“Satphone. Charged. Programmed.” I hold it up. “Backup whistle in the glove box. Three bear sprays. One each for Jess and I, one in the Range Rover. Laminated rules in Jess’ bag. Vehicle staged nose-out for fast exit.”
Jess nods at each item. Her hands are still shaking but less now.
“I’m going to check in with Jag.” I grab the Satphone and fire off the scheduled check-in text:Green. All clear. Next window 1800.
Three dots appear almost immediately. Jag’s reply:Copy. Standing by.
Jag and Felipe stopped the second Range Rover at a hotel in the nearest town, about forty minutes out. Close enough if we need them. Far enough away to give us the space Ben needs for this trip. The local ranger’s the closest outside contact now.
I turn to Ben. “Ready for the shotgun talk?”
Her whole face lights up. “Yes! Can I hold it?”
“Not today,piccola.” I keep my voice firm but kind. The same tone I use when explaining why we can’t serve raw eggs to a pregnant customer. “Today you learn the rules. Next year, maybe you touch. But first you have to prove you can listen.”
“I can listen!” she insists.
“Prove it.” I gesture toward the Range Rover where the gun case is locked in the back. “Come on.”
Jess follows us. I can feel her tension radiating like heat from a pizza oven that’s been running too long.
I unlock the case. Don’t open it yet. Just show Ben the exterior.
“This is a tool,” I tell her. “Like a chef’s knife. Dangerous if you’re stupid. Safe if you’re smart. Which one are you?”
“Smart!” Ben bounces on her toes.
“Then you follow the rules. Always.” I tap the case. “Rule one. Muzzle never points at anything you don’t want to destroy. Ever.”
“What’s muzzle?” she asks, blinking.
“That’s the tip of the gun. Understood?”
“Okay.”
“Rule two. Finger stays off the trigger until you’re ready to shoot. That’s the little lever you squeeze with your finger.”
“Like a water pistol?” she asks.
“Similar. But you keep your finger off the trigger until you want to shoot.”
“Okay.”
“Rule three. The chamber stays empty until I say otherwise. That means no bullet inside. Not ever. Not until we’re actually hunting. Understand?”
She nods. Very serious. Reading my tone.
I open the case. The lock code is mine alone. Four digits I haven’t shared with anyone. Not even Jess. Some protocols don’t get delegated.
The Remington 870 sits inside. Matte black. Chamber flagged with the orange safety indicator clearly visible through the small inspection window.
Jess makes a small sound behind me.Not quite a gasp. More like she just tasted something that might be spoiled.
I don’t turn around. Just keep my focus on Ben.
“See this orange thing?” I reverently point to the chamber flag. “That means it’s empty. Safe. If you ever see a gun without one of these, you walk away. You don’t touch. You find an adult. Got it?”
“Got it,” Ben repeats. “Orange means safe.”
