"Everyone shooting must sign in. Only people that have passed the gun class can enter. Shooters will stay in front of the gate, everyone else behind. Sign in folks and let's get started."
Jeremy was the MC tonight, Neil's second Eagle, and as Adrian stepped by, he again caught a whiff of perfume he now recognized as Cynthia's, but said nothing. He wasn't worried the Eagle would slip with anything he shouldn't. Before the war, Jeremy had been a devout Catholic, quiet and observant. He knew the meaning of secrecy and he'd found his place here, something the church had been unable to provide. The guard would be careful with it.
There was standing-room-only in the bleachers, and a large crowd lined the gate as the shooters signed in, and checked their weapons. Adrian was glad to see no real fear, no desperation in the faces of his people. The watching crowd talked loudly, betting on their favorites as they sat in chairs in the sand or on thick blankets, and the men shooting waited behind the gate, eager to start.
"Okay. We have 29 shooters tonight," Jeremy announced.
Adrian stepped over to the clipboard on the bales of hay. "Make that 30."
The crowd cheered loudly and the other shooters groaned.
"First, Kenn Harrison."
The sun was gone now, the night dark and gritty, but the moon's outline, while not clear, gave some light and made people feel better just to be able to look up and finally find it in the sky. It was something they hadn't seen much of for almost a hundred days. The area was still dim, but huge spotlights on top of the trucks lit up the ball field and roller-bound targets.
The ones set at 25 and 50 feet were hardly a challenge to the men watching his XO get set, but the ones at 100 and 125 were, and all the contestants knew they would likely be gone before round seven. He and Kenn had dueled it out last time, easily leaving everyone else behind. When they were shooting, no one else stood a chance.
"As many direct hits as you can, any target. On your mark."
The Marine grinned, holding the gun steady against the gusty wind, accounting for it, and then he was firing smoothly.
The crowd cheered when the call came and the guards on the perimeter stayed alert, knowing the noise would carry.
"Eight bulls eyes! Next, Adrian Mitchell."
The leader checked his weapon, and then put it back into his holster, letting his hand hang loosely like an Old-West gunslinger.