Peppermint And Gunpowder

Chapter Six: Focus

"You have to focus." Poison watches over my shoulder. "Focus on the cans, you see them, right?"

"Yes, I see them. I can't hit them, that's the problem." I growl over my extended arms, watching the empty cans of soda set in a line.

"Focus." He steps to the side, pointing to the cans. "You see them normally. Look closer. Waves, energy. You can ride the waves and hit the cans. But you have to follow the waves."

I watch closer than before, seeing heat and energy radiating of the tin. Feeling the sweat on my palms and California sun beating onto my skin. Fighting the urge to look over at Ghoul and Kobra sitting on the car, comparing their ray guns as Gracie sits on the dirt ground, drinking one of the soon-to-be-empty soda cans, flavoured in grape.

"You're tongue's going to be purple," Ghoul smirks, yet I focus on the cans.

"Will not." Gracie counters.

"You think you can drink a grape soda and not have a purple tongue? Dude, have we taught you nothing?" Ghoul adds mock hurt in his words, and Gracie giggles uncontrollably.

I ignore it and focus on the can that once contained orange flavoured soda.

Breathing deeply, remembering Poison's words and observing the waves and energy emitted from the cans, I pull the trigger and feel no recoil.

I squeeze my eyes shut tight, not wanting to see how horribly I missed.

"You did better this time!" Poison cheers, pointing to the singed table of the shooting range. I didn't hit the can, but I did hit the table. "You hit something this time! Not the can, but something."

"Wow, thanks, Poison." I cock the gun again, pointing at the cans.

"Remember: Focus on the cans. Watch the energy, ride the waves." Poison stands at the sidelines, wiping sweat off his forehead with a tattered white cloth and, in the sunlight now, I see his tanned skin, almost glowing.

I don't speak, just aim again. I aim and wrap my hands around the handle, pull the trigger and feel no recoil.

"Focus." Poison whispers, tucking the cloth back into his pocket, yet sweat still forms on his forehead and drips down his temples and cheeks. "Just focus. You can do it, Mer."

"Mer?" For the first time, I let my guard drop and look at him in confusion.

He shrugs. "Just a nickname. You're name's too long, so I shortened it. Mer." He grins broadly, and over the distance of ten feet, I see his white teeth, tainted orange. Strangely, it is not from poor hygiene, but as if his mouth was bleeding and the blood had stained his teeth, and no matter how hard he tried, the red-orange tint stayed on his normally pearl white teeth.

"I like it." I say, though I'm not sure he heard me. He continues to smile broadly--almost too broadly.

"But remember: focus. Ride the waves, see the energy. Focus." He crouches onto the ground, pressing the tips of his long fingers into the dry California dirt, a small bundle of weeds rests beside his leather bound boots.

I wrap my hands around the trigger and feel the sweat beading on my palms again, the handle pressing into my skin and the blue plastic glimmers in captured sunlight.

Inhale, exhale. Waves, energy. Wooden table, empty can of orange flavoured soda.

I pull the trigger and close my eyes again. Across the range, I smell the singed aroma of wood.

"Dammit!" I scream, running a hand across my head and down my face. "What is wrong with these guns?"

"Oh, calm down." Ghoul says, mocking in his tone. "You'll get it eventually. You can't miss every time."

"You want to see missing every time?" I slide the ray gun back into the holster strapped on my thigh, and pulling the pistol out of its resting place on my hip.

I say nothing, just aim, breathe, and shoot. The tin can of once orange flavoured soda falls to the dusty California land with a small click. I slide the pistol back into my holster.

"Damn." Kobra whispers in disbelief. "You've spent the past hour trying to hit that can, yet when Ghoul mocks you once, you hit it on the first try? You seriously hit that out of spite."

"No, not with the gun. I shot it with my pistol, not the ray gun. I can't hit anything but that table with the ray gun. I can hit nearly anything with this pistol." I tilt my head, biting the inside of my cheek. "It is the change of guns, that's all."

"She'll get it eventually." Poison says, walking back to the car and Gracie hands him a grape soda. He smiles and thanks her silently. "But maybe we should head back, don't want to be here too long."

"Wait!" Gracie stands abruptly from her spot, dust lingering on her pants and hands. "My radio's in the car, is Dr. D going to be broadcasting?"

"I think so, we haven't heard from him in a while. We can listen on the way back." Poison walks over and opens the driver's side door, a silent command to get in the car and get ready to go home. "Come on, Mer, you're gonna wanna hear Dr. D's broadcasts."

"Dr. D?" I ask, scooting over the worn seats, Jet close behind.

"Dr. Death Defying." Poison says as he ignites the engine. "He gives radio broadcasts to aid the Killjoys, and lighten the mood a bit."

"You'll like him, you both have the same sense of humor. Sarcasm." Ghoul mumbles, facial expressions conveying annoyance.

"Oh, hush." I swat at the back of his head, catching a lock of ebony hair in my grasp.

"Turn on the radio! Turn on the radio! Turn on the radio!" Gracie chants, clapping her hands and bouncing about in her seat. Joy radiates off her face.

"Give it here," Kobra says, turning around in the passenger seat and taking the old radio from Gracie, tuning it to the right station.

After many moments of pure static, music plays through the speakers.

Do or die, you'll never make me.

Because the world will never take my heart.

You can try, you'll never break me.

"What is this?" I ask, studying the rusted speakers and spray painted lettering.

"No idea. Dr. D likes to play random stuff sometimes." Poison begins to drive down the endless road, and unlike the first time I'd rode with them many months ago, I know where we are going.

That was that, motor babies. Better watch out today, heard some Dracs' were spotted in Zones One and Two. Maybe watching, maybe hunting. Watch your back, you rock 'n' rollers, and remember: die with your mask on if you got to go.

And keep the fabulous four in you mind and prayers, they'll be there if you need 'em. Location can't be given, but if you see 'em, thank 'em.

This is Dr. Death Defying, signing off.