The image changed to a picture of Ash with Ellen, Josie and Brandon.
All Ash could do was stare at the screen. Any doubts he may have had about what Matt and the others had told him-gone. Completely.
“That’s enough,” he finally said, then stood up. “I want to get to work.”
“Sure,” Matt said. “But why don’t we get you some breakfast first?”
“I’m not hungry.”
“You’re going to need to eat something,” Billy said.
“I said I’m not hungry. So what’s next?”
Matt shared a look with Rachel, then glanced at Pax. “Weapons?”
“Sounds good to me,” Pax said. He rose to his feet and smiled at Ash. “How about a little target practice?”
“Lead the way.”
The door Pax stopped in front of not only had two deadbolts, but also a thumbprint-recognition screen that released steel rods holding the door in place from above and below. Inside was the armory. Weapons hung on all the walls, while more were stored on shelves.
“Most of these never get used,” Pax explained. “They’re here more for education, so we’re familiar with anything we might come up against.”
“Are you guys like some sort of militia? Is that what this is?”
Pax was silent for a moment. “That’s really a hard question to answer. I guess in some people’s minds we might be called that. But our purpose isn’t to create our own little country, or take on the government, per se. But you should really talk to Matt about that. He’s the explainer. Me, I’d just mess it up.” He flashed a quick smile. “When was the last time you fired a handgun?”
“I don’t know. Four or five months ago.”
“How good are you?”
“Good enough. Better with a rifle.”
“Probably gonna want to avoid rifles for a while,” Pax said. “If that butt’s in your shoulder and it kicks off and hits you in the face, you will not be happy. Of course, you could have the same problem with a pistol if you can’t control the recoil.” He smiled again. “Break your nose all over again. That’s not my idea of fun.”
“Don’t worry. I can control the recoil.”
“Thought you could.” Pax smiled. “How about a little pistol refresher? Sound good to you?”
“Sure.”
Hanging on one wall were at least a hundred different handguns.
“The Army issue you an M9?” Pax asked.
“Yeah.”
“I could pull down one of those, if you like, but I prefer one of these three here.” Pax removed three pistols from the wall.
“I’m not married to the M9, so if you’ve got something better, great.”
Near the door were two floor-to-ceiling cabinets.
“Here,” Pax said, handing the guns to Ash.
With his hands free, Pax pulled a couple boxes of ammunition out of one of the cabinets. He then motioned Ash back into the hallway, and led him to the door on the opposite wall.
“Right in here,” he said as he unlocked the door and pulled it open.
Ash could sense the depth of the room even before Pax flipped on the lights and revealed a space that moved out from the door for at least fifty yards. Not too far in was a row of narrow dividers, and tracks along the ceiling that ran the length of the room. A classic indoor firing range.
Pax set the boxes of bullets on the shelf of the middle divider, then took the guns back. “As you might have noticed, we’ve got three compacts here, all nine millimeter like your old M9.” He set two of the guns down, then held up the third. “This one’s a Smith amp; Wesson M amp;P Compact. Twelve rounds plus one in the chamber. Trigger pull at six and a half pounds.” He put it down, and picked up the next one. “Glock 19. Fifteen rounds standard. Five and a half pounds on the trigger pull.” He replaced it with the last. “And this one’s the SIG SAUER P229. It holds thirteen rounds. Single-action trigger pull at four-point-four pounds. So, which would you like to try first?”
Ash decided to take them in order, starting with the Smith amp; Wesson. Although he had no problem controlling the kick, he could feel the first few shots all the way up his arms and into his head. Once he got going, though, the pain became more background noise than anything else.
Next he went to the Glock, then the SIG. After he took the last shot, Pax said, “So?”
Ash looked at the gun in his hand. “I like the feel of this one.”
“Good choice. One of my favorites. Of course, I’m partial to all three of them, so you couldn’t go wrong whichever way you went. You want to shoot some more?”
“Yes.” Ash popped the mag out and handed it to Pax. “I’d like to tighten up my groupings.”
With Pax’s help, by the time Ash had polished off the last round in the second box of ammo, his groupings at fifty feet could be covered by a dollar bill.
“It’s a good start,” Pax said.
“Get another box.”
Pax looked at him, surprised. “Don’t want to take a break?”
Ash released the mag into his hand. “No.”
As he plowed through the third box of bullets, he pictured the face of Dr. Karp on the target.
This time, his groupings were much better.
24
The members of the media who’d been covering the roadblock at Sage Springs were flown to Fort Irwin Army base outside Barstow, California. Technically, they were still in the quarantine zone, but so far there had been no known cases in Barstow or on the base.
There, Tamara was able to learn that contingents of soldiers had been sent east on I-40 and northeast on I-15 to turn back motorists coming in from Arizona and Las Vegas. She’d also had an interesting, off-the-record conversation with one soldier who’d said the roadblocks had already dealt with several irate drivers insisting that they didn’t have time to drive all the way to the I-10 to get to L.A. so they should be let through. Many promised to “keep their windows rolled up” and “not make any stops,” while a couple of people had even gotten out of their cars and tried to physically intimidate the highway patrol officers who were handling most of the problems. Needless to say, those individuals had been arrested and taken east to a jail just on the other side of the Nevada border.
Even having learned all that, Tamara was frustrated. The Army was not allowing them to go anywhere. It was like the media were prisoners on the base, stuck with whatever news the Army decided to give them.
To add to her annoyance, her brother still hadn’t gotten back to her. He’d given her that great lead then
“Tammy, please tell me everything’s fine,” her mother said. The last time Tamara could call them had been the previous day right after the news broke. “We’ve been glued to the TV every second we’ve been awake. They keep showing that part where you and your friends are running to the helicopters. I wish they’d stop that. It nearly gives me a heart attack every time.”
“Mom, just turn it off when it comes on,” Tamara said. “Or just switch to another channel.”
“I couldn’t do that. Your ratings.”
Tamara’s mom had it in her mind that every single household was monitored and counted in a network’s ratings. Even if that were true, PCN’s ratings wouldn’t have suffered from the temporary loss of one viewer. Especially not now, when Tamara was sure that if a TV was on somewhere, it was tuned to one of the news
