Pushing my thoughts back, I look at my brother. “No, I’m certain we’ll be able to make it back home.” The SUVs the family has can go into four-wheel drive if needed. We haven’t seen snow like this for as long as I’ve been alive, but every now and again, we have a storm that blows through. Unlike most times, we’ll be cleaning up this snow for a few days.
“All right, let’s have some fun then. You good to shoot?”
I give Eamon a curt nod, and we both proceed to put our earplugs in and noise protection over our ears. I step into the booth as I’m fishing out my gun case. I unzip it, remove my gun, and toss the case back into the duffel bag. Even though the unarmed gun’s now in my hands, it doesn’t feel real yet.
The clerk had already checked our guns to verify they weren’t loaded, and we both carried separate duffel bags with the magazines and our ammunition. It’s hard to believe I’m even in a range right now. The doctor in London told me I’d likely never shoot again, so I’m here to prove him wrong. I will shoot, even if it hurts.
Plexiglass walls are on either side of me. The lights are dim above me, but around the target, they’re nice and bright. I place my SIG Sauer P320 Max on the platform, place my duffel bag beside it and take out my magazine case. They’re already pre-filled with ammunition. Once I’ve removed the magazines, I toss the empty duffel bag on the ground and slide the clip into the pistol. It locks into place, and I pull the slide to chamber the first round.
The sound causes my memories to drift back to that night.
“I’d say it’s a pleasure, but my cousin tells me you don’t get along,” I state, deciding not to play the fake game.
Asim cracks a devious smile. “Liam and I don’t see eye-to-eye very often. He prefers to play it safe, whereas I’m a man who thrives on taking action. So, what type of man are you, Keenan?”
I sit up in my chair a bit straighter and analyze the question, noticing how Asim hasn’t even made it a point to take a seat yet. I glance over to his two men, and the way they look at each other and then stare at Asim confirms something isn’t right.
“Depends on my mood,” I answer with honesty.
Asim cracks into laughter, and the next thing I know, he’s pulled out his gun and a familiar loud sound is ringing through the air. God, I haven’t heard a gunshot in years. “What the hell? What did you do this for?” one of his men questions him, and another gunshot rings out.
Asim leans over me and cracks a smile., “Is it me, or is it impossible to find good help these days?”
Pain radiates down my side like someone’s stabbed me with a million blades, and as I try to breathe, it grows more difficult. I begin to get dizzy and do my best to keep my eyes open, but the darkness soon starts to take over my vision, and staying awake becomes even more difficult.
I lose all control and grip I have, which lands me on the floor. I must’ve fallen out of my chair from the pain, right? Or was this bullet poisoned somehow?
The last thing I see is a boot flying toward my face.
Shaking my head, I do everything I can to push back the thoughts. I know I’m safe now, but when you get shot, it tends to stick with you. Tightness forms in my chest, and my throat is strained. I shift my neck to one side and then the other, place my gun down on the platform and breathe in deeply. Before I do this, I need to get my head on straight. Otherwise, I’ll be a liability and everyone here is just trying to enjoy their time at the range.
I shut my eyes, and the first thing I see is Asim’s face. I should’ve known back then with the way he smiled at me that he was going to act foolishly. Still, I held some bit of hope that the meeting would’ve gone well. It didn’t, and I gave the man the benefit of the doubt.
Panic leaves my body, and instead, I’m met with anger. I open my eyes and take a step closer to the platform, pick up my gun and keep my finger in the safety position off the trigger. I look through my Romeo 3 SIG sight and slowly lift my arm. Every inch of movement is absolutely agonizing. Just like that first day the therapist instructed me to move my arm, it brought me back to the night I was shot. Even now, after weeks of rehabilitation, it causes me much misery.
I continue to lift my arm until I’m lined up with the number 8 on the target. The target is a paper cutout of a man with a gun. The paper gun’s aiming at the person in the shooting lane. If I’m going to do this, I’m going to do it right. I continue to lift my arm and am forced to clench my jaw as the pain becomes even worse. Finally, I’m aiming at the head of the target, and I pull back on the trigger.
The recoil from the gun sends a wave of pain through my body. It almost feels like the night I was shot. The sharpness and intensity don’t waver, yet I do it again. I pull the trigger and fire another round, and then another, and another until I can no longer hold up my gun. The pain causes my arm to shake, and I breathe in and out slowly through the pain. I think I emptied the chamber, but my slide isn’t locked in an open position, so I doubt it.
I pick the gun up and press the magazine release to eject the magazine. Once it’s out, I put the magazine on the platform, and then pull the slide back to eject the chambered round. The round pops out of the top of the gun, and I put the round in my magazine. I count the unused rounds and I have six left, including the one I just put in the magazine. Not bad for my first time shooting again, especially when I was told I wouldn’t ever be able to hold a gun again. I’ve already done what the doctor said I couldn’t, and the pride filling my chest has me feeling grateful. Not just grateful that I’ve completed a task I was told I wouldn’t, but grateful to Liam for aiding me during this time. He could’ve tossed me aside. He didn’t have to help me after the shooting. But he did, and I understand the meaning of family more than I ever have before.
I put the magazines in their carrying case, then zip it up. I also put my SIG Sauer P320 Max in its assigned case, turn and grab the duffel bag from the floor. I proceed to put the cases in the duffel bag when there’s a tap on my shoulder.
Turning around, I spot Eamon. “You done already?” he asks, and I nod. His headphones are hanging around his neck, and one of his earplugs is out.
I pull back my protective headphones, yank the earplugs out, and speak, “Yeah. My shoulder’s giving me a hell of a hard time, so I better not push it.”
“Got it. How many rounds did you get out?”
“Nine.”
“Shite, that’s amazing, brother. You’ve already defied the odds. Something to be proud of.” Eamon smiles from ear to ear, and I’m as happy as he is about it. I wanted to prove that doctor wrong, and now I have.
“Yeah, are you going to keep shooting?” I ask, and Eamon nods.
“Cool. I’ll go hang out in the lobby and see what they’re selling. Take your time, Jeremy’s out there already, so we’re fine.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it,” Eamon tells me, and he disappears behind his lane. I toss my headphones into the duffel bag, zip it up, and then go out toward the lobby. On my way out, I toss my used earplugs into the nearest trash can. The back pocket of my jeans vibrates, so I reach back and see Delilah’s name flashing across the screen.
