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Bass had volunteered to watch the baby in an attempt to avoid Christmas Mass with the Mathesons. Bad move. Charlotte was two years old and hopped up on candy and anticipation of presents. He’d finally gotten her into bed with the promise of reading a story. She’d fallen asleep to the soft cadence of his voice, but would stir whenever he stopped and tried to leave. After exhausting the library of children’s books, he grabbed the only other written material he could find from his pack, the issue of Guns and Ammo he and Miles had bought in the airport.
That was how they found him when they returned.
“The AK-47 is a selective-fire, gas-operated assault rifle, first developed in the Soviet Union in 1945.” He said it in near baby-talk voice.
“Jesus Bass!” Miles pulled the magazine out of his hands and gave him a disbelieving look.
“What? She wakes up whenever I stop reading, and I ran out of Disney crap. It’s not like she’ll remember any of this anyway.”
…..
Eighteen Years Later
It was Christmas Eve, and Charlie was filled with anticipation. Not the normal anticipation of presents and Santa Claus, but that of a hunter stalking their prey. The rebels and the Militia were in the midst of a three day long battle. The commanders may have agreed to a temporary truce in honor of the holiday, but she hadn’t.
She was hidden behind an embankment overlooking the Presidential tent. Any moment now Monroe would step out, and she’d have a clear shot. She gripped the assault rifle in her hands and something about the AK-47 made her lose her focus. It was a vague memory of a soft voice and the feeling of safety. She looked up and realized that she’d missed her shot.