Prologue

“Pick it up.”

            The gun felt heavy in her hand, the metal cold to the touch, and far too big for her small hands.  It was an unfamiliar feeling, one that she felt would never be familiar to her.  She could feel her fingers trembling against the trigger.

            “What am I supposed to do with this?” she asked quietly, her voice no louder than a whisper.  She could barely hear her words through the heavy ear protection he had placed on her head just moments before.

            His large hands moved over hers, steadying her small fingers so that they didn’t pull the trigger accidentally.  With his other hand, he moved hers to grasp the bottom of the gun to help steady her.  His hands were surprisingly warm, though hardened and calloused, likely from his years of hard work and labor.  She could feel his arms tense even through her thick army jacket as he guided hers upward to aim the weapon at a paper target stapled to a corkboard maybe twenty feet across the room, illuminated dimly by the small windows high up on the walls, though little light peaked in through the dark clouds that brewed a storm in the world outside of their haven.  Suddenly, she was glad they were working inside that day and not outside as they had been recently.

            “When I count to three, we’re going to pull the trigger.  That’s what we’re working on today, just shooting.  Accuracy will come later,” he answered.  His voice was surprisingly loud in her ears, even with the headphone-like protection.  “Take a couple of deep breaths and tell me when you’re ready.”

            She vaguely remembered that he had, in fact, told her the day before that he would be showing her how to shoot a gun in their session.  Before, it had been simple survival skills " scavenging, how to start a fire, how to make a shelter anywhere and with anything.  It had escalated quickly and recently to knife skills.  She didn’t like those sessions very much; violence had never been her thing.  Her eyes flickered to the tiny pink scars, the results of metal blades meeting soft skin.  They were accidents, but she still subconsciously blamed them on him.

            His hand squeezed her shoulder, reminding her that he was there behind her still, and the weight of the gun returned.  The target seemed so small, and she was almost positive that she wouldn’t come anywhere near hitting it.  Nevertheless, when her words failed her, she nodded, alerting him that she was ready.

            “One.”

            If his hands weren’t covering hers, there was no way the gun would have stayed level.

            “Two.”

            She didn’t want to shoot.  She didn’t want this.  Why couldn’t they just go back to basic survival skills?

            She didn’t even hear him say ‘three.’  The word was overpowered by the loud POP of the bullet leaving the gun as he pressed on her finger and the trigger and muffled further by the echo that rang off of the metal walls of the old and decrepit warehouse.  Even with his strong and steady hands, she hadn’t been prepared for the kick of the gun.  Her eyes failed to find a mark on the target, so she was sure that she had missed, as he had predicted she would.  She could feel her heart pounding rapidly in her chest, and the sound of rushing blood roared loudly in her ears.

            When he finally moved away from behind her and crossed over to the opposite side of the room, the weight of the gun returned, too heavy for her to keep holding up.  Slowly, she lowered it and placed it down on the wooden table, one that had clearly seen better days.  She figured that it had been there longer than the warehouse had been abandoned, though it had since been vandalized, evident by the carved names and initials of people long gone from their small town.  Naturally, somewhere within the carving graveyard, she had written her own name; she couldn’t resist the temptation.

            He slid the paper across the table and into her field of vision as she pulled the ear protection down to hang around her neck.  In the top right corner, right by the holes where the staple had been, was a clear bullet hole " though it was as far away from the target as it possibly could have been.  Still, she felt a swelling of pride for having hit the paper at all.

            “Like I said, we’ll work on accuracy later,” he told her.  A faint smile tugged the corners of his lips upward, and she knew he was proud of her for even hitting the paper at all.  “Are you ready to try shooting again?  This time by yourself?”

            She bit her lip nervously; she was still uncomfortable with the idea of guns in general.  Her eyes searched the room, and she hoped they would land on something that would get her out of this lesson.  Instead, though, they landed on the bulge where his golden pocket watch tucked into the front pocket of his jeans.  The chain dipped below the hem of his ratty old sweater that had clearly seen better days, the only evidence that it was even there.  Absently, she wondered what time it was. 

But, knowing there was no other way to appease him, she looked up and met his steady blue gaze.

            “Yes.”