The Inquisition

Chapter Eight - Sam

"Time for the rifle," she thought, picking up a two tone AR-15 type carbine. Pinning up another target and sending it down the range 150 yards, loading her weapon magazine while the target made its trip. Pulling the charging handle back and locking the bolt to the rear, Diane slapped a 25 round magazine into the weapon, and released the bolt, a metallic click signaling the chambering of a round. She assumed a standing unsupported position to fire, holding the front of the weapon up by the barrel guards, the butt of the stock nesting in her shoulder as she lined up her sight picture. Fingertip closing in on the trigger, front iron sight aligning with the rear, the zombie target lined up behind those, she began to fire single shots down range, going through her first magazine relatively slowly until the weapon bolt locked to rear: she was empty. Diane hit the magazine release using her trigger finger, the discarded clip clattering on the concrete floor. The range suddenly silent, Diane wondered if the other shooter left as she reached for her second magazine of twenty five. Loading her rifle, she used her trigger hand thumb to flip the selector to a blank spot between the fire and safe selections before engaging the target, revealing an aftermarket modification allowing the weapon to fire more like a military M16 or M4, pumping out three rounds bursts per trigger squeeze. Diane alternated between semiautomatic fire and burst, reloading and firing her four rifle magazines before deciding to pack it all up. Waving to the counter clerk as she exited the building, Diane was surprised to find the other shooter leaning against the hood of his car, appearing to be waiting for her to come out. She strode past him to her pickup with nary a look.

"What were you shooting," he said, breaking the silence, chipping away at Diane's patience as she mounted the back tire to stow her bag.

"Talking to me?" she asked, Sam looking to his left and right in reaction. The only ones in the parking lot, Sam thought before calmly repeating his question.

"I was shooting guns at targets," she answered, Sam's face contorting in amused confusion. No shit, he thought to himself.

"I gathered that, Mrs.?"

"Look, I'm not really interested, so why don't you save your bullets and find another range to pick up chicks at." Sam chuckled; Diane did not appreciate his response. "Something funny?" she asked, her eyes ablaze with fury. Sam looked behind to the sign on the range and in front to the entrance signs before responding.

"Are you Thomas P. Leonard? Cause otherwise, I don't see your name on the entrance to this range."

"Cute," she replied, not at all impressed.

"I try," Sam replied, unphased by her apparent lack of interest. "So you gonna tell me what you were shooting?"

"No."

"How come?"

"Because I don't have to tell you a goddamn thing," Diane replied in a calm, yet stern tone.

"Is that a fact?"

"That's a fact," Diane countered.

"Maybe you do have to have to tell me everything. Maybe I'm Military Police, or CID. Maybe you are under investigation, Miss," he barbed.

"For what," Diane scoffed.

"For your unauthorized weapon," he replied, making a rat-tat-tat sound hinting at the modification to her rifle. Diane remained unimpressed.

"Well, maybe I'm an MP, or CID, and maybe I'm investigating you," she retorted.

"Oh everyone is an investigator now."

"Well, where's your badge, 'Officer?'" He stood silent for a few seconds, impressed by the stubbornness of this woman.

"Alright, fine: I ain't an MP or CID," he admitted, Diane waving him off with her hand.