Chapter 29 — The Click

Chapter 29 — The Click

The complaint didn't sound unusual.

That was what Calvin would remember afterward.

Nothing in Charlie's voice suggested danger.

Nothing about the call made Calvin's stomach tighten.

Nothing told him that within the hour he would hear the sound of a rifle trying to fire directly into his chest.

It came in shortly after ten.

Possible coyote hunters.

Gunshots after dark.

A vehicle had been seen pulling into an old logging access several miles outside town.

The caller couldn't provide much more than that.

Two men.

Pickup truck.

Lights moving around in the field.

At least one rifle.

Calvin was already in the area.

He keyed his radio.

“Mercer. I'll head that way.”

Steve answered before Charlie could.

“Where you at?”

Calvin gave him the road.

“I'm about twelve out.”

Then Brett.

“I'm farther east. Probably twenty-five.”

Charlie came over the radio.

“Alright. Calvin, check it out. Don't go charging into anything stupid. Steve's coming your way.”

Calvin smiled.

“Wasn't planning on it.”

Charlie answered immediately.

“That's usually when stupid happens.”

Steve laughed over the radio.

Calvin shook his head.

“Copy.”

He continued toward the complaint.

The road narrowed quickly.

Houses became fewer.

Then disappeared almost entirely.

Trees crowded both sides.

Cold air settled low in the valleys.

The moon provided some light, but not enough to matter beneath the canopy.

Calvin found the logging access without difficulty.

An older pickup sat just inside.

No lights.

He slowed.

There were tire tracks continuing farther back.

Calvin radioed.

“Found a truck at the access. I'm going in on foot.”

Steve responded.

“Copy. About six out.”

Brett:

“Still heading your way.”

Calvin parked where his vehicle would be visible.

He checked his equipment.

Flashlight.

Radio.

Weapon.

Everything where it belonged.

Then started in.

The woods were quiet.

Too quiet for men supposedly hunting coyotes.

He moved carefully.

There was no reason to announce himself from half a mile away.

Eventually he saw light ahead.

Not headlights.

A portable spotlight.

It moved briefly across a field before disappearing.

Then voices.

Two men.

Calvin stopped.

Listened.

One laughed.

The other said something he couldn't make out.

There was nothing immediately threatening about it.

Just two guys in the woods.

Possibly hunting.

Possibly violating hunting regulations.

Possibly doing absolutely nothing serious.

Calvin stepped out where he could be seen.

“Environmental Conservation.”

Both men turned.

The first was holding a rifle.

The muzzle pointed toward the ground.

The second stood near a small pack lying beside a log.

Calvin illuminated them.

“Keep the rifle pointed down.”

The man complied.

“What's going on?” he asked.

“Just checking things out. Had a complaint about shooting in the area.”

The second man laughed.

“People complain about everything.”

Calvin looked at him.

“Probably.”

He approached slowly.

Neither man appeared particularly concerned.

That helped.

Calvin kept enough distance to react if something changed.

Experience had taught him that friendly didn't mean safe.

“What are you guys hunting?”

“Coyotes.”

“Any luck?”

“Nope.”

The rifleman answered normally.

The second man did not.

He kept moving.

Not dramatically.

Small movements.

Hand rubbing his jaw.

Weight shifting.

Looking toward the woods.

Then toward Calvin.

Then back toward the truck access behind him.

Calvin noticed.

“You alright?”

The man smiled.

“Yeah.”

Too quickly.

Calvin looked closer.

Sweating.

Cold night.

Too much movement.

Eyes that didn't seem to settle.

Something was wrong.

Maybe nerves.

Maybe alcohol.

Maybe something else.

“Either of you been drinking?”

The rifleman shook his head.

“No.”

The other man laughed again.

“Why?”

“Because I'm asking.”

Calvin's voice remained calm.

He radioed without making a show of it.

“Steve, what's your location?”

“Two minutes.”

Good.

Calvin returned his attention to the men.

“Let me see hunting licenses.”

The rifleman reached slowly toward his jacket.

Calvin watched his hands.

The second man crouched near the pack.

“Don't reach in there yet.”

The man stopped.

Calvin stepped slightly closer.

“Stand up for me.”

“Why?”

“Because I'm asking you to.”

The man looked at him.

For half a second something changed in his face.

Defiance.

Or fear.

Calvin couldn't decide.

Then he stood.

The rifleman handed over his license.

Calvin checked it.

Everything looked normal.

“What about you?”

The second man patted his pockets.

“Don't have it.”

“Don't have a license or don't have it with you?”

“Don't know.”

Calvin stared at him.

That was not a normal answer.

“You don't know if you have a hunting license?”

The man smiled.

“I might.”

Calvin looked at the rifleman.

His expression had changed too.

Embarrassed.

Nervous.

Maybe irritated at his friend.

Calvin handed back the license.

“Whose pack?”

The second man answered.

“Mine.”

“Anything inside I need to know about?”

“No.”

Calvin looked at him.

“Any weapons?”

“No.”

“Knives?”

“No.”

“Anything illegal?”

The man laughed.

“Like what?”

Calvin didn't answer.

The beam of his flashlight crossed the ground.

Then stopped.

Something reflected near the open edge of the pack.

Glass.

Small.

Calvin lowered the beam.

A pipe.

Not a tobacco pipe.

Glass stem.

Burned end.

Calvin felt the entire encounter change.

He looked at the man.

The man looked down.

Then back at Calvin.

Nobody spoke.

Calvin moved his light slightly.

Beside the pipe sat a small plastic baggie.

White crystalline material inside.

Meth.

Or what certainly appeared to be meth.

Calvin's voice became firmer.

“Keep your hands where I can see them.”

The man froze.

The rifleman looked at the ground.

“Oh, fuck.”

Calvin keyed his radio.

“Steve, expedite.”

The response came immediately.

“Coming in.”

The second man looked toward the woods.

“Don't.”

Calvin's voice sharpened.

“Stay right where you are.”

The man looked back.

His breathing changed.

Fast.

Shallow.

His eyes moved everywhere.

Calvin had seen panic before.

This wasn't ordinary panic.

This was somebody whose brain was moving faster than the situation.

“Meth yours?” Calvin asked.

The man shook his head violently.

“No.”

“Don't move.”

“That's not mine.”

“I didn't ask you to explain it yet.”

“That's not mine!”

The rifleman took one step backward.

Calvin immediately shifted.

“Stay where you are.”

“I ain't doing anything.”

“Then don't.”

Calvin needed Steve.

Seconds.

That was all.

Just seconds.

The second man looked at Calvin again.

Then something in him broke.

He moved.

Fast.

Not toward the woods.

Toward the rifle.

Calvin saw it happening but not soon enough to stop the first movement.

The rifleman still had the gun.

The second man grabbed it.

“What the hell—”

Everything happened at once.

Calvin drew.

“DROP THE GUN!”

The second man ripped the rifle from his friend's hands.

The rifleman backed away.

Calvin saw the muzzle swing.

Black circle.

Straight toward him.

“DROP IT!”

The world slowed.

Calvin remembered that afterward.

Not metaphorically.

Actually slowed.

The rifle came level.

The man's eyes were wide.

Wild.

Calvin's own weapon was coming up.

He knew what he needed to do.

He knew.

Then the man's finger moved.

Calvin heard it.

Click.

Nothing else.

No muzzle flash.

No explosion.

No impact.

Just the mechanical sound of a rifle trying to fire.

Calvin didn't think.

He moved.

Distance vanished.

He drove into the man before the rifle could be cycled or fired again.

His left hand caught the fore-end.

His right forced the barrel away.

The man screamed.

Calvin slammed him backward.

They hit the ground hard.

The rifle twisted between them.

“LET GO!”

The man kicked.

Calvin took a knee to the side.

Pain shot through his ribs.

He held on.

The muzzle swept past his head.

Calvin shoved it into the dirt.

The man clawed at his arm.

Then punched.

Calvin's head snapped sideways.

Stars flashed.

He still held the weapon.

“LET GO OF THE FUCKING GUN!”

The second hunter stood frozen several feet away.

Calvin saw him.

“GET BACK!”

That apparently solved the man's paralysis.

He ran.

Straight into the woods.

“STOP!”

He didn't.

Calvin couldn't chase him.

Didn't care.

Not now.

The man beneath him tried twisting the rifle again.

Calvin drove his weight down.

The sling caught around one man's arm.

Calvin couldn't tell whose.

Everything tangled.

Boots.

Elbows.

Weapon.

Mud.

The suspect's hand moved toward the action.

Calvin saw it.

“No!”

Calvin slammed his forearm into the man's wrist.

The rifle shifted.

The suspect tried to bite him.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

Calvin drove the man's face toward the ground.

The suspect screamed.

Then Calvin heard branches breaking.

Footsteps.

Someone running hard.

Steve.

“CALVIN!”

“GUN!”

Steve saw it immediately.

He came in from the side.

Two experienced men changed the equation quickly.

Steve grabbed the suspect's free arm.

Calvin maintained control of the rifle.

“LET IT GO!”

The suspect fought harder.

Steve twisted his arm behind him.

Calvin ripped the rifle away.

He rolled several feet and came up with the muzzle pointed safely away.

Steve drove the suspect flat.

“Hands behind your back!”

“Fuck you!”

“Hands!”

The suspect tried to roll.

Steve stopped him.

Calvin placed the rifle out of reach and moved back in.

Together they controlled the man's arms.

Cuffs went on.

The fight ended almost as abruptly as it had started.

For several seconds nobody moved.

Calvin could hear himself breathing.

Hard.

Too hard.

Steve was breathing too.

The suspect continued shouting into the dirt.

Calvin barely heard him.

He looked at the rifle.

Then at the place he'd been standing.

Then back at the rifle.

Click.

The sound replayed.

Not loud.

That was the worst part.

It hadn't been dramatic.

Just a little mechanical noise.

Steve looked at him.

“You hit?”

Calvin blinked.

“What?”

“You hit?”

“No.”

“You sure?”

Calvin checked himself.

Chest.

Stomach.

Arms.

Nothing.

His ribs hurt.

His face hurt.

But no bullet.

“No.”

Steve stared at him.

“What happened?”

Calvin looked at the rifle.

“He pointed it at me.”

Steve's face changed.

“Did he fire?”

Calvin didn't answer immediately.

Then:

“Pulled the trigger.”

Steve froze.

“It misfired.”

Silence.

Even the suspect seemed farther away.

Steve looked at the rifle.

Then at Calvin.

“You sure?”

Calvin's eyes went to him.

“I heard the fucking click.”

Steve nodded once.

That was enough.

His radio came alive.

Brett.

“I'm almost there.”

Steve grabbed his.

“Expedite. One in custody. Second subject fled into the woods. Weapon involved.”

Brett's voice changed.

“Copy.”

Steve looked at Calvin again.

“You good?”

Calvin almost said yes.

Instead:

“I don't know.”

Steve nodded.

“Fair.”

The scene grew quickly after that.

Brett arrived.

Then troopers.

Additional officers.

The suspect was searched.

More suspected methamphetamine was located.

Additional drug paraphernalia.

No legitimate explanation appeared.

The second hunter remained gone.

They searched.

Called.

Tracked what they could.

Nothing.

Dark woods had swallowed him.

Nobody had a confirmed identity.

The suspect in custody refused to provide one.

Whether from loyalty, drugs, fear or simple stupidity, Calvin couldn't tell.

The second man became another problem for another hour.

Then another day.

For now, he was in the wind.

The rifle became the center of Calvin's attention.

He tried not to stare at it.

Failed.

Someone cleared it safely.

Then the explanation came.

A live round.

A round that should have fired.

Something had prevented it.

Mechanical issue.

Ammunition issue.

Primer.

Firing mechanism.

That part would be examined later.

Calvin didn't care.

There had been a live cartridge in the rifle.

The muzzle had been pointed at his chest.

The trigger had been pulled.

The gun had failed.

That was all he needed to know.

Steve stood beside him.

“You realize how close that was.”

Calvin laughed once.

No humor in it.

“Yeah.”

Steve looked toward where the suspect sat secured.

“You did what you had to do.”

Calvin didn't answer.

“You closed distance.”

“Didn't have much choice.”

“No.”

Steve looked at the rifle.

“You didn't.”

Calvin rubbed his face.

His cheek was swelling.

One knuckle had split.

His ribs hurt worse now that the adrenaline was leaving.

Steve watched him.

“You should get checked.”

“I'm fine.”

Steve stared.

Calvin caught himself.

“Yeah.”

Steve almost smiled.

“Thought we were past that word.”

“Apparently it's hereditary.”

Brett walked over.

“You look like shit.”

Calvin looked at him.

“Thanks.”

“Just making sure you know.”

“Appreciate it.”

Brett's expression changed.

“You really had that thing pointed at you?”

Calvin nodded.

“And he pulled the trigger?”

“Yes.”

Brett looked toward the rifle.

“Jesus.”

Nobody added anything.

There wasn't anything to add.

It was hours before Calvin finally sat alone in his truck.

The suspect was gone.

Transported.

Evidence secured.

Statements started.

More paperwork waiting.

The woods had become quiet again.

Almost offensively quiet.

Calvin closed the door.

For the first time that night, nobody was speaking to him.

No radios.

No questions.

No Steve.

No Brett.

No troopers.

Just Calvin.

He sat behind the steering wheel.

Hands resting loosely in his lap.

His knuckles were cut.

His side hurt every time he breathed deeply.

He could feel swelling along his cheek.

None of it mattered.

He stared through the windshield.

Then heard it again.

Click.

Calvin closed his eyes.

The muzzle.

The man's face.

The trigger moving.

Click.

He pictured what should have happened next.

A rifle round from several yards.

Maybe less.

Center chest.

Calvin looked down.

His hand touched the front of his jacket.

Nothing.

He was sitting in his truck.

Breathing.

That seemed suddenly impossible.

He had been trained.

He had reacted.

He had closed distance.

He had fought.

Steve had arrived.

All of that mattered.

But none of it explained the first second.

The gun hadn't fired.

Calvin hadn't caused that.

His training hadn't caused it.

Steve hadn't caused it.

Nothing Calvin had done had stopped that bullet.

Because there had never been a bullet.

Not after the trigger pull.

Just—

Click.

Calvin swallowed.

For months he had wrestled with questions he didn't quite know how to ask.

The moose collision.

Jenna.

Ethen's story.

His father's faith.

Living Hope.

Conversations about things that seemed larger than coincidence and too uncomfortable to dismiss completely.

He had wondered whether God was actually involved in ordinary lives.

Whether anybody was really listening.

Whether things happened for reasons or whether people simply needed to believe they did.

Tonight Calvin didn't have an answer.

But sitting alone in that truck, he felt something.

Small.

Quiet.

Impossible to prove.

He looked through the windshield at the darkness.

“Were You there?”

The words surprised him.

Calvin didn't normally pray.

Not like this.

Not alone.

Not without somebody else starting it.

He looked down.

His hands trembled.

He hadn't noticed until now.

“Because I don't know how I'm sitting here.”

His voice broke slightly.

That irritated him.

Then he decided he didn't care.

“You know I don't know what I'm doing with all this.”

Silence.

No voice answered.

No light appeared.

Nothing supernatural happened.

The woods remained the woods.

The truck remained a truck.

Calvin remained a bruised twenty-four-year-old conservation officer sitting alone after nearly being killed.

But something inside him loosened.

Not fear.

The fear was still there.

Maybe it always would be.

Something else.

The need to explain it.

Calvin leaned his head back against the seat.

“Thank You.”

Two words.

That was all.

He didn't know exactly who he was thanking.

Except maybe he did.

Calvin closed his eyes.

For several minutes he simply sat there.

Alive.

That seemed like enough.

His phone rang halfway home.

Becca.

Calvin looked at the screen.

He considered not answering.

Not because he didn't want to hear her.

Because he knew his voice would give him away.

The phone rang again.

He answered.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

Becca sounded tired.

“You working?”

“Yeah.”

“How was your night?”

There it was.

Calvin almost laughed.

The question.

The same ordinary question Mara had asked Cal thousands of times.

How was work?

Fine.

Busy.

Long.

Calvin stared at the road.

“Busy.”

The word came out automatically.

Becca paused.

Calvin hated himself for it immediately.

He could hear his father.

He could see Mara sitting across from him at lunch.

Twenty-five years of busy.

Becca said, “Okay.”

She didn't push.

That somehow made it worse.

Calvin gripped the steering wheel.

“Actually…”

Becca waited.

He swallowed.

“Something happened.”

Her voice changed.

“Are you hurt?”

“Not really.”

“Calvin.”

“Couple bruises. Cut knuckles. My ribs hurt.”

“What happened?”

He almost minimized it again.

Then didn't.

“I had a rifle pointed at me.”

Silence.

Not normal silence.

The kind where another human being has stopped breathing for a second.

Becca finally spoke.

“What?”

“Guy was high. Meth.”

Calvin kept his eyes on the road.

“I found a pipe and a baggie. Situation went bad.”

“How bad?”

Calvin knew she deserved the truth.

“He pulled the trigger.”

Nothing.

Calvin could almost feel her processing it.

“The gun didn't fire.”

Becca's voice was very quiet.

“He pulled the trigger with it pointed at you?”

“Yeah.”

“Calvin…”

“It misfired.”

She exhaled.

Long.

Shaky.

“Are you sure you're okay?”

“I'm driving home.”

“That isn't what I asked.”

Calvin smiled faintly despite everything.

“You sound like my father.”

“Answer me.”

He thought.

Physically?

Mostly.

Emotionally?

He had no idea.

“I don't know.”

Becca became quiet.

Then:

“Okay.”

Calvin waited.

She continued.

“You don't have to know right now.”

That surprised him.

“I should.”

“No.”

Her voice was gentle.

“You almost got shot tonight.”

Calvin gripped the wheel tighter.

Hearing someone else say it made it more real.

“I know.”

“You don't have to decide how you feel about that before you get home.”

Calvin stared ahead.

“Dad would've told Mom it was busy.”

“I know.”

“He did. For years.”

Becca said nothing.

“I almost did that to you.”

“You did.”

Calvin winced.

“Sorry.”

“Don't apologize.”

“But—”

“I understand why.”

She paused.

“What I don't want is you thinking you have to protect me from every difficult thing that happens to you.”

Calvin felt the words.

Almost exactly what Mara had said about Cal.

Becca continued.

“I'm not asking you to tell me every graphic detail of your job.”

“I know.”

“And I'm not asking you to come home and give me a report.”

Calvin smiled.

“Good.”

“But if you're scared, you can tell me you're scared.”

He didn't answer.

“If you're angry, you can tell me you're angry.”

Still nothing.

“If you don't know what you feel, you can tell me that too.”

Calvin felt his eyes burn slightly.

He blinked hard.

“I'm not very good at that.”

“I know.”

He laughed quietly.

“Thanks.”

“I'm serious.”

“So am I.”

Becca softened.

“You don't have to be good at it.”

Calvin drove another quarter mile.

Then said:

“I was scared.”

There.

The sentence felt foreign.

But not wrong.

“After?”

“During too.”

Becca said nothing.

“I saw the gun come up.”

Calvin took a breath.

“He squeezed the trigger and I heard it click.”

His hands tightened around the wheel.

“I keep hearing it.”

Becca's voice stayed steady.

“You might for a while.”

“I know.”

“Talk to me when you need to.”

Calvin nodded even though she couldn't see him.

“Okay.”

“And Calvin?”

“Yeah?”

“You don't ever have to earn the right to call me.”

He frowned.

“What does that mean?”

“It means good day, bad day, boring day, terrible day—I don't care.”

Her voice softened.

“You don't have to decide something is bad enough before you let me be there.”

Calvin didn't answer immediately.

He thought about his father.

Mara.

Ethen.

Mike Donnelly.

The Hostlers breakfast table.

Ask the second question.

Calvin finally said:

“I love you.”

Silence.

This time it was different.

Calvin's eyes widened slightly.

He hadn't planned that.

Hadn't rehearsed it.

Hadn't even consciously decided he was ready to say it.

The words had simply appeared.

Becca was quiet long enough that Calvin began considering driving directly into Lake Champlain.

Then she laughed softly.

“What?”

Calvin's face became hot.

“Nothing.”

“No, what?”

“You picked a hell of a moment.”

“I didn't pick anything.”

“You almost get shot and decide that's when you're going to tell me you love me?”

Calvin smiled.

“When you say it like that, it sounds strange.”

“It is strange.”

“Forget I said it.”

“Absolutely not.”

Calvin waited.

Becca's voice changed.

Warm.

“I love you too.”

Calvin felt something in his chest that had nothing to do with the rifle.

“You do?”

“Don't ruin it.”

“Right.”

“Drive home.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Don't call me ma'am.”

“Sorry.”

“And get those ribs checked tomorrow if they still hurt.”

“Yes, Nurse Vermont.”

“Goodnight, Officer Mercer.”

“Night.”

He ended the call.

For several miles Calvin drove in silence.

Then he laughed.

Not because anything about the night had been funny.

Because somehow life had managed to contain all of it at once.

A meth pipe.

A rifle.

A misfire.

A fistfight.

A prayer.

And the first time he told Becca he loved her.

Calvin shook his head.

“Hell of a night.”

The road stretched ahead.

Dark.

Quiet.

Home waiting somewhere at the end of it.

The sound of the rifle would stay with him.

He knew that.

Click.

Maybe forever.

But another sound had joined it now.

Becca's voice.

I love you too.

And beneath both of them was something quieter.

Something Calvin couldn't hear with his ears.

Something he had only begun to recognize.

For the first time in his life, Calvin Mercer wasn't merely wondering whether God might be there.

Tonight, he had spoken to Him.

And somehow, sitting behind the wheel alive when every logical outcome told him he might not have been, Calvin found himself believing that maybe someone really had been watching over him.