Zombie Hunting and Odd Hours at the San Quentin Gift Shop
Filling in for Sharon Wheeler this week:
I closed one eye and eased back on the trigger, aiming for the sweet spot right between the zombie’s crazed eyes. The muzzle flash was shockingly bright, and the kick nearly knocked me off my feet. I squinted ahead: there was a small pinhole to the right of the zombie’s rounded shoulder. I’d missed. Again. When the zombie invasion comes (which according to the gods of Hollywood cinema, could happen any day now,) I’m clearly screwed.
It was Saturday around noon. After an hour and half of classroom instruction during which Doug the Marine patiently explained the ins and out of firearms and fielded a wide variety of questions (some of which definitely elicited a raised eyebrow,) we were set loose on three lanes of the Bullseye shooting range. My fellow Sisters in Crime and I were participating in a “field trip” of sorts. It was supposed to entail a day at the shooting range, then a quick stop at the San Quentin gift shop for those of us who had last minute Father’s Day shopping to do. (Because nothing says “Best Dad in the World” like a San Quentin paperweight, complete with watchtower, rocks and hammer, and ball and chain. Or “I love you” like a music box crafted by a serial killer. It was the perfect place to find a gift for the man who has everything.)
The classroom instruction alone was worth the trip, in my opinion. Although Doug claimed to not be much of a teacher, I beg to differ—he walked us through the use and handling of a variety of weapons ranging from handguns to shotguns, offered tips on which would be preferable for defending yourself in the event of a home invasion (as opposed to, say, a zombie invasion,) and shared such tidbits as the origins of holding a gun sideways (which apparently is useless for aiming, but derives from the “Tommy Gun”, which tended to jerk upward as you fired. So if you turned the gun sideways instead, voilà, you’d spray the room from one side to the other instead. Neat). He also taught us the correct jargon: apparently if my shooting alone didn’t send a gun aficionado into peals of laughter, referring to the ammo as being held in a “clip” instead of a “magazine” would betray my ignorance. We learned the anatomy of a bullet, complete with a surprisingly graphic drawing. Doug also cleared up the lingering question of whether or not you could shoot someone simply for being in your house (not in California, apparently, but in Alabama just touching your mailbox makes someone fair game. Or so he said…maybe someone should alert the postal workers…)
Doug also walked us through the requirements for getting a firearm license in the state of California, which involves a multiple choice test featuring questions like, “Would you fire your weapon at a rock?” and “Would you shoot in the air at a celebration?” (I checked the test when I got home, and Doug wasn’t kidding about the questions. See it here: http://ag.ca.gov/firearms/forms/pdf/hscsg.pdf if you’re curious.) And that’s it: pass the test, wait eleven days, and fire away. (Mind you, you’re allowed to get seven of those extremely basic questions WRONG. Out of thirty total. On a multiple choice exam. Terrifying.)
Then came time for our final challenge. We chose our targets carefully: two zombies, one named “Chuck,” the other “Steve,” and another one entitled simply, “Angry Bad Guy.” (Although in all honesty, he didn’t appear angry so much as constipated.) We started with three different firearms, one revolver and two semi-automatics, a Glock and a Heckler&Koch (or “H-K,” for those in the know). The revolver was impressive, the kind of six-shooter John Wayne used to spin in westerns. That being said, I couldn’t hit the side of a proverbial barn with it—as Doug had explained, from a distance revolvers weren’t very accurate unless you really knew what you were doing (I did not). The Glock was okay, my aim improved slightly with it, but Zombie Chuck continued to mock me from where he dangled twenty feet away. And then, the H-K. I fell in love (and this is coming from a confirmed pacifist). For the first time, I managed to not only hit zombie Steve, I blew him away. Or at least slowed his advance.
All jacked up on my newfound prowess as a (semi) sharpshooter, I shot a few rounds off a 19-11 and a .22. When they brought out the shotgun, though, I took a pass—I handled one of those years ago at a friend’s farm, and seem to recall having a bruised shoulder for about a week afterward. No thanks.
Our crowd dwindled to a few diehards, and the hour grew late, so I dashed off to the San Quentin gift shop for some last minute shopping. San Quentin prison, home to famous convicts such as Scott Peterson and Cary Stayner, was conveniently located less than a mile from the shooting range. I pulled up to the gate. According to my trusty scouts, the store was supposed to be open from 8-1PM Wednesday through Sunday. A guard at the gate looked at me like I was crazy when I asked about the store, which led me to believe that they’re probably not doing a brisk business. He radioed someone else, who confirmed: gift shop closed. “Will it be open tomorrow?” I asked, and got a shrug in response. So much for that paperweight—my husband would have to settle for Zombie Steve sporting a hole where his nose used to be. But then, who wouldn’t love spending Father’s Day with his newly gun-crazy wife? Isn’t that present enough?
So I’m curious: when the zombie invasion comes, how do you plan to defend yourself and your family? And more importantly, what’s your zombie name of choice? Extra points (and a signed first edition of Boneyard, another cheery tale by yours truly) go to the contestant with the best response. And if you don’t win the book, console yourself by signing up for my newsletter at www.michellegagnon.com, which will enter you in a drawing to win an Amazon Kindle, iPod Shuffle, Starbucks gift certificates, or other fabulous prizes (perhaps even a barely-used zombie target.)
Michelle Gagnon is a former modern dancer, bartender, dog walker, model, personal trainer, and Russian supper club performer. Her debut thriller THE TUNNELS was an IMBA bestseller. Her next book, BONEYARD, depicts a cat and mouse game between dueling serial killers. In her spare time she runs errands and wonders why zombies are so hard to escape from when they move so slowly.
