(NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, locales is entirely coincidental.)

HANNAH BAER LEAFED through a magazine about tiny houses as she waited in the lobby of a New England bus depot. She liked the one made from a repurposed shipping container, and she decided it was time to settle down.

After two years in the bramble by the golf course in New England, she was ready for change. Anyway, the police threatened her with jail if she returned to her makeshift encampment just off the sixteenth fairway. They made sure she had nothing to come back to. They removed her plastic tent, her folding chair, the empty cans of Sterno, and they scuffed her campsite into the forest pine straw.

Hannah could have helped them make herself disappear, if they had asked her. From her time with the Israeli Defense Forces she had learned the art of disappearing. When a kill was made, sometimes after waiting days for the target to appear, it was finishing the job IDF-style that was the most dangerous. Clean up the site, dispose of anything that might suggest who was responsible, and then disappear as if into thin air. Sometimes removing and disposing of the corpse was part of the mission, too. No traces.

She wasn’t bitter about losing everything, because she didn’t consider herself to have anything in the first place. The sniper is taught to carry nothing except the materials of stealth and death. No identity, no reference to any next of kin, no tattoos, no necklaces, no bracelets, no engraved coins, no branded garments. Complete anonymity.

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Hannah got her dream job by being the best. She was young, maybe 16 or 17, when the news of Palestinian terrorism rattled her. Hearing her parents talk of lost loved ones was reason enough for retaliation. She knew the Torah would justify right in response to wrong. She signed up for IDF as soon as she could, even though as an American Jewish woman, military service wasn’t required of her as it was of Israeli women. She wanted to serve; she wanted to protect her people.

One day she heard that a woman is never allowed to be a sniper, and that was exactly what she wanted to be. There is no military operation that is more personal. The sniper sees the target through a scope, up close. That’s what she longed for. See the target, imagine the terror he or she had caused Israelis, watch the face as the bullet hit, witness the absolutely unexpected, instant death.

She asked an officer what would happen if she was first in class. If you’re first you can do anything you like, he said. Anything? Right! You promise? Absolutely.

So, when she was first-in-class, she said she wanted to be a sniper. Can’t do it. But you said … and so on until the officers relented. She trained and she was good. The best shot, the most prepared, always on time, always ready, enthusiastic, confident, courageous. Nothing daunted her, and even though she was offered a chance to change her mind, she didn’t. Her skill with the DAN .338, the latest of the advanced sniper weapons, was unparalleled. It was her mission to kill, but when she got out she found it annoying when somebody, just learning of her job in IDF, would ask how many people she killed. As far as she was concerned, even one less terrorist was worth the hours of preparation, the long and lonely wait, the spartan conditions at an outpost, motionless for fear of being spotted, bladder and bowels deprived of evacuation. The number of kills missed the point.

She was on the street corner waiting for the bus when she had another flashback. When someone nudged her out of the stupor, she thought of her friend Joshua Rudy. He was a veterinary major at State where her father had taught history. When she told him she was going to enlist, his reaction surprised her: Why not? She knew his family owned a bunch of land up in Wyoming, and she figured maybe she could set up a tiny home someplace. Wouldn’t hurt to ask.

“Josh, it’s Hannah,” she said into the pay phone. She wasn’t sure the number would still be in use, but she was sure she had it right because she could remember just about anything.

“Bear! Is that you, Bear?”

Josh always called her Bear, and she liked it. Calling a Jewish woman by a twist of her last name had a certain irony that she relished.

“Yep; it’s me, good old Bear!”

“What the hell’s up, kid? Dang, it’s good to hear from you.”

They chatted for a while. He wanted to know if she’d followed through with the idea of enlisting in the IDF, and she said she was out now and thinking about settling down.

“Josh, I’ve got an idea. Have you ever seen those tiny houses? I want to get one of those and set up somewhere, and I read the hard part is finding a good place. Are you still in Wyoming?”

Josh said he’d returned to the family place after college and enjoyed the rural lifestyle. The Rudy place was near Buffalo, about a hundred and sixty acres that Josh’s grandfather, a Jewish immigrant from Eastern Europe, had homesteaded a century ago.

“Josh, you think I could set up something there? My folks would finance the purchase of the tiny home. You think I could lease something at your place? All I’ll need is a concrete pad to put it on.”

She’d read that in the magazine. Plumbing and sewage disposal and all that was a benefit of living small, but the hard part was finding a suitable site that complied with local laws and so on.

“I’ll bet we could work something out, Bear. Where are you now?”

“Well, I’m in New England.”

“Haha, Bear! You’re for in for a change of pace.”

“Josh, I’ve been kinda roughing it up here. Some beautiful countryside if you know where to look.”

“Well, if you think you’re up to it, come on out. Denver or Cheyenne are good target destinations, and then you call me, and we can go from there. Bear, I can’t wait to see you. You still like adventure, I guess. We got lots of wildlife, bears, elk, deer, sheep, antelope, turkey — you name it. We had a Grizz and her cubs in the spring.”

Hannah didn’t ask about Josh’s marital status, because it meant nothing to her. They were just friends, anyway, and if he’d found a wife, good for him. She wasn’t looking for anything but a place to settle down. She boarded the bus with nothing but the canvas bag she’d found at the Goodwill store, plus a few used garments that fit her well enough. She got to Denver, then north to Cheyenne, and then she called.

“It’s me, Bear. I’m in Cheyenne.”

From the tone of his voice, she worried that maybe he’d forgot.

“Can I still take you up on the lease deal?”

“Yes, yes, yes, of course. Listen, I’ll drive down and pick you up. It’s a couple of hours, maybe three. You at the bus station?”

“Looks more like a filling station, but yeah, I’m here.”

Josh was optimistic about the drive time. She was relieved to see him when he drove into the Sinclair gas station in a dusty GMC pickup more than four hours later. He hopped out, ran to her and furled his burly arms around her, lifting her skyward. He grinned widely as he looked into her eyes.

“You look good,” he said.

They headed north on the Interstate. Josh asked her what the hell she’d been doing. She said the IDF was a great experience, and she was proud of her time. She said she had grown up a lot and felt important to her people.

“I was a sniper, Josh,” she said.

“Good god, Bear! A sniper in the IDF! How many kills did you make?”

She didn’t expect the swells of emotion when he asked the predictable question. She quickly stuffed it.

“It was fun. Killing terrorists, my life’s work, Josh.”

Josh noted the sarcasm and changed the subject.

“Well, we can talk about it later. For now, we need to talk about this tiny house. Have you bought one yet?”

“Nope, but my parents will help. I’m sure. You have a place where it would fit? I want to lease it, Josh, I don’t want anything for free.”

“I checked with the folks, and they were pretty skeptical until I reminded them that you’d served in the IDF. They’re proud of you, Bear, and so am I. We’d like to help, but the only thing is my wife.”

“You got a wife, Josh? For god’s sake, man; good for you! What’s her name?”

They were about an hour into the trip when Naomi came up. Josh said they had met in Denver, she the daughter of a family in the printing business. He said Naomi was looking forward to meeting her.

“Got two kids, Hannah. Boy and a girl. The little one’s just two,” he said.

“Josh, if Naomi isn’t comfortable with this idea, that’s completely fine by me. Maybe you can help me nose around for some other place.”

Josh said they would see how it went, but anyway he was glad they had the cards on the table. When they came to Buffalo, he turned right and headed east away from the town lights. The paved road became graveled, and then was a narrow one-lane dirt road. He stopped before a gated entrance announced with two upright logs and one on top. An elk antler was screwed into the log, and beneath that was a wooden sign with “Rudy Ranch” painted on it. Josh rolled down his window and opened a box with a keypad inside and punched in the code. The gate opened slowly, they entered quietly, and the gate latched loudly behind them.

“That’s a heavy gate, Josh. You get a lot of strangers out here?”

“It’s as much to keep folks in as to keep folks out.”

Josh laughed and drove on. The road snaked down a hill and the headlights flicked on a building here and there before Josh parked the pickup with a half-dozen other vehicles in the yard. When he killed the engine, Hannah hopped out then ogled the night sky, black with no moon and bright with stars like she’d see sometimes on mission. She could make out a building or two in the dark, and a glowing larger log home up a short trail. They inched by a brook, across a rock slab bridge, and into space lined with flowers aglow with light from the windows. She thought she saw a figure outlined against a window and assumed it was Naomi. The figure disappeared. Josh opened the door, and they stepped inside. He went to the kitchen and set water to boil.

“How about some tea? You hungry?”

“No thanks on the food, Josh, but I’d welcome some tea.”

She surveyed the warm confines of the home, saw a couple of pictures on the wall which looked to be his kids, and found one with a woman she assumed was Naomi. Maybe a few years younger than Josh, but she wore an unsmiling face and looked worn.

“Yeah, that’s Naomi. You might get to meet her tomorrow. Tell me some more about the IDF. What’s it like to kill somebody?”

“It’s war, Josh.”

“What was a mission like?”

“Assigned a target, given intelligence. Close in cautiously, set up, calculate target distance and BDC, then wait. Sometimes days. You can’t move. If you’re spotted you’re dead. Sniper has a few rounds, enemy can have ordnance.”

“What’s BDC?”

“You know, bullet drop compensation. Aim just high enough to offset the fall.”

“How’d you pass the time?”

“Just waiting, Josh. Oh yeah, I could floss.”

“Floss?”

“Wrapped it around my shoelaces. My one and only personal item. Like a brother to me. Look! Still there, don’t leave home without it.”

She talked easily. She felt good to have a friend that she could talk with. She was moving on.

“But you said for days. What about …”

“Just have to wait. If you can’t, oh well.”

He glanced over her shoulder and could see Naomi peeking around the corner.

“You gettin’ tired, Bear? You can stay in the guest room down the hall. It’s pretty quiet until the kids stir.”

“Well, if I can borrow a bag, I’ll sleep outside. The stars are beautiful.”

“Not wise out here, Bear. We get a Grizz now and then. You can sleep in the barn above the tack room. We’ve got a bunk up there. I’d sure prefer you staying inside.”

“Yeah sure; the barn’s great, Josh. I haven’t even met your wife, and I think I’ll wait to meet her before taking over her guest room.”

“She won’t mind, and after all, you’re our guest.”

“I don’t need much, Josh. Thanks. Can we look around for a spot for the home tomorrow?”

“I’ve got an idea that would work well. Let me show you the barn.”

With a flashlight they made their way across the bridge and down the path to the vehicles and back down the road to the barn. Josh flipped the light on and led Hannah up the stairs. There was a bunk made up with sheets, a pillow and a comforter.

“This is pretty darn lavish, Josh.”

“Not bad, I sleep down here sometimes if Naomi is having a rough night.”

He offered a hug, and she stiffly accepted. When he had gone, she sorted through her few belongings. She nosed around, found there even was a bathroom, and thought about the journey and Josh. She noticed the rifles racked on the wall alongside a stuffed deer head. She removed the aught-six, a bolt-action Winchester Model 70 with scope. Magazine full, five rounds. Nothing in the chamber. She examined the cartridges, probably standard hunter loads, 150-grains. She sighted across the room, then through the window, toward the lighted log home. In the window, she could see Josh and Naomi. She judged the distance to be 125 yards. Very little bullet drop compensation at this distance, maybe an inch. Perfect deer gun. Little flesh damage. With a few more grains, 173 like the military used, the weapon had better distance, especially with jacketed bullets.

She was suddenly on the ridge in Gaza, her target more than a thousand yards distance. Palestinian terrorist. A bad, bad guy. No problem for the DAN.338 but this Winchester might do for a thousand-yard kill. Just a little more BDC.

She noticed some rapid motions in the window, then realized Josh and Naomi were arguing. Through the scope she watched Josh rant, pointing at Naomi, turning to something beyond her and then she saw the children. The older, a boy, she guessed was five, the girl maybe two. Both were crying.

* * *

She awoke to a bright sun above the ridges to the east. It didn’t take long to wash up and dress, and she put her things into her bag. She figured she’d leave today, if she could get Josh to take her to Buffalo. He suddenly announced himself, and she went down the steps. He greeted her warmly.

“Josh, thanks! What a great place to rest. Absolutely quiet up there, slept like a baby.”

“Let’s get to looking around for a place to put that pad.”

“Did you talk with your wife, Josh.”

“Yeah, I think everything’s good, Bear. The kids are up and she’s got some coffee and breakfast. Let’s get going!”

“Josh, I’m having second thoughts. You and the family are so good to consider this idea of mine, but I think it might be an intrusion. Would you take me over to Buffalo after breakfast, and I’ll just be moving on. It’s no problem, Josh.”

“Ah, Bear, you do as you like, but come on over and meet Naomi and the kids. We can go from there.”

“Josh, is she OK?”

“She had a tough time with the second one. Her doctor said it’s like that PTSD soldiers get. Some moms struggle. It’s been a couple of years.”

She followed him out and up the road. Naomi and the two kids were on the porch. She reached her hand to Hannah, and motioned her in. They sat at a table on the screened porch. Cereal for the kids, coffee and toast for the adults. They ate, making small talk. Josh excused himself, citing morning chores.

“Be back in a few minutes, Bear. Pour her some more coffee, Naomi.”

The kids scampered off. Naomi yelled after them to get dressed. The younger one lingered.

“Mama…”

“Go on! Now!”

Hannah said, “How ya doing? This is a nice place here. Beautiful kids.”

“Easy for you to say. You got any kids?”

“Nope. Never married.”

“Josh says you were in the IDF.”

“Yeah, but I’m looking to settle down now.”

“Josh says you want to put a tiny house on the property.”

“I’m thinking it won’t work for me, Naomi. It’s beautiful and all, but I’m going to move on.”

“Just as well that you do. Look, I’m putting out some laundry to dry.”

“Thanks for the breakfast. I’m going to get my stuff. Nice to meet you.”

She went to the room in the barn and grabbed her stuff. She heard the scream and looked toward the log house. Naomi was screaming at the little one. The Grizzly was reared on its hind feet, huge. Hannah saw two cubs.

She took the Winchester, smashed it through the glass, and remembered there were bullets in the action, and she bolted one into the chamber. The Grizz hadn’t moved, but when the girl ran to Naomi she saw the path between the cubs and the sow and knew what would happen. She pulled the huge left shoulder into view in the scope, dropped to the heart, raised the crosshairs a half-inch and fired. The sow dropped and the cubs ran. The girl froze, and Namoi ran to her.

* * *

They poured the pad a few days later after the killing. Josh and some friends smoothed the area, built the forms and configured the sewer and electrical conduits around the re-bar. A month later the shipping container house was delivered, and they placed it on the pad, connected everything including the electrical. Hannah made a comfortable porch with Adirondack chairs and a small table, facing south.

Naomi came down for coffee each morning, and they talked about many things, including Naomi’s problems after the girl’s birth and Hannah’s time in the IDF. One day Hannah blurted it out even though Naomi didn’t ask.

“It was seventeen.”

“Seventeen what? Oh my god. As a sniper? Do you think about it?”

“If I smell oil or grease, other things sometimes. Triggers they call them. Somebody found me on the street corner one time. I’d been standing there for ten or fifteen minutes, but I didn’t remember any of it except the asphalt and the oil where the buses stopped. Just lapses. I lived alone for two years, near a golf course, until they finally found me and ran me out. That’s when I called Josh.”

“I’m so glad you did. Sometimes I just couldn’t handle it, Hannah. Flashbacks like you say, to the birthing room especially. I couldn’t handle the kids sometimes. No sense to it. Just angry and hostile. Snapped at everything. Even Josh, too. Really tough for Josh.”

“I think I’d like to get a dog. Would you guys mind?”

“Maybe a dog around here would be good. Since the Grizz, the bigger the dog the better,” Naomi said with a laugh.

“I was thinking a little one, like Toto or Snoopy. Some little yipper to sleep on my lap. I feel like number eighteen is the last.”

“Eighteen?”

“You know; we’re safe now. No more bears.”

“They’ll always be there. We got each other.”

“And Josh.”

“And the kids.”

“I feel good, Naomi.”

“Me, too.”