D. MacHale - Storm

“Do you want to go to USM?” I asked.

“No,” was her curt reply.

I didn’t press.

I gave Tori a bag, and she filled it with her extra clothes, along with various girl-specific items that I didn’t examine too closely. She also had some extra gauze pads, cotton, adhesive tape, and alcohol. It was a grim reminder that she wasn’t yet whole. Her one unique item was a ten-foot length of flexible rubber hose. “What’s that for?” Kent asked.

“Gas,” she replied. “We can use this to syphon it from other cars.”

It was probably the most practical thing that any of us had gotten.

Olivia arrived wearing short-shorts, a tank top, and flip-flops. That was the good news. She was also wheeling a shopping cart overflowing with clothes.

“I’m surprised,” she said happily. “I had no idea that Target carried such a variety of really nice things!”

The four of us stood there, staring at her blankly.

“What?” she asked, genuinely confused.

I held up the final duffel bag.

“Whatever fits in here comes with us,” I said. “Whatever doesn’t, stays.”

Olivia glared at the bag as if she were a vampire and I was holding a crucifix.

“That does not work for me,” she said, shaking her head petulantly.

“Doesn’t matter,” Jon said with a superior tone. “There’s only so much room in the car.”

“Then… then… we’ll strap a bag on top!” she declared.

I was going to argue with her but decided it wasn’t worth it.

“She’s right,” I said. “Get a big bag, Olivia. We’ll strap it to the roof rack.”

“Seriously?” Tori said, peeved.

“Why not?” I said. “You can do the same thing if you want.”

“What I want is to get going,” she snapped at me. “I’ll get some straps for her.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“Yeah, thanks, Tori!” Olivia said.

Tori ignored her.

Ten minutes later we had Olivia’s oversized duffel strapped securely to the roof and four smaller bags stowed in back. It was a strange feeling to have walked out of the store without paying. I felt as though we were doing something wrong, but it wasn’t like anybody cared.

“Can we get on the road now?” Kent said while locking down the last strap.

“We have to make one more stop,” Tori announced.

“Where?” Kent asked, peeved.

“We need guns,” was her simple answer.

There was a moment of stunned silence.

“We do?” Olivia finally said in a very small voice.

“We have to defend ourselves,” Tori responded quickly.

“You don’t really think a gun could shoot down one of those planes,” I said, incredulous.

“It’s not about the planes,” Tori answered without looking at me. “I’m worried about who we’ll run into along the way.”

“She’s right,” Kent said. “That dude from the Old Port was ready to blow our heads off.”

“But… guns?” Olivia said, sounding squeamish. “I’ve never even picked up a gun.”

“I have,” was Tori’s matter-of-fact answer.

I remembered how she had held Quinn and me back with a shotgun while protecting her house, right after her father had been arrested by SYLO. Between that and the way she took a SYLO soldier out with a Taser, I was confident that Tori knew how to handle a gun.

“I hate to admit it, but I agree with Tori,” I said.

“Why?” Tori snapped at me defensively. “Is it so hard to believe that I could be right about something?”

She was still pissed at me.

“No,” I said calmly. “Because you may know about guns, but the rest of us don’t. I don’t want innocent people getting shot… like me.”

“I’m with her,” Kent said. “I’d feel better if I had a weapon.”

“You sound a little too enthusiastic,” I said to him. “We aren’t playing here. Guns kill people.”

“Guns don’t kill people,” Tori said. “People kill people.”

“People with guns kill people,” I said. “But I think you’re right. We have to be able to protect ourselves.”

We drove to the shop where Tori’s father bought his guns. Other than her giving directions, it was a quiet drive. I’m not sure if that was because we were on our way to pick up lethal weapons, or because of the tension between Tori and I. She didn’t have to like me, or trust me, but I didn’t want her to be carrying around so much anger… especially if she was also going to be carrying around a loaded gun.

She directed us to a small shop that carried all sorts of sportsman gear. Unlike the other places we had entered, its front door was locked.

“Guess we’re out of luck,” Kent said.

Tori picked up a rock the size of a bowling ball and heaved it through the glass of the front door. The rest of us watched, dumbfounded.

Jon said, “Somehow this makes it seem more like looting.”

Tori reached inside the hole, unlocked the door, and we were in.

It was sportsman heaven. There were displays of every kind of archer’s bow you could imagine, camouflage hunting gear, an entire wall of fishing rods and reels, and guns. Lots of guns. One whole wall was taken up by rifles on racks.

Kent ran straight for the rifles. He picked one up and set his sights on a stuffed deer on the far side of the store.

“Say your prayers, Bambi,” he declared, laughing.

“Stop!” Tori screamed.

Kent lowered the rifle and looked at her.

“What?” he asked, sounding genuinely clueless.

“These aren’t toys,” she scolded. “Put it down.”

She was dead serious, and Kent knew it. He didn’t argue and sheepishly put the rifle back in its rack.

“I hope this isn’t a bad idea,” Olivia said nervously.

Tori went for the counter where the handguns were stored. She seemed to know what she was looking for, so I didn’t bother asking. Instead, I looked around the store for anything else we might need. I spotted walkie-talkies. If we got separated we would need to stay in contact, so I figured they might come in handy. Better still, I found a solar-powered charger that we could use to keep the batteries at full power.

“Over here,” Tori called.

We all joined her.

On the counter were two identical black handguns.

“These are Glock 17s,” she said. “Policemen use them.”

She picked up one of the guns and expertly pulled the chamber back to examine it.

“I’m making sure there are no rounds in there,” she explained.

“Bullets,” I said. “Calling them ‘rounds’ makes it seem less… lethal.”

She ignored me and continued. “It fires a nine-millimeter… bullet.” She pulled out the clip from the grip and showed it to us. “This holds seventeen… bullets.”

“The more, the merrier,” Kent said.

His eyes were wide as he stared at the gun like a kid who couldn’t wait to get his hands on a new Christmas toy.

Tori grabbed several boxes of ammunition from a shelf and placed them on the counter.

“I’ll load two magazines but only put one in a gun. We’ll keep the loaded weapon in the glove compartment. The other we’ll store in the back cargo area, unloaded with the clip separate. When we get the chance, I’ll teach you all how to shoot.”

Kent picked up one of the guns and felt its weight.

“What’s so hard?” he asked. “You point this end and bang!”

He held the gun loosely and pretended to shoot.

Tori grabbed his gun hand and held it firmly.

“If you shoot like that you’ll miss, and the recoil would probably kick the gun out of your hand.”

“How do you know so much about guns?” Kent asked.

“My father,” Tori said as she let Kent loose and started loading bullets into the magazine. “We had to protect our property. Our lobster boats. He wanted me to be totally safe with the weapons in the house, so he taught me well.”