The Rebellion Era

Chapter Fourteen.

Tariq paces towards the left-walled armory shelves with his hands clasped behind his back. Since Assem mentioned it, I keep getting distracted by his ponytail. It brushes the nape of his neck. The only part of his hair – besides his bangs – beneath his beanie. He is not in a jacket; his tattoos are flashing.

"Everyday we train. If you cannot handle that, you may leave." He says reaching for the shelf of guns. I quiver when he retrieves a pair. Assem and I share a look. He shrugs.

Everyone has already engaged in double spars. Each two fight, sending groans to the air every now and then, multiplying by anxiety. Michael keeps punching the bags, like he is taking revenge on it and not training. His knuckles have already gone white. Raneem, Sarah and Dalia, stand studying our every flinch and act.

Tariq moves towards us holding the two guns as lightly as a feather. I don't swerve my eyes off the deadly contraption in his hands. I dig my nails into my skin afraid of shuddering.

"Shooting a gun is basic in battling techniques. You know how to fire a bullet; you know how to defend yourself. " He offers Assem and I a gun each.

I stare at it. A black small machine capable of putting an end to life. I despise murder, murderers and murderous equipments. I never thought I could hold one.

"Shall we festoon it with glitter for you to accept?" Raneem rolls her eyes.

I glower at her.

I reluctantly wrap my fingers around the grip. Tariq releases it and suddenly I feel the weight on my skin. I take a better hold of it. It is too heavy like the bullets carry the weight of all the lives it stole.

"I am going to start with you, lassie buff." He says, stepping backwards. He leans against the table and squares his arms.

"Is it loaded?" I ask, willing my hands not to shake.

"That's for you to do." He says.

I look at him terrified.

"You load a round into the chamber by pulling back the slide and releasing it." He takes few steps back. I raise my inexperienced quivering hands onto the top of the slide. I cover it with my palms, pull and then let go. A clicking sound ensues.

"I am your combat handler. Raneem is your physical trainer." He says loading a new cartridge into his gun with deft.

She snorts. I don't feel any better either.

"How to use a gun is a necessity in the Base. But everyone has his own weapon of choice of course."

"What's yours?" I ask.

"Everything." He claims the pride without a moment hesitation. Whatever that trained him to be the warrior he is, whatever that happened to coerce him into an Uprising, he still does not aim at concealing it. The truth behind him.

He walks towards me, holding my eyes, challenging me to contort away from him.

Everything.

He is the best fighter we've got.

He stands next to me and aims his gun towards the poles. His hands are so steady and calm. A storm could break, and he will still shoot as certain as ever.

The absurd symbol is so obvious carved into his neck.

"Your stance should be upright. Your front sight aligned with your rear sight." He targets the mice on top of the poles. His finger crawls through the trigger guard.

"Are you going to shoot mice?!"

"Would you rather shoot humans?" He looks at me through the corner of his eyes. His hands still fixed on the grip. His index finger on the trigger. The barrel pointed at a rat.