Main Dishes

PART 2 Jace’s eye pressed against the rubber cup of the spotting scope. The silence inside the indoor range was heavy, broken only by the hum of the recycled air kicking through the overhead vents. The smell of cold gun oil and spent brass lingered in the space between the firing line and the backstop….

The classroom door didn’t just open. It was thrown wide with a force that rattled the heavy metal hinges. Two men stepped in first. They were giants. They wore full tactical gear—multicam uniforms, plate carriers loaded with heavy magazines, drop-leg holsters, and communication headsets strapped over their helmets. They carried rifles slung tightly across their…

He pulled out something dark and heavy, tossing it onto my porch. It landed on the wooden deck with a soft, heavy thud. It was a black Jiu-Jitsu belt. It was heavily frayed at the edges, worn from years of grinding on gym mats, and adorned with three distinct red stripes at the end. I…

“Your Honor, I’d like to present Defense Exhibit A,” Ms. Rodriguez announced. She placed the digital audio player on the wooden evidence table in front of the judge, turned the volume up, and pressed play. The courtroom speakers crackled to life. Instead of the hateful, aggressive voice Derek had played in the study hall, the…

He let out a manufactured grunt and lunged forward, launching a heavily telegraphed one-two combination directly at my jaw. To the untrained eye of the neighborhood spectators, it looked terrifyingly fast. To someone who had spent their entire adult life drilling close-quarters combat against insurgents, it looked like it was happening in slow motion. Trent…

I grabbed the heavy canvas tarp with both hands and pulled. The dust of eleven years billowed into the shafts of afternoon light as the heavy fabric slid backward. Underneath it sat my father’s 1974 John Deere 4430. It came out of the shadows like something that had been patiently waiting for a war. 125…

The heavy Texas night was fractured by the spinning strobe of police lights, painting the corrugated steel of the warehouses in rhythmic flashes of crimson and sapphire. For a moment, the only sound was the ragged breathing of Damien Cole and the idling engines of the Lubbock police cruisers. Damien stared at Captain Miller, his…

Jason scoffed. It was a wet, dismissive sound that echoed off the high cinder block walls. He shook his head, a gesture engineered entirely for the teenagers holding their phones at the door. He was convinced he was dealing with a senile man who didn’t understand the basic mechanics of modern combat. He raised his…

Part 1: The Call After the Funeral My name is Booker King. I am seventy-two years old. For forty years, I managed the loading docks of a massive shipping warehouse, and before that, I carried an M16 through the jungles of Vietnam. I know how to read the silence before an ambush. I know what…

Part 1: The Call After the Funeral My name is Booker King. I am seventy-two years old. For forty years, I managed the loading docks of a massive shipping warehouse, and before that, I carried an M16 through the jungles of Vietnam. I know how to read the silence before an ambush. I know what…