Page 32 of Rising

“Well, the range is just around the corner there,” I said, gesturing towards the other side of the room. “Metal combat can be done in our indoor combat room, which is in the room next to us, so …”

He dropped the knife he was holding and moved towards the guns. I watched him closely, trying to gauge his thought process as I said nothing, allowing him to select weapons of his own. This was part of the assessment I never voiced to prospective citizens.

I wanted to know what they felt drawn to, what they felt comfortable with. One’s choice of weapon says a lot about them. It gave you an idea of their level of confidence, and where their head is at. Observation reveals a hell of a lot, especially when people are distracted and don’t think you’re watching.

His hands stopped over the KAC SR15, and he grinned, pulling it down, moving on to select a pistol. “Helluva lotta options,” he mumbled, curiosity lacing his voice.

“Trade networks help, but you’d be surprised how gun crazy even the most liberal of states can be. Rich assholes that wanna play tough guys were all over the nearby neighborhoods. An empty house makes the belongings fair game.” I shrugged.

This time he inspected a KelTec CP33, and my blood froze as I took in his final selections. Once again, taking note of the level of skill each took to operate sufficiently and my suspicions heightened. He turned to me, awaiting my next steps, moving side to side like a kid waiting to open gifts on Christmas morning.

“Interesting choices,” I offered.

“Yeah, well, I’m used to an optic on a KelTec, but the range and accuracy are pretty damn reliable. Have some extra mags and a suppressor, and it’s damn near the perfect weapon. Not the best baby in the world when you’re on the run, but that’s what this guy’s for,” he said, lifting the SR15 towards the ceiling, hand away from the trigger. “And this, this beauty, well they don’t call ‘em America’s Rifle for nothing.”

My jaw dropped slightly, off guard by his analysis. “What city did you say you came from again?” I was testing him. He hadn’t specified the day before, and I’d been too irritated to keep pushing.

“I didn’t.” He stiffened up, ready to protest at my clear intrusion but decided otherwise. “Right outside of Minneapolis.”

I titled my head to the side, “And your position?” I pressed, hoping he was in the mood to be a bit more forthcoming with information today.

“A little bit of everything, worked with the troops at times, community relations at others. Pretty hands on for the most part. Jack-of-all-trades, if you will,” he replied vaguely before adding some reassurance, “honest.”

I chuckled, as if his swearing meant a damn thing but taking what I could get. “Won’t,” I replied as I started walking again, turning the corner and grabbing the ear protection on the wall before opening the final glass door.

It was his turn to go jaw slack. “You bunch don’t do anything simple, do you?” he asked. My eyes narrowed. It wasn’t the first time I’d noticed it, the slight bit of an accent. Regional, and hard to place, but there.

Guiding him to one of the empty rows, I pulled the string that returned the target and gave the dense object a hard shove. The momentum and track attachments made it go two hundred yards out.

“If you can hit two hundred yards, you can be trained for anything that goes out further,” I said, completing the ammo set up and backing away for him to take position. “A hundred fifty yards out, you and anyone that ignorantly puts their faith in you make it out alive. A hundred yards out and your chances are already fifty-fifty. If you can’t hit a damn thing past fifty yards, then, well, we have more … domestic positions available. Because at that point you’re considered a safety hazard and liability more than anything else.”

Grinning, I motioned for him to begin and his nose crinkled in disdain before picking up the KelTec, and showing me everything he had.

He hit the mark each time. No matter the distance, as I had a soldier with air magic, move it back and forth, simulating a moving target. His face was hard and unyielding with each pull of the trigger. He placed it down range and turned to me at the last bullet.

“Next,” he said, glaring into my soul.

“Lights out,” I yelled as one of the air elementals in the room suffocated them from the room at my command.

I sent my fire magic out to the firewall set up in the back of the room, making the targets nothing more than a silhouette in the distance. The soldiers around me continued as shots rang out, circling the room.

Picking up the SR15 he placed it upon his shoulder keeping eye contact as he reloaded five bullets. Placing his support hand near the barrel of the gun, he turned back towards the target, firing off a few shots before relying solely on his strong hand to fire, cheek weld off and using pure muscle memory to land each shot.

I swept my eyes up and down his body, noting every detail, taking in the way he fashioned the training clothing I provided. The black cargo pants tucked into his combat boots; he’d used the black belt he sported from his clothing yesterday to keep the size too big pants at his waist. The black shirt was tucked into his waistband and the sleeves were rolled once, showcasing the dark-haired woman integrated within the intricate design on his left arm.

I hadn’t noticed he’d kept his rings on during our little spar earlier and it wasn’t lost on me. He had no care if they would cause extra damage if they connected with my flesh or not. A silver necklace shimmered against the floral tattoo design on his neck.

The touch of personalization or choice in accessories wasn’t what intrigued me. No. But thewayhe put his clothes on would indicate someone who had once been in a position that required a uniform or to present a certain kind of appearance. There was also something familiar about him. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d seen him before, though I couldn’t place it.

Shrugging off the thought, I waited for him to finish showing off before offering words of approval. “Can’t say I’m not impressed, for someone that does a ‘little bit of everything,’” I mimicked.

“Consider me honored,” he fired back, “coming from anUmbra Mortisand all.”

I could tell he was mocking me, but I didn’t have the energy to care. I didn’t know how long we’d been down here and the rest of the day loomed over me, stomach tight at the thought of everything that lay ahead.

“Let’s go. We need to wrap this up. Get your shit,” I said, tossing some magic towards the walls to illuminate the room for the soldiers that remained once more.

There were a few that now lingered in front of the weapon racks, getting ready to start morning training in their respective areas. They bellowed their good mornings as we passed through, placing our ear protection in the bin for whoever had that side duty for the day to clean for the next group. We moved to the table against the wall to disarm his weapons and place the pieces in their bins to await cleaning as well. I waited as he grabbed the EK 44 with a grin and we headed out the door.

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