Instant Darkness

by Mark J Russell

  “Well, Shelly is happy for me to get out and help. Aren’t you, Shelly?”

  “I don’t mind if Maggie wants to do some more physical work, Abram. She wants to stay fit, and what better way than to help with the chores? Why shouldn’t she? This is the twenty-first century.”

  “We were just trying to protect you,” Abram said. “People sometimes get hurt doing farm work.”

  “I promise not to shove my hand in the blades of a harvester,” Maggie said. “And I’m far more likely to burn myself on the oven than hurt myself digging a hole.”

  Emma, who’d been watching this exchange, spoke up. “Can I dig fencepost holes too?”

  “No, Emma, you should help your mother,” Abram said.

  “Actually, Em, the animals will start arriving today,” Shelly said. “I’m going to need you to assess their condition, set up a feeding schedule, and figure out which of the ewes need milking.”

  “Does, Mom. Female goats are called does. And why are we getting goats, again? And why not sheep?”

  “Goat milk products are very healthful,” Maggie added, “and you can spin their hair into yarn.”

  “They’ll help keep areas clear of grass and unwanted shrubs, as long as we can keep them out of the garden and the cornfield,” Abram said.

  Rae Ann beamed. “And their babies are cute as anything. Can I help with the goats?”

  “We’ll see,” Nick said. “Maybe you could help with the baby goats. They call them ‘kids.’”

  Rae Ann wore an excited smile, and Nick knew she’d be delighted to help with the baby goats.

  17

  Corey was on his way back to the back of the property after lunch when Gary approached him. Corey took a look around, hoping someone else was nearby, but he was alone with him. He didn’t like Gary; the man made him very uncomfortable and, if truth be told, a bit scared.

  “Hey, kid,” Gary said, “do you know how to shoot?”

  “No, I’ve never handled a gun,” Corey said, hoping that would be the end of it.

  “We’re going to need you to step up and help with perimeter control. If you want your dad and little Rae to stay here, you are all going to need to pull your weight.” Gary spoke deliberately, as if he wanted his words to sink in. “But don’t worry—I’ll train you, kid. Why don’t we get started now?”

  “My dad is expecting me to help with the fence. He’ll wonder where I am.”

  “Maggie’s helping him this afternoon. He won’t need you. Come with me.”

  Corey didn’t dare defy Abram’s best friend, so he followed him to one of the sheds near the lower barn. Inside, the walls were lined with gun lockers, and a huge wooden table scarred with many years of use sat in the middle of the room. Other than that, it was bare. Not even a stool or chair to sit on.

  Gary pulled the keys from his pocket and opened one of the lockers, pulling out a handgun and a rifle, and set them on the table. “First, I’m going to teach you how to do basic cleaning on a semiautomatic handgun.” He opened an unlocked cabinet at the end of the room, pulled out a towel, and draped it over the end of the table. Then he pulled out a caddy with two bottles and some tools. He pulled the items from the caddy and set them on the towel.

  “This is gun cleaner, lubricating oil, cleaning patches”—the cleaning patches looked like little cotton squares to Corey—“a bore brush,” Gary continued, “a cleaning rod with two attachments, a cleaning brush, and a cleaning jag.” There was also a toothbrush and some cotton swabs, but Gary didn’t name those. Hopefully, he thought Corey was bright enough that he didn’t need to.

  “First, you need to disassemble the gun,” Gary said. “Watch me. I’m removing the magazine first, and I’m clearing the firing chamber. Got that?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Now, I’m taking the gun apart.”

  It seemed to Corey that the gun just came apart in Gary’s hands and he wasn’t sure how that had happened, but he was afraid to say so. Gary reassembled the gun and handed it to Corey, and he quickly removed the magazine and checked that the chamber was clear.

  “Now,” Gary continued, “pull back on the slide and down on the two levers on either side of the barrel.” He showed Corey how to hold the gun in his hand so that he could move the slide with one hand and depress the two tiny levers with the other.

  Corey pulled the slide back, depressed the levers, and was able to remove the slide by moving it forward off the body of the gun.

  “Set the frame aside and pull the spring and then the barrel off the slide.” Gary raised his eyebrows at Corey, and Corey did as he was told. “Now you are going to reassemble the gun.”

  “Do I just do everything in reverse?” Corey asked.

  “Yes. I’ll let you know if you are doing anything incorrectly.”

  Corey reassembled the gun and Gary made him take it apart again. The second time, Corey tried to put the spring in backward, and Gary set him straight while giving the impression that Corey was an idiot. At least, that’s how it seemed to him. Finally, after the third time, Gary had him leave it in pieces so he could clean it.

  He first wiped the magazine with a cleaning patch. Then, he was instructed to soak a cleaning patch in cleaning fluid and push it through the barrel with the cleaning jag attached to the cleaning rod.

  “Okay, set that aside,” Gary said. “Now take the toothbrush and clean the frame.”

  Corey brushed the body of the gun with the toothbrush until Gary told him it was good enough.

  “Now brush under the rails on the slide,” Gary said.

  Then he had to take a dry patch and wipe the front of the slide, working it into the barrel hole and inside the slide. Then a toothbrush and cotton swab inside the slide, making sure to get the back corners. And then he used his fingernail to push the patch into the grooves under the slide rails. Then he brushed the spring.

  “Now pick up the barrel and wipe the outside with a dry patch. Then put the wire brush on the cleaning rod and put it through the barrel ten times.”

  Corey was starting to wonder if he’d be able to remember all this the next time Gary asked him to do it. “Should I be taking notes?”

  “I expect you to memorize the steps, kid. Not today, this is the first time. But within a week, you should have the steps down blind. Now put the jag on the rod and push patches through until they come out clean. And make sure you wipe the breach.”

  Corey pointed to what he hoped was the breach, the back end of the barrel, and was relieved when Gary gave him a nod of approval. Then he taught Corey how and where to oil the gun, and to clean off the excess oil, then had him reassemble the weapon again. Corey was just about to sigh with relief when Gary said, “Right, now the rifle.”

  The thing that Corey took away from taking apart the rifle was to not try and remove the tiny screw that held the barrel to the gunstock. It only had to be loosened, and if you took it all the way off, you would ruin the gun. Also, Gary did not want the wood scarred by the crossbar safety, and he’d better remember to hold it in the middle as he was removing the barrel. Oh, and no gun oil was to come into contact with the stock wood. Ever.

  He assembled and disassembled the rifle several times, cleaned it with a bore snake instead of a rod, and put it back together. When Gary seemed satisfied, Corey waited to see what would be next. A machine gun? A bazooka? Corey wouldn’t put it past him. And he had glimpsed what looked like a gun that soldiers carried. Some kind of automatic machine gun.

  “Right,” Gary said. “It’s time to learn to use them. First, you learn to load them.”

  He made Corey load the magazines for both the pistol and the 10-22 rifle, and as usual, he had to do it three times before Gary was satisfied. Then, he gave Corey the magazines for the pistol to put into his pockets, and the gun itself to carry. Corey wasn’t sure how to hold the weapon. It was empty, Gary made him double-check it, even though Corey had just cleaned it and knew it didn’t have any bullets in it. He held it as if he was ready to shoot it
, but with his trigger finger alongside the barrel rather than on the trigger, and pointed down at the ground beside him—that’s how he’d seen it done in the movies. He glanced at Gary, but he didn’t seem bothered, so Corey assumed he must be doing the right thing. Gary picked up a sack from next to the door, and they strode outside.

  The firing range wasn’t far from the gun shed, a couple of hundred feet at most. There were hay bales stacked at the front of the firing range, and Gary set the 10-22 and magazines on the stack, so Corey did the same with the pistol. At the other end, there were rows of bales stacked three high in front of a row of targets mounted between fence poles.

  Gary taught Corey how to stand with his body facing the target, two hands on the gun and careful not to put his left-hand thumb around the back of the handgrip where it could get caught in the slide, but alongside his right thumb. It was uncomfortable, and he found his left thumb automatically wanting to slide around the handle.

  “If you leave that there,” Gary said in disgust, “you’re going to end up hurt. But I’m tired of telling you, so it’s on you now.”

  Corey moved his thumb back to where it belonged.

  “Okay, put the gun down for a moment,” Gary said. “We’re going to discover which is your dominant eye.”

  Corey set his gun down, the barrel pointing down range, hoping that was correct.

  “Turn around and look at the tree behind us,” Gary said. “Do you see that mark on the trunk?”

  Corey studied the trunk. “Yeah.”

  “Take both your hands and create a diamond by touching your thumbs and forefingers together.”

  Corey did as he was told.

  Gary glanced at him. “Yes, that’s right. Now, look through that hole at the mark on the tree with both eyes.”

  Corey squinted, peering through the diamond-shaped hole his thumbs and fingers made.

  “Now close your left eye. Can you still see the spot?” Gary asked.

  “No, it disappeared.”

  “Okay, that means you are left-eye dominant, and that’s the eye you need to use when you are sighting your target.” Gary turned back to the guns.

  “But I’m right-handed,” Corey said. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “They aren’t related. Just trust me on that. Now put on your ear protection.”

  Gary reached into the bag he’d brought from the shed and tossed a set of big orange ear protectors at him. They looked almost like headphones, but they didn’t have speakers, just layers of sound-blocking material.

  “Pick up the pistol, kid. It’s time you learned to shoot.”

  18

  Nick was worried about Corey. His son had not shown up to help with the fenceposts after lunch, and he wished he knew where he’d gone. Abram did not seem at all keen for Corey to hang out with Emma, so he hoped the boy wasn’t out in a barn with her somewhere. They’d all end up on the street if that happened.

  “Let him have a break,” Maggie said from where she was digging a fence post hole. “He dug with you all morning. He’s got to be exhausted.”

  “It’s not like him,” Nick said. “He usually would have at least checked in with me.”

  “It’s not like he’s going anywhere, and Emma is smart enough not to get caught alone with him. Abram’s just being a typical dad. Wait until Rae is old enough to date.”

  “I hope you’re right.” Nick dropped his post hole digger down into the hole he was working on. It was almost deep enough now. Just a couple of inches more.

  Gunfire sounded from the direction of the house, and they both froze. Pop, pop, pop, pop—the noise continued until seventeen rounds had been fired. Nick left his tools and ran for the house. He hadn’t gotten more than a few yards when the noise started up again. Pop, pop, pop. He counted another seventeen rounds as he ran, Maggie not far behind him.

  He nearly collapsed with relief when he came upon the firing range, until he realized that the man firing the gun was Corey, and then anger flared in him. Still, he waited until Maggie had come up beside him and the boy had finished shooting before he said anything. The last thing he wanted to do was startle Corey while he had a gun in his hand.

  When Corey ejected the magazine, Nick spoke up. “What’s going on here?”

  Gary regarded him. “I’m teaching your son to fire weapons.”

  Corey pulled off his ear protectors. “Look, Dad, I hit the target every time.”

  Nick eyed the target that was hanging a quarter of the way down the range. Clearly, Gary was starting with a doable distance. “Nice work, son, but I don’t remember giving Gary permission to teach you how to shoot a gun.”

  “One of us has to be able to protect Rae Ann, Dad. And Gary had time to train me. I even learned how to clean them.” Corey gestured to the handgun, and Nick took in the rifle that was also on the bale of hay.

  “It’s not your job to protect your sister, Corey. It’s mine.” Nick’s mouth thinned.

  “But you couldn’t protect her, could you?” Corey asked. “If you’d had a gun, that guy wouldn’t have been able to steal our car.”

  “Or possibly he and I would both be dead. Firearms are dangerous, Corey. You can’t just go shooting your way out of tough situations.”

  “You just say that because you don’t know how to fire a gun. You could have taken that guy out as soon as you saw his gun.”

  “There are more to guns than just pointing and shooting. And you can’t go around killing people because they are trying to steal your vehicle.” Nick knew as he said this that the conversation wasn’t going anywhere. It would just escalate until Corey stomped off, but he didn’t know how to stop it.

  “You’re weak,” Corey spat, “so I have to be strong.”

  “Hold on, now,” Gary said. “Don’t be so hard on your dad, kid. He heard unanticipated fire, and he was probably worried about what was going on. I’ll tell you what: your dad has to learn too, so why don’t we go back to the gun storage and you can teach him how to field-strip the weapons. In fact, why don’t you teach him everything you’ve learned today, and I’ll correct you if I need to.”

  “Yeah,” Corey said, turning his shining eyes on his dad. “That would be great. Will you, Dad?”

  Nick considered the fence that needed to be erected and wondered what Abram would have to say. Still, the hope in Corey’s eyes was impossible to ignore. He’d deal with Abram when the time came.

  Nick wore a warm smile. “Yes, Corey, I’d like you to teach me.”

  His son’s face shone with pleasure. He watched the boy eject the magazine from his pistol, and check to see that there weren’t any bullets in the chamber. Then he picked up the magazines and slid them into his pockets. “Can you bring the rifle?” he asked Gary.

  “Wait,” Maggie said, “can I learn, too? I’m going to have night watch soon, and I’d feel more comfortable if I knew what I was doing with a gun.”

  Corey glanced at Gary.

  “What about the fence?” Gary asked. “That needs to go up, and soon.”

  “We can work on it after,” Nick said. “All three of us.”

  “You might as well,” Gary said. “You all have to learn sooner or later, even that little Rae Ann.”

  “Rae Ann is too young to learn to use a handgun.”

  “Nick, she should at least learn to use the rifle. She can help keep varmints away, and shoot rabbits for food.”

  “I don’t think Rae would shoot a bunny,” Corey said. “Not until she’s a little older.”

  “We can start her on target practice so that she’ll already be a good shot when she’s old enough to understand,” Gary said. “No one gets off free here.”

  Nick was thinking there was no way in hell his six-year-old daughter was going to learn to shoot firearms, but he was smart enough not to say anything now. They’d cross that bridge later, and for now, she could be kept busy with the animals.

  He followed Corey and Gary back to the buildings that were grouped around the lower
barn and remembered about the kittens. He’d spotted a cat in the barn yesterday evening, but he thought he should take a moment to make sure it was the kittens’ mother.

  “I’ll be right back,” he said. “I just need to check on something in the barn.”

  “Dad,” Corey said, disappointment thick in his voice, “you promised.”

  “It’ll only take a minute, Corey, I promise. I’ll be back before you are ready to get started.” He jogged away, feeling Corey’s eyes on his back. Thankfully, the mother cat was in with the kittens. He took a moment to watch them sleeping contentedly and ran back to the others.

  “Did I miss anything?” he asked as he burst in through the door.

  “That was quick,” Gary said. “What did I tell you, kid? He probably just needed to take a piss after all that running.”

  Nick mentally rolled his eyes. Gary couldn’t get through fifteen minutes without saying something crude. Well, maybe Nick could tame him down some, given enough time.

  There were three pistols on the table, and Nick took up position next to the empty spot at the table. Corey began to talk them through breaking the gun down, and Nick was proud when Gary didn’t have to correct him. They were instructed to take apart and reassemble the guns three times before Corey taught them how to field-strip their weapons.

  “What does field-strip mean?” Maggie asked, to Nick’s relief.

  “It means to take apart a weapon so you can clean and oil it,” Corey said. “Get it ready to fire.”

  Once the pistols had been successfully cleaned and oiled to Corey’s exacting standard, they started on the rifles, which turned out to be strikingly similar, and before long they were carrying magazines in their pockets, a shotgun over the shoulder, and an empty pistol in their other hand. Nick was amazed at how competent Corey had become in one afternoon and hoped he would be able to match his son’s new-found ability.

  Abram was on a slow burn. He’d spent the afternoon attaching razor wire to the top of the fence, on his own. Where Gary was, he didn’t know for sure, but the sounds coming from the direction of the firing range gave him a good idea. Gary had blown him off for target practice, leaving him to work with the dangerous and challenging task of reinforcing the top of the fence on his own.