While she refused to break my father’s orders and teach me herself, she always sat with me during morning mealtime and offered me tips. I could tell there was a part of Stephanie that didn’t think it was right that my father forbade me from learning how to use a gun, a part of her that knew in this world it was wise a girl learned how to defend herself. But she would never go against her commander. Luckily for me, Eric had no problem disobeying my father’s orders.
He was pretty much the only one brave enough to do so. Hours after arriving at the community, my father called a meeting with all of the leaders. By the time the meeting concluded, the community was under his control. He and his army walked the streets enforcing their own brand of law and order. For the most part, things remained how they were, but it still bothered me how quickly the Isolationists, ancestors of those naturals who ran from government control, gave up their rights.
No one dared to question me or any of the men who traveled with us into the woods to meet George. We may have forced our way back into the community, but no one treated us as outcasts. Whatever my father had told them must have been pretty damn convincing. Another reminder that words carried just as much power as the gun I held in my hands.
Needless to say, I hadn’t seen much of my father since the early days after our return to the community. I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was avoiding me. Despite his attempt at reconciliation back in the woods, I hadn’t had much contact with him. He begged me to trust him, told me it would all be over soon. Maybe I needed to let him do what needed to be done.
“I’ll take your cow milking for the rest of the week if you make that shot,” Lockwood called out from behind me.
I spun around to remind him that I had been covering both of our cow duties the past two weeks, since he spent all of his time doting on my sister. But both he and Eric fell to the ground. “Whoa! Whoa! What the hell? You never point a gun at someone unless you plan on shooting them,” Eric yelled at me.
I lowered the gun. “Who said I wasn’t planning on shooting Lockwood?” I joked, but my cheeks were red from embarrassment. I cleared my throat. “How is she?”
Lockwood pulled himself off the ground and shrugged. “The same,” he answered, instinctively knowing who I was speaking about. Of course he knew; Louisa consumed both of our minds. Sharon couldn’t offer the answers I sought. Not without access to medical instruments and machines that were near impossible to find in the wilds of the Isolationist territory. “She’ll barely eat. She won’t talk. She just sleeps and stares at that wall,” he continued, kicking at the dirt beneath his feet.
I nodded and turned my attention back to my target. “I’m ready to try it,” I growled, figuring the best way to stem my anger was to shoot the hell out of a tin can. Of course, if Eric knew how angry I was, he’d probably take the gun right out of my hands and tell me to walk it off.
“All right, then,” Eric said. “Breathe in and out. Steady your aim, find your center, and shoot. Your stance is important, and, please, for the love of God, remember the recoil.”
“Um, should I back up? Like go back inside back up?” Lockwood teased from behind me.
“Shut up, Lock. Tess has this. She’s a strong son of a bitch. She can do it,” said Eric, his voice firm.
I replayed all of Eric’s rules and reminders in my head, doing everything he told me. I closed off my mind, shutting out all my anxiousness and fears about Louisa. I focused and did what Eric, my great teacher, had taught me.
And then I shot.
I promptly and ungraciously fell straight on my ass. My chest burned with adrenaline, and my breath escaped from me like the birds that flew from the trees upon hearing the shot.
“Hot damn!” Eric yelled, running toward the fence post where the can had been placed.
I stood up, furiously wiping the dirt off my pants. “I’m sorry. I thought I was prepared for the recoil. I’ll do better next time.”
“Better? You shot it dead on. Right in the middle.” Eric beamed, running over with the can so I could inspect it.
I couldn’t help but grin too. “Well, hot damn indeed. Of course, I did fall on my butt—probably not the most useful thing if it ever comes to fighting,” I admitted a little sheepishly.
“You just need some practice. You did fantastic. We’ll continue tomorrow,” Eric replied. When I opened my mouth to beg for another go, he cut me off. “I have border duty, and I don’t feel like hearing your father’s mouth if I show up late. Don’t worry. Tomorrow,” he promised, punching me playfully in the arm before heading toward the dining hall. One day, I would have to remind him how hard those punches were.