Prepper

Chapter Twenty-Eight

I march back to the leaguer. I feel empty, like the way a house feels when a loved one has passed away. Still full of items, but devoid of importance. Something essential is missing.

There is a sense of calm inside me, a stillness, a peace. I feel like the battle inside my head has reached some kind of equilibrium. I think this is the state Zen buddhists try to attain. I don't want to be the one to tell them how I arrived here.

The emergency response continues in the parking lot and in the confusion no one stops me as I proceed directly to the commander's tent to collect the Weatherby.

The weather has made good on its threat to dampen this whole affair. A light, cold drizzle descends from the endless gray expanse of clouds overhead. I fasten another button on my coat and pull my hat down tight over my ears as I enter the tent.

A large stain of coagulating blood is all that remains of Lieutenant Mott, his body removed by his men sometime in my absence. I find my rifle on the ground near an overturned table. I pick it up and lean it against the filing cabinet I took shelter behind, taking a moment to poke my pinky finger through a bullet hole in the soft metal.

I right a few tables and chairs and replace the maps. Two of the maps have blood spatter on them. On one map the light gray polygon that delineates the space the mall occupies is dotted with a sanguine reminder of the price yet to be paid. I fold it up and stuff it in my pocket.

Picking up a picture frame off the ground I find Lt. Mott staring back at me from behind the shattered glass. He's sitting with his family, a wife and a little girl with long red curls. She has her father's piercing blue eyes. I put the frame down with a sigh. Death has claimed this space and I don't belong here.

Working my way through the crowd to the armorers' tent, I cut the line, ignoring any protests and find the helpful cadet I had on my first visit. He looks like he's been crying, I guess people really liked Mott.

I don't have to ask twice, the cadet immediately gets me a sling and enough nine millimeter ammunition to top up the Sig. I only take what I need.

"Have you seen Corporal Hartt?" I ask after thanking him.

"No sir. Not recently, but he is probably on the roof getting the O.P. sorted out." He answers. That's all I need to know, I leave the tents behind and plod back toward the mall.

Someone had the werewithal to park one of the fire department's ladder trucks near the multiplex and run the ladder up to the roof as an additional means of access. I make the long climb to the rooftop and head to the observation post.

The trek across the rooftop is arduous, various ladders provide access to the many rooftops. No two stores have the same roof height it seems. Up and down, up and down. All the while the heavy ammo boxes in my pocket bump against my thighs and the slung rifle more than once threatens to free itself from my shoulder and cause all kinds of calamity.

I find Hartt near the O.P., he's on a radio and glassing the parking lot with a small pair of binoculars.

"Okay, keep doing that all the way out to the three hundred meter mark. Just pace it off as best you can." He says into the radio.

I stand next to him and look outward toward the overpass in the distance. "What's going on?" I ask.

"I have the cadets tying off range markers every one-hundred meters." He points out to the parking lot below where I see a young cadet fastening a bright orange ribbon to a car antenna.

"What for?"

"To make your job easier." He says without taking his eyes off the cadets. "I hope that thing is sighted in, we're not going to have much opportunity to get it on target after the shooting starts. The Coyote on the overpass is likely around the four hundred meter mark, you're not likely to engage targets past that. If your Weatherby shoots flat enough, you won't have to adjust too much for elevation. I would think out to two hundred meters, point of aim will be sufficient."