Oath Bound
Page 95
“Now line up the notch on the back of the gun with the guide on the front of the barrel,” I said, and she made a minute adjustment. “Got it?”
She nodded. “What should I aim for? What...part?”
“The first time? Aim to kill.”
Her aim rose. She was going for the target’s head, like I’d known she would.
“Now, when you fire, it’s going to recoil. Don’t drop the gun.”
“I won’t.”
“Take a breath. Then squeeze the trigger.”
Sera inhaled again, and that time I held my breath. She squeezed the trigger. The gun fired, the casing ejected over her shoulder and her arms flew up from the recoil. She gasped and would have stumbled back, but I was behind her.
Her grip on the gun loosened in surprise, and I put my hand over hers, so she couldn’t drop it.
“Sorry.” She was breathless, and I loved the sound. I wanted to hear it again—in another context. “I almost dropped it.”
“That’s okay.” I let her go and stepped back reluctantly, then squinted at the target. “Looks like you got a hit.”
“How can you tell?” She set the gun down and shielded her eyes from the sun while she frowned at the target.
“I have good eyes.” I picked up the binoculars on the table and handed them to her.
“That’s not a hit!” she said, peering through the goggles. “The hole’s several inches right of his head.”
I chuckled. “You hit the target. Not bad for your first try.”
“Is that...” Sera turned to grin at me, and my chest felt suddenly warm. “Did you draw a goofy face on my target guy?”
“You put a marshmallow Peep in my hot chocolate. I thought I’d reciprocate.”
She laughed out loud, and I couldn’t resist a smile of my own. “Try it again, and this time spread your feet a little. That’ll help with your balance.”
Sera set the binoculars down and picked up the gun again. She took her time, finding a comfortable grip, taking a wider stance and lining up her target. Then she took a deep breath and squeezed the trigger.
Again, the recoil knocked her aim up, but she didn’t let go and there was no gasp of surprise. And this time, before she set the gun on the table, barrel pointed downrange, she remembered to reengage the safety.
“Did I hit him?”
I looked through the binoculars to make sure, because it didn’t seem possible. “Yup. Left half of his handlebar mustache.” I set the binoculars down and grinned at her. “Nice. Now do it again.”
It took her two more tries to get another head shot, but the one she missed went right through the paper man’s neck. When she’d hit him in the head five more times, obliterating his nose and forehead, then nicking the corner of his right eye, I gave her a new goal. “Now aim for his heart.” Where I’d sketched a drawing of the organ, complete with valves, in Wite-Out, over the black silhouette. “And this time, fire three rounds without stopping.
Sera frowned and took aim with singular concentration, and I knew she wasn’t hearing the birds overhead or the tractor mowing the field to our west. Then she fired.
The first bullet went through the paper man’s left aorta. A second later, her second bullet hit the other side of his chest. The third bullet, a second and a half after that, hit the poor man’s chin.
“Well, he’s definitely dead,” I said when she reengaged the safety and set the gun down.
“It’s harder like that.” She swept stray strands of hair from her face. “There’s no time to aim between shots.”
“That’s why you have to get the recoil under control. Try it again. In sets of three.”
She did, with similar results. The first shot was a hit, but the second and third went wide.
“Sorry.”
“Are you kidding? You fired your first shot twenty minutes ago, and he’s more than dead.” I smiled, because she looked disappointed with herself. “But here’s the hard part. How many rounds do you have left?”
She squinted, staring at the ground in thought.
“Don’t try to count the casings!” I said, when I realized what she was really doing.
“I’m not.” But that’s exactly what she’d been doing. “Two,” she said, after another second of thought. “One in the clip, one in the chamber.
“Close. Three,” I said, and she frowned. “Two in the clip, and one in the chamber. Now, eject the clip and reload.”
“How do I...”
I took the gun from her, letting my fingers brush her hand a little longer than necessary, and ejected the clip in demonstration. Then I slid it back into place and gave her the gun.
Sera checked the safety, then ejected the clip.
I showed her how to load the first round, then I stood back and left her to it.
A minute and a half later, she set the clip down in frustration. She’d only loaded two rounds. “I can’t do it. It’s too tight.”
I shrugged. “If you can’t load the clip, you don’t get to shoot the gun.”
Sera scowled.
“You wanna try Van’s .22?”
Her scowl deepened, and she picked up the clip again, determination clear in the line of her jaw.
It took her another ten minutes, but she got it done—all seventeen rounds. Then she slid the clip into place and fired four rounds with no prompting.
She nodded. “What should I aim for? What...part?”
“The first time? Aim to kill.”
Her aim rose. She was going for the target’s head, like I’d known she would.
“Now, when you fire, it’s going to recoil. Don’t drop the gun.”
“I won’t.”
“Take a breath. Then squeeze the trigger.”
Sera inhaled again, and that time I held my breath. She squeezed the trigger. The gun fired, the casing ejected over her shoulder and her arms flew up from the recoil. She gasped and would have stumbled back, but I was behind her.
Her grip on the gun loosened in surprise, and I put my hand over hers, so she couldn’t drop it.
“Sorry.” She was breathless, and I loved the sound. I wanted to hear it again—in another context. “I almost dropped it.”
“That’s okay.” I let her go and stepped back reluctantly, then squinted at the target. “Looks like you got a hit.”
“How can you tell?” She set the gun down and shielded her eyes from the sun while she frowned at the target.
“I have good eyes.” I picked up the binoculars on the table and handed them to her.
“That’s not a hit!” she said, peering through the goggles. “The hole’s several inches right of his head.”
I chuckled. “You hit the target. Not bad for your first try.”
“Is that...” Sera turned to grin at me, and my chest felt suddenly warm. “Did you draw a goofy face on my target guy?”
“You put a marshmallow Peep in my hot chocolate. I thought I’d reciprocate.”
She laughed out loud, and I couldn’t resist a smile of my own. “Try it again, and this time spread your feet a little. That’ll help with your balance.”
Sera set the binoculars down and picked up the gun again. She took her time, finding a comfortable grip, taking a wider stance and lining up her target. Then she took a deep breath and squeezed the trigger.
Again, the recoil knocked her aim up, but she didn’t let go and there was no gasp of surprise. And this time, before she set the gun on the table, barrel pointed downrange, she remembered to reengage the safety.
“Did I hit him?”
I looked through the binoculars to make sure, because it didn’t seem possible. “Yup. Left half of his handlebar mustache.” I set the binoculars down and grinned at her. “Nice. Now do it again.”
It took her two more tries to get another head shot, but the one she missed went right through the paper man’s neck. When she’d hit him in the head five more times, obliterating his nose and forehead, then nicking the corner of his right eye, I gave her a new goal. “Now aim for his heart.” Where I’d sketched a drawing of the organ, complete with valves, in Wite-Out, over the black silhouette. “And this time, fire three rounds without stopping.
Sera frowned and took aim with singular concentration, and I knew she wasn’t hearing the birds overhead or the tractor mowing the field to our west. Then she fired.
The first bullet went through the paper man’s left aorta. A second later, her second bullet hit the other side of his chest. The third bullet, a second and a half after that, hit the poor man’s chin.
“Well, he’s definitely dead,” I said when she reengaged the safety and set the gun down.
“It’s harder like that.” She swept stray strands of hair from her face. “There’s no time to aim between shots.”
“That’s why you have to get the recoil under control. Try it again. In sets of three.”
She did, with similar results. The first shot was a hit, but the second and third went wide.
“Sorry.”
“Are you kidding? You fired your first shot twenty minutes ago, and he’s more than dead.” I smiled, because she looked disappointed with herself. “But here’s the hard part. How many rounds do you have left?”
She squinted, staring at the ground in thought.
“Don’t try to count the casings!” I said, when I realized what she was really doing.
“I’m not.” But that’s exactly what she’d been doing. “Two,” she said, after another second of thought. “One in the clip, one in the chamber.
“Close. Three,” I said, and she frowned. “Two in the clip, and one in the chamber. Now, eject the clip and reload.”
“How do I...”
I took the gun from her, letting my fingers brush her hand a little longer than necessary, and ejected the clip in demonstration. Then I slid it back into place and gave her the gun.
Sera checked the safety, then ejected the clip.
I showed her how to load the first round, then I stood back and left her to it.
A minute and a half later, she set the clip down in frustration. She’d only loaded two rounds. “I can’t do it. It’s too tight.”
I shrugged. “If you can’t load the clip, you don’t get to shoot the gun.”
Sera scowled.
“You wanna try Van’s .22?”
Her scowl deepened, and she picked up the clip again, determination clear in the line of her jaw.
It took her another ten minutes, but she got it done—all seventeen rounds. Then she slid the clip into place and fired four rounds with no prompting.
