Free Fall (Monsters and Bad Men, Book 3) (draft 01)

Chapter 7

Tristan

"Make sure the rifle rests against your chest and use your shoulder and chin to cradle it," I tell him as he lines up the shot.

"I know. I looked for tutorial videos online, last night." He rests the rifle stock firmly against his shoulder, but adjusts it before I correct him. "Most of what I found is about showing how not to do it painful ways."

He spends too much time on his computer, as far as I'm concerned, he should be working with his hands, training. Emil never complains when I bring him out to train, but he should continue even when I am not watching. "Like with your Neo, finger on the trigger and pull gently as you exhale. Remember, the T3X has a stronger recoil."

Emil chuckles. "That's one thing the video make clear." The rifle barks once and Emil curses through gritted teeth.

"I take it those videos couldn't make you feel it."

"No." His voice is pained, and his hand shakes when he pulls the bolt. "Now I can say I know what being kicked by a mule feels like." He brings the bolt back in position. "No comments about how this is nothing like being kicked by a mule?"

The comment makes his box glow in a different way, and I smile. "Being kicked by a mule isn't something I've ever felt the need to experience." The words are out before I realize it.

Emil looks at me, grinning. "Really? There's one thing out there you haven't experienced? I thought you'd done it all."

"It's impossible to do it all, Emil." I reply without considering what I'm saying. His box seems to have the upper hand at the moment. "I pick things that will be relevant to our survival." I motion to the forest with a hand, putting a mental one on the box and quieting it down. "Eyes front, fire again."

I'm tempted to let the box go, to let it run rampant through my mind and see what happens. One of the other boxes is pushing to do it, and I find it. The one containing my addiction. Something about Emil's box going loose caused a powerful endorphin release, and it wants more.

The rifle barks again, Emil curses. "Can I damage my shoulder doing this?"

"Only if you do it badly."

"It fucking hurt."

"Do you want to stop?" I slam my hand on Emil's box. I am done letting it dictate my actions. Emil glances at me; I keep my face neutral. He must make his own decision.

"It's better that it hurt here while I get it right," he says ejecting the cartridge, "than wait until I'm in trouble and make my attackers job easier." His box glows under my hand, a warm, comfortable sensation.

He fires eight more times in the forest. There are no targets for him to hit. This is about Emil getting use to the feel of the rifle, it's recoil, how it should rest against his body.

As he takes out the magazine I hear it, the faint sound of a sole scraping against the sand. I turn, Desert Eagle in hand, and scan the house, the road leading to it. Emil puts the rifle down and moves to push himself to his knees, but I stop him with a gesture. He took easily to hand signals.

No enemies can make it this far without an alarm sounding. There are no traces of who moved, no indications in the sand, no sound, which means.

"Carson, step where I can see you." No movement or sound. "If I need to track you down, you will not enjoy it."

A shadow detaches itself from the corner of the house; resolves into the form of a slender woman dressed from head to toe in a black form-fitting bodysuit. Emil whistles softly.

She moves slowly, reaching up to remove the black mask and shoulder-length blond hair fall to frame a golden skin face with large green eyes, thick lips. Emil whistles again, and she smiles.