Defect - By Ryann Kerekes Page 0,29

that he doesn’t sit down. It’s like he has to be in complete control at all times.

When I finish the sandwich, I continue searching the bag and find an apple, now bruised from tumbling around, but decide to save it for later, just in case. I dig around inside, seeing what else is in the bag. There are water purification tablets, a box of waterproof matches, a candle, a tarp, a roll of first aid tape, and a small knife tucked into a side pocket. It strikes me as an interesting combination of things for a jog through the woods.

“Let’s go,” he says, without asking if I’m ready. I’m relieved to see he takes off walking, rather than running. My legs are tight and tired.

He goes to the edge of the clearing and removes his backpack. He lifts his shirt and unstraps a handgun from his waist. He keeps it pointed toward the ground and walks a few paces over to a fallen log. I begin to interpret the area around us for what it is – a shooting range. Set up about fifty feet across from the fallen log is a series of stumps that stand upright.

He hunts around inside of his backpack and produces a box of bullets. He sets them beside the gun on the log. “Ready for your first lesson?”

I nod, knowing I don’t really have a choice. Something about the black glint of the steel intrigues me, and I take a step closer. I remember seeing the guards patrolling the fence, guns strapped in their holsters, as Cassidy and I rode our bikes past. It seems like a lifetime ago. I always felt safe, knowing they were patrolling the fence to keep the bad people out. Now I’m not so sure. For the first time in my life, I see the fence’s true purpose: keeping us in.

He picks up the gun. “Always treat a gun as if it were loaded.” He makes a point of holding it securely with the barrel pointing toward the ground.

I nod. I remember Alex’s story about Will freaking out on him when he didn’t know if his gun was loaded. It seems to make sense to me.

The way he holds it in his hands is like he has respect for what it can do, the damage it can cause if he’s not careful. “Keep your finger off the trigger until you’ve made a conscious decision to shoot.” He taps his fingers on the outside of the trigger guard. He shows me the safety and switches it back and forth between locked and unlocked, demonstrating the difference.

He reaches for the box of bullets and pulls the gun open to load one bullet. I swallow down a wave of nervousness.

“Come here.” He moves me in front of him. “Hold it with two hands.” He places the gun in my hands. It’s heavy, and it feels dangerous just holding it. With the pulse guns, the worst I could do was embarrass myself with my poor aim, but this gun feels deadly, and a sense of dread I’ve never felt before floods through me.

“Stand with your feet shoulder-width apart.” I step apart. “Your hips toward the target.” I release a slow breath. “Bend your knees slightly,” he breathes against my hair. I wonder if he gives everyone a one-on-one lesson, or if he just believes after my failure with the pulse gun that I’ll need the extra attention. I settle in, making sure my knees aren’t locked. “Good. Okay, you’re aiming for that stump straight out across from us. You see it?”

I nod. It’s peppered and splintered with bullets marks.

“Raise your weapon toward the target.”

I hesitate for a second. “Maybe you should demonstrate it first.”

He’s silent for a moment, as if considering it. “No, you can do this,” he says without an ounce of doubt in his voice.

A small sliver of satisfaction wells up in me, and I raise the gun in front of me. It’s hard to hold it up without shaking. It’s heavy, and I’m concentrating on so many things at once – my breathing, my stance, keeping my arms steady, holding it correctly.

“You’ll want to pick a spot on the log and focus on it.”

I squint at the log until I can line it up with the little sight notch on the gun.

“And switch off the safety when you’re ready.”

I forgot that was still on. I find it with my thumb and flip it down and refocus on my target.

“When you’re