by John Grit
“So you want me to just sit here glassing the tree line and field?”
“If you keep at it long enough,” Nate said, “you will learn just how far back into the shade of those trees you can see with quality binocs. That’s where they’re most likely to be shooting at me from.” He stood. “I’ll be back in a few minutes to show you a range card I drew for you.”
“Range card? What’s that?”
“I will show you. But first I have to bring a heavy sheet of steel in from the barn. I think it’s about the right size to put between you and the window for armor.”
“Jeez.” Brian opened his eyes wide.
“Yes. It may all be overkill, but I don’t want any more holes in you. It won’t be complete protection. I wish it were, but you can’t shoot without exposing your upper body. Now we’ve both been shot, me years ago, you yesterday, that’s enough.”
“Better safe than sorry,” Brian said.
“Yes. Better safe than dead.”
It took Nate fifteen minutes to carry the steel plate out of the barn and through the house to the foot of the bed. After catching his breath, he said, “This thing weights at least two hundred pounds.”
“I wish I could help,” Brian said. “And I hope you’re keeping your eyes open while you’re out there.”
“I am. But you’re watching this side of things. That reduces my worries fifty percent. It’s a lot easier for me to keep watch on just one side of the farm. The back of the house is not under watchful eyes though. Full security is impossible with only two people.”
“I wish Mel was here.”
Nate walked outside without a word, but thinking the same thing. He brought several solid concrete blocks in to set against the steel plate, leaving the plate held up by the foot of the bed on Brian’s side and the blocks on the other. He pushed against it with both hands. “A common deer rifle won’t knock this over, especially from long distance.”
Brian stopped glassing the scene through the window. “You were going to show me a range card.”
“First I have to make a shooting bench for you so you can use the bipod on the Remington.” Nate picked up the bolt-action and worked the bolt back. “See, it’s not loaded. Now practice looking through the scope at long range. Dry fire it too, for practice. When I get back, I want you to tell me how far away that tall dead pine is on the left edge of the field. Also the big oak in the right corner, and that water tank in the cow pasture, and how far can you see a man lying in the field towards the river.”
“Geez,” Brian said, “you’re serious about this.”
“I’m serious about keeping us alive. I was hoping you would have no need to know how to use a sniper’s rifle, but that went out the window months ago.” Nate took a measuring tape out of his pocket and took note of how high to make the shooting bench and how wide.
Brian watched. “You’re going to make the legs tall enough it will stand on the floor and not the mattress?”
“The mattress shakes too much.”
“Oh, right.”
Nate came back with what looked like a tall sawhorse made of two by sixes. He was forced to maneuver it through the door as it was a tight fit with the legs more than three feet apart and the ridge board five feet long. He came back a few minutes later with the second one. Then he carried in a piece of three-quarter-inch plywood and nailed it on the sawhorses while Brian sat there watching. He lifted the side nearest him until it fell on its end on the other side of the bed. “That’s how we’ll get it out of the way so you can get out of bed fast if need be.” He leaned over the bed, grabbed the nearest leg, and pulled the shooting bench back in place. “Gotta get one more item.”
Nate left the room again and returned with a shooting bag filled with sand, placing it in front of Brian on the bench. “I taught you how to use a shooting bag, so go to it. Aim for that water tank. Pretend there’s someone shooting at you from behind it on the right end.”
“Okay.” Brian positioned the bag where he thought it should be and placed the rifle so it would point in the general direction of the water tank while the heel of the rifle’s butt was on the bag. Then he squeezed the bag with his left hand to raise or lower the butt of the rifle and adjust elevation. He adjusted the rifle’s position, aimed, held his breath, and squeezed the trigger.
“You did one thing wrong.”
Brian looked up at Nate. “What’s that?”
“The pillows on the headboard are fine for a backrest when you’re just looking or resting, but you need to lean forward when shooting and forget those pillows behind you.”
“Why? It seemed steady that way.” Brian seemed puzzled.
“When the rifle recoils, your upper body must roll with it a little, or it will hurt. It can’t move if it’s back against the headboard. I’ll go get your insulated vest. It will act as a recoil pad. You will be cold with the window open anyway.”
“I don’t remember this gun kicking that bad when you let me shoot it.”
“It doesn’t,” Nate said. “The rifle is heavy with a long barrel, so it doesn’t kick much. It’s just a .308. But you do not want to be shooting it with your back up against that headboard. Just lean forward a little, about an inch or so, when you shoot and it will not hurt at all.”
“Okay. You’re the boss.”
Nate smiled. “About time you realized that.”
Brian rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. You know, it’s going to be loud in this room, my ears will be ringing, and I will be deaf after the first shot.”
“You’re right. I should have thought of that. I’ll go get your vest and the electronic shooting muffs. The batteries are still good. And I’ll get mine and keep them handy too. Then we will be able to hear each other in a gunfight and not be deafened by the gunfire.”
Yelling through the open door and down the hall, Brian said, “And when are you going to show me what a range card is?”
“Hold your horses.” Nate yelled from his bedroom closet. “That’s next. We’re about to get into the serious business of long-range shooting. For now, just practice dry firing on that water…that boat in the cow pasture.”
“What? What boat?” Brian shook his head and looked out the window at the pasture several hundred yards away. “Is this some kind of test, or are you crazy?”
Nate put the shooting muffs on the plywood by the rifle and handed Brian his vest. “I just woke up and realized that galvanized steel water tank out there will make a boat for transporting hundreds of pounds of stuff upriver.”
Brian’s eyes lit up. “Damn! Why didn’t I think of that?”
“Yeah, why didn’t you?”
“Oh, shut up.” Brian waved him off with a smile.
“If the kicker will run, I can load it up and power right up the river with it. It’s long and narrow, only about three feet wide and fifteen feet long, so I will need to stabilize it with a drum on each side. That way I can stack the load high and not worry about capsizing. The thing to do is make several trips and unload at the creek. On the last river trip, I will take the drums off and carry smaller loads up the creek. The tank being so narrow will be an asset then, as the creek is choked with fallen limbs and weeds. I will have to pole it through all that and leave the motor at the river. It’s still a lot faster than packing it on my back all the way.”
“I just hope we’re left alone long enough to get all this done and moved to Mel’s.”
Nate became somber. “Chances are we will be, but I wouldn’t count on luck.”
Brian sighed. “My leg hasn’t been hurting since you started making me into a sniper. It keeps my mind busy. Now, what is a range card?”
Chapter 7
Brian checked the range card Nate drew for him and read that the tall dead pine tree on the left edge of the field was five hundred and fifty-three yards from his rifle. The rock he was using for a target was about fifty yards closer. He then determined he needed to aim one half a Mil Dot low at that range by checking a card Nate had mad
e up showing the holds, or aiming points, at various ranges. He held his breath and squeezed the trigger.
The rock sparked in the shade of trees in the sunless afternoon, and powdered rock produced a puff of dust.
“Perfect!” Nate was watching through binoculars. “Now hit that stump near the right corner of the field. It’s in the shade and hard to see.” He handed Brian the binoculars. “Hurry, it’s getting late and this will be your last target. The next time you shoot from here, it will be at a man.”
Brian searched the dark tree line. “What stump? How far out?”
“Eight hundred: the limit of your rifle’s reach. It’s to the right of where a hog rooted. Hurry.”
Again, Brian checked the range card to confirm it was eight hundred yards away. He had been tricked by his father before and was not going to fall for that again. Checking the holds card told him he needed to hold three Mills high. He handed the binoculars to Nate and aimed, fired.
The stump exploded into powdered punk wood.
“Great shot! Your old man will live another day.”
Brian blanched. He took off his earmuffs, set them on the plywood, and looked out the window at the darkening dusk.
Nate took his earmuffs off and turned the switch to save batteries, then did the same for Brian’s. “Reload.” His voice was hard. “This isn’t a game. We’re trying to stay alive. Why do you think I spent all afternoon with you and used so much ammo?”
“I know.”
“The weight on your shoulders is heavy. You’re wondering what if you miss. Well, that’s the way it is. Just remember I will love you no matter what. You are my son. Just do the best you can. You do that by staying calm and relying on what I’ve taught you. Panicking will just get us both killed.”
Brian pushed a round into the rifle. “I didn’t panic when the boar charged.”
“No you didn’t. It was a close shot but a moving target that must be taken out fast is actually harder to execute properly than a long shot when you have plenty of time. If I didn’t think you could do it, I would not have spent so much time on this.”
Brian sighed. “Okay.”
Nate pulled up a chair and sat. “Look, chances are no one will come around before we’re out of here. Shouldn’t take more than about five days for me to get it done. It would have been ten times that long without the river and creek. The next people to show up will probably be starving beggars, and not dangerous. We will just give them some of that boar and send them away.”
“But you don’t know.”
“That’s right. For all we know, ten armed killers may show up. It’s not likely, but it could happen, so we must be as ready for trouble as we possibly can.”
Brian’s chest rose and fell, but he said nothing.
Nate stood. “Let’s get this stuff out of the way so you can lie down while I cook something for supper. I will start packing to the river at first light. That means we must get up at least an hour before that so we’ll have time to eat and set you up here. Once I start packing, I will not be stopping until it’s too dark to see.”
“When are you going to get the water tank?”
Nate closed and latched the shutter and closed the window. “Tonight after we eat. You will be watching from that bed.”
Brian’s eyes narrowed from nervousness. “What can I see in the dark?”
“You can see better than you think through the binocs and scope. I will stay in contact with you through those handy talkies your mother bought so she could keep track of me while I worked the farm.” His eyes became distant for a few seconds. “She was always afraid I would fall off the tractor or cut a leg off with the chainsaw or something. I’ll be telling you where I am every step, so you won’t shoot me.”
“Damn it, Dad! That’s crazy.”
Nate’s voice hardened again. “I will go down the left side of the field just in the trees and come straight across the pasture to the tank. Anyone shoots at me from the other side of the field or from the direction of the river, kill him. Now that’s simple, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, simple. Why not wait until daylight?”
“I don’t want anyone to see me dragging that tank to the river. They will know what I’m planning. And it will be more dangerous in daylight. I will be in the middle of the pasture and an easy target. It’s going to take some time for me to dip enough water out before I can lift it to turn it over and drain the rest. I’d rather do that in the dark.”
“Okay, if it must be tonight. Just keep telling me where you are with the radio.”
After dinner, Nate helped Brian get ready to overwatch from the window.
“Ready?” Nate asked.
Brian pulled the rifle’s bolt back far enough to see if it was loaded. “Which way are you going to drag the tank down to the river?”
“Down the left side of the field. I can’t get that thing through the trees, so I’ll have to stay in the open on the edge.”
“You will be making a lot of noise.”
“Yes,” Nate said.
Brian looked at his father. “And your hands will be busy, so your rifle will be slung on your back.”
“That’s why I’m doing this tonight and why we went through all the preparation. There’s going to be days of this. Tonight will be over in about an hour. The next five days will be from first light to last.”
“And if no one shows up, it will all be a waste.”
Nate tried to read Brian’s face. “And if someone dangerous does show, it could save both our lives.”
“I know.” Brian’s chest deflated. “Wouldn’t it be nice if the world didn’t have so many assholes in it?”
Nate laughed. “They’re being thinned out by people like us as we speak.”
“You got four of them yourself.”
“Well, you’re all set here, and the shotgun is on the bed with you in case someone gets close or breaks in. I’m heading out. Stay alert and have confidence in yourself.”
Brian turned the radio on. “Okay.”
Nate made his way in the dark, keeping to the shadows. His military training told him shadow is life, along with silence and slow, fluid movement. Safer still, is no movement at all, but he had a job to do. The night was clear and growing colder. A milky cloud of stars felt so low and close, he felt the need to duck. He could see nearly across the pasture, bathed so intensely in the starlight, even a coyote caught his eyes as it dashed for the woods. His rifle in his right hand, a black five gallon plastic bucket for bailing the tank out in his left, he stalked on, clinging to the shadows.
The radio squawked and Brian’s voice pierced the silence. “I saw something moving fast on the other side of the pasture!”
Nate stopped. Put the bucket down, and pulled the radio out of a jacket pocket. “I saw it.” He whispered into the microphone. “It was a coyote. I’m about halfway to where I’ll start out across the pasture. Stay off the radio unless it’s an emergency.”
Moving on, Nate was nearly ready to head across the pasture when he heard something move in the brush farther back in the trees. He stopped to listen, though he was certain it was a possum or some other small animal. He stood there for five minutes, just listening and peering into the dark under the canopy of trees.
Nothing.
Nate took one step.
“Don’t shoot. I mean you know harm.” A girl’s voice, low in decibels, but clear, came out of the dark.
Nate was startled. A girl was the last thing he expected. He did not speak or move except to slowly lower the bucket and bring his rifle to his shoulder.
“I wanted to thank you for the food,” the girl said, “especially the eggs, since I didn’t ask when I took them. I don’t like stealing, but I was hungry.”
Nate still said nothing. He stood and tried to locate her.
“Is the boy okay? I saw you carry him home and haven’t seen him out of the house since. I don’t blame you for killing those men. They had items in the canoe they took off other peopl
e. Probably they killed them. How is the boy?”
Nate stepped behind a thick pine tree. “He’s okay.”
“Good.”
Nate began to get an idea where she was. “Why haven’t you answered my notes, my offer for you to join us? You would be a help, not a burden.”
“Lots of reasons. You know. It’s dangerous. Besides.”
“Besides what?”
“I’m a girl.”
“I’m not interested in hurting you.”
“Your offer was for a man; you don’t think I can carry my weight.”
“My offer is for you—man, woman, boy, or girl. Anyone who can survive alone with no shelter like you have is an asset. All we ask is you be honest with us and do us no harm.”
“I want to trust you, I guess I should, you’ve helped me. But people are hurting one another now. I learned not to trust anyone.”
“Is there anything you need? Warm clothes perhaps. We have a lot of extra items like sleeping bags and clothes. My wife’s clothes may fit you.”
“A…a sleeping bag…and something for rain.”
“A poncho? We have plenty of those.”
“Yes.”
“We’ll leave it out behind the barn.”
“I won’t get it tonight. You’ll be waiting for me.”
“No we won’t. But you should stay away for now. We’re jumpy and might shoot before we know it’s you. Come back some other night. It’s dangerous tonight.”
“Why?”
“If you want to know our plans, you first have to join us. Trust works both ways. I’ll leave a note in the box explaining when it’s safe to come and get what we leave for you. Just stay away tonight, or you might get shot.”