Disclaimer:You know the drill...Only my own characters.
Timeline Layout:Bombs+61-63? days. Set the day after the episode Blackjack.
Series Layout:This is set in the Chinook Series. It focus's around the Stout family 15 miles from a small town Called Chinook. Chinook is roughly 65 miles North of Jericho and 135 Miles south of Blackjack trading post.
Chapter Layout: Okay...Ending a little...rough, but I decided to leave it due to not having anything better.
Warnings: Mild language.
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Leading Sharon over to a large rug laying on the floor, he flipped it back and revealed a large trapdoor.
Opening the door, it revealed a long row of steps going downward., Grant led her into the basement gunroom. Walking down the steps he flipped on a light. It flickered a moment and then remained on.
"Sorry about the bad lighting. We took out three quarters of the lightbulbs down here to reduce the drain... And this...Is my happy place," Grant said motion with his arm around him, "Some people like basketball, some like rockclimbing. Me? I come down here. Nothing like being surrounded by your hobby to relax you."
Sharon looked around her and her mouth dropped in shock. Since the last time she had been here 2 years previously the room had been expanded to a full half of the basement.
The one wall was completely lined with a double row of upright gunracks, the space above them on the wall itself adorned with handgun pegs. Each slot contained a rifle, shotgun or handgun, with no vacant spots. The second wall was lined of massive gunsafes, with ammunition cases piled on top. The third wall was invisible behind large shelves laden with ammunition. The final wall near the door had equipment to reload ammunition, and the many accessories needed to use a gun effectively, such as holsters, slings and telescopic sites.
Grant chuckled over her surprised look, "Impressive isn't it. A lot of them are our own. But some of them we picked up while we were salvaging. There has been some guns me and dad never could have afforded, we have picked up in...places.."
Sharon looked at the racked guns, then around the room, "Nice room. Lotta guns." She started to make a joke, and then glanced at Grant. His face had taken on a solemn look.
"I should mention. You don't tell ANYONE about this. No one can know we got this much here. For our own safety. This would be a jackpot to people like the Jensons or Jonah Prowse. You got to promise me you won't tell anyone?"
"Uh... Right. Yeah...I won't tell anyone. I guess I didn't think of that, but sure. You got my word."
Grant relaxed and then turned to face the interior of the room, "Anyway.. On to business I guess. So...When was the last time you have used a gun?"
Sharon looked a little guilty before replying, "Three years. And then I only used dad's deer rifle for a week during hunting season."
Grant hid a grimace and nodded his head, "Okay. Start from the basics. I won't bore you with the gun safety lecture. That part I know you remember. Finger off the trigger, assume it's always loaded, never point at something you don't wanna shoot yadda, yadda, yadda."
Sharon grinned as she realized he went through them covertly, but without the long lecture.
"Let's see. Something light, and at the same time won't kick the living shit outta you. Think you can still hit anything?" Grant asked. He said it with a smile, but it was obvious he was seriously wondering.
Sharon shrugged, "Not expertly, but I think okay. I used to shoot an awful lot."
Grant nodded appreciatively, "Guns are something like a bike. You never forget it. Anything in particular you like?" He asked, gesturing around the room, "My gun is a part of me. It is an extension of my arms. Pick whatever you feel comfortable with."
Sharon looked around her a moment before giving Grant a small smile, "I have NOOO clue. There is way to many guns here for me to pick. Tell you what I want though. It is gonna have to be light. If it's heavy I am going to leave it. And...well. I am sorta embarassed by this, but it can't recoil too much. I'm not used to shooting anymore so I can't take much."
This gave Grant a big smile, "Great. I love this kinda stuff." Seeing the slight flicker of confusion, he continued, "I enjoy pawing through guns, that's one of the reasons I guess I don't have many friends. I never get out."
Sharon couldn't tell if he was joking or not. But watching him begin plucking stuff off the shelves, she didn't doubt it could be true.
Finally he came back to her and set a pair of guns on the table in the center of the room. He handed her a revolver in a holster, "Here put this on. We will go down to the river and see how well you can shoot them. And carry this." He handed her a shotgun.
"We will see how weighted down you get," he said. His face remained straight, but Sharon was sure inside he was really checking to see how well she could carry the load.
Turning, he grabbed several boxes of ammunition off the shelves, "I will carry the ammo."
Sharon went up the stairs first, followed by Grant. He flipped off the lights behind him and shut the door behind them. Before they went outside he slung his carbine over his back and checked to make sure his handgun was still securely on his hip.
"You go armed everywhere?" Sharon asked.
"Anymore, yeah. Never can tell when you might need it. And I don't wanna be in a spot where I need a gun, but don't have one." The deadpan seriousness with which he said it gave Sharon a small shiver.
Grant opened the door to leave and Deb poked her head around the corner, "When you and Sharon get back, bring her straight back here. She should have a bath while the solar power is still on to heat the water."
Grant nodded and Sharon replied with a 'Thank you' before they both went outside and began the walk to the river. It was only short walk, but they took their time. Grant showed her some of the various animals they had obtained since her last visit.
When they reached the river, Grant carefully laid down his gun and then took Sharon's from her.
"Pump action 12 gauge shotgun. Its barrel is cut off to half its original length to make it lighter. This gun is gonna kick the livin' shit out of you. The only reason I chose it for you is because you won't shoot it unless you have to. Then you will never notice it," Grant paused and slid some shells into the tube underneath the barrel and then handed it back to Sharon, "See those 3 sticks out there about 35 yards?" He asked motioning to 3 broken off fenceposts on the opposite bank of the river.
She nodded. "Now fire 1 shot into each as fast as you can. And remember. This ain't the movies. You still have to AIM the shotgun, no firing from the hip and automatically killing everything in a 50 yard radius to your front."
He barely finished speaking before the first blast deafened him. The other two shots roared seconds apart, nearly deafening him. Splinters of wood flew from each stick signaling a hit. Sharon turned and with a small grin handed him the gun, "Good enough?" she asked.
"Damn, "Grant said, poking a finger in one ear, "Give a guy some warning will ya." He said it jokingly and Sharon took no offence.
"Mind telling me how, after three years of not handling a gun, you were able to do that? I doubt I could do that after that long a absence."
She smiled, "You gave me the simplest, damn easy gun to use. You didn't think I would be able to use it, much less anything else." Although light hearted, she still said it with a slight tone of annoyance.
Grant chuckled, "Okay. Ya caught me. Face it. Three years is a long time. I figured you would have to start all over. But really though, I think that would best suit you. It is good enough out to about 30 yards. Under that your shotgun's buckshot will do in anything you will have to. After that you will need slugs, and we won't worry about them today. "
Reaching into a back pocket he pulled out the box of handgun shells and tossed it to her, "Okay smarty. Lets see how you shoot your handgun."
Sharon made a face at him and then loaded her revolver. While she did Grant spoke up in the background, "Ruger .357 magnum revolver. With those shells it won't kick and will let you get used to it."
Somewhat exasperated Sharon turned to him, "Knock it off. Just because you think you know everything there is about guns you don't have to try and prove it."
Grant looked surprised, but shrugged, "I am not. You have not been around guns. Right now you are looking at these as something you," he exagerated his voice into that of a shrill whiny teenager, "HAVE TO do."
Sharon started to retort when Grant cut her off, "This is damn serious business. Before the bombs, maybe, just MAYBE...You would never need a gun. Now it is the only thing that stands between life and death... or worse...In your case you could just be enslaved again. Your carrying a gun MIGHT not help. But it sure as hell raises your odds. And it doesn't do you any good if you view it as a thing you HAVE to do."
"So? Why do I need to know about my guns? As long as I use them safely, and know how to use them why do I have to know every little detail? Your telling me everything, almost down to the date they were manufactured."
Grant was becoming perturbed. To him it seemed that after all his hinting she should understand his goal. To Sharon it seemed as if he was being over-protective and nit-picky.
"BECAUSE. In order to become good with your gun you got to know it, every little detail. I am not asking you to memorize every gun in existence, just the two you will be carrying.. What good will it do you if you have to reload your gun, and you take half a minute to do it? What good will it be if you accidentally grab the wrong shells for your gun? Either they won't work period, or they will fire in your gun and blow it up. You have got to know every part, piece and how to use them."
Grant paused a moment and realized that he had pushed a little to hard. Sharon had backed off a foot or two and looked like she was becoming overwhelmed.
Grant cocked an eyebrow and then walked alongside her, "I won't downplay this. Your doing good. But don't get cocky. Doing that leads to carelessness around guns, that is more dangerous than someone else trying to shoot you. And if you think you are too good, your gonna mess up when you need number one performance."
"So think of it this way... Your good, but the next guy is a hair better. Just keep practicing. And when you see the next guy, assume you are not as good. Either suckerpunch him, run before he can do anything, or confront him and hope he doesn't blow your ass away," Grant smiled lightly and let Sharon digest what he had said.
She relaxed and smiled at the last part as well. A second later she regained her composure and asked him a question, "Okay...I get that...How well do you do?"
Grant shook his head, "Unh uh. I ain't getting pulled into that. I know what I can do and that is fine. You concentrate on your own shooting."
Sharon raised an eyebrow, "Oh? chicken? bwuck,bwhuck." Long ago she had figured out this was a easy way to goad him into doing something he was hesitant to do.
Grant recognized this and bristled at it. But he knew that it would eat on him nonetheless, being called a chicken and not responding, "Okay... 6 shots...that's all. Then you work yourself. Okay?"
After she nodded, Grant turned towards the 3 sticks she had first shot at, roughly 35 yards distant. He paused several seconds to gather his nerves. Finally comfortable he pulled his revolver from it's holster. Three pairs of shots echoed through the river bottom and each of the broken off posts had 2 extra holes in them.
Before Sharon could comment he turned to her. He opened the cylinder and ejected the empties. As he reloaded the cylinder he explained, "6 shots. Probably 2 seconds. Remember, that is after thirty THOUSAND rounds spend training," slipping the revolver back in it's holster he stepped back, "Now you get to practicing. You got 50 rounds to go through before we go back. Pick out your own targets, any distance. You should be comfortable shooting at all distances, from 5 yards to 50."
It took less than a half hour and Sharon had shot the box of ammunition, slowly improving the entire time. The handgun took longer to get used to than the shotgun, but by the time the lesson was over she could keep all of her shots on half of a five gallon bucket at 30 yards.
When she finally finished, Grant picked up the empty shell casings for reloading and put them back in the box.
Handing her the box, he asked her a question, "You did good today. We won't have time to do this for awhile though. Do you feel competent enough to carry a gun? Because if your not, I have to know. We can arrange stuff where someone will be within earshot of you. And don't worry. It isn't a bother."
She pocketed the box and didn't hesitate with the answer, "Yeah, I can do it...Uh...Thanks for the help and...for those thoughts." Refering to the motivational "What-ifs" he had told her.
Grant looked at his watch, "Tell you what. You go back to the house. I am gonna go see if dad needs any help. Mom will be waiting for you to take a bath."
Sharon grinned, "You sound less than thrilled."
"Hey what can I say..I finally got a excuse to not take one...We don't have power."
As Sharon turned to go, Grant hesitated. Throughout the entire day, it had seemed as if Sharon felt detached. Although her body was here, he was sure that her mind was still at Blackjack. Feeling welcome and at home was what she needed to adjust and he knew it would take time.
But until then he almost couldn't stand it. It wasn't for himself, but he felt sorry for her. Before now she had always been one of the most carefree and seemingly always happy person. Now she seemed to always be on-guard and almost withdrawn, except for direct contact such as talking.
Taking a chance he followed her up the bank of the river. As they reached the top he reached out a hand. Balling it into a fist he ruffled the top of her hair.
She ducked down as if she had been stung and the look of wariness returned.
He leaned forward, "THAT is for doing that to me until I got taller than you." He sort of smirked, hoping to pass it off as a joke. They both knew that as a kid, he had hated people scruffing the top of his head. Sharon knew that and had always done it until he had gotten taller than her. She only quit when he was able to get her in a headlock and playfully drop her to her knees and make her call uncle.
The wariness left her eyes and for a brief moment amusement flickered in them, before being replaced by the old look.
"Uncle," she replied softly, before turning and continuing towards the house.
As Grant turned he felt his mood lighten a little. Although things were bad, everything was still seeming to go higher