Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Coming Home ❯ 75 ( Chapter 75 )

75

 

There I was back in the wild again…

 

Michigan. Land of automobiles, survivalists, and mosquitoes the size of small aircraft.

 

I kicked rocks out of my way as I walked up the path to our newest home, a tiny cabin hidden away in the vast northern woods. We were as isolated from the outside world as possible without being genuinely lost. No phone, no running water, electricity courtesy of a gas powered generator.

 

Brad had obviously been here before. He knew with clarity beyond any visions where to find the camping gear, the folding cots, the toilet paper, and the hunting targets. Then again, there weren't many places those things could have been stashed in the first place, as the cabin itself had only two real rooms and a microscopic bathroom.

 

I began to think that it would be better to just sleep in the damn car.

 

While I surveyed the cabin for spiders and other vermin, Brad unpacked the hunting targets and began hauling them into the clearing. Farfarello helped him, leaving Nagi to join me in mutual gloom.

 

“I hate this place,” Nagi grumbled, sending out a tendril of his power to dislodge an ancient cobweb and several mummified cocoons.

 

I tried to make myself feel better about the situation by reminding him we'd stayed in worse places. But even as I said this, spider webs brushed across my face, and I jumped backwards with a curse.

 

“See?” Nagi retorted with typical monosyllabic eloquence.

 

I glared. “You can gloat, or you can help.”

 

“I am helping,” he stated, reaching with intangible hands to pull down the highest webs, letting them drift in gray-white tangles to the floor. One lacy filament aimed for Brad's cot; rather than catch the cobweb, Nagi lifted the cot out of the way, testing himself. The kid winced, fingertips pressing at his temples and eyes tight shut. “Damn it.”

 

I put my arm around his shoulders and held him for a moment, the way I had when he was a child in my care. “Come on, let's sit down.”

 

“But I'm not done yet.”

 

“For now, you are.” I guided him toward his cot, which we had already declared bug-free, and made him sit. “Don't overreach like that. Solids are harder than electricity, even if it's something small. Build up to it, okay?”

 

Brad returned to the cabin and peeled off his shirt, then grabbed one of our stolen hotel towels and dried off the sweat that clung to his chest hairs like dew on a spider's web. He paused and gave me a quizzical look; I must have projected that last part, and could only offer a shrug and a smile in my own defense. Brad Crawford is the kind of man who looks fantastic in sweat; I'm the kind of man who notices such things.

 

Instead of a glare or a scowl, Brad just smiled slightly and threw the towel at my head. “I want you two out there and shooting at deer until dinnertime.”

 

“Deer?” Nagi blurted, looking highly dismayed.

 

Brad and I savored the kid's reaction; we both knew that Nagi hadn't seen the targets yet. “They're hunting targets, shaped like deer,” Brad explained. “More useful to us than a bull's-eye. True, our enemies don't have antlers, but the location of the heart relative to the shoulder is similar enough, and an eye shot won't be all that different on a human. Have at, and be sure to switch hands once in a while.”

 

Nagi followed me at a trudge as I made my way around the back of the cabin. Farfarello had staked out his own target: he'd embedded two knives in a tree, and proceeded to throw four others into the narrow patch between them in less than three seconds.

 

I loaded my gun, forgetting for a moment that this was not, in fact, my Rosenkreuz-issued sidearm. The clip felt different as I slid it home - stiffer, not so well-used - and I remembered that this gun hadn't been broken in yet. “How's yours, kiddo? Mine's a little stiff.” I realized how that sounded about the same time Nagi did. “A little temperamental,” I amended hastily.

 

“It's a gun, Schuldig. Guns don't have tempers.”

 

“No,” Far chimed in, “people with stiffies have tempers.”

 

“Smartass.” I took aim at the middle of a plastic deer and fired. It had been so long since I'd discharged a firearm that the noise of it made me blink; either that, or listening to so much weird music had damaged my hearing. From what I could see, the shot had gone high and a little to the left. Since my aim was off too, I blamed it on being rusty.

 

Nagi fired off three shots in rapid succession, his own gun barking in a softer register but still echoing sharply off the trees. A neat triangle of holes framed the target's left eye, while a fine sheen of sweat sprang out on Nagi's forehead. He took another shot at his deer; the left hind leg split at the knee and the target sagged downward at the rear. Nagi lowered his gun and focused on the broken target. The three-legged deer tipped forward, hooves sinking slightly into the ground until the target anchored itself to the spot, standing firm in spite of the missing limb.

 

Nagi sighed and wiped his brow. I could tell he'd pushed too much, and I knew I couldn't say anything about it. He'd only take it as nagging. Instead, I told him, “Nice work, kid.”

 

“Thank you.” His voice sounded thin with pain.

 

After wasting a few more rounds, I switched to my left hand and tried for a head shot. One plastic antler shattered and spun away into the woods.

 

“Here, let me have a go,” Far said, reaching for my pistol.

 

I gave it to him and stepped back to lean against a tree.

 

Farfarello sighted and fired at Nagi's target, doing about as badly as I had with my first shot today. He frowned and studied the gun closely, then tried again. This time the bullet landed in the middle of Nagi's triangle, wrecking what was left of the plastic eye. Far nodded to himself and handed the gun back, saying, “It pulls to the left. Not sure why, but I think I've got its measure.”

 

“Thanks, Far, I was just getting a feel for that myself.”

 

“Do you want to try mine?” Nagi asked, offering the Irishman his weapon.

 

“Want to trade?” Far asked, gesturing at the knives protruding from the tree.

 

“No, thanks.”

 

Far took Nagi's gun, and I handed the kid mine. “Better know them both, chibi.”

 

“Pulls to the left, you said?” Nagi concentrated, seemingly weighing the pistol with his power; the gun hovered over his hand, then settled into his palm. The kid's face looked pale and moist as he gave the gun back to me. “Here, I don't want to use it. I may have fixed it, I can't tell.”

 

“Chibi, fucking with a loaded gun is not the smartest thing you could do,” I snarled, worry rushing up well after the fact. “And pushing when you're already strained is beyond stupid!”

 

“What difference does it make?” Nagi shouted, his face contorted with pain and fury. “You know I don't detonate charges! If I can't control my power enough to be trusted with a gun, how am I ever going to get it working again?”

 

The leaves rattled on the trees around us, buzzing in wasp-like agitation as a gust of wind swept through our practice area. A spattering of rain followed in its wake, though from the noise in the woods around us I had the feeling we were about to get drenched. “Ah, hell, rain delay!” I shouted over the rising wind. “Son of a bitch!”

 

“And we were having so much fun, too,” Far muttered as he sprinted to retrieve his knives.

 

Nagi reholstered his gun and turned toward the cabin in silence.

 

Brad sat on the shallow porch, tending our new camping stove. He looked up as we approached. “Schuldig, you're looking more colorful than usual. How did it go?”

 

I tried to remove the leaves from my hair, failed miserably. “Went fantastic, didn't you hear? There's a fucking storm coming!”

 

Brad frowned. “That's strange. The weather was supposed to hold for at least the next three days.”

 

“Don't know what to tell you, Willard -” I glanced back at the trees - “except maybe we should get indoors.”

 

But even as I spoke, the storm dissipated into a brief windy shower that sent another batch of leaves into my hair before blowing itself out. “Ah, hell!” I bitched, pawing at the offending bits of nature.

 

Far smirked and clapped me on the shoulder. “You think that's annoying, wait till you see your back.”

 

“What! What's on my back?” Imagining all sorts of multi-legged things, I tried to crane around to see, tugging at my shirt and nearly strangling myself in the process. An uneven glistening stripe puckered the fabric from my right shoulder down to the waistline; my jeans sported a matching patch on the right rear pocket. I touched a cautious fingertip to the stuff: sticky as hell, and it smelled like pine. Growling at the rudeness of Mother Nature, I struggled to get out of my soiled clothes without getting any of the sap on my skin.

 

Brad served up dinner without comment.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A/N:

There I was back in the wild again…

 

When you're roughing it in Michigan, you need some Ted Nugent to get you through the day. Can't get much more classic than “Fred Bear” from Spirit Of The Wild. Of course, Schuldig is probably being more sarcastic than reverent, but that's just him.

 

“It's a gun, Schuldig. Guns don't have tempers.” “No,” Far chimed in, “people with stiffies have tempers.” - This commentary is a spoof on the NRA slogan “Guns don't kill people - people kill people”. Hope those people don't know where I live…

 

“Don't know what to tell you, Willard -” I glanced back at the trees - “except maybe we should get indoors.” - Willard Scott is a near-legendary weatherman appearing on America's “Today” show (an early morning news and entertainment program).