>It's been a long ride.
>Of course, you knew what you were getting into riding up to Alaska from Idaho on your cruiser.
>But it wouldn't have felt right doing it any other way.
>Riding the bike your grandpa gave you to the vacation house in the mountains of Alaska he built.
>If only the circumstances were more favorable.
>It was hard seeing him grow so weak.
>He was always so independent until his last few moments.
>But his frail bones and weakened heart just couldn't support that lifestyle anymore.
>He spent the last few months of his life in your parents house, and you made sure to visit often.
>The day he passed was one of the hardest you've ever had, but your entire family was there to support each other.
>Even your somewhat estranged sister.
>A bottle of his favorite whisky was dedicated to him the night after the funeral.
>The day after, you met privately with your grandfather's lawyer for a private reading of what he left to you in his will.
>You weren't surprised when he left his entire firearm collection to you, since hunting, shooting and just talking about guns was a heavy part of your bonding with him.
>However, you were surprised to see that he left you the vacation home.
>You were certain that he had left that to your sister, since she moved in to "take care of the place" while he was in your parents' care.
>It was obvious that she just had nowhere to stay, and couldn't hold down a job for anything.
>Even thinking badly of any of your family felt wrong, but she really had a problem.
>And while you don't have any evidence, you're certain that her time spent studying in Portland, Oregon got her into weed.
>Not that you really give a shit about what she does with her life, but chronic laziness was something that rubbed you the wrong way.
>You spent many summers in Alaska helping your grandfather split wood, repair the house, and whatever else he could find to keep the both of you busy while you visited.
>It'll be hard without him, but you'll try to keep the place from falling apart.
>After all, he trusted you with it.
>There is one thing you are looking forward to, though.
>Finally seeing your old friends.
>They've been cooped up in the safe for so long since only your grandpa and you could open it.
>It'll be hard telling them what happened.
>Your grandfather cared deeply about them, and they cared deeply about him in return.
>But in the end, he wanted to be with his daughter in his final days, so he left them in Alaska.

>Your bike manages to negotiate the rather difficult terrain of the unpaved road.
>As expected of a well maintained two-wheel drive capable Ural.
>The last stretch of road that leads to the cabin is a quick ride.
>It took great self control to not cut through the forest with two wheel drive just to shave some time off.
>And have a bit of fun doing it.
>The house is just as you remember it.
>Two floors, a large deck in front, and a balcony built into the roof where you would spend summer nights observing the unpolluted starry night skies.
>Your sister probably parked in one of the two garages, since you know she took a plane the day after she visited the lawyer.
>She called up trying to figure out who received the house, and you told her that you were left it.
>There was an awkward couple of minutes where she begged you to not kick her out, and you assured her that she could stay as long as she wanted.
>You were only coming up to visit and then have the guns shipped to your home in Idaho.

>Pulling into the side lot of the driveway, you take note of a strange van.
>It's a locksmith.
>Could be that there was a locked door that she couldn't find the key to.
>After propping up your bike, you head up to the front door and knock.
>You're not really sure why, since you own the place now.
>The door creaks open a few minutes later.
>Your sister greets you with a half-hug and lets you in.
>"Hey 'Non, how's my favorite little bro doing?"
>You snort a bit and retort.
"You're only saying that because I'm your ONLY little brother, right Jane?"
>She chuckles a bit at your smartass reply.
>"Yeah sure, so how was the ride?"
"Cold as fuck. Long as fuck. Tiring as fuck. I think I'm gonna go lie down for a bit. Are you in the guest room or the master bedroom?"
>"All my stuff is in the guest room. Didn't want to touch gramp's stuff while he was away."
>You turn to head upstairs to get some shut eye.
>Before you do, you remember the locksmith van.
"Oh, almost forgot. What was that van out front for? You lock yourself out of the pantry or something?"
>She giggles at the joke, but it seems a bit unnatural for her.
>You always remember your sister as a deadpan and overly serious person when you were both teens.
>"Oh that, I was trying to get that old safe in the garage open. I figured since you didn't want to live here, I could start getting rid of some stuff I don't need around here."
>That sets off every alarm in your head.
>Without saying a word, you race for the garage and nearly break down the door to get in.
>In the corner, you see a man in coveralls using a circular saw to cut into the safe.
>There wasn't much progress yet, but you intend to halt it where it is now.
>You run up to him and pull him back by his shoulder.
>He drops the saw in surprise, and it clatters to the floor.
>Thankfully the grip safety deactivated it before it hit the ground.
>The locksmith turns to you with a heavy glare.
>"Hey, what the fuck are you doing? I'm trying to do some-"
>You quickly cut him off.
"Get the fuck out of here. This is my house and this is my safe."
>A look of confusion comes over him.
>"But isn't that girl the owner? She hired me after all."
>Your voice remains stern and your eyes held in a glare.
"That's my dumbass of a sister, and she has no right hiring you. I'll give you money for coming out here, but that's it. Now pack up and get out."
>He looks to the saw in thought, and then back to you.
>"Okay, just calm down. I'll get out of here. But I'm going to need two hundred bucks for coming out here. Should I get that from your sister?"
"No, here-"
>You fish out your wallet and pull out two fifties and five twenties and hand it to him.
"Sorry for the confusion and being a prick, but this was all left to me by my grandfather."
>He takes the bills and puts the saw in his tool bag.
>"No hard feelings, mister. I'll be on my way."
>As he heads out the door you burst in from, your sister passes by him and joins you in the garage.
>"Anon, what the HELL was that about?!"
>You barely suppress your anger.
"Jane, that safe has MY guns. The ones grandpa left me. I'm going to pack them up and send them back to Idaho."
>Jane's face suddenly pales and her expression turns from being upset to panicked.
>Suspicion quickly builds up in you.
>You start working on the keypad lock hastefully.
>Opening up the safe, you feel relief as the guns seem to all be secure in their slots.
>From bolt action rifles of all kinds, to more modern semi auto designs.
>Racks of pistols and mags on the upper shelf and door.
>Everything seems to be there.
>Except-
"Jane, where is the M1 carbine?"
>You turn quickly to your sister.
>She seems to have grown even more pale.
>"W-W-What is that?"
"Wood stock, kind of short. Green pouches and sling. Where is it?"
>"Oh, that one... I, uh-"
"Jane, where the fuck is Ida?"
>You stare harshly at your sister.
>She can't meet your gaze.
>"It was in gramps' bedroom. I-I figured he didn't need it anymore, s-so I sold it."
>The calmness in your tone is fake, and she can tell.
"Jane-"
>"Anon, just listen. I needed the money! I couldn't-"
"Get the fuck out of my house."

>Drinking alone is never that much fun.
>But you don't want anyone else to see you like this.
>On your grandfather's old bed, nearly empty bottle of whisky on the nightstand next to you.
>Couldn't even bother to find a glass.
>You don't know if you'll ever be able to forgive your sister.
>She sold the gun that was always around you in your childhood when you stayed over for summer break.
>The rifle you learned to shoot with when you were just twelve years old.
>Ida was your best friend.
>And now she was gone, and no one knows where she went.
>The other firearms didn't even know she was sold.
>They were safely locked up.
>But Ida was always the gun your grandfather kept in his room in the almost impossible case that someone broke in.
>A habit he kept from his days in Korea.

>And he made sure that she was always with you when you went out to play in the forests.
>To keep you safe from the wildlife of Alaska, like she kept him safe from the enemy soldiers in Korea.
>You went everywhere with Ida on your back.
>Now you'll never know that feeling again.
>One final swig clears out the bottle.
>"A-Anon? Is that you?"
>You shoot up to sit upright.
>That voice...
>You'd recognize it anywhere.

"Wilma? Weren't you in the safe?"
>Wilma, your grandfather's trusty Colt handgun, steps into the room.
>Her short hair is almost a greenish grey, and her eyes a bright green.
>She is just as short as you remember, but as your grandfather always joked, she packed a mean right hook with the right load.
>"No, I was hiding. After I saw Ida being sold, I hid. I was scared she would sell me, too."
>Her eyes start watering up, and you're snapped out of your haze.
>As quick as a heavily drunken man can do so, you climb over to the edge of the bed and hop out.
>No time is wasted in pulling Wilma against your chest into a hug.
>Just as you pull her head into your chest, she starts sobbing.
"It's okay, now. I kicked her out. I won't let any more bad things happen to you guys, okay?"
>Her sobs only grow heavier, and you feel your shirt grow damp.
>You can barely make out the words between her sobs.
>"I miss Ida! I miss Jerry!"
>Tears build up in your eyes hearing the heartbroken M1911 say the name of your grandfather.
>You tighten the hug and rest the side of your cheek on top of her head.
"I miss them, too, Wilma. I'm so sorry I wasn't fast enough. If I had just flown out with Jane, I'd have been able to keep you all safe. I'm so sorry."
>Shorter arms wrap around your midsection.
>"It's not your fault Annie. You didn't know."
>Her words were meant to reassure you, but the lighter sobs choking her up between every few words keeps your guilt from fading.
>After a few more minutes, both of your sobbing wanes.
>The wear from riding for so long coupled with the extreme emotional drain finally catches up to you, and hits you with a wave of tiredness.
>You fail to stifle a yawn.
>Wilma takes notice and pushes you onto the bed.
>"Come on, let's sleep. I'm tired, too."
>She climbs over to the other side of the bed and crawls under the covers before poking her head back out.
>It's adorable to watch.
>Deciding that sleep is the best thing you can do right now, you join her and slide under the covers.
>Wilma clings onto your side like a holstered pistol, and you place and arm around her shoulder to keep her secured.
>You'll make sure that none of your grandfather's guns will be neglected.
>You owe it to Ida, wherever she is now.
>Sleep finally takes you after a short while of listening to the rhythmic breathing of the sidearm.

>The morning after is off to a grinding start.
>Hangovers always seem to be the last thought a drunk man has, but they make themselves well known before long.
>The light flowing through the window prevents you from sleeping it off, so you quit trying.
>Rising slowly out of bed, you feel Wilma slip off your side.
>Grabbing her by the neck returns her back to the steel and wood you are well acquainted with.
>You place the handgun in your side pocket and slip out of bed at a snail's pace.
>After a quick trip to the bathroom, both to take a morning leak and to find something for the hangover.
>The handgun in your pocket feels oddly warm.
>Woops.
"Sorry you had to hear that, Wilma."
>Climbing down the stairs takes a bit of caution.
>When you reach the bottom, the smell of eggs takes a hold of you.
>You creep around the living room and to the kitchen doorway.
>If Jane ignored you when you told her to get out, you don't know what you'll do.
>She may have been family, but so was Ida.
>Peeking through the doorway, you see a tall, slender woman.
>You recognize her as your grandfather's Marlin 1895 SBL by her oddly bluish-gray hair.
>Being a newer rifle, she isn't familiar to you outside of your last visit.
"Good morning. Marleen was it?"
>Sometimes, your gramps wasn't too imaginative
>The Marlin turns her head to you and smiles.
>"Morning Mister Anon, it's a pleasure to see you again."
>You glance at the garage door across the living room.
"Guess I didn't lock the safe up last night. Sorry about that."
>She closes her blue eyes and shrugs, mouth straight in a nonchalant expression.
>"It's okay. We're all just glad you saved us from the locksmith when you did. How did you sleep?"
>You let out a sigh as you check the fridge.
>It's full of vegetarian only junk.
>Oh well, free food courtesy of your sister.
>Curiosity takes over as you take a jug of milk out.
"Slept pretty good. Kinda hungover right now, though. Have you seen my sister around anywhere?"
>Marleen is back to tending to the eggs, which you see she has scrambled in a large pot.
>Probably cooking for the whole safe.
>"I haven't. Her car wasn't in the garage this morning."
>Good.
>At least she was smart enough to get out.
>You were never one to get angry, so your outburst last night should have shook her up pretty good.
>After pouring yourself a glass, you set the jug on the counter.
>Marleen has moved the eggs off the stove and onto a pot holder.
>A plate of eggs and freshly toasted... toast sit with a fork on the counter next to the pot.
"That my plate?"
>"Mhmm. I hope you like it."
>You grab your glass and plate and head for the table.
"I'm sure I will. Thank you, Marleen."
>You set your plate and glass at the end of the table, and Wilma in front of the seat on the side.
>Taking your own seat, you dig in.
>The eggs are delicious.
>It's an easy guess as to which rifle handled your grandfather's breakfasts at least.
>Even without any sausage, it's a fine meal with plenty of well used spices.
>It's not long before the eggs and toast are gone, and your milk used to wash it all down along with the aspirin you found.
>Marleen is still preparing plates for the others in the kitchen, so you decide to wait for the rest at the table.
>Sliding your plate forward, you rest your head in your arms.
>No matter how much you try not to, you can't stop thinking about Ida.
>She's gone, and it's all your fault.
>There's nothing you can do about it either.
>The guilt hurts almost as much as the loss.
>You feel two sets of arms wrap around you from both sides.
>Recognizing the set from the right is easy.
>It's the CMP M1 Garand known as Emilia your grandfather used for hunting and bear defence.
>You're ashamed that you recognized her by well endowed region granted by the thick forend of her stock.
>The set on your left isn't quite as endowed, and if you had to guess, it was the M1901a3.
>Eliza and Emilia were practically sisters, both being CMP rifles.
>And as such, they could usually be found around each other at any given moment.
>Eliza is the first to speak.
>"I'm so glad to see you again, Annie."
>Emilia pops in after.
>"Yeah, it's been too long, you little brat. How's the old man?"
>Your breathing hitches.
>Of course they wouldn't know.
>They were in the safe ever since he left.
>You can't bear to face either one of them.
>After a moment of silence, the two girls release you and back off slightly.
>Emilia breaks her silence first.
>"Annie, is something wrong?"
>Finally the strength to face her wells up, and you turn your head to look at her.
>Your expression is almost enough of an answer, as she brings her hand to her gaping mouth.
>"No..."
"I'm sorry, girls. I'm so sorry."
>Your head drops back down and your eyes shut tight.
>How could you not even let them know last night?
>You didn't even tell Wilma.
>She might've thought he was still alive when she said she missed him, and it didn't even occur to you.
>Once again, you let them down.
>There's a familiar feeling of a head burying into your chest.
>It's soon joined by the more recent feeling of the two sets of arms wrapping around you again.
>This time, you keep strong and hold back tears before they threaten to build up.
>You won't let them down.
>Somehow, some way, you'll make things right again.
>Your arms press the two taller girls into you and Wilma, securing the four of you in a group hug.
>Despite the sobbing coming from Emilia and Wilma, you can feel them support you just as much as you support them.
>Eliza's voice is weak and mournful.
>"Annie, please don't leave us here again."
>Your hold on her tightens further.
"I won't let you girls go. I won't let anything hurt you again. I promise. I just wish..."
>The strength backing up your voice gives way to the pain of last night.
"I just wish I could tell Ida the same thing."

>The next hour is spent settling all the rifles and handguns in at the dinner table and informing them of your grandfather's death.
>Emilia and Eliza do their best to comfort and support the others, while you keep Wilma held close.
>Marleen seems to be taking it the best, you guess it's because she's the newest addition to the family, but even she has a stream of tears down her lightly tanned face.
>The Tikka T3 your grandfather used for long distance competition sits alone on the other end of the table.
>Being an import, she never quit fit in with the rest.
>But your grandfather loved them all equally, and you would do your best to make sure you did the same.
>Sitting at the table, watching the girls go through the stages of loss, doing nothing.
>It's not right.
>Ida is out there somewhere, with someone else as her new owner.
>Nothing about this is right.
>You were supposed to bring them all back with you.
>They're family to you as much as anyone else.
>But now you can't leave.
>Not without Ida.

>Alaska is a a large place with many firearm owners.
>You'll never find her.
>Whoever wanted her could have driven three days straight just to buy her, and you'd never be able to figure out where he could live.
>And you refuse to ask your sister for anything after you threw her out in rage.
>Maybe it's better this way, having a new owner and new family.
>Maybe she's happy now.
>Nobody has taken any of these girls out for so long.
>Maybe whoever bought her is a collector, and is treating her right.
>Taking her out to the range to shoot carefully handloaded .30 carbine.
>Maybe you should just give up and go home.
>The sound of the table slamming shakes the others.
>Your fist is sore, but your mind is clear.
>It doesn't matter who bought Ida.
>If it takes the rest of your life, you'll make sure your family is brought back together.
>Without a word, you leave your seat and carefully give Wilma over to Marleen.
>A hasty gait brings you to and up the stairs, ending at the guest room.
>Barging in, you take note of the contents.
>There's still quite a bit of stuff left.
>She must have packed in a hurry.
>Good.
>You dig around at notebooks, searching for any clues.
>There's nothing but chicken-scratch grocery lists and old school notes.
>Checking the closet, you find it barren.
"Come on. There has to be something."
>You almost pull the drawers out of the nightstand with the force you use.
>Empty.
>Frantic thoughts start muddying your head.
>You flip the mattress off the bed stand.
>Nothing.

>The room is a wreck.
>And in the middle of that wreck is your kneeling form.
>You can't even find the strength to lift your head.
>"Anon, what are you doing?"
>The foreign accent is a clear give away to the identity of the rifle it belongs to.
>Slowly, your head rises to meet her gaze.
>Her thick round frame glasses giving great clarity to the redness of her nearly gray eyes.
>Long black hair draped in front of her face, covering half of the eyes as if to hide away.
>Your voice is somber.
"I lost her, Tuuli. I lost Ida."
>To your confusion, Tuuli just smiles and closes her eyes.
>She steps around the mess in the room and drops to her knees in front of you and pulls you into a hug.
>Her voice is soft and gentle, like her namesake.
>"You will find her, Ani. We all know you will not give up."
>Staying this way for a few minutes helps calm your nerves.
>With your mind cleared once more, you think of any possibilities to find out where she could have gone.
>The first thought you have is to call the police and file a stolen rifle report.
>At least then you'd have grounds to claim her back if you can find her.
>When you find her.
>After pulling yourself back together, you head down to the kitchen and take the phone off the stand.
>A moment of ringing, the city police answer.
>"Hello, this is the Valdez City Police Department, how may I assist you?"
"Uh, hi. I'd like to report a stolen rifle. My sister sold it without my permission, and it was left to me."
>"Just a moment sir. Do you have the serial number of the rifle?"
"Yeah, sure."
>You recall the serial number without hesitation.
>Months spent around her and maintenance after trips to the woods familiarized you with just about every inch and small detail of her rifle form.
>After the report is filed, you stare at the phone.
>It has caller ID.
>Maybe it has outgoing and incoming phonecall logs.
>It's possible she used this phone to do business.
>Checking the logs, you see that the phone did see regular use.
>It's both reassuring and disheartening, seeing as there are an excessive amount of numbers to go through.
>Without any means of internet, you really have no choice but to go through every one of them until you find something that helps.
>Giving a heavy sigh, you start with the first number and press the dial key.

>It's been three hours.
>Not a single person who has answered so far was the buyer.
>It seems your sister has been racking up gramp's phone bill.
>You're still not even half way through the calls.
>What's even more disheartening was that you're three weeks back in the logs.
>There's very little chance that she sold it that long ago, unless she didn't even care that it belonged to your grandfather.
>Deciding that this next number will be the last for now, you once more press the dial button.
>It rings.
>And again.
>And once again.
>And-
>"This Jane? What the hell you want?"
>An annoyed sounding man answers.
>You clear your throat.
"Sorry, this isn't Jane. It's her brother, and I'm looking for something."
>There's a slight change in his tone from angry to suspicious.
>"Yeah, I might have what you're after. Did Jane already empty it out?"
>Empty it out?
>What the hell is he on about.
"I'm not sure. How much did she give you for... "it"?
>He chuckles hoarsely.
>"She shouldn't be out already, even if she lit one up every day. That gun she traded is pretty handy."
>Now it's very clear what you'd do to her if you ever saw her around here again.
>You'll kill her.
"Yeah, about that gun. I'm gonna need it back. She stole it from me."
>He quickly cuts you off.
>"Sorry pal, finders keepers. If you don't want to buy anything, then fuck off."
>There's no time to respond, as he hangs up right after that.
>While you're furious at your sister and this guy, there's a huge relief in knowing that you have a lead.
>You write down the phone number and some of the details of the call and call up the police once more.
>After a series of redirections, you get in contact with someone to file charges.
>Jane isn't getting off the hook for this one.
>Even if the rest of the family thinks you're some kind of backstabber, she's going to pay.
>With charges filed to be placed on your sister complete, they then redirect you to an investigator to talk about your stolen rifle.
>You give the details of the phone call and information on Ida.
>It only takes a few minutes for the investigator to record your story and his own thoughts on the case, and he leaves you with the instructions to wait until morning to come down to the PD to speak with him face to face.

>After hanging up, you exit the kitchen to find all of the rifles and handguns sitting patiently in the living room.
>Some have expressions of worry, others a crestfallen and somber look.
>The common ground between all of them is the unyielding stare and attention they give you.
"I think I found her."
>A few of the girls' expressions liven up.
>You are quick to explain the details.
"I spoke with the police. I think Jane sold Ida... for drugs."
>A mix of angry and shocked faces replace the hopeful ones.
"Tomorrow, I'm gonna head to Valdez to speak with the police about it. Hopefully, they know who she sold it to. Since Ida was stolen from me, he is obligated to return her to me. Doesn't matter anyways, since the guy is probably a drug dealer. The police can knab him for that."
>Wilma stands herself up and wraps her arms around your midsection, pulling herself tight against your chest.
>"Thank you, Annie. Please bring her back safe."
>You smile and place your arms around her back.
"D'you think I'm doing this alone? Hell no, you're coming with me, Wilma. I may need you to keep me safe."
>She looks up at you in shock.
>"But, aren't the police going to handle it? Why do you think you'll need me?"
>You chuckle slightly at the thought of a gun asking you why you need it.
>But instead of responding with the cliché quote, you pat her head.
"You think I'm gonna just sit back and hope they bring her back? No way. I'm gonna bring her back myself, whether the police let me come or not, and you're gonna be the one to help me do it. Okay?"
>She presses her head against you and nods, rubbing her forehead on your chest.
"Good. Now let's get some sleep. It's gonna be a big day tomorrow."
>You bring Wilma back up the stair and into the master bedroom.
>After having the pistol show you where the ammo was kept, you load a few mags and set them on the night stand.
>Finally, you crawl into bed with Wilma following after you.
>Settled in with the lights off, you slowly succumb to sleep with one droning thought repeating in your head.
>You're gonna bring Ida home.

>The next morning comes quickly, and you put your early rising to good use.
>Taking a still snoozing Wilma outside, you prepare the metal targets at the makeshift pistol pit.
>Mags are laid out on the table and Wilma is gently woken by soft shaking.
>Of course if you were to ask her side of things, you were trying to throttle her.
"Come on now, I need you to focus. It's been a while since I've done any shooting like this."
>The grumpy pistol plops on the ground and sticks her tongue out at you.
>Growing impatient, you grab her by the rear of her neck.
>Now holding a working firearm in place of the girl, you take one of the prepared magazines from the table and load it.
>You chamber a round and take your stance.
>Wilma's action is still as smooth as ever.
>She should still be as crisp when firing as you remember as well.
>You take a practice shot at one of the metal plates.
>PING
>The point of impact isn't quite what you were hoping, but you assuming it was error on your end.
>Lining the sights back up, you fire again while exercising more control with the trigger.
>PING
>You have your proof that Wilma is still just as spry as when she left the factory lines.
>PING
>PING
>Working on recoil control challenges you more than you anticipated.
>The snap of .45 ACP is very unfamiliar to you.
>You decide to work on that.
>PING
>PING
>PING
>Wilma's slide locks back.
>The seven round magazines will definitely take time to get used to.
>Forgetting the rather lack lust capacity could do you in if you were to end up in a firefight.
>Not that you hope or expect to.
>Shooting targets is one thing.
>Being shot back at is a whole world of difference.
>And some of the stories gramps told you are enough cause to mutter a quick prayer that you never do face another armed man.
>Loading another mag, you continue where you left off.
>This time, you decide to work on target acquisition along with control.
>You start with Wilma lowered at your side.
>Selecting a target, you bring your left hand up as you raise Wilma in your right and lock into your stance.
>The second the front sight post lines up with the target and the rear notch, you let loose two rounds rapidly.
>PING
>THUNK
>One miss.
>You lower Wilma again and repeat the action.
>PING
>PING
>Perfect.
>Once more, Wilma is lowered.
>After bringing her up, you fire on another target.
>PING
>You quickly change targets and fire again.
>PING
>Once more, you switch targets.
>THWACK
>Not dwelling on your miss, you change mags and chamber Wilma.
>The moment she is ready to fire, you are back in your stance.
>PING
>PING
>Switch target.
>PING
>PING
>Faster. Switch.
>PING PING PING
>Satisfied with the results, you change mags and continue practicing.
>After about an hour, you decide that you are proficient enough with Wilma.
>If you had to guess by the end of your performance, your hit rate was about eighty-five percent.
>You feel safe in trusting your life to your grandfather's sidearm.
>Mags are reloaded and maintenance equipment packed into your range bag.
>Wilma walks at your side back to the house, seeming much more perky after the range practice.
"How're you feeling?"
>She turns her head and gives you a closed-eye smile.
>"Like it's 1952 all over again."
>The tone used with that doesn't feel like it fits considering what she implied.
>Must be a gun thing.

>Entering through the back door, you're greeted yet again with a wonderful aroma.
>And just like yesterday, it is coming from the kitchen.
>Marleen is at the stove frying up bacon and eggs.
"You know, a guy could get used to this."
>The lever action just chuckles.
>"Well ya better not. We do this in rotations, and next up is Emilia. Bit of warning, check that anything isn't raw when she cooks. Might save yer life."
>A familiar gravely voice calls from the dining room.
>"My cooking is fine, you damn hick! 
>Marleen snickers and sets out the bacon onto a plate.
>From the other pan, she takes a couple of fried eggs and sets them on a plate.
>"That one's yers, take as much bacon as you see fit."
>You step up next to her put on your best cowboy accent.
"Much obliged, ma'am."
>As you take your plate, Marleen reaches around you and pulls herself down to you and plants a chaste kiss on your cheek.
>Your face heats up in response.
>"Thank you for trying so hard to get Ida home, Anon. Jerry would be proud."
>Offering a smile in return, you head for the dining room.
"She's family, Marleen. You don't turn your back on family."
>"And your sister?"
>You freeze.
"She... She turned her back on us. As far as I'm concerned, she ain't family."

>Dinner went by quickly.
>You finished the eggs and bacon as fast as Marleen would let you without scolding.
>Eliza and Emilia wished you luck, and Tuuli begged you to be safe on your bike.
>She didn't seem too reassured when you told her that it was a fine piece of Russian engineering.
>Must be a Finn thing.
>Wilma stays close to your side as you both approach the Ural.
"Do you want to sit in the sidecar, or the holster?"
>She pushes closer against you and grips your arm.
>"I've never ridden anything like that before. Just put me in the holster, please."
"Alright, your call."
>Taking her by the neck, and subsequently her grip, you insert her into the leather holster under your jacket and snap it shut.
>After checking that it was secure, you hop onto the bike and kick the starter.
>It takes a moment for the engine to warm up.
>Finally, you're off to Valdez.

>The ride to Valdez takes a little over two hours.
>This is the price paid to live in the peaceful middle of nowhere as your grandfather put it.
>Thankfully, it was also uneventful.
>Your nerves are already difficult to control from the anticipation and apprehension.
>Finding a spot in the lot to park near the police department is easy.
>It's nearly empty.
>Not many people are out and about, must be a lazy Saturday.
>You make your way to the front hall of the police department.
>It's not too large.
>Mostly one story, a tower for the fire department nearby.
>The color scheme is generally red roof and off white walls.
>Not much to look at, but considering it's just a station for emergency services, it fills the requirements seemingly fine.
>Reaching the front desk, you cough to get the attention of the receptionist.
>She was sorting intensely through a filing cabinet before you disturbed her work.
>"Hello, how are you today, sir?"
>Not looking for small talk, you remain quick and to the point with your words.
"I'm fine. I was told to meet with an investigator by the name of Donaghue. Is he in?"
>Wasting no time, she clacks away at the keyboard of a severely outdated computer terminal.
>She reads the screen for a moment as if deciphering a code.
>"It seems he's available. I'll let him know you're here, mister..."
"Anon."
>She nods and picks up the phone by the terminal and dials a few numbers.
>"Mister Donaghue, there's an Anon waiting at the front desk."
>You can't make out the response despite trying to focus on listening in.
>"You're welcome, bye."
>Hanging up the phone, she points down the hall.
>"Walk down the hallway until you find room 164. Mr. Donaghue is waiting for you in there."
"Thank you, ma'am."
>You follow the direction she points and keep an eye on the door numbers.
>While you walk, you check that your jacket is securely hiding Wilma.
>The state of Alaska might be friendly towards carrying, but that doesn't mean the state buildings are.
>It takes a few minutes of walking to reach your destination.
>You check that you have the right room.
>The door is labeled "164".
>Three light knocks are given to it.
>"Come in, please."
>Following the command, you gently open the door and step inside.
>You close the door behind you and take in the room.
>It's small, a little cramped, and full of filing bins and office supplies.
>There's a bulletin board on the wall with a few notices and papers with words too small to make out.
>Not quite how Law and Order would have you picture it, but the two suited occupants make it clear that it's still a workable station for an investigator.
>The man at the desk is slightly aged, looking in his early fifties with slightly graying brown hair.
>The girl sitting in the chair next to him is much younger, appearing in her early-to-mid thirties with neck length black hair.
>"Good morning, Mr. Maus. Have a seat."
>You heed his request and sit in the chair near the front of the desk.
"Please, call me Anon."
>He start flipping through a folder and pulls out a few papers.
>"Sure thing. By the way, this is Detective Hotchkins. She will be working with me on this as part of training. Now down to business, the number you gave us belongs to a man by the name of Edward Higgins. Higgins was convicted of possessing and dealing homemade meth. He got out a few months ago. If you're right about your sister selling a firearm to him, then they will both be in serious trouble."
>You quickly interject.
"That's fine. I wanted to press charges for the rifle being stolen anyways. Can I get that done?"
>Donaghue looks somewhat surprised at this for a moment before his expression turns back to a flat and serious one.
>"I'm sure we can have that happen. Now, about Higgins, since we have no hard evidence yet, we'll have to pay a visit and check him. His probation officer was alerted and has given us the go ahead to do so in his place. If you'd like to go with us, we can have that arranged. You'll need to stay away from Mr. Higgins while we conduct the search, but we'll let you know immediately what we find. Is this okay with you?"
>You consider it for a short moment before responding.
"Yeah, that sounds good to me. I just want to know if he has Ida, and that's it. Couldn't care less about anything else."
>"Ida? That what you call your gun?"
>Woops.
>Shouldn't have let that out.
>He sees your brief moment of panic and softly chuckles.
>Reaching into his jacket's armpit, he pulls out a pristine looking Beretta 92 with a nickel finish.
>"Her name's Becca. I'd hate to lose her, too."
>He places Becca back into his shoulder holster.
>"Hotch, are you ready to go?"
>The detective in training, who had been quiet until Donaghue spoke to her, nodded.
>"I'm as ready as I'll ever be, Mister Donaghue."
>Donaghue scoots his chair back and stands up.
>"Good, then let's get on the road. Anon, I'll meet you out front. When we arrive, stay behind the cruiser."
"Got it."
>You stand and lead the way out the office door and back to the parking lot.
>Not waiting to see if the pair of detectives followed you, you hop on your bike and kick start it.
>Walking it back and driving it out to the front of the entrance, you see a running police cruiser stopped in front.
>As you pull up behind it, the cruiser starts pulling out.
>You follow it immediately out of the lot.
>A few turns and intersections later, you're out of the town area and heading towards the mountainous region in the distance.
"Hold on, Ida. I'll be there soon."

>You've been riding for about an hour, even though it's only been about 10 miles.
>Difficult terrain held up the detective's cruiser, and it took some work in two-wheel drive to maneuver along at certain points.
>This wasn't helped by sudden gusts of wind shaking you up as you rode along.
>The hurricane like gales nearly blew you off your damn bike.
>You have heard stories about Valdez's winds, but this is nuts.
>Despite the winds, the scenery is very admirable.
>The area around you is part of a beautiful valley between two snow capped mountain ranges.
>A creek runs along the dirt path and continues as far as you can see, deep into the union of the two mountain ranges miles away.
>Dried up flora lies in the valley and bordering the exposed rocky inclines of the mountains.
>The crumbling path you've taken rode in a serpentine fashion away from the creek and into the mountains and back down to the creek several times.
>This in part with the aforementioned spastic terrain is what caused most of the delay for the worn police cruiser.
>You almost wished you could have rode alone.
>It would have been faster, but it would also probably be illegal vigilantism.
>Your pair finally comes to a not well kept path splitting from the trail, and you follow the cruiser in turning onto it.
>The new trail goes nearly up the mountain, occasionally winding side to side to reduce the grade of incline.
>Sporadic patches of pine trees lie around in the higher areas of the mountain and soon enough, a thicker patches comes near the end of the path.
>The cruiser stops, and the detective rolls down his window.
>You pull up next to him to see what he has to say.
>"His house is through that section there."
>He points over the roof of the cruiser towards a very lightly tread path going through the pines.
>"Hotchkins and I will go ahead and talk with him. You will stay here."
>You almost interject before he continues.
>"We'll do the inspection, arrest him if need be and then come back. If we find your gun, I'll personally make sure it's back in your hands. Understand?"
>There's no way to fight it.
>Better to let the police do their jobs and stay out of the way.
"Yessir. Good luck."
>"Thanks, Anon. I might need it if he decides to be a pain in the ass."
>He pulls the cruiser into the path, and soon you lose sight of him between the green of the pine needles.

>It's been about fifteen minutes since the detectives departed.
>There's nothing around to disturb you, so you take the time to stretch your legs from all the riding.
>After finding the perfect spot, you take a seat.
>The chills of riding broke through your thick jacket.
>It's all you can do to try and thaw your hands out with your breath.
>Wilma decided to come out of the holster and sit beside you.
>The additional warmth is welcomed.
>Soon after snuggling against your side, Wilma dozes off.
>Your considering joining her.
>Just as your eyes become heavy, a loud CRACK snaps you to attention.
>CRACK
>Another one.
>You know that sound.
>It's the same sound that comes from .30 carbine.
>It's Ida.

>Wilma is alert as well.
>You look her in the eyes, and she gives a panicked nod in return.
>In no time, she is back in the holster and you're running to the Ural.
>Kicking it back on, you shift to first gear and start on the path. 
>Deciding that a direct approach might put you in danger, you hit the lever for two-wheel drive and break off of the path and into the woods a few degrees off from the source of the crack of gunfire.
>CRACK CRACK
>A few more shots are let off.
>CRACK CRACK CRACK
>The later set sounds different, more like a handgun.
>Must be the detectives returning fire.
>You adjust your course and speed up while dodging the pine trees.
>The gunfire has died down, with the occasional crack letting you know the detectives have yet to apprehend Edward.
>As the reverberating snaps start appearing from your right, you circle around what you think is the location of the house.
>After guessing where half way around the perimeter is, you turn directly towards the source and ride like a cavalryman into the firefight.
>It takes a moment of riding to break through the forest.
>There's a small one story house with cellar doors in the rear and a gasoline generator pumping away.
>You hop off your bike and unholster wilma.
>There's only one window in the rear of the house.
>It's clear, so you make a break for the cellar doors.
>There's no lock, so you carefully open one door and climb down the stairs.
>When you reach the bottom, a bunch of glassware and chemicals on a table greet you.
>It is an easy guess as to the purpose of it all.
>And your sister got involved with this guy, which doesn't bode well.
>You'll have to do a detailed search of the house just in case she stashed something away.
>But for now, you need to focus on one thing.
>Getting Ida back.
>There's a crawlspace in the rear of the cellar for electrician usage.
>You holster Wilma once more and climb into it.
>CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK
>The signature noise of Ida lets loose in a flurry.
>The loudness of it only pushes you on.
>She's so close.
>Just a bit more and you'll have her back.
>Even if it means you'll have to fight for her.
>The tight crawlspace winds around the house and ends in at a panel.
>Lifting the hinged panel, you peek out to check for danger.
>CRACK CRACK
>The noise alerts you to his location at the other side of the house.
>You creep out of the crawlspace and slowly close the door.
>POP POP
>The muffled noise of handgun fire and thuds of wood tell you that the detectives are still hanging on.
>You pull out Wilma and slowly step towards a doorway.
>It's a short hallway with a closed door halfway through it.
>There's a window in the room on the other end.
>Looking out of it, you see the top of the cruiser and detective Hotchkins taking cover behind the hood.
CRACK CRACK
>The deafening report sends Hotchkins below the hood for cover.
>You creep towards the end of the hallway with your elbows bent to keep Wilma forward and ready.
POP POP POP POP
>As you reach the end of the hallway, return fire from the detective's handgun sends you sprawling for cover against the walls of the hallways.
>The retaliation from the cruiser comes to an end, and right after, you can hear the clacking of a rifle's action being charged.
>Specifically, an M1 carbine's.
CRACK CRACK CRACK
>This is it.
>Your chance to stop this shows itself.
CRACK CRACK CRACK
>You turn around the hall's doorway and quickly take in the scene.
>Edward is simply dumping the mag at the cruiser in hopes of a lucky hit.
>He doesn't even notice you to his side with the focus he is placing in shooting.
>In his hands is a horrible sight.
>Ida.
>Her barrel cut unevenly down to the stock.
>The butt of her stock is roughly cut into a pistol grip only.
>A curved thirty round mag is inserted into her magwell.
CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK
>That bastard.
>You take aim.
>Wilma's front sight post leveled at him.
>It's not enough for you.
"Hey, you son of a bitch! Look here!"
>Your shout grabs his attention, and he quickly turns to you with Ida at the ready.
>The speed shocks you.
>You weren't ready for him to respond so quickly.
CRACK CRACK

>Edward stumbles back with Ida lowered.
>Two .45 caliber shots connected with his chest.
>He struggles to lift Ida back to fire at you.
CRACK
>There is no opportunity for him to take, as your third shot hits him square inbetween the eyes.
>His body spasms slightly as it drops to its knees and flops backwards.
>Your gun is still trained on him, too scared to lower it.
>Slowly, you step forward to inspect him.
>He's definitely dead.
>You holster Wilma and secure Ida.
>It's only after a few shots break through the door and fly too close for comfort that you remember this was a firefight.
>You drop to the floor and call out.
"Edward is dead! It's me, Anon! Stop shooting!"
>The barrage ends.
>Soon after, the door is kicked open.
>It's Hotchkins.
>She surveys the scene with her gun still drawn.
>Satisfied that the firefight is indeed over, she rushes back out.
>"Come out here, Anon."
>You follow her out with Ida on your back.
>Donaghue is lying by the front door.
>A pool of red on the left side of his chest.
>Hotchkins checks his pulse.
>"I've called in an ambulance. Help me stop the bleeding."
>You kneel down beside her and follow her instructions to the word.
>After a few different first aid treatments are applied, you help wrap up the wound tight and keep pressure on the wound.
"Is... Is he gonna be okay?"
>You look to the other detective for any reassurance.
>"I don't know. It's... pretty bad."
>She looks you in the eyes, and quickly shifts to looking at your back.
>"Anon, I'm sorry to say this, but that rifle is a murder weapon, and an illegal SBR. I'm going to need to confiscate it."
>As the words register, your heart sinks.
>You slowly back away from her.
"No. You can't. Not now. I just got her back! Please, ma'am, don't take her!"
>She gives a sympathetic frown.
>"I have to, Anon. I can't just look the other way. The department will want the rifle as evidence."
>A million thoughts run through your head.
>Some are too grim and quickly put in the back of your thoughts.
>The others end with you coming out worse than you had hoped when you woke up this morning.
>You unsling Ida and stare at her damaged form.
>You kneel again and speak to her.
"Ida, it's me, Anon. I'm back. I found you."
>The girl lying across your arms opens her eyes.
>You nearly get lost staring into those beautiful grey-green pools.
>Her once shoulder length auburn hair is haphazardly cut short and messy.
>She seems shorter than you remember, lighter too.
>But what makes it impossible to hold back the watering of your eyes is the way she searches for you.
>"A-Anon, is that you? I can't... I can't see."
>Her right hand weakly reaches up.
>You nod forward to catch her hand against your face.
>As it brushes up against your unkempt whiskers, she presses her palms into your face.
>"I missed you."
>Those words break down the last wall you had.
>You're almost glad she can't see your tears coming down.
>The choked sobs interrupt your sentence.
"I miss you, so much. I'm so sorry. I couldn't save you."
>She raises her other hand to your other cheek and holds onto your face, trying to wipe away the burning tears.
>"Yes you did. You came all the way out here. You found me. That's enough for me, Annie. Don't cry."
>Her weak smile tugs at your aching heart.
"Ida, the detective wants to take you away from me because that son of a bitch used you against them. I don't want to lose you again. Not after all this. I can't."
>Keeping the smile on her face, she strokes your cheek with a thumb.
>"Anon, please don't fight with them. I don't want you to get in trouble. We'll... always have the memories we shared. Of the nights in the woods, the hunting, the fun we had practicing. I like those memories. A lot more than the ones I share with Frankie. I would have loved to spend more time with you, but I don't want you to get in trouble with the law. Please, just do what they say."
>You clench your eyes shut and silently sob.
>When the choking feeling finally ends, you look to Hotchkins.
>She's checking Donaghue's pulse again.
>Turning to look at you, she glances at your distressed face and then at Ida.
>She turns back and looks at Donaghue with a gloomy expression, almost hesitant to speak.
>"Anon, I'm truly sorry."

...Will Never Be Found Again

>You don't know how long you've sat with Ida against the wall.
>It would have wasted what little time you had left with her.
>In the distance, you can hear the rescue helicopter closing in.
>While you don't want Donaghue to die, the helicopter is coming too soon.
>When it lands in the empty lot behind the house, you squeeze Ida tighter towards you.
>She returns the motion and slides her head from your shoulder to your chest.
>The paramedics come running around the house with a stretcher and first aid kit.
>As they examine Donaghue, Hotchkins slowly steps to you.
>Her voice is somber and quiet.
>"Anon, it's time."
>You look down at the messy auburn hair of your best friend.
>It's the last time you'll get the chance.
>She pulls her head away from your chest.
>The spot where she lied against already feels like its missing something.
>Ida stares into your glazed eyes while you try and blink the tears away.
>She tries to reassure you with a smile, but even you can see past it.
"Ida..."
>A slender finger stops your lips.
>"It'll be okay, Annie. Take care of the others. Please, for me."
>You shut your eyes tight to fight the tears back, but a few escape despite this.
"I'll keep them safe, but I'll never stop missi-"
>This time you're silenced not by a finger, but by a soft set of lips.
>Every second of the moment is burned into your mind.
>You never want a single detail of it to fade with time.
>It ends too quickly for you.
>She pulls away.
>"Goodbye, Annie. I love you."
"I... I love you, too."
>She weakly stands up and presents herself to Hotchkins.
>"I'm ready. Let's go."
>Hotchkins almost hesitates, but she takes Ida by the neck and carries the butchered M1 to the cruiser.
>It's the most painful thing you've ever experienced.
>Your best friend is taken from you once again.

>You lost track of time, still sitting against the house.
>The paramedics had departed with Donaghue a while ago.
>They told you that there was a good chance he wouldn't make it.
>He did quite a bit for you, and wanted to help you, so it's natural to feel a bit of a sting at the evaluation.
>Deciding that you've been here long enough, you stand up and drag your feet as you walk around the house.
>There a burning in your heart.
>The feeling of a loss that can't be replaced.
>A void that can never be filled.
>You reach your bike and slowly go through the motions to start it.
>Driving around the house, you take the light path that the cruiser left with Ida on.
>As you make your way onto the road at the base of the mountain and cruise along the creek, the clouds in the let out their frozen tears as if to remind you to be melancholy.
>The winds of Valdez remain eerily calm.
>When you reach the town, you stay on the border to avoid seeing the police department.
>The burning returns as you try to force the thoughts of what they'll have to do with her to the back of your mind.
>Finally, you reach the highway, and the snow fall nearly blinds you.
>It doesn't stop you from cruising near the speed limit.
>All the while you think about how the sidecar next to you shouldn't be empty.
>It's going to be a long ride.