Chapter 41

That afternoon we took the long ride over to Burnside North, to find Washburn. I rode over on Bear’s bike. The Harley wasn’t as comfortable as Rock’s Dragonfly. I had to scooch up close to Bear to get comfortable. Really ... the Harley had a lumpy passenger seat, so I had to move close. When I wrapped my arms around his middle, Bear shifted a little – like a horse does to chase off the flies. Maybe he was ticklish?

“Oh, good,” said Sam Washburn. “I can take off with you guys.” He shouted over to a group of men and women. “Y’all make sure you check in with Tall Man before you leave. And get some grub at the truck. She’s got extra, I’m sure.” He turned to me. “Tall Man’s running the work crews for Mr. Clearwater. He’s the tall one over yonder.” He pointed at a very tall man who was moving some stakes near the factory wall.

“I’ve got some guns for y’all. Linc said you wasn’t experienced with guns. I hope Lexi’s gonna be able to handle the one I brought for her. It’s Army issue, so...”

“Don’t worry about me,” I said. “I’ll just use two hands ... uh ... it’s a hand gun, not a rifle or anything, right?”

He gave me a look. “I thought I’d start you with the machine gun mounted on a tank. That way you couldn’t miss.”

“A tank?” I replied. “Where did you get...” I looked around to see smiles all around. “Oh. It’s have a joke with the little girl, right?” I looked over at Painted Rock and Sun Bear. They had big smiles.

I punched the nearest guy, which happened to be Sun Bear, on the chest. It didn’t hurt him. My hand just bounced off. It wasn’t supposed to be a Karate punch or anything.

‘It was just a little girl punch at a guy she liked,’ said the life #1 voice in my head.

‘I know,’ I said back.

Bear didn’t flinch. “Let’s go find that tank.”

“White Owl, why don’t you ride in my ve-hickle,” said Washburn. “Then you won’t have such a bumpy ride. The guys can follow along. The range is set up in Burnside North, Residence section.”

I didn’t know that riding the two miles along the semi-graded road over the ridge to the residence area of Burnside North in Washburn’s Jeep, military suspension and all, was more comfortable than on the back of a motorcycle, or not.

We went by the ridge that had the exit from the escape tunnel in the factory. Well, it would have the exit, once it was built. From this road, you couldn’t see the cave that would have the exit. We crested the ridge and saw the residence area. The electric connections were no longer make-shift wires. The electrician had come as expected. Progress!

Washburn turned off the ‘road’ and we went overland. I couldn’t tell the difference. After a while, he pulled over and I saw a series of wood stations that were kinda like the ones you’d see on TV. Except they looked like they’d fall over if you sneezed on them.

We egressed the ve-hickles and joined Washburn at the back of his Jeep.

[Lexi, cut it out.]

What? Red, I’m just trying to use the correct military terms. These shooting stations don’t look too sturdy.

[You want sturdy? Or do you want to learn how to shoot? Sgt. Washburn is doing his best to set up a temporary range. Stop trying to fool around with ‘egressing the ve-hickles.’]

I snapped off a mental salute and paid attention to Sam Washburn.

He was taking handguns out of a locked gun safe in the back of his Jeep. He checked that they were unloaded before handing them out to the three of us. They were all identical, it seemed to me. He went into full Sergeant role. How you don’t point it at someone EVER unless you’re intending to kill the person. Kill? That was serious. He showed us how to take the gun apart. How to put it back together. Rock did the best. Bear was the slowest, and I was in the middle.

The damn thing was pretty heavy.

We walked over to the shooting stations. I was waiting for the ear protectors, like I’d seen on the TV shows.

Washburn laughed: “If you’re going to shoot at somebody for real, you won’t have any ear protectors handy. Better get used to how it sounds. We’re practicing for the real world.”

Washburn showed us how to take a stance, holding the gun with both hands. He gave us one bullet each, but didn’t let us put it in the gun. Then one at a time, we loaded the gun in the magazine, put the magazine into the gun and took aim at a target about twenty yards away. The target was backed up against the ridge we’d passed over.

Rock was first. He shot at the target and hit it! At least I think he did. The target was stuck onto a bale of straw, and maybe the straw moved a little. That counted for a hit in my book.

Bear was next. He hit the hay too.

My turn. I took my stance. I held the gun with two hands. I sighted through the sights. Then I closed my eyes and pulled hard on the trigger. I figured that somewhere out there, the broadside of a barn sighed in relief. I had no idea where the bullet went.

Red, can you do something to make me stronger, so I can hold the gun without shaking?

[No, Lexi. You know I can’t do anything to your body, only to your mental reactions to stimuli. I’m afraid, if you want to be stronger, you’re going to have to exercise. I can help you keep your eyes open. This is like a kata. You can do it.]

Washburn carefully went over the routine we should do. For Bear and Rock, he corrected how they sighted and held their guns. For me, he walked up close and whispered in my ear, “Your bullet hit the dirt about half way to the target and on a line about thirty degrees off to the side. Don’t be startled by the shot. Keep your eyes open so you can steady the gun with your mind. The trigger is very sensitive, you don’t have to jerk it so hard. Pretend there’s an egg between your finger and the trigger.”

He handed out another bullet to each of us. We did another round. And then another. And another. And so on. My aim improved a little. The broadside of that barn better duck! After a while, the gun was too heavy for me, and I dropped out. Washburn wouldn’t let me leave my station, however.

Before we quit for the day, he had us cleaning up the brass shells, and then head for the back of his truck. On the tailgate, he had us take apart the guns, and clean them with a cloth and some brushes. Then we had to reassemble them. I did better this time, finishing only a few seconds behind Rock, with Bear only a few seconds behind me. Then Washburn did one: he took the gun apart and put it back together in about a quarter of the time we did it. “Don’t feel bad. I’ve been doing that almost every day for almost twenty years. Your weapon is the only thing between you and the bad guys. Make it your friend ... One more time, take it apart and put it together.”

We did it several more times.

The sun was getting low in the sky when we finally finished.

“Sam,” I said, “something I wanted to ask. What’s the story with the food truck? When I passed by, it looked like it was being run by a young girl.”

“Yeah,” he replied. “That is something Mr. Clearwater set up with some place in K-town. Everything at the truck is free. No alcohol. So, I guess you’re paying for it. We pay for lunch and for as long as the food lasts. The girl is about your age or younger. The guys call her ‘lil Sissy.’ She drives out every day, six days a week. Don’t know what we’re gonna do once school starts up again.”

We made arrangements to come out for another gun training session day after tomorrow, on Thursday. The boys wanted to come out tomorrow; they were psyched. But Washburn said he had to go somewhere with me on Wednesday afternoon.

“Okay,” Rock said, “Where are we going?”

“You’re not going anywhere. It’s just me and Lexi. We got a meeting down in Phoenix.”

Bear started to object, but Washburn told the both of them: “I said..., me and Lexi. You guys get to take the afternoon off.”