Page 7 of Night Blind

Chapter 3 - Instruct

Nude. Helen McDaniel stood in front of the mirror noticing the changes to her body. The bare breasts she had once taken pride in, were now scarred by deep cuts from a straight razor, healed, but with raised keloids as a harsh reminder of what The Collector did to her body. A damp hand ran across the abdomen, also scarred, from another moment in her life where a different man had harmed her body to a level where it is incapable of producing a life, leaving her to travel the road into old age alone, caring for another’s child or children, since she’d never had any of her own.

“The bottle is broken, Helen, and the milk is saturated with glass shards; don’t cry about it, just go and buy more, but this time, in a plastic container,” she said softly.

Years of pep talks kept her sane. She wasn’t one to argue or complain. It wasn’t her way. She was the person who got things done, silently, without causing a ripple. There were times when she sincerely wondered if her quiet demeanor and unassuming manner became the reason men made her the choice for their dark obsessions. At times, she felt like there was a target on her back that yelledpick me to abusewhen she made a concerted effort to not be noticed. Maybe, she scoffed, as she wrapped the towel around her waist, wanting to be unnoticed is what made men take notice.

The clock chimed ten after seven as she dressed in jeans, a warm jacket with a hat, and a scarf around her neck. Recently, her cousin had given her a pair of soft leather gloves which she added to her hands, and then she stopped. Turning back, she added a bit of almond-scented lotion to her hands and put on the gloves before going to meet Slow in the yard. Today she was starting her training.

He waited, staring at her mutherfuckingly as she approached. In his right hand, he held a mug of steamy yumminess which she could smell. He scowled at her, growling almost when he said, “Jergens.”

“Excuse me?”

“You put on Jergens lotion, almond scented. Also, you’re wearing,” he paused, raising his head as if to give his nostrils ample access to her scent, “off-brand deodorant, and you bathed in Dove soap.”

“Wonderful, are you also going to sniff out what tissue I wiped my butt with as well?”

“No, as a Technician, your body is your weapon,” he told her. “First, your mind, then your body, and at the end of your hand the delivery system. It is important to not have a scent when you are hunting. If the animals can smell you, they will run and avoid you. The key is to blend in, leave no traces.”

“Noted,” she said, looking about. “Are we hunting today?”

“You’re not physically ready,” he said. “You need to build your core, shift your center of gravity, and add ten pounds of muscle.”

“How do you know anything about my center of gravity, and what makes you think I need to put on ten pounds? I’m stronger than you think,” she said, raising her chin in defiance.

Slow extended his arm, flexing his hand at the wrist. His fingers splayed wide, and he took one step forward, pressing his hand to her chest. The impact lifted Helen from the ground, her legs in the air as she went flying, landing on her bottom in a pile of leaves. She looked at him from the ground, noticing he hadn’t even spilled the contents of his cup.

“Ouch,” she said, scrambling to her feet.

“This week, we build muscle,” he said, pointing to a pile of wood.

“And what am I supposed to do with that?”

“Chop it,” he said, turning to pick up a red-handled axe. “Chop it to match what you see in that pile. Add what you cut this week and add to the pile, make sure you cover the stash to avoid the dampness. By the end of the week, the wood on the ground should be split and stacked.”

Helen looked at the low stores of wood in the hopper. It was a lot of wood to cut. She didn’t know how to chop wood and didn’t want to do it either.

“Can’t I go to the gym instead?”

“Muscles made in the gym don’t have the same impact as muscles built from doing physical labor,” he told her. “At the end of the week, you’re going to be sore. Your hands will have blisters, and your back is going to ache like you’ve never felt.”

“Is that supposed to motivate me?”

“No, those blocks of wood should represent every single disappointment in your life. Failures, letdowns, injustices, and any other issues which piss you the hell off are represented in that wood,” he told her. “This week, take your anger out on the pile.”

“Yes, oh great Sensei,” she added, almost in a mocking tone.

“Funny; next week, we begin hunting for rabbits, deer, and wild hog,” he said. “We will need meat for the winter. Can you shoot?”

“Cherry taught me to fire rifles, small arms, grenade launchers,” she said, looking at the wood pile.

“Good to know; pace yourself,” he said.

“That’s it?”

“For now,” he said, stopping and lifting the axe in his left hand. “There are two ways to do this, one is like this.”

Slow raised his arm to bring the axe down hard into the wood. He lifted his arm, bringing the axe and wood into the air, then came down hard on the wooden stump, causing the wood wedged by the axe to splinter in two. He picked up another pieceof wood, seating it squarely on the wooden stump, this time raising the axe, bringing it down hard onto the wood, splintering the chunk.

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