The Survivors
Right On Target

Night Two

1

Neil and Marc’s team won the second match. As the dim sun started to sink below the grit, they left the third match, up by two points. Invitations to join their teammates for the meal were accepted.

As they walked toward the shooting area, Marc lifted a brow at Neil. “Did you plan all these encounters?” He paused to adjust his gun belts. “Or, did you get just lucky it turned out so well?”

Neil met the eye of a nearby guard for a check in and got a nod in return. Clear. “Both, I guess. I set up the hands. You played ’em perfectly.”

Marc grinned. “Thanks. I need all the help I can get.”

“That’s what Adrian said. Come on. Let’s see how you handle yourself under pressure.”

Marc fell in step, tired, sore, and not nearly as wound up as he had been. “Today wasn’t pressure?”

They laughed together, moving with the thickening crowd toward where he had taken his gun test. The sound of a large crowd floated on the cool breeze.

Marc dropped back into cool and ready when the mob came in sight, noting guns, hostile attitudes, and hard bodies wanting to back up the glares. On the outside, these people were nice and normal in their jeans, jackets, and pain-lined expressions, but underneath, they had a glint of madness that Adrian hadn’t been able to erase yet. The leader still had a lot of work to do.

Wishing there had been time for a shower, Marc was a bit self-conscious as they merged into the first constantly shifting group of about a hundred. Marc was careful not to bump anyone, but he didn’t shy from those who intentionally got in his way. He scanned. There were blondes, brunettes, balds, redheads, and older, slower blue hairs everywhere, but no Angie.

The second crowd of people relaxed in lawn chairs and on blankets around two sets of packed bleachers. In this group, Marc and Neil were stopped repeatedly for congratulations on the games or for introductions to those who had heard about it or about Doug. They were only a little friendlier though, and a lot nosier. Marc could hear them whispering about him and Angie, and about Kenn.

Neil gave him a sympathetic look. He gestured at home plate, where bales of hay were stacked two deep in a neat half circle. “We have to sign in.”

Marc felt an immediate change in the atmosphere as they went around the chain-link fence, especially from these front rows of camp members. These were the people who had been here for hours to get good seats–the real fans of Kenn and Adrian, and every other shooter except him. They let out a cheer as he and Neil got into line, eager to see him beaten.

Marc tried not to be upset that most of the people here would be happy if Kenn just shot him instead of the targets, eliminating the problem. As it was, Kenn was now talking angrily to Adrian while casting furious glowers at Neil.

Marc dug for his paper as Neil held out a hand for it.

Neil leered. “Wonder how red he’ll get this time?”

Marc chuckled. Kenn had definitely rubbed the trooper the wrong way.

Neil handed the green sheet to Adrian, locking glares with Kenn.

Marc was impressed by Neil’s sand. It made him try harder to conceal his own anxiety. Being alone hasn’t been healthy for me. I’ve become skittish around people…again.

“He’s good. Get signed up.” Adrian handed the paper back, waving off Kenn’s protests.

The furious Marine stomped to the far end of the line, face thunderous.

Marc put the paper in his pocket. “If he didn’t hate you before, he does now.”

Neil nodded, both of them turning toward the field as four spotlights came on. “He already did. Kenn thinks I’m after his place at Adrian’s side.”

Marc tested their new bond a bit. “Are you?”

Neil grinned across the line of shooters, silently taunting Kenn. “Negative, but since it bothers him to think it, why should I say different?”

Marc laughed. “I knew I liked you.”

The men signed up and got in line. While they waited, Marc noticed a lot of space between them and the other shooters. He was glad Neil stayed by him. There were several hard stares from the other end of the line, but especially from those surrounding Kenn. Zack’s glares were bordering on dangerous. I might have to watch out for that one.

Seth was a few spots down, talking with Doug, whose taped nose and discolored face was drawing a lot of attention from the camp people who hadn’t heard about it yet. Marc met Seth’s eye; he nodded to him.

Marc’s gut tightened when both Seth and the burly man next to him stepped out of line and strolled his way.

Marc’s hand tensed; he knew a little more of how Angie felt when he had to fight not to draw on the pair. He really had lost some of his edge.

The first few rows of people went still. Marc could feel them waiting to be avenged, as if he was a part of the old world that still needed to be punished.

Tension rolled over the crowd, drawing more of the rear groups forward. The practice fire from the contestants stopped as Doug locked glares with him. The big man’s eyes bored into his as he and Seth stopped a few feet away.

“This time, no flinching,” Marc warned. “I’ll finish it.”

Doug held out a hand. “Welcome to Safe Haven.”

Marc shook, just as surprised as the disappointed and muttering crowd.

“Good luck. You’ll need it.”

“Thanks. You, too.” It wasn’t much, not in the grand scheme of things, but it was significant to these people. Marc could tell by the fresh fury on Kenn’s face. He’d thought Doug was one of his too, especially after hearing Doug had tried to stand up for him.

Seth stayed by Marc and Neil as Doug went back to his place in line; all of them openly enjoyed Kenn’s anger.

Kenn spat toward the big man.

Doug flipped him off.

Everyone laughed.

It’s been an interesting day with Angie’s man out of the QZ. Neil gestured. “Doug’s never been knocked down with a single hit. Only two men have brought him down at all, and some think Kenn cheated with the kick to the balls.”

Marc was able to imagine Kenn doing it that way. He would have been declared the winner when Doug couldn’t get up, but Marc was almost sure Adrian hadn’t liked the way he’d accomplished it. Adrian also probably didn’t like how his men were now deserting Kenn, but Marc loved it. Let the Marine suffer a little of what he’d dealt out over the years. How many new recruits had Kenn sent packing with stupid jokes and extra labor? How many female Marines had he harassed until they’d transferred out? What does Adrian see in Kenn that outweighs all he’s done?

Marc couldn’t think of a single thing.

Kenn was having another difficult day. Though he’d managed to avoid putting his hands on anyone, he had a sinking feeling the teetering edge was about to fall. That feeling of doom had arrived when Marc stepped into the shooting line; he glared at his former team leader, bitter. I should have sniped them both through the window.

Marc didn’t see it. He had spotted Charlie threading his way through the crowd. He locked gazes with the boy who was clearly surprised to replace him in the contest. Charlie looked older than fourteen. His face carried the same lines of horror as the rest of these people. His jeans and black jacket couldn’t hide the pain he’d suffered while away from his mother…and father. How’s your mom?

Charlie stiffened, stopping well away from Marc.

Marc sighed. It was so unfair he’d never gotten the chance to be Charlie’s dad. It was years they would never get back. I’m sorry. You’re the only one I can ask. Marc could feel the battle raging inside the teenager. He let his pain bleed through their connection. I love her. I always have. Does he?

The other shooters were warming up now.

Marc lit a smoke, waiting, hoping…

She’s tired and lonely and in danger, and I hate it. Let her go so he’ll stop being mad! Charlie glared. He’ll hurt her. You have to leave!

Marc didn’t answer. When the MC asked Marc if he wanted a few warmup shots, eager to see what he could do, Marc refused. Knowing Angie was unhappy, in danger, had put him on edge again. Marc surveyed the set up activities, nerves gone. This was when he was at his best.

Adrian stood on the pitchers’ mound and faced his people. Slowly, everyone quieted to a low murmur backdropped by tents flapping in the cool breeze. He was calm, reassuring, happy with the way things were progressing. His pleasure was their light in the apocalyptic darkness; they always responded to it.

Adrian lifted the mike. “Who will your winner be?!”

The crowd roared in answer. Kenn’s name was the loudest.

“Well, let’s replace out. We’ll eliminate one person from each round until level five with a single shot each, then it’s two shooters gone each level until we have a winner or need a duel.” Adrian gestured at Kenn. “Our previous winner will go first. Kenn Harrison, best gun in camp!”

The crowd let out another loud cheer as Kenn strode out to home plate.

Marc could hear betting going on behind the fence now. “Can I use my own weapon?”

Neil swept the shadows at the edges of the tape. Crowds and noise often draw trouble–rookie lesson four. “Most of us do. Any piece is okay as long as it fires. Adrian keeps extras on the bales for those who don’t have their own.”

Kenn pulled the trigger once, arm barely moving.

“Bull’s-eye!”

Kenn flashed a peace sign.

The camp roared again in response.

The Eagles waited to see if Marc could match him; they wanted him to beat Kenn. The title didn’t matter.

The next man up was someone Marc hadn’t met yet–a sandy haired man with the feel of a worker.

He couldn’t match Kenn’s shot. Almost none of them did. When Doug took his place, only Seth, Neil, and Marc were left to shoot in round one and no one had matched Kenn yet.

Doug found Marc again and gave him a nod of recognition, doing it for the camp’s view. He’d been wrong. He wanted to show everyone that Marc had his support now.

Doug drew in a tight breath and fired. His shoulders slumped.

“Out of bounds! No hit!”

The crowd groaned and cheered as the big man came to stand with Neil and Marc.

Seth went to take his turn.

“Vision’s a little blurred.” Doug was amazed someone smaller than Kenn had brought him down with one hit. He had considered Kenn to be his only real match here. He had too much respect for Adrian to even compare. The leader would always come out on top.

Neil scanned the bleachers of happy people. “What did John say?”

Doug frowned, then grimaced in pain. “He said next time I think about talking to Marc, I should just shut up.”

Neil laughed.

Marc silently agreed, watched Seth pull the trigger.

“Bull’s-eye!”

The crowd voiced their approval as Neil took his place. He smirked at Kenn’s open glare.

Neil counted to three, blowing out a calming breath. He wanted to still be in it when Marc and Kenn went head-to-head.

Neil pulled the trigger.

Marc knew it was good.

“Bull’s-eye!”

The noise was deafening. The crowd was louder for Neil than anyone else, even Kenn.

Neil blew on the barrel of his gun for their amusement.

Marc realized Neil was more a favorite than Kenn. Neil was high up here. Fourth or better, because Doug was fifth, and Marc had already met both first and second. Who else here is in Adrian’s service?

“Is there another shooter?”

Doug gave him a firm nudge.

Marc stepped toward Adrian. As he handed his weapon to the boss for inspection, he was aware of how many men tensed at his action, seeing it as a threat.

Adrian checked the Colt, then held it out to Kenn, who did the same, but much slower.

Kenn gave it back, barrel first, to its owner.

The crowd quieted, leaning forward.

Marc took it without hesitation, not responding to the silent threat.

Adrian waved them on.

Marc rechecked his weapon as he approached home plate, unwilling to pretend he trusted Kenn.

His actions drew frowns from those who understood what was going on, but it also said he was used to keeping himself alive. He was a survivor, like them, whether they wanted him to be or not.

Stewing about Charlie’s words, Marc saw the bullet slam into the center of the target. He drew and fired in a fast, smooth motion.

“Bull’s-eye!”

The response of the crowd wasn’t a cheer, but a mix of surprise and disapproval. The men in front, Kenn’s men, exchanged uneasy glances. So far, the new guy was a match for him in every way.

The Eagles exchanged the same uneasy looks, but they all hoped it wasn’t a fluke.

Marc smirked at Kenn’s unhappy glare the same way Neil had, then he joined the chuckling trooper.

Adrian held up a hand for quiet. “Doug is eliminated. Move the targets.”

Marc listened to the people betting chores, shifts, guns, and luxuries. He didn’t hear his name yet, at least not with any support, but he didn’t let it bother him. There was plenty of time to become popular. First, he had to show them that he could hold his own if he chose to stay.

“What’s the duel?” Marc followed Neil as they all lined up again.

The crowd continued to mutter and murmur.

“Just that. Adrian picks the target, but the shooters can challenge each other to something more specific, like plates or cans. They go until someone misses.” Neil reloaded, smirking. “I have a feeling we could see one tonight.”

At the start of round two, Kenn got another bull’s-eye.

Marc didn’t care. He forced himself not to scan the crowd. He wasn’t sure whether Angie was out there, but he knew any contact between them was forbidden. He could feel their son’s attention, but he wasn’t sure if Charlie might be rooting for Kenn too. It made Marc more determined to drive in the point he’d been making all day. If he decided to stay, he would not live in Kenn’s shadow.

The rounds went quickly. By the fifth turn, it was clear that Kenn, Seth, Neil, Marc, and Kyle were the best. All but the trooper had scored perfect on every shot.

The watching camp was stunned. The Eagles were thrilled.

“We’ll eliminate two each round now, and every bullet in the magazine counts. First shooter will go last, last shooter goes first.”

Marc blinked at Adrian’s words, caught off guard. As he moved to the plate, he was aware of Kenn’s gloating glare. Shouldn’t he be mad to go last?

He doesn’t care so long as it rattles you enough to miss.

Charlie’s message was thrown in a hesitant blur of hope and confusion. Marc also picked up the unsent plea. Be good. Be what we need.

Marc got set. I am both of those, son. He drew in the same easy blur.

Adrian and every member of his command knew it was good before the call came.

“Eight bull’s-eyes!”

A small cheer came from parts of the crowd this time.

Marc didn’t look at Kenn as he switched places with Neil. The Marine was ready to pick a fight, and do it openly.

Adrian also felt it. He glared at Kenn.

Kenn glanced away, ashamed. Good sportsmanship was high on Adrian’s list.

“Eight bull’s-eyes!”

The crowd let out a roar of approval as Neil and Seth traded places.

Marc ignored it all and wished he was alone with Angie and Charlie.

2

As the tenth round came, it was down to the five of them; Kenn, Kyle, Neil, Seth, and Marc.

Adrian was pleased when all five men again scored perfect. They were good. What a force we’ll make against the slavers! “We’re having a duel!”

The crowd cheered.

Marc listened as Adrian explained.

“We’ll do saucers first, five in ten seconds, then five in five if needed.”

Seth stepped forward to begin the round, guns crashing. Marc watched him struggle to hit the small white plates as Adrian tossed them up.

“Three hits.” Adrian noticed his bodyguard rejoined Neil and Marc. “Who’s our next shooter?”

Realizing they could go in any order, Marc stepped forward.

Everyone fell silent. Not as many hostile gazes were on him now. He motioned to Adrian that he was ready.

Marc shot the plates out of the dark sky. He didn’t struggle, didn’t miss. His Colt cracked rhythmically as he aimed and fired, fired, fired. He pulled the trigger twice more; china exploded.

Marc gave his gun a twirl before holstering. He was pleased with the small cheer he got in response. Now he heard his name being bet on.

Marc rejoined Neil and Seth. This part of Safe Haven he could come to need.

“Five hits. Next shooter?” There was deep pleasure in Adrian’s voice, the kind each of them longed to be the cause of.

Neil stepped forward. He wouldn’t be able to match that kind of shooting. He hoped Kenn couldn’t either. Marc was better than good.

Neil was ready for the first two plates, but the third fell too fast. He missed it, along with the fourth. He got the last one before it hit the ground. Ceramic dug into the dirt as it shattered.

When Kyle came up, Marc narrowed in on him. The stocky guard had been quiet all during the contest, not hanging out with Kenn’s or any other group, but mingling among all of them. As Marc watched, the mobster picked off four of five plates. Marc placed it. That’s Adrian’s other officer. Kyle was the missing link in the chain of command.

Everyone fell silent as Kenn prepared to shoot. The contest was Marc’s if the Marine missed even one.

He didn’t.

“Five hits!”

The crowd pushed against the gate and each other, screaming, red-faced.

Marc wondered how Adrian would calm them down.

The spotlights went off, throwing them all into darkness.

Marc dropped low as panic swept through the crowd.

The lights flashed on, showing Adrian in the center of the field, cords in his hands. He unplugged them once more to make sure he had gotten his point across, then lit them back up. His demeanor said to settle down.

They all read it, moving back, helping those who had been knocked down.

Adrian jerked a hand toward Kenn and Marc. Both men were in the same crouched, ready position–as were most of the other shooters, none of whom had left yet despite being eliminated. “We’ll do five in five now.” The leader took a half dollar from his pocket. “Reigning champ picks. Call it in the air.” Adrian flipped the coin up.

“Heads.” Adrian picked it up. “Heads, it is!”

Kenn took his place as Marc watched from his small group of allies. Instead of pushing the jealousy from his mind, Kenn stared at the four of them, recognizing the friendships he’d been fighting for but hadn’t earned. He had thought differently with Seth and Doug.

When Kenn turned to Adrian, his hands weren’t steady enough for this task and he knew it. Kenn was unable to think of a delay; the plates began to fly.

The throwing was smooth, one each second.

Kenn nailed the first three. The fourth shattered when it hit the ground.

He picked off the fifth with slumped shoulders. Marc’s better than that after half a bottle of Jack. Damn it!

“Four hits.”

The crowd’s cheer wasn’t subdued.

Marc knew he should let Kenn win, but the thought of all the taunts he would have to endure, and the renewed respect everyone would have for Kenn, wrapped a cold band of determination around his choice. If he wanted to make a life here, one he could tolerate, he would have to show them he wasn’t second to Kenn. He needed to win.

Marc motioned as he came forward. He let his hands take control. When the plates went up, he blew them out of the air almost as soon as Adrian tossed them. He spun, fired, fired, fired. The last slug took out the final plate as Adrian let go, making the leader retreat to avoid the shrapnel.

“Five hits! New Champion! Marc Brady!”

The crowd exploded again.

Kenn advanced with his hand out and his rage held in. They shook quickly.

Kenn and Zack pushed their way through the mob of people who had rushed the field.

They congratulated Marc, yelling and patting. The three elated Eagles with him protected Marc from all the hands.

Adrian finally relaxed about Marc. One day out of the QZ and he had already made a name for himself. Things would start happening now. Those moments would be hard and dangerous, but worth every risk. Adrian wondered how high Marc would climb. Based on what he’d observed today, that was unknown. Settling in and expanding his goals from Angela to this camp would be the turning point. When that happened, Marc might go higher than anyone expected.

Until then, he would be worked into the ground.