Page 71 of At Midnight Comes the Cry
The captain winced. “They’ve been tasked with retrieving the brass and shell casings from our range.”
“After a snowstorm?”
The captain smiled thinly.
“Punishment detail, huh?”
“Let’s just say it’s not a dream assignment. If you want to help them, you can.”
Russ pretended to think about it for a moment. “Okay. It’s not the best thing for my back, but if you’ve got some ibuprofen, I’ll do it.”
“Oh, don’t worry. We’ve got a fully stocked medical kit. Can’t risk somebody’s splinter going septic.” The captain ducked back into the tent and said something. Another man emerged, pulling on his coat. “Get Chief Van Alstyne a couple Advils and take him out to the range. He’s going to assist collecting the spent bullets.” Russ’s escort nodded. “And Van Alstyne? Dillon and Austin may not be our brightest and best, but they can still shoot you down if you make a run for it.”
The first aid kit, which did, indeed, look large and well-stocked, was on a tray table in the kitchen, the standard spot for an encampment with no designated medical tent. The captain was definitely army, and definitely doing things by the book. The cook handed him the pills along with a bottle of water from a pallet-sized stack.
As he and his escort set off for their destination, Russ turned over transportation possibilities in his head. They had to use utility snowmobiles for hauling all this gear and supplies. Maybe a smaller, faster model for the communication runs. But unless they were older, he wasn’t going to be able to start one with the ignition wire trick. He’d have to find the keys, which, going by the book, were undoubtedly secured somewhere only the captain or his XO had access to. If he left on foot, his best chance would be in the middle of the night, with just a couple men on guard. Of course, that would mean bushwhacking his way through a snow-covered forest in the dark. Not his top choice. Maybe—
“Here it is.” His escort pointed. The range was well away from the camp, sited sensibly with the shooting line slightly downslope, and targets backed against a small hillock rising from the forest floor. The trees had thinned out here; the snow concealed whether it was natural or due to more illegal cutting. It added some challenge to the practice—Russ bet they’d be digging some bullets out of wood. As they approached, he could see Dillon and Austin clearing the ground near the shooting line with brooms.
“Hey, you two. Captain’s sent you some help. Van Alstyne’s on duty.”
They looked unenthusiastic. Dillon shifted and stretched. “What are we supposed to do with him? Teach him how to find brass?”
“He was a cop, you idiot. And did twenty in the army. He knows a lot more than you do about collecting shells.” The man nodded toward Russ, who tipped his head in acknowledgment. “Bring him back when you’re done.”
When he had headed back to the encampment, Dillon thrust his broom toward Russ. “Here, smart-ass. Let’s see if twenty in the army taught you to sweep snow.”
“Hey!” Austin glared at his partner. “How come you get to hand off sweeping?”
“Clearing the snow away and finding shells here is the easy part.” Russ gestured from one end of the firing line to the other. “All the ejectable materiel is going to be within a foot or so on either side of the firing line. The tough part is going to be determining what might have missed that berm you’ve got there and gone over the top or to one side or another.”
“Nobody shoots that wild. The casings are going to be here, and the bullets are in the berm. We do daily cleanups, and nobody’s ever searched anywhere else.” Dillon gave him another resentful look. “It’s your fault we’re doing this in the snow anyways. They woulda cleaned up after practice like usual if you hadn’t shown up and sent everybody out on patrol.”
Russ held up his hands. “Fine, buddy. Have it your way. Not a single shot has ever grazed a tree and gone off trajectory. Nobody was ever startled by a bird or a branch cracking and shot off-kilter. In the entire, what, four weeks you’ve been up here.”
Austin looked at Dillon. “He’s got a point.”
“What, you’re on his side, now?”
“No! I just mean… Captain wants us to get everything. What if therearebullets out there?”
“If we were supposed to check there, don’t you think Cap’n woulda said something?”
“He’s never been out here for cleanup. How’d he know?”
Dillon got a constipated look on his face. Russ assumed that meant he was thinking. “Okay,” he finally said. “You can check around the berm, but you gotta stay where we can see you. And you still gotta do the rest of the cleanup at that end. We’re not gonna help you out just ’cause you want to take extra time.”
Russ decided a little resistance might be useful. “Forget it, then. I was just pointing out what you all have been missing. There might not be anything there. I don’t know.”
“Oh, no way you’re getting out of it now, asshole. You’re going to do that searchandthe berm and Austin and I are going to drink coffee and keep an eye on you.”
Russ put on a resentful look and slouched away toward the end of the range. He passed the target butts and began climbing the steep hillock fingers-and-toes style to keep his balance.
“What the hell are you doing?” Dillon yelled.
“I need to figure out the sight lines!” Russ was descending into pure bullshit at this point. “Unless you two want to walk all the possible ricochet angles.”
He kept climbing while the pair argued. The only phrase he could make out was “WellIain’t never heard of it!” He paused at the top and made a show of catching his breath while slowly surveying the landscape around him. The hillock didn’t surmount the nearby trees, but in this bare-leaf season they didn’t obstruct his view. If he squinted, the far edge of the camp came in view; disappointingly, there was no sign of the snowmobile trail from here.
