Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 71179 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 356(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71179 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 356(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
Fluorescent lights hum quietly overhead, casting a clinical glow on the two shooting stalls, their outlines marked by red paint.
“This targeting system is state-of-the-art,” Falcon says.
Like I’d know, but I nod. Down the lanes, the paper targets hang still, their surfaces smooth and uninterrupted, the concentric circles unbroken by bullet holes. The quiet is profound, the kind of hush that feels almost heavy, expectant.
At each shooting station, there’s a small bench. Falcon gestures to one and sets my gun and my protective gear down.
The ear protection seems superfluous in the silence, but I slip it on, the soft click of the muffs muting the already muffled world of this safe house.
“Watch me,” Falcon says. He loads my gun with the first magazine. “Got that?”
“Yes.”
“Now, let me show you the stance. I want your feet shoulder width apart.”
“Okay.” I obey.
“Make sure you distribute your weight evenly on the balls of your feet to counteract recoil.”
I breathe in deeply. “Okay,” I say again.
“It will be second nature to you before you know it.”
Great. I’m not sure if that’s good or bad. I never wanted firing a weapon to be second nature to me, but Falcon is right. This is something I need to practice in order to protect myself. And to protect him.
“Extend your arms fully without locking your elbows,” he says.
“I don’t have my gun yet.”
“That’s right. I want you to get familiar with everything before you actually pick up the gun.”
He’s acting like I’ve never done this before. I sigh. I get my arms into position, facing the target.
“Are you comfortable?” he asks.
“Literally or figuratively?”
“Both.”
“I’m good.”
He hands me the gun, careful to keep it pointing in a neutral direction. “Take this. Use your dominant hand to grip it, but keep those fingers off the trigger.”
I take it from him, hold it.
“Vannah,” he says gently.
“Yes?”
“I know you don’t mean to, but you’re pointing the gun directly at me.”
“Shit!” I drop the gun, and it clatters to the floor. I truly am out of practice.
“And that’s why we keep the safety on,” he says, picking it up and handing it back to me. “No reason to freak out. I know you don’t want to shoot me. But always be aware of where your gun is pointing. Never point it at something you don’t want to shoot. Try again.”
This time I’m more careful. I point the gun toward the target, adjust my stance, and grasp the grip with my right hand.
“Good. Now wrap your other hand around your dominant hand to secure your hold.”
I nod, obeying.
“Good. Keep your head upright and level, not tilted or turned, and bring the firearm up to your line of sight. Use your dominant eye to aim.”
I nod, closing my left eye to bring the target into aim.
“Keep both eyes open, Vannah.”
I nod, open the left eye. Good, I’m still trained on the target.
I cock my head a bit, careful to stay on target. “I wasn’t supposed to learn to shoot, but my father insisted. He said you don’t grow up in this kind of family without knowing how to handle a gun.”
“Good on him. At least you weren’t treated like a second class citizen when it came to protecting yourself.”
“I suppose it sounds like we’re treated that way, but when I think about it, that’s not exactly the case. Not so much second-class citizens as…precious commodities.”
He shakes his head. “How can you be living in this century, Savannah? This makes no sense at all.”
“Tell me about it.”
“You say women are treated like chattel, but you don’t consider yourself a second-class citizen?”
“Kind of, but the term second-class citizen implies that we’re thought of as having no value. That’s not the case.”
“I won’t deny your value, Savannah. But I won’t have you treated as a damned commodity. All the more reason for you to learn how to shoot.”
I smile at him and re-aim the gun. “Is this the right stance?”
He nods. “Yup. Now, when you shoot the gun, you’re going to get some kickback. Something you have to get used to. You’re still lined up. You ready to shoot?”
The earmuffs are tight on my head, but I’m ready. I nod, without losing my target.
“Then go ahead.”
I shoot.
The kickback is rougher than I remember, and the gun rises as the shell hits the floor.
But Falcon stares at the target. “Fuck it, you’re a natural.”
Sure enough. I hit right outside of dead center.
“Told you.” I smirk.
“Do it again.”
I aim again, shoot.
Slightly more off-center this time. “Was that first one a fluke?”
“Are you kidding me? This is still amazing. Again.”
I go through eight more rounds, each one hitting right around the target, and one dead center. Everything comes back to me.
Then I watch Falcon shoot through his magazine, hitting dead center every damned time.
Falcon is still shaking his head when he takes off his protective gear. “I can’t fucking believe it.”