by Angela White
Marc’s hand tensed, and he knew a little more of how Angie had felt when he had to fight not to draw on the pair. He really had lost some of his edge.
The first few rows of people went still. Marc could feel them waiting to be avenged, as if he was a part of the old world that still needed to be punished.
Tension rolled over the crowd, drawing more people. The sounds of practice fire stopped as Doug locked glares with him. The big man’s eyes bored into his, searching as he and Seth stopped a few feet away.
“This time, no flinching,” Marc warned icily. “I’ll finish it.”
Doug held out a hand. “Welcome to Safe Haven.”
Marc automatically shook his hand, as surprised as the disappointedly muttering crowd was.
“Good luck. You’ll need it.”
“Thanks. You, too.”
It wasn’t much, not in the grand scheme of things, but it was significant to these people. Marc could tell by the fury on Kenn’s face. He’d thought Doug was one of his too, especially after hearing Doug had tried to stand up for him.
Wondering if Doug had been testing him earlier just to discover if he was able to match Kenn, Marc watched the big man take his place in line.
Seth stayed with Marc and Neil, enjoying Kenn’s anger.
They all laughed when Kenn spat toward the big man and Doug flipped him off in response.
It’s been an interesting day with Angie’s Wolfman out of the QZ, Neil thought.
“Doug’s never been knocked down with a single hit,” Neil said. “Only two men have brought him down at all, and some think Kenn cheated with the kick to the balls.”
Marc was easily able to imagine Kenn doing it that way. He would have been declared the winner when Doug couldn’t get up, but Marc was almost sure Adrian hadn’t liked the way he’d accomplished it. Adrian also probably didn’t like how openly his men were deserting Kenn, but Marc loved it. Let the Marine suffer a little of what he’d dealt out over the years. How many new recruits had Kenn sent packing with stupid jokes and extra labor? How many female Marines had he sexually harassed until they’d transferred out? What did Adrian see in Kenn that outweighed all he’d done?
Marc couldn’t think of a single thing.
Kenn was having another bad day. Though he’d managed not to put his hands on anyone, he had a sinking feeling those teetering edges were about to fall. The feeling of doom had arrived when Brady had stepped into the shooting line, and he glared at his former team leader with bitter hatred. Kenn now wished he’d shot them both through the window.
Marc picked out his son threading his way through the crowd and subtly locked gazes with the boy who was clearly surprised to find out he had entered the contest.
Charlie looked older than fourteen, countenance carrying the same lines of horror as the rest of these people. His jeans and black jacket couldn’t hide the pain he’d suffered while away from his mother…and father.
How’s your mom?
Charlie stiffened, stopping well away from Marc.
Marc sighed. It was so unfair that he’d never gotten the chance to be Charlie’s dad. It was years they would never get back.
I’m sorry. You’re the only one I can ask. Marc could feel the battle raging inside the teenager and let his pain bleed through their connection. I love her, always have. Does he?
The other shooters were warming up now, and Marc lit a smoke, still waiting, hoping…
He clamped down on a victorious thought when the response came.
She’s tired and lonely and scared, and I hate it. Let her go so he’ll stop being mad! Charlie hesitated. He’ll hurt her. You have to leave!
Marc didn’t answer. When the MC asked Marc if he wanted a few warm up shots, obviously eager to discover what he could do, he refused. Knowing Angie was unhappy, in danger, had instantly put him on edge again. Marc watched the setup activities and smoked, nerves now under an icy wall of control. This was when he was at his best.
Adrian stood on the pitcher’s mound and faced his people. Slowly, everyone quieted to a low murmur backdropped by tents flapping softly in the cool breeze. His gaze was calm, reassuring, and clearly happy with the way things were progressing. His pleasure was their light in the apocalyptic darkness and they always responded to it.
“Who will your winner be?” Adrian shouted the question, and the crowd roared in answer, Kenn’s name easily the loudest.
“Well, let’s find out. We’ll eliminate one person each round until Level five, a single shot each, then it’s two shooters gone each level until we have a winner or need a duel.” Adrian gestured to Kenn. “Our previous winner will go first. Kenn Harrison, best gun in camp!”
The crowd let out another loud cheer as the Marine stepped up to home plate, and Marc could hear betting now going on behind the fence.
“Can I use my own weapon?” Marc asked quietly.
Neil nervously swept the shadows at the edges of the tape. Crowds and noise draw trouble, lesson four. “Most of us do. Any piece is okay as long as it fires. Adrian keeps extras on the bales for those who don’t have their own yet.”
Kenn pulled the trigger once, arm barely moving.
“Bull’s-eye!”
Clearly a favorite by the shouts of approval, Kenn flashed them a peace sign.
They roared in response.
The next man up was someone Marc hadn’t met yet, a sandy-haired man with the feel of a laborer.
He couldn’t match Kenn’s shot. Almost none of them did. When Doug took his place, only Seth, Neil, and Marc were left to shoot in round one.
Doug found Marc and again gave him a nod of recognition, doing it for the camp’s view. He’d been wrong and wanted to show everyone that Marc now had his respect. Maybe it would help a bit that Marc had proven he was at least a physical match for Kenn.
Doug drew in a tight breath and fired. His shoulders immediately slumped.
“Out of bounds! No hit!”
The crowd groaned and cheered, and the big man came to stand with Neil and Marc as Seth took his turn.
“Vision’s still a little blurred,” Doug confessed, amazed that someone smaller than Kenn had brought him down with only one hit. He had previously considered the arrogant Marine to be his only match. He had too much respect for Adrian to even compare. The leader would always come out on top.
“What did John say?” Neil asked.
Doug frowned and then grimaced in pain. “Said next time I should think about shutting up before I speak.”
Neil laughed, and Marc watched Seth pull the trigger gently.
“Bull’s-eye!”
The crowd voiced their approval again as Neil took his place, smirking happily at Kenn’s open glare.
Neil counted silently to three, blowing out a calming breath. He wanted to still be in it when Marc and Kenn went head-to-head.
Neil pulled the trigger.
Marc knew it was good.
“Bull’s-eye!”
The noise was deafening, louder than for anyone else, even Kenn.
Neil blew jokingly on the barrel of his gun for their amusement.
Marc realized Neil was as much a favorite as Kenn. Neil was high up here, had to be. Fourth or better, because Doug was fifth (unofficially–what did that mean? Was there a vote?), and Marc had already met both first and second. Who else here was in Adrian’s service?
“Is there another shooter?”
Doug gave him a firm nudge, and Marc stepped not to home plate, but to Adrian. As he handed his weapon–butt first–to the boss for inspection, he was aware of how many men had tensed at his action, perceiving it as a threat.
Adrian checked the Colt and held it out to Kenn, who did the same, only much slower.
Kenn gave it back, barrel first, to its owner.
Marc took it without hesitation, feeling but not responding to the silent threat that made the crowd stiffening.
Adrian frowned and waved them on impatiently.
As Marc approached the
plate, he rechecked his weapon, unable and unwilling to pretend he trusted Kenn.
His actions drew frowns from those who understood what was going on, but it also showed that he was used to keeping himself alive. He was a survivor, like them, whether they wanted him to be or not.
Thinking about Charlie’s words, Marc saw the bullet slam into the center of the target, and then his hand was a blur, drawing and firing in a fast, smooth motion.
“Bull’s-eye!”
The response of the crowd wasn’t a cheer, but a mix of surprise and disapproval. The men in front, Kenn’s men, exchanged uneasy glances. So far, the new guy was a match for the Marine in every way.
Marc smirked at Kenn’s unhappy glare the same way Neil had, and joined the chuckling trooper.
Adrian held up a hand for quiet. “Doug is eliminated. Move the targets.”
Marc listened to the people around them betting their chores, shifts, guns, and other luxuries, and while he didn’t hear his name (at least not with any support), he didn’t let it bother him. There was plenty of time to become popular. First, he had to show them he could hold his own if he chose to stay. He had to make a lasting impression.
“What’s the duel?” Marc asked as they all lined up again and the crowd continued to mutter and murmur.
“Just that. Adrian usually picks the target, but the shooters can challenge each other to something more specific, like rocks or cans. They go until someone misses,” Neil explained. He reloaded, still smirking. “I have a feeling we could witness one tonight.”
2
At the start of round two, Kenn got another bull’s-eye and Marc forced himself not to scan the crowd. He wasn’t sure whether Angie was out there, but he knew any contact between them was forbidden. He could feel their son’s regard, but wasn’t sure if Charlie might be rooting for Kenn too. It made Marc more determined to drive in the point he had been making all day. If he decided to stay, he would not live in Kenn’s shadow.
The rounds went quickly. By the fifth turn, it was clear that Kenn, Seth, Neil, Marc, and Kyle were the best. All but the trooper had scored perfectly on every shot.
“We’ll eliminate two each round now, and every bullet in the magazine counts. First shooter will go last, last shooter goes first.”
Marc blinked at Adrian’s words, caught off guard. As he moved to the plate, he was aware of Kenn’s smirk and wondered at it. Shouldn’t he be mad to go last?
He doesn’t care so long as it rattles you enough to miss. Charlie’s message was thrown in a hesitant blur of hope and confusion.
Marc also picked up the unsent plea.
Be good, Charlie was thinking. Be what we need.
Marc got set. I am both of those, son.
He drew in the same easy blur he’d started with from the first shot.
Adrian and every member of his command knew it was good shooting.
“Eight bull’s-eyes!”
There was a small cheer from parts of the crowd this time.
Marc didn’t look at Kenn as he switched places with Neil, knowing the Marine was not only ready to pick a fight, but would now do it openly.
Adrian also felt it and exchanged a moment of warning with Kenn that had his XO glancing away, ashamed. Good sportsmanship was also high on Adrian’s list.
“Eight bull’s-eyes!”
The crowd let out a roar of approval as Neil and Seth traded places, and Marc wondered why Angie wasn’t coming. He knew she wasn’t in the crowd and was a little disappointed despite the excitement of the match. He’d missed stuff like this, but he would much rather be wherever she was.
3
As the tenth round came, it was down to the five of them; Kenn, Kyle, Neil, Seth, and Marc. The targets had been moved each round, and Adrian was pleased when all five men again scored perfectly. They were good. What a force they would make against the slavers.
Aware of it getting late, Adrian called out, “We’re having a duel!”
The crowd cheered, and Marc listened as Adrian explained.
“We’ll do saucers first, five in ten seconds, then five in five if needed.”
Seth stepped forward to begin the round, guns crashing. Marc watched him struggle to hit the small white plates as Adrian gently tossed them up.
“Three hits,” Adrian called, noticing that his bodyguard rejoined Neil and Marc. “Who’s our next shooter?”
Realizing they could go in any order, Marc stepped forward, and everyone fell silent. Not as many hostile gazes were on him now, and he motioned to Adrian that he was ready.
Marc shot the plates out of the dark sky and didn’t struggle, didn’t miss. His Colt cracked rhythmically as he aimed and fired, fired, fired. He pulled the trigger twice more, and china exploded.
Marc gave his gun a twirl before holstering and was pleased with the small cheer he got in response. He could hear his name being bet on now and joined Neil and Seth happily. This part of Safe Haven he could come to need.
“Five hits. Next shooter?”
There was deep pleasure in Adrian’s voice, the kind each of them longed to be the cause of.
Neil quickly stepped forward. He wouldn’t be able to match that kind of shooting and hoped Kenn couldn’t either. The man was better than good.
Neil was ready for the first two plates, but the third fell too fast, and he missed it, along with the fourth. He got the last one just before it hit the ground. Ceramic dug into the dirt as it shattered.
When Kyle came up, Marc narrowed in on him. The stocky guard had been quiet all during the contest, not hanging with Kenn’s or any other group, but mingling between them. As Marc watched, the mobster picked off four of five plates, and he placed it. That was Adrian’s other officer. Kyle was the missing link in the chain of command.
Everyone fell silent as Kenn prepared to shoot. The contest was Marc’s if the Marine missed even one.
He didn’t.
“Five hits!”
The crowd pushed against the gate and each other, screaming, red-faced, and even as Marc wondered how Adrian would calm them, the spotlights went off, throwing them all into darkness.
Marc dropped down low as panic swelled through the crowd.
The lights flashed on, showing Adrian in the center of the field with cords in his hands. He unplugged it once more to make sure he had gotten his point across, and then lit them back up.
His demeanor said to settle down, and they all read it, moving back, helping people who had been knocked down.
Adrian jerked a hand toward Kenn and Marc, both men in much the same crouched, ready position. As were most of the other shooters, none of whom had left yet despite being eliminated.
“We’ll do five in five now.” The leader took a half dollar from his pocket. “Reigning champ picks. Call it in the air.”
Adrian tossed the coin gently.
“Heads.”
Adrian picked it up. “Heads, it is!”
Kenn took his place as Marc joined his small group of allies. Instead of pushing the jealousy from his mind, the Marine stole a glimpse of the four of them, recognizing the friendships he’d been fighting for but hadn’t won. He really had thought differently with Seth and Doug.
When Kenn turned to Adrian, his hands weren’t quite steady enough for this task, and he knew it.
Kenn was unable to think of a delay, and the plates began to fly.
The throwing was smooth, one each second, and Kenn nailed first three. The fourth shattered only when it hit the ground, and he picked off the fifth with slumped shoulders. Marc was better than that after half a bottle of Jack. Damn it!
“Four hits.”
The crowd’s cheer wasn’t subdued. Marc knew he should let Kenn win, but the thought of all the taunts he would have to endure and the renewed respect everyone would have for Kenn made a cold band of determination seal his choice. If he wanted to make a life here, one he could tolerate, he would have to show them that not only was he not after Kenn’s seconds, he wasn’t secon
d to the man himself either. He needed to win.
Marc motioned immediately as he came forward and let his hands take control. When the plates went up, he blew them out of the air almost as soon as Adrian tossed them.
He spun, fired, fired, fired, not missing, and the last slug took out the final plate just as Adrian let go, making the leader retreat to avoid the flying shrapnel.
“Five hits! New Champion! Marcus Brady!”
The crowd exploded again, and Kenn advanced with his hand out and his rage held in. They shook quickly.
Kenn left, he and Zack pushing their way through the dozens of people who had rushed the field.
The mob congratulated Marc, yelling and patting, and the three elated Eagles with him protected Marc from the hands.
Adrian relaxed a bit. One day out of the QZ and Marc had already made a name for himself. Things would start happening now. They would be hard and dangerous, but worth every risk. Kenn was pissed, but it would make him try harder, and that was the XO they needed. There was a lot of work ahead of them, and Adrian wondered how high Marc would eventually climb. Based on what Adrian had observed today, that was unknown. Settling in and expanding his goals from Angela to including the rest of the camp would be the turning point. When that happened, Marc might go a lot higher than anyone, except maybe Neil, was expecting.
4
Marc pushed away his tray, yawning.
“Don’t wimp out yet,” Neil warned. “You still have two stops left on the tour.”
“Why?” Marc asked ruefully as he scanned the crowded mess. No Angie. “Haven’t we pissed everyone off yet?”
He met cold stares and threatening glares as his gaze traveled the brightly lit dining area, and he swallowed a sigh. Winning the contest meant little to these hardened survivors now that they were off the field.
“Almost everyone. We’ll attend the bonfire party for a few minutes, and then we’ll spend some time in the far south corner of camp. That should get the last of ‘em.”
Marc had begun to frown as he spotted Rick in line, a few places behind Samantha. That was another problem Adrian had. Marc understood there wasn’t any proof, but he didn’t agree with the saying about keeping your enemies close.