Page 56 of Red

I can.

I can.

I eye the sight, lining up the pin at the end of the barrel between the gap in the metal square, then angle it in the middle of the red-dotted target in front of me. I wait for a few shots to go off, then my finger tightens on the trigger. I pause, letting out a small breath.

Bam.

The noise is a bit muffled from the headphones. The gun kicks like Tripp warned, but I have more than enough strength to keep me from being affected.

“Wow,” Tripp beams.

“What?”

“You hit right in the center.!” He moves to beside me, grinning.

I lower the gun to the side, aiming away from everyone, and slide the small red pin to black. “You also hit right in the middle.” I wink.

“That’s different. Okay, Aly, let’s shoot the last round off, then I got something else for you to try.”

We go over the same process. Tripp tucks his chest around me, tighter than before, to get the gun in position, then stays there until I pull the trigger, leaving a hole in the target an inch away from my last one.

“You’re amazing.” His breath brushes the side of neck, the edge of his moustache causing a faint tickle.

“Oh, uh, thanks.” Pink rises to my cheeks, and it makes me feel like a traitor.

“I brought a couple others, but I’ll let you pick. This one is a shotgun, and it’s used more for hunting. This other one is the same with a different action. They will have more of a kick than the twenty-two. See, that one has a bolt like the one you’ve first shot; this one’s called a pump action.” He pulls down the wooden piece of the gun to demonstrate. “Then there’s the three thirty-eight rifle. This is what we use to hunt the beasts; it’s got a hell of a range but it’s loud and the kick back might knock you to the ground.”

I ignore the anxiety under my skin. I need to keep him happy.

“So, which one do you want to try next?” He smiles at me, his brown eyes reflecting off the snow.

“All of them?” I ask. My body almost shakes at the thought.

He picks up the other bolt action, and grabs a few colored shells. “Sure. Let’s do it.”

We go through the same process, shooting off two rounds from each shotgun. I only screw one up when another louder gun goes off next to me, my flinch directing the bullet high above the target.

I place the gun on the table, and Tripp grabs the rifle with a telescope-looking attachment on top. The stock made of white metal stretches below the telescope with rows of cut-out circles along the sides, showing the black barrel underneath. It screams death, unlike the brown wooden shotguns left on the table.

A few of the bystanders have shifted over toward us, making comments.

“I bet she’ll hit the ground.”

“I bet she won’t even miss.”

I appreciate whoever that one is.

A hand claps on my shoulder and Mike from the fire smiles at me. “Aly, I’m betting on you so don’t screw up.”

“It’s going to be heavy.” Tripp hands it over, and I almost drop it. He wasn’t kidding. Once I adjust, I heave it up to my waist and walk over into the same spot we were in before.

“Now, this one, you can see, has a scope on top, so we won’t be aiming at the targets here, but the ones behind them, higher up. You’ll see when you look through it. It’s like a magnifying lens.”

Farther? They shoot from further away than this? “Maybe we should just quit while I’m ahead?” Aly would feel apprehensive, but I am terrified.

“No, you got it.”

It feels weird to have someone believe in me again. Even in this twisted situation. If only I could be myself, somewhere on this earth.