Damsel no more, p.6
Damsel: No More, page 6
part #1 of Damsel Series
The other man smiled then, quirking his mouth.
“That wasn’t a consideration. I was counting on the idea that you’d need to work during the day. If we can work full time... I can have about half of that done in three days. Really, it’s just drilling until it’s second nature... Call it ten hours of work?”
Hannah shrugged then.
“I don’t have a job, so... You know, heiress.”
There was no questioning of that from either man, just nods.
Carl coughed, seeming almost ill, then nodded, tiredly.
“Fine. Come with me then. Three hours to learn basic shooting skills. I’m not covering gun maintenance or the laws. This is bare bones, but then you can practice and we can go over the rest of it later. The big issue will be practice. Can you get hold of a VR system?”
She nodded, even if she didn’t really know.
“I can buy one? My tech guy can set that up for me, I bet.”
Interestingly, Pleny, who had been very mild toward her so far, became almost mean, suddenly.
Leaning forward onto the table, he locked eyes with her in a way that caused her stomach to tense. Hard. With fear.
“No. From now on you do that sort of thing for yourself. All the time. Get that man in and have him teach you what to do. For every skill you can, from now on.”
Carl went on then, as if nothing had just happened, even if she was breathing harder, suddenly. Pleny moved back, as if he were pleased and not a psychopath at all. He straightened and sat up, which for some reason... Made it all better. As if she’d simply made a mistake and he hadn’t just seemed like he was going to kill her for it at all.
The taller man, Carl, stood then.
“To the Carl-mobile, then. You two coming along? It’s going to be hard to trick her into my sketchy rape van otherwise. It should be anyway. I wouldn’t go anywhere alone with me, at least.”
That seemed to decide the others, except that Lashondra couldn’t go along, having work to do. Debbie got her jacket though, and glared at Carl as she did it. Making certain that she had a gun on, rather openly, under her arm. If this bothered anyone, it didn’t show on their faces.
Then, Debbie probably knew what she was doing with it. Hannah wasn’t certain she should have weapons on, not knowing how they worked. Not really. She could flail around with a blade, if nothing else. A handgun might as well be a rock, for all the good it would do her. Then, that’s why she was being driven away in Carl’s creepy rape van. Which, when she got out onto the street, wasn’t one of those at all. It wasn’t a van, being the front portion of a semi-truck. The cab.
She thought that was what it was called, anyway. Inside of it there was a back portion that had a bed set up in it. That was probably for sleeping, not for Carl’s strange road sex fantasies. She hoped.
Rather than squeeze in between the others there, Hannah realized that one of them was going to have to ride in the back. There was room for three in the front seat and while she was willing enough, in general, to ride in a cozy fashion, she was trying to be smarter than that, now.
“I’ll ride in the back? That way I can shoot you, if you’re taking me to your murder castle.”
That got a snort, from Carl. The redneck in overalls, a thing which was at least in part an act, she realized, nodded.
“That’s in Texas, not out here. I know a guy with a private range. He lets me use it in exchange for drugs.”
Pleny glanced at the man, looking over, and Debbie glared as Hannah got on the bed in back, perching on the edge, her feet on the floor, in the narrow space between the bed and the back of the front seat. Then she nodded.
“You have drugs? What kind? Not that it matters. I just gave that kind of thing up, the other day.” She didn’t expect an answer, but one came, along with some kind of activity, which caused the vehicle to start.
“Cancer meds, from out of the country, mostly. Things that you can’t get here, due to FDA rules and regulations. I figure that, if people are dying anyway, they might as well try anything they can that might work. Some other things like that as well, if you ever have to help someone with that kind of thing.”
That was different than she would have guessed. If it was a lie, it was one she could go with. Rather than asking after ecstasy or pot, she simply nodded and kept her mouth firmly closed. No one else spoke either, after a while. They drove, the thing she was in feeling weird, being so large. They were on the freeway, for about forty minutes before turning down first a small country road that was lined on the other side by trees and greenery, then, about ten minutes later there was a second turn, onto a gravel road.
Finally, Carl spoke.
“We won’t go up to the house. They’ll leave us alone. We can shoot here, since there are no close neighbors. It’s a weekend, so that works too, as far as keeping the cops off our asses. Behind that barn, over there.” He pointed with a single finger, while resting his right hand on the steering wheel. It had a lazy feeling to it.
The barn itself needed a coat of red paint and probably some animals or something like that. Instead there was simply a metallic blue and white truck cab parked behind it, with the lanky man setting off, toward the tree line in the distance. The trip went fast, as if he feared losing the daylight or possibly being found out.
Instead of a hill of dirt and an old trash can or paper targets, there was a smallish building in the woods, which led down some stairs, as soon as they were inside the front door. That was blue. Painted that way for some reason. She waved at it, on the way past.
“You people and blue doors. What’s with that?”
They all turned, to look at her, though it was, interestingly, Pleny the cutie who spoke.
“Spirits can’t pass blue doors. At least that’s the legend. It seems to confuse them for some reason, so they turn back, instead of using them to follow people inside.”
Debbie laughed, slightly.
“It works. Not for everything, or all the time. They think it’s a portal into the sky, if the color is close enough. In that realm of being, if a thing is thought to be true, it is.”
Carl just shrugged.
“It’s not my door. This way. The set up here is fine, for what we need to do today.”
That, it turned out, was mainly lecturing. Her, naturally.
As they entered the space, which was much larger than she would have thought it could be, from the small building up top, Carl started talking.
“There are about a dozen useful ways to hold a firearm. We’ll eventually cover all of them, but right now I’m making a few assumptions. The first is that you’re just going to forget how to aim as soon as the real danger starts. Most people do. Practice helps with that. To that end, the stance you’re getting first here will help you get on target, even when you fuck up.” The man didn’t smile, simply pointing down range, where there were three rows of targets, off in the distance. Then he pulled a handgun, a huge thing, which was pointed down range.
“I’m not firing yet. If you can do it, always wear hearing protection. Even in a real gunfight. That probably won’t happen, but learn to carry earplugs with you anyway, just in case it does. Normally you’d get the whole junior Boy Scout speech... Never point a weapon at anything you don’t want to destroy, so on and all that shit. It’s the point though, these are weapons and meant to destroy things. Act like it. Now, watch what I do here. It’s different than you’ve ever seen on television...”
The man made a move, like crossing his arms, with his left hand holding his right elbow and the weapon being rested nearly on top of the crook of his left arm.
“This is more stable as a platform, making it easier to aim and to shoot fast. It’s horrible for quick draw, and superior in most other ways. If you need to shoot around a corner, go to a one-handed move. You don’t have time to practice that yet. The main reason for shooting this way is twofold. It’s a lot harder for anyone to wrestle a weapon from you standing this way. Not impossible, so keep your mind sharp. If anyone tries to get too close to you in a fight, closer than six feet, start shooting. No matter who they are. Man, woman or child.”
Picking his left elbow up, he kept going.
“I bring the weapon up, which puts it in front of my right eye. On me that’s the dominant one. If you center the weapon between your eyes, say in a standard isosceles stance, you can have dominant eye confusion under stress. Always put the sights in front of the eye you need to look through. Don’t force your brain to decide which image you need to look at. In the main, keep both eyes open, all the time. That will help you track threats around you. Now, you do it.” The man watcher her like a hawk, as she pantomimed the move. Then grabbed her arm and moved it around a bit.
“Cradle your right arm to your chest. Pull it in. Those little things you got here won’t screw with your aim much.” He actually shook his head then. “That... I’m not making fun of you. Big tits would make this method too hard for you to accurately use. It’s a rare form, but good for small people. You’re nearly perfect for it. Turn sideways, a bit.”
The whole thing didn’t hurt, but felt awkward. It truly didn’t look anything like what she’d seen in the movies, since both her hands were in, near her body. As she thought about it, Carl waved at her.
“I’ll get hearing protection and glasses for everyone. Drop the pose and do it again, ten times. Watch your form.”
Hannah did it, feeling stupid the whole time. It had to look like she was hugging herself, due to the cold. Which the space pretty much warranted. It wasn’t warm, underground, after all. Not freezing either and while she kind of wished she’d gotten a sweater, the top she was wearing was, in the end, enough.
The shooting was fascinating, once she had ear protection and slightly yellow goggle like glasses on. They were far from stylish, but she didn’t really care. Everyone else had them on too, so looked nearly as silly.
“Squeeze the trigger. Try moving only your index finger. Push down, into your arm, on both sides. That will stabilize things and allow you to absorb the kick of the weapon more smoothly. Put the red dot on the target, and... fire.” They did that several times, with her finally learning to aim in one place, instead of changing things, trying to hit the center of the paper. The target wasn’t a long way off for her, which she had to figure was Carl actually being a good teacher, letting her get a feeling for hitting the target before making it too difficult for her. After nine shots, the man took the weapon away from her, showed her the button on the side that made the black metal bullet holder slip out.
“This is the magazine release. Up here is the safety. Up is off. Remember that. Up is off. Chant it in your head, if you have to. Now, I’m going to readjust the sights... So... Let me see here...” The man pulled a small screwdriver, and turned a few small dials, counting tick marks and soft clicks carefully. “There. Do it again. Use the same form, each time.”
That went better. When she aimed at the tiny black dot, about thirty feet away, the bottom half of it vanished, after about ten shots. It wasn’t perfect at all and she could see that there was a large difference between the sloppy job she was doing and what Carl was. He smiled though, seeming to actually mean it, before cursing at her.
“Damn. You’re a freaking natural at this. That or I’m a good teacher. Probably not that one, so, not bad at all. Get the VR going, a high-end system if you can pull it off and I’ll send you the names of the games I want you to get. Put in at least two hours a day on them. Try not to do the same thing twice in a row. Different maps and weapons, each time. Use this form, for now. Good. With what you know right now, you can take aim at someone’s skull and hit it most of the time. As long as they’ll hold still for it. Practice against moving targets when you can and we’ll meet again in a week. If you don’t die, first. Remember, you’re tiny. Getting in a fist fight at your size is stupid. If you can’t shoot it, stab it. Always have a gun on you and a knife. In the shower... At least take the knife and have the gun inside ten feet.” Then he turned, and walked out, which meant everyone had to scramble.
He was their ride, after all.
On the way back, Pleny smiled at her.
“Watch my silly walk.” The man bent his knees, if not too far, and bent over, his feet barely lifting, just enough to clear the floor. It seemed almost like he was skating, instead of walking at all.
“The fourth gait. It looks funny, but the truth is that once you learn this, you’ll be able to walk at up to ten miles per hour, for about twice as long as you can jog. Just to let you in on the secret, it’s about not wasting energy on unneeded movements. Notice how my hands barely move? How I lean forward with my whole body and not just my head and chest? I’m pushing my pelvis forward. It feels a bit like falling. Then I try to relax everything I’m not using to move forward. It should feel very smooth, when you get it right. You try it.”
That didn’t go very well for her at all, since, even trying to do what she’d just seen, which really did look ridiculous. She wasn’t managing it at all. As Debbie got outside, up the stairs, she managed it for a few steps. Pleny smiled at her.
“Not horrible. It’s a skill, like anything else. It won’t make you super-fast or anything, but you can keep up a quick pace for over an hour this way. With the fifth gait you can double the speed or more. It isn’t that fast, but notice how smooth your upper body and head are when you get it right?” He demonstrated that again for her, which really did seem to be lacking any bouncing at all, even though, as he moved out and back again, it was clearly happening faster than she could run, herself.
She thought she got the idea.
“So that I’m not shooting all over the place?”
That got a pleasant wink.
“That too. We’ll work on this, and moving backwards, as well as some basic distancing patterns. For now, when in doubt, move away from violence. If it fails to come toward you again, then you win.”
That, it seemed, was both common sense and a thing she really needed to work on, since the man made her walk backwards, with her legs wide, but the action smooth, all the way to the truck. She fell three times and tripped more than that. Pleny simply moved, over the same terrain, making her look clumsy and probably stupid.
Worse, he was nice about it.
“Better! You’ll get this. Going backwards means you need to turn your head and scan behind you, on both sides, constantly, looking for obstacles. It takes some practice, but if you get these two things down, you’ll have a good base to start with. We’ll meet again, when you’re ready. Not for some time, so practice these daily. If you can’t be bothered to do that... Well, then I won’t be able to help you further.” The man sounded almost gentle, as if he wasn’t saying he’d refuse to work with her, but that she simply wouldn’t be able to grasp what it was he had for her to learn.
Lashondra seemed to think it was important for her to work with the man, and had said she needed to do her part, so she simply nodded.
“How long, each day?”
He tilted his head then.
“No more than an hour and a half. Try to find someplace flat for it, and focus on form, not speed. Relax while you do it and feel the falling. You’ll understand that, if you practice enough. If you can learn to move backwards without falling, it will allow you some rather advanced combat and movement related tricks that most never manage. It’s worth doing.”
Then, not seeming to put any effort into it at all, the man moved toward the truck, at a speed that was several times faster than Hannah thought she could run. Then, she rarely had done that faster than a jog. Instead of doing either, she tried using the funny walk to get there. If it was any faster than regular walking, she couldn’t tell. She was out of breath when she got in the back of the truck, regardless.
After that she was let off at Lashondra’s house, after another forty odd minute ride. Pleny got out and, strangely, tossed off a small bow in her direction.
“Soon. Practice daily, until then.” Then the man turned, as the door opened behind her. When she glanced back, no more than ten seconds later, no one was in sight at all. It was the kind of thing the super freaks did. Thinking that was probably mean, since she’d met some people who, one way or the other, all seemed a bit different.
Debbie took her hand, pulling her toward the porch, where Lashondra waited.
“Now, are you staying for supper? I was going to make my famous pasta and you missed lunch. Both of you did.”
She shook her head then, but smiled.
“I should get back. It’s Saturday. I have a pretty good excuse not to go out this week, since my face is a mess, but my friend Kate will probably come over. Not that we’re attached at the hip, but... you know, friends and I was beaten up by those people.”
Really, now that she thought about it, that Kate hadn’t come to stay with her already was a bit off. She had in the past when bad things had happened. Then, it was just possible that the other woman was getting tired of her best friend always having that kind of drama going on. Hannah wasn’t that fond of it herself, but she couldn’t really blame Kate if she just decided not to be involved that way, any longer.
Plus, even if the psychic man had told her dad three days, it sounded like he wasn’t really certain on that score. Like things could go differently than that. So, having her socialite friend over that night might not be the best idea ever. Katie was wonderful, but unlike the man in blue, she didn’t have superpowers.
To forestall any awkwardness, Hannah smiled at the slightly older couple.
“Now, I need to call for a ride and leave, after only twenty minutes of waiting here, to bother you. When are we meeting again?” She was willing to come in the morning, but Lashondra tilted her head, as if listening to something.
“In a few days. Five, I think. Possibly less than that. You’re going to be busy, for a time. Do what Carl told you and stay armed. Practice... here, let me show you some basic mental exercises, while you wait for the car to come?”
That required calling first, but they simply sat on the living room floor, which had an old, and well worn carpet, a brown thing that hid a lot of the damage of time, even if it smelled a bit. Not that much though. She was just sensitive to things like that, as a guess. All she had to do then was clear her mind and hold it. Other than the intrusive thoughts of death and people trying to kidnap or murder her, she more or less managed it.
