K Stewart - A Shot in the Dark

I caught Cam-short-for-Cameron watching the silent exchange from the other side of the car. The rest of the way to Colorado, I felt him glance at me from time to time, trying to figure me out.

Good luck, buddy. Better people have tried and failed.

The last outpost of civilization before we headed up into the mountains was quite a ways west of Fort Collins, Colorado, and consisted of a small grocery store proudly named Ericson’s. Marty knew the owner, and that’s where we’d be parking the Suburban before heading out on foot.

As everyone ducked inside the store for last-minute supplies, I snuck around the corner to call home one last time before I lost my cell signal farther up the mountain.

Mira answered on the second ring. “Hello!” There was water running in the background. Doing dishes, maybe? Laundry? I couldn’t help but try to picture what she was wearing today, how she had her hair done. Okay, I’d been gone twelve hours, and I missed her already.

“Hey, baby.” I leaned against the side of the store, gazing at the state of Colorado spread out all hazy clear to the distant horizon. “We’re getting ready to head up the mountain, and I wanted to give you a call before I left my phone here.”

“Well, we’re fine. Esteban’s mowing the yard and Steph took the kids to the movies, so I’m getting some paperwork done for the shop.”

“Oh.” That made me sad, actually. For some reason, I’d really wanted to hear my daughter’s voice. “Well, tell Anna I love her, okay? When she gets back.”

“I’ll do that.” She paused a moment, and I could picture her chewing her bottom lip thoughtfully, her green eyes dark. “Jess, are you okay? You sound a bit off.”

“Yeah… same shit, different day.” She knew what I was talking about. Lately, we’d been having rather… energetic discussions about my life outlook. “I fell asleep in the truck on the way out, and the dreams came.”

I heard her wince on the other end of the line. “Screaming?”

“No, thankfully. But didn’t make for a happy road trip.” I rested my head against the side of the building for a moment. “I’m trying, baby. I really am.”

“I know. And it’s okay. You’ll have fun and maybe you’ll be feeling more like yourself at the end of the week.”

“I hope so.” At this point, I was starting to wonder about seeing a shrink, and for me, that’s saying something. “Listen, if you need anything, call Ivan. Or Avery. The numbers are in my notebook.”

Avery Vincent, the champion out of San Francisco, could be on a plane and in Kansas City before anyone could find me in the wilds of Colorado. At least, that’s what I told myself.

“I know, Jess. We went over this like fifty times. We’ll be fine. You guys just watch what you’re doing, and don’t fall off a cliff or anything, okay?”

There was a squawk of indignation around front, and I peered around the building in time to see Duke tangle his leash around Will’s legs and send him sprawling off the wooden porch. Once downed, the big dog proceeded to try to drown his victim in wet slobbery kisses, despite Will’s vain attempts to shove the mammoth mutt off. “Maybe you should do some of that voodoo you do so well? I think we’re gonna need it.”

She chuckled. “Will’s hurt already, isn’t he?”

“Not yet, but he’s working on it.”

“I’ll put some protection spells on you all. Except Cam. I haven’t had time to ask his permission.”

“Then we’ll be extra careful with him.” I had to wonder, if Cam already had his own protection spells in place, would he notice the addition of Mira’s? There are times when I kick myself for not studying up on this magic thing more.

It did make me feel better to know we’d have my wife’s protection spells laid over us. Like a security blanket. One of those big fluffy ones with the satin binding around the edge. What? I have a five-year-old daughter. Daddies know about these things.

I said my good-byes and I-love-yous and tried to sound upbeat and cheerful. Mira wasn’t fooled, but I was hoping she’d appreciate my efforts.

In the store, Cameron and an upright-again Will were poking through bags of dried fruit and trail mix, and I headed straight for the rather large selection of Ericson’s homemade jerky, shouldering Cole aside in an attempt at playfulness.

“You got room in your pack for this?” Cole tossed me a package of jalapeno buffalo jerky. “Mine’s stuffed full already.”

“Yeah, I can probably manage.” I grabbed a pack of teriyaki for myself.

We took very few edible supplies up the mountain with us. Paintball gear plus sufficient ammunition wasn’t light, and we’d be walking several miles up rough terrain. Marty’s uncle was always good enough to stock the place for our arrival every year, so we could get away without packing staples. However, we would always make room for Ericson’s jerky. It was practically a food group in and of itself.

Marty was trying to struggle into his backpack and hold on to Duke at the same time when Cole and I came back out. My brother grabbed the dog, and I helped out with the luggage. “The clerk says the Quinns were by yesterday real early. Bet you money Zane’s waiting to ambush us on the trail.”

The Quinns were old family friends of Marty’s, and they looked after the cabin in the off season. Every year, they joined us up there to roughhouse and play paintball. We’d watched the only child in the family grow up.

“That means you get to go first.” Will pointed at Marty.

“Wuss.”

The rest of us hauled our backpacks out of the truck, struggling into the heavy monstrosities while Duke did his best to knock us all on our backs. As Will had proven, if the dog ever got us down, we’d be just like turtles, stuck there for the duration of whatever mockery would be sure to follow.

Cole was pawing through his things, looking for a place to stuff the extra pack of jerky he just had to have, and I spotted his holstered gun in there. And I don’t mean his paintball marker, I mean his real I’m-a-cop-and-I’ll-shoot-your-ass gun. “Um… little brother? You really think you’re going to need that?”

He glanced up, first at me, then pointedly at the hilt of the katana sticking up over my shoulder. Yeah, okay. Pot, kettle, all that. “Mine’s for exercise.”

“So’s mine. I want to do some target shooting while we’re up there.”

I left it at that. It wasn’t worth arguing over, and honestly I don’t know what to say to Cole ninety percent of the time anymore. Another goal for the camping trip: figure out how to talk to my once demon-sworn little brother. I was coming too close to dying too often to let things go unsettled between us.

“Guys, check this out!” At first, I wasn’t sure what Marty had in his hand, but I was pretty sure you could buy it only at a shop where you had to be eighteen to even walk in the door. It had rubber hoses and metal brackets and a flat leather pocket all attached by metal grommets.

Marty strapped the doohickey to his forearm, and I finally recognized it as a slingshot. A very powerful, lethal-looking slingshot. To demonstrate, Marty drew back on the leather pocket (it had a finger loop, how convenient) and let it go with a snap that echoed. “They say you can hunt anything up to the size of a coyote with this. I wanna do some target practice with it too.”

These are my friends. Give us a weapon of individual destruction, and we’re like kids at Christmas.

“Aren’t those illegal?” Cole raised a brow at Marty, who just grinned. My brother groaned and turned away. “I can’t know this.”

I elbowed him a little when the rest of the idiots weren’t looking. “Hey, you’re not a cop just now. Relax, remember?” He just rolled his eyes at me.