Reggie reached the set of double doors set at an angle into the corner of the structure. She inserted her key in the heavy padlock, tugged open the doors, and pulled the chain on the bare light bulb set just inside the revealed space. A moment later the passage she stepped down into became dimly illuminated and smelled strongly of damp soil, making her feel slightly sick. She touched dirt, walked downward at a twenty-degree angle for another fifteen paces where the tunnel leveled out. She had no idea who’d carved it out of the earth or why, but it did come in handy now.

She reached the end of the passage where a number of mattresses had been placed on end and positioned front-to-back. A small table was set against a dirt sidewall. On the table was a stack of paper and a small battery-powered fan. She picked up the top sheet and, using a clip, fastened it to a cord that hung between the two sidewalls of the tunnel. Next to the stack were a number of ear mufflers and safety goggles. She slipped a pair of mufflers around her neck, where they dangled loosely, and put on the protective eyewear.

On the sheet of paper was the blackened image of a man with black rings running around it. She paced off thirty feet, turned, took out her pistol from its belt holster, checked the load, slipped the ear mufflers on, assumed her preferred firing stance, took aim, and triggered off her full mag. There was very little ventilation down here and the acrid burn of the ordnance was immediately absorbed into her nostrils. Bits of dirt dislodged by the gun’s discharge fell from between cracks in the weathered boards forming the tunnel’s beamed ceiling. She coughed, whipped the air with her hand to clear the smoke and dust, and walked forward to examine her marksmanship, pausing for a moment to turn on the fan. It lazily oscillated back and forth, but took its time in clearing away the haze. So much for first-class shooting facilities.