“Oh God,” I mutter. The icy lake is in full view.
They've managed to turn the area into an outdoor shooting range. Targets are lined up just before the water. A few meters in front of the targets was a long table. Handguns are spread out along the face, ammunition cartridges sitting beside each one. Just the sight of it made me feel sick. I could take a life with one of these. Maybe, someday, I’ll have to. I try not to think too hard about that. Nobody else seems to be freaking out about this.
Alex explained the directions to us but I was too distracted to listen. I kept looking toward the table, trying to swallow this weight in my throat. He called for us to line up, ten to a line. I chose to follow Nick and Dante, while Emi and Joan chose a different line to join.
“Hey, you ok in there?” Dante asks as he steps behind me. Somehow I ended up second in line, with only Nick in front of me.
“Hm? Yeah I’m fine.” I feel anything but fine but if I say that I’ll just come off as weaker.
“It’s ok to be nervous,” he says.
“No one else is.”
“Most people here have already shot a gun. Hell, most people here have had to use them on missions.”
“Have… Have you?”
“Of course. I’ve been on a few deployments.”
“Is it-?”
“Terrifying? Yeah. But you do it enough times and it becomes second nature. It’s the life of a soldier.”
I don’t want to think about what that really means so I face forward again. Nick loads the gun, snapping the magazine in place. A bullet slides into the chamber as he cocks the gun. With a motion signaling start from Alex, those first in line aim and begin shooting. Nick raises the gun and fires with ease. Once. Twice. Three times. All of his shots hit the target. Alex calls for a line switch and suddenly I’m in front of the table. I look around. No one else is shaking like I am. No one else looks terrified.
I use the clip to reload the mag with shaking fingers, following Dante’s instructions behind me. Then I snap the cartridge back on and click off the safety, waiting for Alex’s signal. I’m not ready when it comes. I feel so out of place. The gun is heavy in my hands. I’m shaking too much to fire. Everyone is already on their second round and I’m still trying to aim properly.
“Any day now, Brooks,” Alex yells. I bit my lip hard enough to taste metal. Calm down, I tell myself. It’s just a target. I fire.
The shot hits nowhere near my target. I hear some snickers behind me but Dante gives me a few words of encouragement. “Separate your feet a bit more and balance the weight so the recoil doesn’t affect your aim. Don't hold your hands so far out.”
I do as I’m told. But, this time, I close my eyes on instinct when the shot fires. This doesn’t go unnoticed either.
“How are you supposed to hit your target with your eyes closed, Brooks?” Aiden scolds. I ignore him. I ignore everyone and everything and hold my gun up again. Just me and the target, I think. I inhale and try my best to steady my hands. I fire on the exhale, keeping my eyes focused on the red center. Much to my surprise, I hit the yellow flesh of the target. Alex is quiet this time, as are all those who were watching. I rip the empty cartridge out of the gun and throw it back on the table.
“I didn’t hit the target all my first day,” Nick told me when I joined him on the sidelines.
“You don’t have to make me feel better,” I tell him quietly. He shakes his head.
“Honest.”
I watch as some hit the center of the target and some miss all three shots. It makes me feel slightly better, but still not great.
When I’m at the front of the line again, I feel Alex’s eyes drilling holes into my head. I feel him criticizing my stance and imagine what he would tell me. I relax my shoulders, bend my elbows to account for recoil. I keep my feet sturdy and raise my gun to my side. I do everything I imagine Alex scolding me for.
With one eye shut, I aim and fire, not feeling hesitant anymore. This time I’m not as afraid. This time I imagine the weight of the gun as an extension of my own arm. I hit the blue perimeter, and then the yellow, and the purple between the two. I managed to hit the target all three times and Alex holds his tongue. I smirk to myself.
We work on strength training with weights and exercises instead of combat for the rest of the day, which is disappointing because I was really looking forward to beating the shit out of Harris today.
“Who taught you to shoot like that?” Joan asks when we head to the hall for lunch.
“No one.”
“So you just hit the target almost every single time on your first day? How?”
“I dunno,” I shrug. “Just wanted to prove myself or something.”
Joan chews her lip thoughtfully when we grab our trays and head for the table we’ve been sitting at.
“You’ll never be able to prove yourself to some of these people, you know. Especially not idiots like Harris.”
“I know,” I say and I do. “I don’t care about them.”
Joan hums and nibbles on her apple. Dante drops his tray next to me and shakes his dreadlocks loose from their tie.
“That was some good shooting on that last round,” he says. I shrug again.
“Just luck. I’m secretly shit at this.”
“Not so secretly,” Emi says when she sits down beside Dante.
“Fair,” I chuckle. Nick scolds her when he sits down and I smile halfheartedly.
They start talking about tomorrow’s training but I stop listening, instead meeting a pair of gray eyes across the cafeteria. I feel extra petty at the moment. Instead of looking away, I keep his gaze. And then I stick out my tongue. Alex rolls his eyes but doesn’t look away. I keep making stupid faces and he looks fed up with all of them, but still doesn’t turn away.
“Do you have a death wish?” Joan asks me in a whisper. I grin and make a rude gesture at her too. She sighs and goes back to the conversation at hand. My attention is directed toward Alex, ready to make more faces, but I find that his attention is stolen by a colleague. I try not to look disappointed as I pick up my empty tray and head for the garbage.
“Leaving so soon?” Nick asks.
“Yeah, I’m just tired. Gonna try and take a nap.”
Everyone except Joan looks convinced. She can tell I’m full of shit. But I don’t care enough to explain myself.
I start toward the elevators but stop. To be honest, I don’t want to go to my room yet. I’d rather go outside, even without my sweatshirt. It would be too suffocating in that clean prison, alone with just my endless thoughts.
So I run down the stairs and out the main doors instead. I walk with no purpose and no destination. All I know is I could really use a drink right now.
A vehicle–a pod?–is parked outside the Hub. I walk up to it, finding a small group waiting on the other side. They begin climbing in and a familiar face extends both a grin and an arm to me.
“Amy?”
“Well, are you coming?” She asks, motioning to the pod.
“Where?”
“Outside, of course.”
“But we are outside,” I say with furrowed brows. She laughs, a light and sweet sound.
“I mean out of here, out of the Alloy.”
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