Once Buried

Poor Bill was on leave these days, suffering from PTSD after a terrible incident during their last case together. Riley felt a pang of sadness as she remembered it.

She and Bill had been working together with a promising young agent named Lucy Vargas.

But Lucy had been killed in the line of duty.

Riley missed Lucy every day.

But at least she didn’t feel guilty about her death.

Bill did.

Early this morning, Bill had called Riley and asked her to meet him at the Marine base that made up the largest part of the Quantico facility.

He hadn’t told her why, which worried her. She hoped it was nothing serious.

Riley anxiously got up from her desk and headed out of the BAU building.

Chapter Two

Bill felt a tingle of worry as he led Riley toward the Marine target range.

Am I ready for this? he wondered.

It seemed almost a stupid question. After all, it was only target practice.

But this was no ordinary target practice.

Like him, Riley was wearing a camouflage uniform and carrying an M16-A4 rifle loaded with live ammunition.

But unlike Bill, Riley had no idea what they were about to do.

“I wish you’d tell me what this is all about,” Riley said.

“It’s going to be a new experience for both of us,” he said.

He’d never tried this new kind of range shooting before. But Mike Nevins, the psychiatrist who had been helping him with his PTSD, had recommended it for him.

“It’ll be good therapy,” Mike had said.

Bill hoped Mike was right. And he hoped it would take the edge off his nerves to try it out with Riley.

Bill and Riley took positions next to each other among upright four-by-four wooden posts, facing across a wide grassy field toward a paved area. On the pavement were vertical barriers marked with bullet holes. A few moments ago, Bill had talked to a guy in a control booth and everything should be ready now.

Now he spoke to that same guy through a little microphone in front of his lips.

“Random targets. Go.”

Suddenly, human-sized figures appeared from behind the barriers, all of them moving about in the paved area. They were wearing the uniforms of ISIS-style fighters and appeared to be armed.

“Hostiles!” Bill called out to Riley. “Shoot!”

Riley was too startled to shoot, but Bill fired one shot and missed. Then he fired another shot that hit one of the figures. The figure bent completely over and stopped moving. The other figures turned to avoid the gunfire, some of them moving faster, others hiding behind the barriers.

Riley said, “What the hell!”

She still hadn’t taken a shot.

Bill laughed.

“Stop,” he said into the microphone.

Suddenly, all the figures were motionless.

“Today we’re shooting at fake guys on wheels?” Riley asked with a laugh.

Bill explained, “They’re autonomous robots, mounted on Segway scooters. That guy I talked to in the booth a minute ago is punching in programs for them to follow. But he doesn’t control their every movement. In fact, he doesn’t really control them at all. They ‘know’ what to do. They’ve got laser scanners and navigation algorithms so they can avoid each other and the barriers.”

Riley’s eyes were wide with amazement.

“Yeah,” she said. “And they know what to do when the shooting starts – run, or hide, or both.”

“Want to try it again?” Bill asked.

Riley nodded, starting to look enthusiastic.

Again Bill said into the microphone, “Random targets. Go.”

The figures began moving as before, and Riley and Bill fired single shots at them. Bill hit one of the robots, and so did Riley. Both of those robots stopped and bent over. The other robots scattered, some gliding about capriciously, others hiding behind barriers.

Riley and Bill kept firing, but the shooting was getting harder. The robots that stayed on the move darted in unpredictable patterns at varying speeds. The ones who hid behind the barriers kept popping out, taunting Riley and Bill to shoot at them. It was impossible to tell from which side of the barrier they might appear. Then they either scurried around in the open or took shelter again.

Despite all this seeming chaos, it only took about half a minute for Riley and Bill to take out all eight of the robots. They were all bent over and motionless among the barriers.

Riley and Bill lowered their weapons.

“That was weird,” Riley said.

“Want to stop?” Bill asked.

Riley chuckled.

“Are you kidding? Absolutely not. What’s next?”

Bill swallowed, suddenly feeling nervous.

“We’re supposed to take out hostiles without killing a civilian,” he said.

Riley looked at him sympathetically. He understood her concern. She knew perfectly well why this new exercise made him feel uneasy. It reminded him of the innocent young man he had mistakenly shot last month. The boy had recovered from his wound, but Bill still couldn’t shake off his guilt.