Chapter 5
The red windsock on the far side of the 200-yard berm lifted lazily, pointing toward the southeast at a gentle four miles per hour. Lucas lay completely still, his breathing slowing down until his chest barely rose against the coarse fabric of the mat. Through the tinted safety glasses he had slid over his nose, the target boards looked like distant grey blurs marked with faded black circles. He curled his index finger around the trigger guard, resting it lightly without applying pressure, waiting for the authorization that would allow him to touch live ammunition.
Arthur leaned down slightly, positioning himself where he could observe both the boy’s trigger finger and the downrange impact area through his own high-powered binoculars. The tension under the white tent was palpable; several spectators had stopped cleaning their own firearms to watch.
Arthur raised his hand slightly toward the main tower, signaling that the lane was ready. Then he looked down at Lucas, his expression softening into one of professional encouragement. “Range is hot. Take your shot.”
May you like
The words hung in the air for a fraction of a second before Lucas’s world narrowed down entirely to the reticle in his scope. He closed his eyes for a single heartbeat, visualizing the trajectory drop over two hundred yards, compensating mentally for the light crosswind coming off the valley. When he opened them, the crosshairs rested firmly on the center of the target board, dancing slightly with the pulse in his wrist before settling into a steady, floating hold.
He inhaled deeply, let half the air out of his lungs, and held his breath in the quiet space that followed. The world outside the scope vanished—the whispering spectators, the stern man in the black shirt, the flapping American flags, and the memory of the empty kitchen table at home. There was only the rifle, the crosshairs, and the target waiting across the sun-baked field. With a microscopic squeeze of his index finger, the sear broke cleanly, and the rifle barked into the dry afternoon air, spitting a plume of grey smoke and hot gas toward the distant horizon.
