Page 26 of Stone Coast (Tyson Wild Thriller)
“ O uch!” Cooper laughed. He was a good sport about it. "You're the one person in here that I don't want to get on their bad side, and it seems like I'm already there.”
I continued loading the magazine, trying to ignore him.
"Where did you learn to shoot like that?”
"I don't know. Just naturally gifted, I guess.”
"That's some gift.”
By that time, I had finished reloading the magazine. I jammed it into the pistol, pulled back the slide, and chambered another round.
I steadied my stance, took aim, and pulled the trigger again. This time, I aimed at the zombie’s heart. I didn't stop pulling the trigger until the magazine was empty again.
Another nice grouping, all within the space of a quarter at 25 yards .
Not bad.
"You have something against that target?"
I shrugged. "He reminds me of the last guy that hit on me at the range.”
Cooper winced. "That pistol is not the only thing that's lethal.”
I shot him a deadly look.
Cooper raised his hands innocently. “I'm not hitting on you, by the way.”
"Oh, really?” I said in disbelief.
"You're totally not my type.”
"What's your type?"
"I prefer women that are less accurate at the range. Just in case things go south."
I responded with a modest chuckle.
"So you are capable of laughter?”
My eyes narrowed at him. "Are you sure you want to antagonize a woman with a gun?”
"Good point," he said. "I'll let you get back to it.”
Cooper disappeared back behind the stall, took aim, and blasted off a few shots at his target. I had to hand it to him—he wasn't bad. He grouped them all well within the kill zone.
Dead is dead—by an inch or a millimeter .
I burned through another several magazines. The zombie was good and dead by the time I was finished.
I reeled the target back in, folded it up, and kept it for good measure. Something to hang on the bulkhead and remind me of what I was capable of and maybe where I had come from.
I holstered my weapon, gathered my things, then left the stall.
"See you around,” Cooper shouted over the noise.
"Not if I see you first,” I said with a grin.
I left the shooting lanes, said goodbye to the clerk on the way out, and hopped on my bike. I fired up the engine and headed back to the marina.
Halfway home, an ice pick stabbed my brain. The sudden headache made a brain freeze from drinking a slushie too fast seem like child’s play.
My vision blurred.
Maybe I shouldn’t have been operating heavy machinery.
I pulled off the road into the parking lot of a liquor store. I found a place to park and killed the engine. My vision flashed, and I caught a glimpse of memories. Short clips of action. Blurry around the edges. Dreamlike.
Had something happened at this liquor store before?
I pulled off my helmet to get some air.
In my head, I saw a late-model blue muscle car pull into the lot. The passenger hopped out wearing a ball cap, dark sunglasses, and a black bandana over his face. He hustled inside the store, drew the pistol, then aimed it at the clerk.
The vision ended, and my headache faded.
I blinked my eyes and rubbed my temples. Was this going to happen every time I unlocked a memory?
When the same blue muscle car drove into the lot and pulled near the entrance, I realized it wasn’t a memory.
Just like my vision, the passenger hopped out, drew his weapon, and stormed inside.