by Logan Jacobs
“That’s got it,” Darwin muttered a few minutes later.
We turned into a tunnel shaped by tangled tree limbs overhead and lined with a dense thicket of reeds that pressed against the boat. We pushed off from the plants in this section, rather than the water, and I was certain that we would stop soon and tramp across more muddy ground to this secret camp. But the tunnel suddenly ended, and we found ourselves on the edge of a small lake.
Darwin turned around and grinned, then started to paddle toward the far shore. He directed us toward another dock, this one little more than a pair of pilings and a few weatherbeaten scraps of pine wood. But Darwin tied up the boat quickly, then leapt from the boat onto the dock without any apparent concerns. When he didn’t fall through into the water below, I helped Sorcha climb onto the dock as well.
“You said we’re closer to the town?” Sorcha asked as she looked around the forest that ringed the lake. “After all that?”
“We’re just on the other side of the town,” Darwin replied as I handed him the supplies from the boat. “Most people don’t even remember that the swamp stretches that far. Of course, it helps that McGraw doesn’t let anybody use this lake.”
“Uhhhh,” I said I peered into the trees.
“Oh, he lets me use it,” Darwin assured us. “We have an understanding.”
“That’s… good,” I replied as I climbed onto the dock with the bow and quiver.
“Camp’s just ahead,” Darwin said. “McGraw and I set it up years ago, though he doesn’t make it out here much anymore.”
“Who is this McGraw?” Sorcha asked as she accepted the bow and quiver from me.
“Just another old fart,” Darwin sighed as he handed me the stack of boxes yet again. “He and his wife owned this before the meteorite hit, and in the immediate aftermath, they opened it up to people who needed a hand. When the guests tried to turn it into a town, though, McGraw put his foot down. Said the lake was his and it was going to stay that way. There was quite a stink, let me tell you.”
“I’ll guess you were one of the few who sided with McGraw,” I remarked.
“You’d be right about that,” Darwin replied. “That’s why I still have privileges.”
Darwin had started down a well-worn path that led into the pines and oaks than surrounded the lake. Deep beneath the trees, the fog vanished and the sounds of wildlife returned. The rain started to lessen as well, and a few slim rays of sunlight peeked through the leaves. It was positively normal, and I could almost forget why we were out here.
Near the edge of a brook, the ex-trooper suddenly veered off the path and climbed up a small hill. I tried not to grumble as I picked my way slowly along and wondered if it would really be any great loss if I were to lose the boxes in the brook.
As I reached the top of the hill, I nearly dropped the boxes in frustration. Darwin had vanished again, but I spotted Sorcha near a stand of trees. She gave me an encouraging smile, then pointed up.
And then I nearly let out a whoop of joy. We had indeed finally reached Darwin’s camp, though camp wasn’t quite the right word. It was a treehouse, though bigger and better built than the ones we used to build as kids. Darwin was on the deck with a pair of binoculars, and he barely acknowledged my arrival at the top of the hill as he peered at something in the distance. A moment later, he held up a mage light and flicked it off and on several times. He peered through the binoculars again after that and then nodded at whatever he saw.
“Just letting McGraw know we’re here,” Darwin called down when he saw I was still standing near the edge of the hill.
“How…?” I started to ask, but Sorcha had already walked to my side and taken one of the boxes from the pile.
“There are stairs,” she assured me. “They’re just well hidden.”
She led me around to the other side of the treestand toward a thicket of wisteria. The vines were thick and heavy and had probably been there since before the meteorite. But they also made for convenient camouflage, as I discovered, for hidden beneath the tangle were the steps that led up toward the treehouse’s entrance.
“This is clever,” I noted as I started slowly up the stairs. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a treehouse like this.”
“The McGraws built this for their own family,” Darwin explained as I finally stepped onto the platform that served as the deck for the treehouse. Darwin took the rest of the boxes from me and set them under a tarp at the far edge of the deck, then opened the cedar door that led inside.
“Did they live in here?” Sorcha asked as she looked around the treehouse, and I wondered the same thing as well.
It had a sofa and two chairs, a small writing desk, a compact kitchen with its own table and chairs as well as the sack of food we had lugged from the underground home, and a loft where I could just make out the foot of a bed. There was also artwork on the walls, a wall of windows that looked out over the lake, and a stove that kept everything toasty warm.
“They built it as a fun place to spend time together on the lake during the summer originally,” Darwin said as he kicked off his boots and set them on an old carpet by the door, then draped his jacket over a hook. “After the meteorite hit, McGraw turned it into more of a watchtower. He and I added a few things over the years after that and made sure it was always stocked. I doubt there’s anyone left in Morristown that still knows it’s even here.”
“What about McGraw’s family?” I asked as I copied Darwin and removed my boots and jacket. Sorcha did as well, and we soon had a nice little line of muddy boots and damp jackets by the door.
“Wife passed away a few years back,” Darwin replied as he opened the stove, then added a few pieces of wood and some kindling. “Lost one daughter in those first months after the meteorite hit, and the other one a few years later. His son is nearby, but he doesn’t come out here much. He’s got his own farm to tend to.”
“I can’t believe people used to build treehouses like this,” Sorcha mused as she moved toward the windows and drank in the view of the lake. “This is nicer than many homes.”
“Those were the days,” Darwin snickered.
“How often do you come out here?” I asked as I wandered around the compact space. I opened a few of the cabinets in the kitchen and found pots of herbs and spices, clean plates and cups, jars of pickled vegetables, and something called a ‘Veg-O-Matic’.
“Just enough to keep it in shape,” Darwin admitted as he closed the grate on the stove and looked around. “Freya spent a lot of time here where she first came to Morristown, but she got pretty lonely since I was at the main base and McGraw pretended she wasn’t here. That was to protect her, of course, but still, it probably stung.”
“It’s a good hiding place,” Sorcha mused. “Most people don’t look up.”
“And this place blends in nicely with the trees,” Darwin agreed. “One of the updates we added later.”
“So, what do we do now?” Sorcha asked as she tested one of the chairs.
“I’d like to get more information about their plans for Freya,” Darwin replied as he sat down on the sofa. “Just to get an idea of how much time we have to work with.”
“But they’ll be looking for you in the town,” I pointed out. “And if you do show yourself, then all that trouble we went through to hide our trail will be useless.”
“So, Hex and I will have to go to the town,” Sorcha said. “There’s less chance that we’ll be recognized.”
“But still a chance,” Darwin snorted.
“We did use his name at the general store,” I admitted. “And there were a lot of people in that mob.”
“Please don’t suggest that McGraw be the one to investigate,” Sorcha huffed.
“That old fart would probably hear about the latest cure-all at the general store and forget why he was supposed to be there,” Darwin said with a shake of his head. “No, it will have to be the three of us. If we’re careful, we can get in and out of town before anyone knows we were ther
e.”
“We should slip in at night,” I said. “The town’s a lot less busy then.”
“Agreed,” Darwin said with a nod.
“We have a few hours before nightfall,” I said as I glanced out the windows at the silver waters of the lake.
“I guess I could take the bow and practice a bit,” Sorcha mused. “I haven’t had much chance to use one recently, and I would hate to miss my shots when it counts.”
“Well, I guess I could spend some time with Hex,” Darwin added. “Show him what I have in the armaments department.”
I perked up at that and glanced toward the cases that Darwin had carried the whole way here. I noticed the rifle sitting nearby as well, and I almost drooled at the thought of holding it finally.
“I’ll just get my boots back on,” Sorcha declared as she moved toward the door. She grabbed up her boots and jacket, the bow and the quiver, and then slipped back out onto the porch. I heard her drop into one of the cedar chairs on the deck, and then a few moments later, she walked across the beams toward the stairs.
“Let’s do this outside,” Darwin suggested.
We gathered up our own boots, and Darwin collected the rifle and the cases as well. We stepped outside into the cool air and quickly slipped on our boots and jackets. Darwin walked toward the end of the deck, near the spot where I’d seen him signal to McGraw. A pair of brackets had been nailed to the treehouse and a cedar board placed across them to make for a cheap and easy table top. Darwin placed the cases on the table, then turned to look at me.
“How much do you really know about guns?” he asked.
“What do you mean?” I said with a shrug. “Evan gave me a book about guns, and I’ve looked through that. But I haven’t figured out how to create one just by looking at the picture.”
“But do you know how to handle them?” he pressed. “Do you know the proper way to hold one when you’re just carrying it, or the proper hand position to use when you fire a gun? Do you know what to do when someone hands you a gun?”
“Ummm,” I hesitated.
“Thought so,” the ex-trooper huffed. “We’ll have to go over some of the safety aspects as well, obviously.”
“Evan mentioned something about that,” I admitted. “But it’s been okay. I’ve only shot the people I meant to shoot. And most of the time, I only need one shot.”
“Then you’ve been lucky,” Darwin snapped as he shook his head. “Freaking mages think they know everything.”
I thought of a few snarky responses, but the guns were so close now, and I really had to touch them. I told myself to be patient and let Darwin do this the way he thought best. This guy knew about guns, and I wanted to get better at them, so it was my time to just shut up and listen.
“Let’s start with the five most important rules about firearms,” Darwin declared as he crossed his arms and glared at me. “These rules are absolute. If you don’t follow them, you don’t get to fire the guns.”
“Okay,” I conceded as I tried not to scratch my palm or stare at the cases that sat so close by.
“Rule number one,” Darwin intoned. “Always keep your weapon pointed in a safe direction. That means away from people and anything else you don’t want to shoot. If you like your dog, don’t point a gun at it.”
“Got it,” I declared.
“That leads directly to rule number two,” Darwin continued in his very serious voice, “and this is probably the most important rule there is. Always, and I mean always, treat every gun as if it is loaded.”
“I can do that,” I replied.
“Except you have no idea what I mean by that,” Darwin snorted.
“I do, too,” I protested. “It means, um, don’t play with guns. Especially if they have bullets in them.”
“It means that if you always act like the gun is loaded, then you’ll always be following rules one and two, even if the gun is unloaded,” Darwin said cryptically.
“So, don’t even point an unloaded gun at something I don’t want to shoot,” I translated. “Yeah, that makes sense. So you can be absolutely sure there will never be an accident.”
“Now you’re getting it,” Darwin said. “If you’re fucking around with a knife, and you cut yourself, well… your dumb ass is going to get stiches, but you probably won’t die. If you fuck around with a gun, either you or someone you like is most likely going to get killed. Guns are beyond dangerous, so pay attention to these rules.”
“Got it,” I said as I repeated the first two rules in my head.
Darwin didn’t look convinced about my level of understanding, but he took a deep breath, then moved on.
“Rule number three,” the ex-trooper announced. “Keep your trigger finger outside the guard and off the trigger until you’re ready to fire.”
“Sure, that makes sense,” I declared, though I felt the heat rise in my cheeks as I remembered how I had ran through Evan’s school with my finger on the trigger.
“Uh-huh,” Darwin snickered. “Don’t lie to me. You’ve kept your finger on the trigger, even when you weren’t ready to fire, haven’t you?”
“It was during the middle of a battle with the mages,” I asserted.
“Doesn’t matter,” Darwin snapped. “If you’re not ready to shoot, keep that finger off the trigger. There’s just too many ways it can go wrong otherwise.”
“I believe you,” I insisted. “I just never thought about this before. Hell, I’d never even handled a gun until a few days ago.”
“Good thing Evan sent you to me,” Darwin sighed. “What kind of crazy magic dreams up a gun mage and doesn’t bother to include the basics of gun safety as part of the package?”
“I don’t know how magic works,” I said with a shake of my head. “I know a little about each gun, like what the bullet is supposed to look like, but that’s it.”
“Freakin’ magic,” the ex-trooper griped. “Okay, let’s try rule number four. Know your target, know your line of fire, and know what lies beyond your target.”
“Right,” I agreed. “I understand that.”
“Do you really?” Darwin demanded.
“Um, shoot only at your target,” I summarized. It was, after all, the same lesson we’d had with bows and crossbows.
“Good lord,” Darwin sighed as he shook his head. “Look, it comes down to this. The only thing you ever want to shoot is your target. In a controlled situation, like a driving range, that’s easy to do. But when you’re in the field, so to speak, that becomes a lot harder. Your target will probably be moving, and possibly firing back at you, and there will be other people and objects around that you don’t want to shoot. You need to make sure before you pull the trigger that there’s nothing in the path between the end of your gun and the target, and you also need to be aware of what’s behind your target, in case the target moves or what’s behind your target moves, or your bullet hits the right target and keeps going through. And remember, bullets move a hell of a lot faster than arrows. You don’t have enough time to adapt and change.”
“That… seems like a lot to take in,” I replied.
“You can do it quickly, and the more you do it, the better you’ll get,” Darwin stated. “But you need to do it, or you’ll end up with a lot of bad shots.”
“Okay, so I have to study the area before I shoot,” I said with a nod.
Darwin closed his eyes for a moment and rubbed his forehead. I’d seen my father do the same thing whenever he was frustrated, and it was usually followed by a declaration about a headache coming on.
“Last rule,” the ex-trooper said with a sigh, “And this one is going to be tough for us, and I’m not sure how we’ll accomplish it, but, you should always wear appropriate eye and ear protection.”
“I’ve heard that before,” I replied as I thought about the warning on the box of buckshot.
“Yeah, we’ll have to work on that,” Darwin mused. “Now, I’ve got ear plugs and safety glasses that I use when I’m going to fire a gun, and
Freya has a set that I gave her, but that’s all I have. Maybe if you find an abandoned sporting goods store, you could scavenge for what you need.”
“Sporting goods store, got it,” I agreed.
Darwin still looked skeptical about my ability to understand the rules or my willingness to follow them, but after a moment, he shook his head, then glanced toward the table where the cases rested. I could see him consider the options, and then he pulled a pouch from one of the interior pockets of his jacket. He pulled out two ovoid objects, attached to each other by a long cord, and a piece of plastic with little arms, similar to what Evan had worn over his eyes.
“For ears and eyes,” Darwin announced as he draped the cord around his neck and placed the plastic on the bridge of his nose. “Now, let’s start with something easy.”
With that, the ex-trooper picked up the smallest case and opened it to reveal a handgun, like the Colt revolver or the Smith and Wesson snub nose.
“Probably the most common weapon carried by law enforcement before the meteorite,” Darwin said as he pulled the weapon from the case.
It was black, and shorter than the Colt revolver, but without the chopped look of the snub nose. It was perfectly proportioned and looked like it was sized to fit exactly in my hand. I could see the texture on the grip and the word Glock etched into the metal on the barrel.
I started to reach for it, but Darwin pulled the weapon away from my hand. The ex-trooper pulled a slanted box from the grip, peered inside, then snapped it back into place. Next, he pulled the rear half of the barrel back and checked inside the weapon itself. Satisfied with whatever he saw, the gun expert closed the weapon and held it up for my inspection.
“Glock nineteen,” Darwin stated. “Nine millimeter, lightweight, it’s considered a compact handgun, so it’s smaller than most other nine millimeter models, which makes it easy to handle and to carry. This one comes with the standard magazine capacity, so you’ll only have fifteen bullets instead of seventeen or nineteen.”