Read Online Blackout by Chris Ryan - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Chris Ryan
Tags: thriller
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hobbled at his side, using the crutch to hold his weight as he moved forwards. He was dressed in just his gown, and the ground felt hot on the soles of his feet. 'Take a shot,' suggested Marshall. 'I think it might be good exercise for you. Get your senses working again.'
Josh just nodded. So far, he was uncertain what he should make^ of Marshall. Kate was a doctor, although even her motives were hard to figure out. But the old guy, thought Josh -- he was a puzzle without any clues.
The door swung open to reveal a storeroom full of guns and ammunition. There must have been a dozen hunting rifles stacked in rows. Josh ran his gaze over them, recognising a Saiga, a Kalashnikov, a Winchester, a Marlin and a Browning. They were all sporty, heavy-duty models with polished wooden stocks, designed to fell a deer or a stag at two hundred yards in the woods. Next to them was a range of pistols. .�
'Pick one,' said Marshall.
Josh looked at the weapons and let his instincts guide him. He took a Sig-Sauer P228 pistol, cocked it, then uncocked it and activated the firing-pin safety.
'I keep these loaded all the time,' said Marshall. 'Give it a go.'
Marshall held the gun for him while Josh hobbled outside.
52
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He walked across to the side of the porch, leaned his crutch against the wall and used the frame of the door to support some of his weight.
'Think you can hit one of those cans?'
'I have no idea,' answered Josh.
He released the safety, lifted the pistol and gripped the weapon in both hands, his feet positioned slightly apart like a boxer's. He raised the gun so that it Was level with his eye.
'The weaver position,' said Marshall.
'What?' asked Josh.
Marshall smiled. 'Never mind. It's a police term.'
Josh squinted, concentrating on the tiny sight at the tip of the barrel. The tin can was fifty yards distant, and only just visible. He lined up the pistol's barrel, then took a deep breath to steady the muscles in his shoulders and his forearms. Is this instinct? he wondered. Like a dog chewing on a bone. Or have I been trained to do this?
He squeezed the trigger gently, exerting only as much pressure as was needed to release the bullet. The barrel of the gun slammed backwards with the recoil but Josh had enough strength to control the kickback. Without thinking, he fired again. A double tap: two bullets in quick succession.
The tin can spun into the air, then shot forward as the second bullet punched through it.
'A shot,' said Marshall, standing two yards behind him. 'I thought so.' He paused. 'T,ry again.'
Josh steadied the pistol, took aim and fired. One shot, then two. The can clattered to the ground.
'Again,' said Marshall.
Josh paused, took a breath, then squeezed the trigger -- once, then twice. Another can bit the dust.
Marshall stepped in front of him. He took a swig of the beer bottle gripped in his right hand, emptying its contents
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down his throat. He glanced across towards Josh. 'Let's see if you can hit a moving target.'
With a swing of his hand, Marshall slung the bottle high up into the air. Josh followed it with his stare, tracking the arc of its movement. Wait until it peaks and starts to fall, he told himself. That is when it will slow down. That is when it will be easier to hit.
He squeezed the trigger. The bullet streaked high into the sky, hitting nothing. Almost instantaneously, Josh released the second round. This time he could hear the satisfying crunch of steel smashing into glass, sending a shower of tiny fragments of the bottle down from the sky.
'Like I said, a marksman,' said Marshall, stepping towards him. 'A soldier always fires twice. It's drilled into him.'
'You already said I was a soldier.'
Marshall nodded, his expression turning serious. 'Plenty of soldiers can't shoot straight,' he replied. 'Look at the way you always fire twice. Assault troops do that -- it's part of their training. If you want to kill a man, two bullets are always twice as good as one. Squeeze
Josh just nodded. So far, he was uncertain what he should make^ of Marshall. Kate was a doctor, although even her motives were hard to figure out. But the old guy, thought Josh -- he was a puzzle without any clues.
The door swung open to reveal a storeroom full of guns and ammunition. There must have been a dozen hunting rifles stacked in rows. Josh ran his gaze over them, recognising a Saiga, a Kalashnikov, a Winchester, a Marlin and a Browning. They were all sporty, heavy-duty models with polished wooden stocks, designed to fell a deer or a stag at two hundred yards in the woods. Next to them was a range of pistols. .�
'Pick one,' said Marshall.
Josh looked at the weapons and let his instincts guide him. He took a Sig-Sauer P228 pistol, cocked it, then uncocked it and activated the firing-pin safety.
'I keep these loaded all the time,' said Marshall. 'Give it a go.'
Marshall held the gun for him while Josh hobbled outside.
52
ri
He walked across to the side of the porch, leaned his crutch against the wall and used the frame of the door to support some of his weight.
'Think you can hit one of those cans?'
'I have no idea,' answered Josh.
He released the safety, lifted the pistol and gripped the weapon in both hands, his feet positioned slightly apart like a boxer's. He raised the gun so that it Was level with his eye.
'The weaver position,' said Marshall.
'What?' asked Josh.
Marshall smiled. 'Never mind. It's a police term.'
Josh squinted, concentrating on the tiny sight at the tip of the barrel. The tin can was fifty yards distant, and only just visible. He lined up the pistol's barrel, then took a deep breath to steady the muscles in his shoulders and his forearms. Is this instinct? he wondered. Like a dog chewing on a bone. Or have I been trained to do this?
He squeezed the trigger gently, exerting only as much pressure as was needed to release the bullet. The barrel of the gun slammed backwards with the recoil but Josh had enough strength to control the kickback. Without thinking, he fired again. A double tap: two bullets in quick succession.
The tin can spun into the air, then shot forward as the second bullet punched through it.
'A shot,' said Marshall, standing two yards behind him. 'I thought so.' He paused. 'T,ry again.'
Josh steadied the pistol, took aim and fired. One shot, then two. The can clattered to the ground.
'Again,' said Marshall.
Josh paused, took a breath, then squeezed the trigger -- once, then twice. Another can bit the dust.
Marshall stepped in front of him. He took a swig of the beer bottle gripped in his right hand, emptying its contents
53
down his throat. He glanced across towards Josh. 'Let's see if you can hit a moving target.'
With a swing of his hand, Marshall slung the bottle high up into the air. Josh followed it with his stare, tracking the arc of its movement. Wait until it peaks and starts to fall, he told himself. That is when it will slow down. That is when it will be easier to hit.
He squeezed the trigger. The bullet streaked high into the sky, hitting nothing. Almost instantaneously, Josh released the second round. This time he could hear the satisfying crunch of steel smashing into glass, sending a shower of tiny fragments of the bottle down from the sky.
'Like I said, a marksman,' said Marshall, stepping towards him. 'A soldier always fires twice. It's drilled into him.'
'You already said I was a soldier.'
Marshall nodded, his expression turning serious. 'Plenty of soldiers can't shoot straight,' he replied. 'Look at the way you always fire twice. Assault troops do that -- it's part of their training. If you want to kill a man, two bullets are always twice as good as one. Squeeze
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