We could all feel it. It was palpable, like a putrid scent in the air or a low-hanging mist would be impossible to ignore. The solemnity of the task that lay ahead had us all on the edge of tears.
Even Hemp couldn’t be consoled. He’d treated Jamie with a respect that none of us would have afforded to any of the other infecteds. He considered pain a factor when he poked, prodded, or attached things to her skin, or when he removed them.
He treated this thing like she was a member of the family, because she was.
I knew this. I’d seen it. And I appreciated it.
But how to do it; how to take her life, for as much of a life as it was. How to make sure it was clean and effective. Hemp had some ideas, but I needed to make sure it would be fast.
Our guns lying in the grass beside us beneath a 12’ x 12’ canopy set up with aluminum poles and thin guy wires, Hemp and I reclined in the grass watching the girls – and I mean all of them – working some target practice.
As they watched, Charlie walked to the target with a hammer and three nails. She hammered in a nail at the top of the plywood backboard, and two at the bottom left and right. Then she pulled a ½” diameter rope from around her waist and tied it around all three of them, essentially drawing an isosceles triangle.
She walked back and pulled an arrow from the quiver on her back.
“Ready?” she asked Trina.
Trina nodded.
“Don’t blink.”
“I won’t,” said Trina. Gem stood beside them and smiled.
Flex watched with intensity.
And Charlie counted quickly to three. One arrow flew, then another, and another. That fast.
And in each section of the triangle, the arrows pierced the center of the rope.
“Holy shit!” said Hemp.
“Took the words right out of my mouth,” I said.
“Nice,” said Gem. “I gotta learn that shit.”
And so the girls continued practice.
Yes, even Trina. She had become excellent at holding the Taurus .22 steady, and her trigger pulls were almost tender for a child of her years. What none of us knew was if she would be prepared for the kick and the bang of a live round.
“I’d like to put a round in there for her,” Gem called to me.
I nodded and held a thumbs up, then said, “Trini, this is a big deal, now you listen to Auntie Gem very carefully, okay?”
Trina had been listening to the heftier booms that the other guns made, though she was wearing ear protection as well as eye protection. She whipped off the earphones and said, “I get to shoot it? Really shoot it?”
“If you listen to Gemmy you can do it more than once,” I said.
She leapt in the air again and again, and I did notice that as she held the gun, it remained pointed away from everyone. If she could do it at this excitement level, I think she was about trained.
Gem knelt down and slid a bullet into the cartridge. Then, looking quickly at me, she slid another in and snapped it closed again, spinning the cylinder around to take advantage of the loads. She then handed the gun back to Trina and turned her gently by the shoulders toward the nearest target.
“Now you NEVER shoot while someone is down range. If you see anyone who is not a bad person in the direction of your gun, keep the barrel down, away from them, and never shoot it. Now. Think you’re ready to put a hole in that target?”
“Ready!” she shouted.
I could not wipe the smile from my face. This is exactly what I needed. Hemp was in a similar state. I slapped him on the arm, and we both smiled bigger.
Trina raised the gun with both little hands. She pulled back the hammer with both thumbs working together.
Her arms straight out, she held the gun steady.
“Trini, I want you to aim for the center dot. It’s red. Just do the best you can, and remember how I told you to use the sights, okay?”
One eye was squeezed shut. “I got it in there now,” she said. “The stick thing is balanced in the V thing. Can I shoot?”
“Remember the kick, baby,” I said.
“Okay. Shoot,” Gem said.
She fired the gun. A hole appeared two inches from the center of the target, and Trina staggered back one step, like an Olympic gymnast who’d just missed her landing with a slight over rotation.
“Did I hit it?” she asked?
Gem applauded, and Charlie laid down her weapon and did the same. Hemp and I stood and gave her the ovation she deserved.
“Yes! You nearly hit the bull’s-eye!”
Trina knelt down, put the gun on the ground, then stood up, raised both hands in the air and jumped up, screaming, “Fuck yes, I did! Yay!”
And we all looked at each other and laughed our asses off.
After a few more shots and more respectful handling of the .22, we felt comfortable that Trina was getting the hang of it. Turns out she wasn’t as good as her first shot, but her little arms were getting tired. She’d been playing with the empty gun long before she’d been allowed to load it, so we gave her some slack.
Gem, Charlie and Trina packed up their weapons and started talking about dinner and picking up some more fuel the next day. Waving at us, they headed for the house.
We waved back, but as Hemp started to get up, I took him by the arm, holding him there. The evening was fading to dusk, and Jamie wouldn’t leave my mind.
“I think I’d like to do it, Hemp. No fanfare. A bullet to the brain. We know it works, we know it’s quick. I don’t want to try anything cute that makes her suffer in any way.”
“Understood,” he said. “Maybe let Gem say a goodbye, first?”
“I’m sure she’ll come in with me. You don’t have to. I think I’d actually prefer it be just me and Gem with her.”
“I don’t have any opposition to that, Flex. You both loved her. Makes sense. Charlie and I will stay with Trina, and you can have your talk with her after.”
“I understand Beaker died about an hour ago,” I said.
Hemp nodded. “Yeah. We didn’t tell her yet. Thought we’d just remove the pup and tell her when she noticed. She knew he wasn’t doing well, so we tried to prepare her by explaining that especially in dogs, with such large litters, it’s quite common for some not to survive.”
“And did she grasp that?”
“She got into the whole heaven thing, and of course we explained that all good people and animals go there when they die. Seemed like a good lead-in.”
“Right. You’re right. It was.”
I looked at my watch. “I don’t think I want to eat before I do this,” I said. “I’m hungry, but so is she. The difference is, I’ll get to eat eventually – if I can. She’ll never get what she wants.”
“I get it, Flex. Want me to send Gem out?”
I nodded. “Yeah. Please. Make sure Trina doesn’t leave the house, and ask Gem to bring the .44 Magnum with her, if you would.”
He nodded and stood, patted me on the shoulder, gave it a squeeze, then began walking toward the house.
I had my K7 with me, but whatever gun I used would be of no use to me anymore. And I loved the Daewoo, so I couldn’t render it useless. All I needed was one good, well-placed round. The .44 would do the trick.
Hemp disappeared inside the house and I waited a moment in the fading daylight before mounting the steps to the lab.
Dead Hunger: The Flex Sheridan Chronicle Page 52