This afternoon, I’m heading to the outdoor target range to try out an Old Era rifle that Zak refuses to shut up about. I was surprised bythe heft of the rifle case when I checked it out of the armory, and it’s made for a cumbersome walk ten minutes down the mountain.
When I get to the range, I find several other shooters already taking up residence there, including Mako, Evlynne, and an older man named Orin whose marksmanship skills everyone keeps lauding.
The range is in a flat, open area, with metal plates for targets positioned at various distances, and multiple shooting lanes set up on the grassy expanse. Across the field, Evlynne is working with Wells, the teen I’ve been helping in the indoor range. He lies flat on his stomach, eye fixed on his scope, while she coaches him. Her gaze flicks toward me, but she doesn’t offer a hello or other greeting. Not even a smile or nod.
Whatever. I didn’t come to the range today to win Evlynne over. I’m here for the rifles.Thisrifle. The TAC-50, a relic from the Old Era. According to Zak, this bolt-action sniper rifle was used by nearly every global military, and he swears by its accuracy and long-range capabilities. But I need to see it for myself before I believe it.
I find an empty lane and get settled as a slight breeze moves through the air, carrying the faint odor of gunpowder. Removing the rifle from the case, I admire its heavy-duty barrel. Zak said it was specifically designed to handle the recoil from the .50-caliber round.
When I pick it up, I’m once again startled by the heft. This thing must be fifteen pounds, easy.
From the corner of my eye, I see Mako ambling toward me.
“Heavier than you thought, right?” he chortles.
“Oh yeah. Didn’t expect that.”
“The weight helps stabilize it when you’re firing and controls the recoil. Let me guess, Zak said youhadto test it out.”
“Yep. He’s obsessed.”
Mako plops down on the grass a few feet away, watching me set up the TAC-50. He’s so big, his larger-than-life stature mirroring his personality. Every time I see him, he’s cackling about something or sporting that goofy grin.
“Are you sure you want to be seen talking to me in front of your friend Evlynne?” I challenge, raising an eyebrow. I can feel Evlynne’s gaze on us.
“Ev will get over it. She and Neema just have some hang-ups about inciters. They had a bad experience once.”
“Do you really want to risk their wrath? They seem like they’d hold a grudge. I won’t be insulted if you leave.”
“Are you going to incite me?”
“No.”
“Then why would I leave?” He leans back on his elbows. With his shirt stretched tight across his broad chest and shoulders, it looks like his muscles are trying to escape.
I bite back a smile, then position the rifle so it’s pointing toward the closer set of targets. I don’t know if I’m ready to go big right out of the gate.
“Have you shot this rifle before?” I ask Mako.
“I’ve shot ’em all. As far as Old Era rifles go, the TAC is one of my favorites. Solid, powerful. That thing feels like it’s built to last forever.”
“I mean, it sort of has.”
“But my ultimate favorite? The M82. Whenever I fire it, I feel like the universe is communicating with me.”
I snicker. “Uh-huh. Is that so?”
“Oh yeah, Wrenny. That recoil iswild.But it’s worth every single shoulder bruise.”
My first shot confirms that bruising is going to be a likely side effect today. The recoil is intense, making my teeth rattle and vibrating through my shoulder and down my arm.
Mako and I spend the next hour shooting and chatting. When we’re leaving the range afterward, he reveals there’s a party tonight, urging me to come.
“Maybe,” I say noncommittally, but he proceeds to pester me about it the entire walk back to the Dagger, until I finally agree to go.
A few hours after dinner, Gray knocks on my door to take me to the party.
I step into the hall outside our quarters to find him looking handsome and relaxed in a pair of faded blue jeans that hugs his long legs,brown hiking boots, and a button-down shirt in a deep green that brings out his eyes.
