his chest to get proper aim. Focused, he was barely aware of squeezing the trigger when the pistol jumped in his hand. More shove than an upward jerk, the recoil was less than he expected. Steadying himself, Eric worked at keeping his hits near center of mass. When the slide locked back, he glanced over at Byron.

  “Not too bad,” the old soldier commented. “You’re a lot better with the rifle. Looks like you’re anticipating the recoil and jerking the trigger a little. Nothing practice wouldn’t fix. You ever do shotgun?”

  “Yep.”

  “We’ll have to follow up on that, assuming they have any. Go get your targets, Hadrian will probably want to see them.”

  Hadrian met them as they approached the back door. Eric beamed at Hadrian’s approving nod.

  “Not bad, Eric. The hunters might have use for you,” Hadrian said. He looked to Byron and asked, “We ready to leave?”

  “Just want to get a few fresh magazines first, but yeah,” Byron replied. Hadrian motioned for them to follow.

  “I had Terry get a few from supply,” Hadrian commented over his shoulder as they rounded the house.

  “Turing said something about a cabin and supplies. What is it we’re doing, exactly? ” Eric asked.

  “The west cabin is up near the throat of this valley. It’s a four day hike to it. We check the place out first, see if anyone has moved in, if they’ve taken anything, if there’s anything going on around it. After that, we grab supplies off the list Turing gave me and fill any extra space we have left with whatever else seems likely to be useful. Figure it will be five to seven days back, even with most of it being down-slope. West cabin is one of the last few cabins we haven’t drawn down the stores on.”

  “So, bringing back a lot?” Eric asked as they rounded last corner. Three people in thick coats colored with mottled browns and greens leaned on the porch railing near the front door. The clothing hid their genders, but the facial hair gave them away. Like so many of the new people Eric had met recently, their faces were half hidden behind protective goggles, beards, and clothing.

  “Yeah, as much as we can carry and then some. We’ll improvise something when we get there,” Hadrian told him. As they approached, the three men pushed off the railing.

  “Mornin’, boss,” the tall, lanky one said.

  “Morning, Trev,” Hadrian said as he nodded. “Eric, Byron, these guys are Doctors Travis Green, Trevor Me
ric and Terrence Hale.”

  “Call me Terry,” Terrence corrected. Strands of white in Terry’s full beard betrayed his age. “Only my mother called me Terrence.”

  “Doctors?” Eric asked as the group fit on their snowshoes.

  “Well, Ph.D. not medical doctor. Structural engineering, terrestrial mostly. I was working on expanding into orbital station design when I ended up here.” Terry said. He added with an easy grin, “Mostly, I’m a carpenter now.”

  “Sc.D. here. Astronautics. I helped design a few high profile spacecraft that landed me a teaching job at the University,” Trevor commented. “Provost scooped me during their investigation of Turing’s disappearing act.”

  “Just particle physics,” Travis said with a shrug. “Not terribly useful out here, so I help with the carpentry.”

  “Let’s head out,” Hadrian said. Eric noticed the axe strapped to Terry’s pack and all three men carried smaller axes on their belts. Only Travis had a firearm, a revolver on his hip.

  “You have a degree, Hadrian?” Eric asked. “Seems everyone here does so far.”

  “Sure. Applied physics, specializing in ballistics and high energy applications.” Hadrian replied. Byron snorted. Hadrian added, “Though, it’s mostly OJT.”

  “OJT?”

  “On the job training.” Hadrian said. A few seconds later, he asked, “Hey, Terry, you figure eighteen years is enough to claim a degree?”

  “I’ve seen you shoot. I’d say so.”

  The group paused at the stone wall while Hadrian inspected the area surrounding the gate. Hadrian waved Eric over as he unslung his rifle.

  “People,” Hadrian said, pointing at tracks just outside the gate. “No one uses this gate but hunters. We’re the only ones with the key. None of my men have passed through here since the storm. How many people do you think?”

  “Two or three?” Eric offered after a few seconds of studying the impressions in the snow.

  “Anything else?”

  Eric squinted and scratched his chin for a few more seconds as he racked his brain trying to coax more out. “Probably not made by people freshly off the Relentless.”

  “How do you know that?” Hadrian inquired.

  “We were issued cold-weather gear. Sure, most of it was old and poorly cared for, but the boots were in relatively good shape. If they were wearing issued boots, you’d see tread in the tracks, right?”

  “Not bad, Eric. Best I can figure, four people. You’re probably right about the boot tread.” Hadrian scowled and shook his head as he stared at the tracks.

  “What?”

  Hadrian looked back at the rest of the group. “Keep your weapons handy, folks. We’re not the only people around.”

  A quick pull opened the retaining strap holding the rifle to his pack. Byron gave them a thumbs-up as he adjusted his sling. Trevor and Terry tugged their long hatchets free of their belts while Travis tugged out his revolver and thumbed back the hammer.

  Hadrian walked up to the gate as he dug out the key. He froze.

  “Cover,” he blurted and hopped behind the wall. Confused, Eric did the same as the rest of the group rushed up to take similar positions against the wall. Seconds later a faint but growing rumble crossed the valley.

  Hadrian scowled and slowly leaned around to peek through the gate, weapon at the ready.

  “Transport, not drone. We’re good,” he said. “More folks from the Relentless getting dropped off.”

  “Think the folks being dropped off will be useful?” Travis asked Hadrian.

  “They’d better be or we’ll all be dead by next winter,” Hadrian replied.

  “Drones?” Eric asked as Hadrian retrieved his key and unlocked the gate.

  “Cerberus Station runs a fleet of drones. They do fly-bys every now and then. Doesn’t matter if they’re doing surveillance or not, it’s a good idea to stay out of sight. They’re armed.”

  “With what?” Eric asked as the group filed through to the far side.

  “Guided missiles and bombs at the least. Haven’t torn one open to be sure that’s all, but I have seen them attack ground targets.”

  With Hadrian at the lead and Byron bringing up the rear, they marched on. Intermittently interrupted by the growl of descending transports, Eric passed the time by striking up conversations. Byron spent a good portion of the morning educating Eric on the life of an infantryman. Hadrian spent the early afternoon teaching Eric about a hunter’s perspective of the land while teaching him to use the compass and different types of maps to get around.

  As the sun began its downward arc, Eric found himself exhausted and battling to put one foot in front of the other. Shortly before dusk an extremely weary, foot sore Eric slumped onto his bedroll near the campfire. Rest the first night did not come easy, nor did it the following night or the next. Conversations after the first day became infrequent as Eric struggled to stay standing, much less keep up.

  Before noon on the fourth day, his spirits soared as they emerged into a clearing at the base of a rise. Atop the frozen hillside stood a squat log cabin. Propelled by a burst of hope, Eric caught up to Hadrian half way up the rise.

  “Slow down, son,” Hadrian told him as he started to outpace the soldier.

  “Slow down? We’re almost there!” Eric snorted. He came up short a few moments later, and shouldered his rifle. “Front door is open, Hadrian.”

  “Top pane of the window there in the second floor is cracked, too. Any tracks?” Hadrian asked, farther behind.

  “No,” Eric replied as he got to the top of the hill. The door was open a few centimeters, but not enough to see inside the dark interior. “No tracks up here. Either they’re still in there or they were gone before the snow.”

  Hadrian nodded and the team cautiously approached the doorway. Byron took up a position to the right of the door, Hadrian the other. Everyone else fell in to either side. Eric kept his rifle pointed at the doorway as everyone twisted boots out of snowshoes and shrugged off heavy packs. Hadrian’s hands moved quickly. On my signal, you kick the door open, step back, cover the middle. I sweep right, Byron sweeps left. You follow us in and keep up. Eric and Byron nodded. Hadrian leaned forward and rapped his hand against the door.

  “Knock, knock. Anyone home?”

  Silence. Eric’s heart pounded in his ears as he fidgeted with his rifle. I’ve never done this.

  “Travis, you guys watch the door,” Hadrian whispered over his shoulder as he glanced back at Eric. At Hadrian’s nod Eric stepped forward, raised his leg, and planted his boot squarely in the middle of the door. By the time his foot had reached the ground, Byron had already scuttled between him and the doorframe at a crouch. Hadrian was on the old soldier’s heels.

  “Clear left!” Byron called out as Eric started forward through the door.

  “Clear right!” Hadrian echoed. The cabin’s ground floor was all a single room. A set of stairs climbed the far right wall and followed the corner up out of sight. Hadrian was backing up, rifle pointed up to the second floor. Byron had followed the left wall all the way around and glanced back at him from near the steps.

  “You waiting for an invitation? Move!” Byron barked and pointed up the stairs.

  Eric rushed around the circular table occupying the middle of the room on his way to the stairs. Imitating Hadrian, he spun around as he passed into the open area, pointing his rifle up and walking backwards. The stairs led up to a walkway with two doors. Eric’s back foot struck the bottom step.

  Keeping his rifle up and moving between the two doors, Eric made his way up the stairs as fast as he could. As he approached the first door, a hand on his shoulder nudged him forward past the door. A few steps later, the hand patted him on the shoulder. He stopped, front site zeroed on the other door. The door crashed open behind him.

  “Clear!” Byron called from behind him. The hand nudged him forward and pulled him to a stop short of the door.

  “I got the door,” Hadrian said, slipping around him. “
Your turn.”

  Something yowled as the door crashed open. Eric swung through the doorway rifle first. Movement. Eric jerked, tried to center the blur in his sights, and squeezed the trigger. Nothing happened. Shit!

  Laughter erupted behind him and he froze, cold sweat dripping down his face. Then the smell hit him. Eric gagged on overpowering ammonia and stumbled to the door. Intermittent gagging interrupted Hadrian’s laughter.

  “Clear,” Hadrian choked out. “Holy shit, Eric, you almost smoked that pussy.”

  “What the fuck? That’s some nasty shit in there,” Eric gasped.

  “You spooked the ever loving shit out of a cat, Eric,” Byron called from outside the room, snickering.

  “He ain’t going anywhere. Door’s closed,” Travis yelled from downstairs.

  Hadrian clapped him on the shoulder, still snickering.

  “Next time,” Hadrian told him, “Identify your target before engaging. Helps if you hit the safety, too. Newbie.”

  “Forgot the safety? Oh, that’s going to be hard to live down,” Byron snorted.

  “Fuck you guys,” Eric muttered with a smile as they came down the stairs.

  “McCulloch did the same thing his first raid. You’ll be fine if you can learn from it,” Byron said, wiping tears from his eyes.

  “Yep. There’s an outhouse out back, he’ll probably need it. I’m going to look around, figure how much damage that damn cat did upstairs.”

  Eric opened his mouth to argue but his gut clenched, forestalling anything he could have said. The shakes started as they cleared the front door. By the time he stepped into the outhouse and closed the door behind him, he could barely hold his rifle. He stared at the hole in the bare wood seat. His rifle rattled as he tried to prop it up.

  “You alright in there?” Byron asked.

  “Yeah? I think so,” Eric replied. He frowned at the wooden hole while trying to undo his pants.

  “Shakes?”

  “Yeah,” Eric said. He grimaced at the cold as he sat down. “Holy fuck, this is cold.”

  “Hah, yeah, I’d imagine it is,” Byron chuckled. “Shakes are normal after the adrenaline. You’ll be dog-ass tired for a bit after, too. We’ll make a decent soldier out of you yet, seeing as you didn’t fuck it up too hard. That’s what counts. Give it a bit, you’ll be fine. Oh, and next time kick near the door knob. You waste less force and it tears your leg up less.”