The Hellhound

Hello, Old Friend

Crack.

She'd shown me the shooting range, alright. It was nothing more than a long and somewhat narrow room with thin black dividers set up along a white line.

Crack.

One after another, each bullet embedded itself into the target at the end of our lane. It stared back at us, ridden with fresh bullet holes.

Crack.

After each crack, yet another smoldering casing clattered to the floor before Shada was once again firing another shot. I watched, wide-eyed as yet another bullet hit the bullseye. Within a minute, the magazine was emptied and already being dropped into the palm of her hand. Twelve out of the twenty rounds had hit the center which, as much as I'd hated to admit it, was pretty impressive. I'd seen my unfortunate father miss targets far closer than that while hunting.

Though, at the rather smug expression on her face, my eyes only narrowed. If only she were as humble as she was skilled.

"How's that?" She all but grinned as she began reloading the rifle. I watched as she slipped each brass bullet into the magazine before jamming it back into the gun. When I didn't answer, the girl merely snorted. "Better than you could do, anyway." Once again, Shada hoisted the rifle up into her arms and backed it against her shoulder. Her cheek rested itself against the sleek body, eyes staring down the scope.

"Amazing," I deadpanned as I made a reach for it. "Now quit showing off. You're here to teach me, remember?"

She jerked the rifle out of reach, shooting me a withering look. "Coming from the girl who just tried to take a loaded gun from someone who was aiming, I think that just further proves that you shouldn't be handling a gun at all." Her gaze flitted between my outstretched hand and my face before she finally sighed. The gun was back against her shoulder and with a crack, the chamber was emptied into the target. "Fine," she muttered. With a quiet click, the magazine was removed and she jerked the bolt. The casing clattered to the floor as she set the rifle on the ground, propped up against the wall.

How nice. I retrieved the weapon with an eye roll as she leaned her back against the rough concrete. "Isn't the point of the rifle to be able to shoot it?" My eyes flitted down to the gun in my hands. It was heavier than I'd expected it to be; she'd made it look so easy, after all.

"As if," she scoffed, jostling the loaded magazine for emphasis. Her amused, though still somewhat annoyed, gaze never wavered from mine as she pocketed the magazine. "Yeah, we're gonna see if you can handle holding and aiming it first, and then we'll go from there."

After maybe twenty minutes, I was in charge of the loaded rifle and firing it on my own. Though, the cracks that pierced the air hadn't been near as satisfying as hers. The bullet hit the wall somewhere to the left of the target. The only indication was the metallic ping that sounded from the far end of the room. I winced as I once again ejected the smoldering casing and locked another in the chamber. All the while, the sound of bootsteps paced along behind me.

I heard a scoff and my grip tightened on the rifle, shifting it a bit in my grasp and resting my finger on the trigger. Would've been easier, I'd imagined, if my hands weren't so damn sweaty. But I felt that wretched gaze on me; a fact that certainly wasn't helping.

"Finger off the trigger 'til you're ready to take the shot."

"Do you mind?" I snapped, resting my cheek against the stock once again. The target swayed through the glass of the scope, bouncing in and out of the crosshairs. "You're not making this any easier."