Chapter 6 - LANE FORTY-TWO
Grant stared down at her, completely speechless. The confidence that had defined his demeanor for the past hour had dissolved, replaced by a cold, prickling sensation along the back of his neck.
"You... you threw the match," Grant stammered, trying to regain his footing, his voice rising in frustration. "This is a sanctioned competition, Bennett! You don't get to just pick random objects in the mountains to shoot at!"
Claire didn't argue. She set the warm spent brass casing neatly into her tactical ammo box, her hands steady, her expression calm and unbothered.
The Range Officer didn't mark a zero on his clipboard. Instead, he reached up to his shoulder strap with his left hand, unclipped his heavy tactical radio, and pressed the push-to-talk button firmly.
"Control... this is Range Safety One," the officer said into the microphone, his voice deadpan and serious. "Confirm status on Lane Forty-Two."
A burst of heavy static hissed through the radio speaker, followed by a voice that was heavily garbled and scrambler-distorted—an encrypted signal that sounded entirely different from the standard unencrypted radio channels used by the competition staff.
The voice through the speaker rasped out a brief, garbled string of numbers and letters:
“...Control confirms... Lane Four-Two... Impact verified at... two thousand four hundred yards... Target green...”
The Range Officer’s expression changed instantly. The neutral, professional reserve he maintained transformed into a look of quiet, profound gravity. He slowly lowered the radio back to his chest, looking down at the administrative clipboard in his hand.
Grant stepped directly into the Range Officer’s line of sight, his face flushing red with confusion and irritation.
"What is Lane Forty-Two?" Grant demanded, looking between the Range Officer and Claire. "The range only has twenty lanes! There is no Lane Forty-Two!"
May you like
The Range Officer did not answer him. He didn't even look at Grant.
Instead, he turned his eyes back down to Claire, who was already sitting up smoothly on her shooting mat, reaching for her rifle cleaning rod with practiced, deliberate movements.
