Rebel Young

Part 14

Jack's idea of 'work' was physically exhausting, but it was exactly what I needed right now. The pounding of my heartbeat and the thump of my feet across the mats left no room in my mind for poisonous thoughts. It had been almost two weeks since the invasion. I knew that my mother and sister were gone, but some deep part of my consciousness still believed they'd be at home waiting for me. The news about Ethan hadn't helped my mental state either. I was still in denial, clinging to the childhood memories of my brother, my Ethan, not this stranger with his face.

"Focus April!" Jack's voice snapped me back to reality.

"Sorry," I mumbled, picking up my pace.

Jack tossed me a pair of boxing gloves and strapped a set of mitts onto his hands.

"I want a quick fifty reps then you can rest," he instructed, holding up the targets.

I followed his directions, hitting the padded mitts fast and hard. The muscles in Jack's body tensed in anticipation for my blows, the veins in his forearms more prominent than usual.

"Okay, take five." Jack shook the tension from his upper body once we'd finished.

"We'll work on target practice next. How good are you with a gun?" Jack asked as he swigged from a bottle of water.

"Alright," I panted, still recovering from the intense session.

"So you can shoot straight?"

"Jack, they don't issue you with a gun in the first place if you can't shoot it," I smiled wryly.

In a perfect world I never would have had to pick up a gun in the first place, but this world was far from perfect and I seriously doubted it would ever come close.

"How far can you shoot?"

"I dunno, ten metres, I've never really tested my range," I replied from the inside of a water bottle.

"We'll work on distance and..." Jack trailed off, mumbling words to himself, his thoughts elsewhere.

"Target range is over there." Jack gestured to an empty space in the far corner of the gym.

The target range was just a painted line on the floor before a row of scarecrow-like dummies; targets were pinned to their clothed torsos.

"Meet Kevin, James and Bob, our targets for today," Jack announced, introducing the mannequins.

"They have names?" I raised an eyebrow quizzically.

"Not officially," Jack smiled. He handed me a small handgun, safety glasses and a pair of earmuffs.

"Are you sure I need all of this? I have fired a gun before."

"Yes," Jack answered simply, "we have OH&S standards to obey."

"Now, you just need to hit the target. Watch the recoil, this gun has a bit more of a kick than the standard issue you're used to," Jack instructed, stepping back from the line.

I squared off with the target, leveled the pistol and squeezed down on the trigger. A bullet flew from the muzzle directly into the stomach of the straw mannequin, piercing the fabric and disappearing. The shot had hit the dead centre of the target.

"Not bad," Jack mused, joining me back at the painted line. He carefully assessed my shot.

"That shot was dead on target and your only response is 'not bad'," I scoffed.