Puddles looks up at me, and I swear, if a dog could actually roll their eyes, that’s what she’d be doing to me right now. I slip my key into the front door and twist it all the way to the left first, watching as the security shutters begin to roll up and expose the windows hidden beneath. When that’s done, I fit in another key on the second deadbolt and turn it right at half a rotation, and hear the three locks in the heavy door release. The impatient beeping of the alarm greets me as I enter, so I disarm it and make sure Puddles is inside with me before shutting the door and locking it again from the inside. Dharla cut into my prep time, so I have to rush around to get the gun shop and range ready for the day before opening.
It’s weird sometimes to think that this is my life now. The routine helps to fight off the shadows that stalk me, but I never thought I’d end up here. I hadn’t even hit the five-year mark as a Ranger before the guys and I were medically discharged after one mission gone wrong. Now we’re here in Podunk, Montana, running a gun range instead of executing missions and being part of the top tier of badasses. Funny how life fucks with you.
With Puddles on my heels, I go through the motions of getting the register and computer ready, and then double check that the gun displays are secure and that the glass counters are clean. I don’t need to wipe them down, since Madix closed last night. He’s the most anal dude I’ve ever met when it comes to cleaning. Maybe it was all the assignments out in the sand, or all the uniform checks that led to him not being able to handle anything out of place, or maybe he was just always like this. Either way, Theo and I never bitch about it, because when Madix cleans like a psycho, it means we don’t have to. It’s a solidwin for us. Besides, I’m glad to have Theo and Madix at my back. We all have our “things,” but we’re closer than brothers, and we’ve learned to work and live together. We may not be in the Army anymore, but we’re still a unit.
Once we were all free of the hospital visits and physical therapy, we didn’t know how to acclimate back into society. But then Theo got a phone call. His crackpot, doomsday-loving uncle passed away, leaving him everything. And here the three of us are, in Endstone, Montana, running a gun store and shooting range, while trying to put ourselves back together and get to that “normal” setting that society demands of us.
Right alongside Dharla fucking Cornburner.
Yeah. Hindsight? Maybe this isn’t the best place for us to lose our crazy, but it’s too late now. Then again, maybe this town’s kind of crazy is just what we need.
When I grab a cup of coffee from the back, Puddles looks up at me with a whine. She’s been with me for fourteen months now. I don’t know how I handled shit without her before. She always watches me with intelligent brown eyes as she gauges my mood. She’s the best thing to come out of the VA. She helps with my PTSD, but she’s also funny as shit when she slobbers all over Madix’s pants and makes him freak out. I swear, she’s so smart, she just does it to get a rise out of him. I grab her water bowl and walk over to the sink in our makeshift break room/office to dump out the old water and refill it for her.
I flip on the radio before heading back to the front, hearing the song fade out in the background as the local newscasters start droning on. “The government and CDC are keeping a close eye on recent outbreaks of a virus they're calling the Handshake Plague. The virus has been taking parts of the country by storm, and is suspected to originate in a small province of India. Officials are working hard to contain the spread of the virus, and they’re advising the public to take proper precautions when dealing with anyone showing symptoms of infection. If you or someone you know has travelled in or around Bihar in the last six months, please report to your local hospital immediately.”
I glance up at the clock over the door, realizing it’s one minute to nine. Shit. Dharla really set me back. If I’m late opening, I'll never hear the end of it from Sheriff April and Zeke, who both like to come shooting every morning, right when we open, at nine on the dot. I hurry to the front and flip the switch that lights up the fluorescentOpensign and then disengage the locks, waving at the shop owner across the street who’s doing the same thing.
When Theo first asked Madix and I if we wanted to move here with him to help run this place, I pictured an old, beat up shop that would probably need a ton of repairs, and a dusty old shooting range that would be in similar shape, but I was pleasantly surprised to find that this place was top-notch. And luckily, nearly everyone in town is gun owners who come shooting on a weekly basis, so business has been good.
Before I can walk back behind the counter, the front door whooshes open, and Sheriff April comes in. He’s actually retired, but everyone around town still calls him Sheriff. He holds the door open for his buddy Zeke, and they both saunter over to the counter with rifle bags in hand. They’re both in their late sixties, with round middles and scruffy salt and pepper jaws. Zeke lost the battle with his receding hairline and opted to go bald, while the sheriff prefers to comb his gray hair back and stuff a worn baseball cap over it.
“Morning, Brant. How are you, on this what promises to be another balmy day?” Sheriff April asks me, as he tilts the bill of his cap down in greeting.
I chuckle. “Balmy? It’s not even sixty outside, Sheriff. And even in the summertime, I bet this place has nothing on the Arizona dryness that I grew up with. Phoenix in the summertime is like visiting hell. Maybe you’re just having hot flashes,” I razz the retired sheriff. “You could trade in the slacks and button downs for a t-shirt and shorts,” I suggest with a grin.
Zeke laughs. “I don’t know what I’d do if I ever caught this man in a pair of shorts. Hell, he might as well be strutting around town in a bikini, for all the shock it would give people. We’d know for sure the end of days were upon us if that ever happened. His legs are probably whiter than the fucking snowcaps. Nobody needs to see that,” Zeke says, chewing on a toothpick.
“Good point,” I say with a shudder, making Zeke laugh again.
“Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up,” Sheriff April says, fighting a grin.
I get them stocked up on ammo before they head to the range, chuckling and back-slapping as they begin to take bets on who will out-shoot who.
As far as I can tell, Sheriff April and Zeke have been friends since forever. It seems that most of the people here in Endstone are born, raised, married, and buried without ever leaving this place. There’s a saturated sense of camaraderie that I’m still not used to, but I have to admit, it’s kind of nice.
Before long, I hear the faint but distinct sound of Zeke and the sheriff unloading their rifles in the indoor shooting range. Sometimes, it sets my teeth on edge, and I have to breathe through the panic that jumpstarts in me—fucking PTSD—but luckily, it doesn’t phase me this morning. Looks like I may have just conquered that small trigger. I get into my groove, restocking the bathroom before checking our inventory.
An hour later, Sheriff April and Zeke come strolling out, busting each other’s balls about who was the better shot for the day. They come over, slapping their paper targets down on the counter, and I sit back, sipping my coffee and hiding my smirk.
“Bullshit, Sheriff. I had the better shots, and you know it,” Zeke argues.
Sheriff April rolls his eyes, but there’s mirth in his blue gaze as he scratches the scruff on his chin. He has the telltale paunch in his belly that reveals how much he enjoys the beer and pie that he has every night at the diner. He’s usually joined by a group of three other male widows, including Zeke, and all of them get doted on by the middle-aged diner owner, Jolene.
When we first moved here, Madix made the mistake of going into the diner on a Saturday morning, when nearly half the town was there. He got at least a dozen girls flashing him smiles and doe-eyes, most of them offering to bring him a casserole. Good thing he ordered our food to-go, or he might have ended up accidentally engaged. For some reason, the chicks dig his asshole ways. They think his broody quietness is interesting or some shit.
Theo draws attention too, but it’s because he’s the most outgoing and always seems to know how to make people like him. Madix has already been threatened by two shotgun-toting fathers, and it’s only a matter of time before another pissed off one shows up for Theo, too.
Sheriff and Zeke’s long running argument is still background noise as I scroll through items on the supplier’s website, but I look up when I hear the door open and see Mr. Stevens walking in. I offer him a friendly smile and take the small gun case he holds out. He owns the local butcher shop and normally comes in to shoot on Thursdays, which is my day off.
“Hey, Mr. Stevens. What can I help you with today?”
He steps up to the counter as I set the case down. “I bought this Smith & Wesson about a month back, but I’m having trouble with the magazine release sticking.” Mr. Stevens begins to unzip the case, and all at once, a distinct smell hits me. Just like that, I’m not in the shop anymore. I’m trapped somewhere else. The last fucking place I ever want to be.
2
Brant
It’s quiet.Tooquiet.
