The Gifted. the Damned. by Robin Ive

Author:Robin Ive
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: fantasy thriller, supernatural thriller, paranormal thriller, horror suspense novels, horror thriller novels, dark fantasy novels
Publisher: Robin Ive
Published: 2016-01-02T00:00:00+00:00

53

IN A TREE-ENCLOSED meadow on the Foundation’s grounds, paper targets were pinned to hay bales. Hutchens wanted Josh armed when he went through the dreamstone, and he’d moved fast to get a firearms refresher arranged. The weapons instructor had arrived early that morning with the targets, the guns and the ammunition. In his late fifties, he was steely-eyed with a bullish build and closely-cropped, greying hair. Josh knew the type; he wouldn’t tolerate nonsense from anybody, regardless of rank or privilege.

Josh stood on the dewy grass, ear defenders parked around his neck and a holster strapped to his leg. Saul Irving and Grant Hutchens were watching from slightly behind. Dani had stayed back at the house with Rachel and Willa. Saul was already filling his pipe.

“Demonstrate to me how you would hold the weapon,” the instructor said.

Josh raised the gun, holding it at arms’ length, bracing his right hand with his left. He’d had no intention of ever firing a gun again in his life, and yet it was disconcerting how familiar and reassuring it felt.

“Glock 17,” the instructor said crisply, his Black Country accent heavy. “I believe you’re familiar with it?”

Josh nodded. The Glock was now standard British Army issue, having replaced the Browning Hi-Power, which Sammy had had in his possession.

“I’m not going to teach an old dog new tricks,” the instructor continued. “This session is about shaking off the rust.” He paused, watching Josh for a moment. “Are you happy with the operation of the weapon?”

“Yes,” Josh said tersely.

What did this guy know about his history? How much had he been told?

As if it mattered in any way.

“All right. In your own time, load, safety off, face away, and on my command, spin and fire.”

The instructor stepped behind the foldable table, which was off to one side. Josh took a full magazine from it and snapped it into the Glock. He slipped the gun back into its holster and nestled the defenders over his ears.

He turned his back on the targets, facing Irving and Hutchens now.

He took a deep breath.

Ready.

There was a brief pause, and then the instructor barked, “Up!”

In one smooth movement, Josh withdrew the Glock from the holster, spun around and was facing the target in the crouching position, arms locked and finger on the trigger.

But he didn’t fire.

Couldn’t.

His hands were trembling.

Here it was again, that single burning image of Clare’s last moments of life. Of Hazreeth Moghadam’s hate-filled eyes as she held the knife to Clare’s neck; the terror in her pleading eyes.

Josh blinked away the vision, and the sweat which had run into his eyes.

The barrel of the gun had slid away from the target’s bullseye.

“Is everything all right, Mr Kelly?” the instructor asked levelly.

For a reply, Josh recentred on the target and fired off the gun’s entire magazine in quick succession. All the shots hit the bulls-eye or were within centimetres of it.

“Everything’s fine,” he said.

He reholstered the gun and slipped off the ear defenders.

There was a strong smell of Nitroglycerin and graphite in the air, and thin smoke from the discharges was slowly dispersing.

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