Chapter .15
Paxton led the way to a small storage closet. The day already turned into an interesting one for Kaspar. He had the fine pleasure of enjoying a plate full of bacon made from one hundred percent pork. Kilbourne put it best as Kaspar devoured the stuff, “Better than that tofu shit you’re used to.” That farmer, who lived twenty-five or so miles to the left, would sure be in for it once the government found out he slaughtered animals for human consumption.
The lights flickered on and finally there was something that resembled progress. Inside laid racks upon racks of guns bolted to the walls. Along the two walls were submachine guns and assault rifles. Kaspar listened as the old leader rattled off their names: MP5, MP10, MP7, LWRC PSD, M4 Carbine, and UMP9. Several shotguns at the end to the left: Remington, Sawed off, Lupara. It was all gibberish to Kaspar. By the time Paxton got around to how many shells a Remington could carry, his attention had wavered to the point of half listening. On the far back wall were the side arms: P99, Glock 17 and 19, Smith and Wesson 9MM.
“You ever hold a gun before?” Paxton asked. “I mean, before yesterday?”
“No.”
“We’ll have to get you used to it.”
Kaspar chuckled.
“What?” Paxton demanded.
“Nothing, it’s just that, I’d always heard stories about how Americans loved their violence and clung to their guns.”
“We used to have the right to carry weapons for self-defense. But, I guess the new USR laws served you a whole shit load of good, didn’t they?”
Kaspar nodded. The old man had a point.
Paxton reached for the rack of hand guns and held out a black and silver P99. Kaspar took hold of it, the barrel pointed straight at Paxton’s chest. The leader took hold of the barrel and moved it away before Kaspar knew what happened.
“Be careful. The safety’s on, but accidents do happen. Always practice safety when you handle one of these, you get me?”
Then don’t hand it over with the barrel pointed to you, Kaspar thought. He fastened the weapon into the thigh holster given to him after breakfast. Next came the MP7, which Kaspar slung over his shoulder with the black strap. He led the way out of the storage area, with Paxton taking the lead shortly after they walked out.
They were soon out in the back yard. The cool chill of the morning air caused goose bumps to form on Kaspar’s bare arms. He told himself it was the air, at least. There was something overwhelming that brewed inside that was most likely the root cause of the bumps. On his thigh and over his back was the power to swiftly take the life of another human being. The very thing that took Mother away he would have to wield in order to find inner peace.
The large, beautiful lawn housed several wooden shelters. The shelters were open in the front with paper targets nailed to the back. The loud crackle of gun fire filled his ear drums. The others got a head start on their weapons training for the day.
“Cease fire!” Paxton cried.
The crackling continued until Paxton raised his voice. He was heard this time and the rebels ceased fire. Kaspar was led to the shelter at the far end. The others stared him down until he reached it. He felt a certain level of discomfort with strangers, trained killers at that, staring him down with loaded guns in their hands.
In front of the last shelter stood a waist high wooden table with the words “DEATH TO THE USR” inscribed with a combat knife across. Paxton ordered the rookie to inspect his weapon and prepare to fire. Kaspar pulled the P99 out of the holster and looked down at it, dumbfounded. He looked wide eyed at Paxton and shrugged his shoulders.
“This is the safety,” Paxton said with a sigh. He walked over to Kaspar’s position and pointed it out. “Switch it off.”
With the safety off, Kaspar held the gun up and pointed it towards the paper target in front. He took in a few deep breaths and couldn’t shake the awkwardness of not knowing how to shoot a gun. Not only that, but he could feel the eyes of the others squarely on him. His right index finger on the trigger, he was ready to fire…
“Remember,” Krys said with a smile. “Don’t release the clip until it’s dry.”
Kaspar turned to the woman and scrunched his eyebrows together. He felt the urge to point the weapon at her. Not to kill her, of course, but to give her a little scare. The smart side of his brain told him not to do it. He wouldn’t last five milliseconds with all those others who actually knew how to handle their firearms. He put Krys’s comment on the back burner and refocused his attention on the target.
“Krys, shut up,” Kilbourne said.
“Yes, sir!” Krys replied, she gave Kilbourne a fake salute and her smile remained.
When Mother died, Kaspar tried to imagine what the killer must have looked like. He put together this image of a man with a skinny face and a long, narrow nose. The eyes were fire red and the killer’s smile revealed brown, rotten teeth. The black outline of the human head became replaced with this face. The killer stood tall and skinny in front of Kaspar. Kaspar pointed the handgun in his direction and aimed for the head. He pulled the trigger four times…
All four shots missed wide. The sound of Krys’s laughter could be heard over the ringing in his ears. In a fit of frustration, Kaspar slammed the gun down on the table and cursed aloud. He then spit out of his mouth and looked at the paper target. One three inches to the left of skull, the second shot missed the left shoulder by two inches, the third an inch above the head, the final shot three inches northwest.
“Goddamn it,” Kaspar cried. “Tell that woman to shut her mouth.”
“Krys, you are not helping.” Paxton said. He reached out and touched her shoulder.
“Sorry, boss, just having a bit of fun.” Krys replied.
“Let him get better. We don’t want him shooting us out there.”
“Yeah,” Kilbourne chimed in. “You won’t be laughing when he accidently blows your head off.”
Paxton walked over to Kaspar and looked him square in the eye. Kaspar moved his head to the left avoid the old veteran’s gaze. Undeterred, Paxton continued to move forward until he invaded the neophyte’s personal space. Kaspar could feel the old man’s hot breath and instinctively backed away.
“What was that?” Paxton demanded.
“Huh?” Kaspar replied.
“I said: what the fuck was that?”
“I missed.”
“You didn’t just miss. I’ve seen men stricken with palsy shoot straighter than that.” Paxton breathed in and looked towards the bullet hole. The sight caused him to shook his head once more. “Pathetic.”
“I’ll go again,” Kaspar said. He began to raise the gun at the target.
“No, you will not go again. You are wasting my ammunition and my time. You shoot too fast, like a high school boy on his first lay.”
“I should slow down, then?”
“No, you shouldn’t…”
In a blink Paxton’s gun was pointed in Kaspar’s face. Kaspar stared down the barrel of the gun then at its owner. The old veteran’s eyes told him that Paxton would fire the weapon without a second thought. He backed away out of instinct and held his hands in the air.
“You see,” Paxton said. He lowered the gun back at his thigh. “You’ve got to think quickly as well as act quickly.”
“Okay.”
Kaspar aimed the gun back at the paper target and breathed.
“What did I say? Holster that side arm, now!” Paxton shouted.
Was all this really worth it? Kaspar kept asking that question as he put the gun back in the holster. He could not shoot worth anything. If he went out on his mission of vengeance right now, he would get nothing but a quick death. Paxton ordered him to step aside and he did. He watched as Paxton aimed the gun at the target.
BANG BANG BANG!!!
A look of shock filled Kaspar’s face when he saw the target. Two shots center mass on the chest and one dead center on the head. The sho
ts were fired so fast that it didn’t even appear that there was any aim involved. It was like Paxton had been gifted super human abilities with a handgun. How in the hell did he do that?
“That’s how you shoot.” Paxton said.
“How’d you do that?” Kaspar asked, still in shock.
“I clung to my weapon and I aimed. Come over here.”
Kaspar walked over to Paxton who clicked the safety back on. Paxton held the gun straight at the target and pointed to a knob at the end of the barrel.
“This is your sight,” he said. “You get the top of that in line with the two pieces in back. That’s how you aim. You’ll also want to absorb the recoil when you fire. Use your right arm for that. You left hand and arm are used to support the weapon. Now, you may go again.”
Paxton stepped aside. Kaspar reached down and pulled the side arm out of the holster. He pointed the gun at the target. He breathed in deep. He straightened his right arm and used his left arm to hold the gun in place. He stared down the sight and aimed for the head. He took a breath and fired one shot.
It landed above the head again. Only this time it was missed by mere centimeters.
“Progress.” Paxton acknowledged. “Again.”