Richard Brown - Titanic With ZOMBIES

I nodded.

“Well then, since an unloaded gun is about as useful as a pecker on a priest, I guess you'll need a crash course. Follow me.”

He led me across the store and through a heavy wooden door to an adjacent building. The building was colder than the store and had a funny smell. Later I would know the smell as gunpowder. To say I was out of my element would be an understatement—I stuck out like a headless man in a hat store.

Ted explained to me that this was a gun range, a place for people to come and practice their marksmanship. Ten dollars for a half hour was the current rate, but freckle face was happy to let me shoot a few rounds for free.

There were six stations with a maximum shooting distance of fifty feet. Ted set my target up at fifteen.

He showed me how to load the magazine and then outfitted me with a pair of earmuffs and protective eyewear.

“Is all this really necessary?” I asked.

“Yes, it’s the law.”

“Like wearing your seatbelt?”

Ted pointed out the different parts of the gun and then took a few shots downrange to demonstrate.

Bang.

Bang.

Holy crap. I still didn’t know why I had to wear the goggles, but I was glad I had the earmuffs on.

Ted had put two holes in the paper man-shaped target right between the eyes.

Next it was my turn.

He handed me the gun. “Always keep the safety on until you’re ready to shoot. Did you pay attention to how I was holding it?”

“A little.”

He helped me into the correct position and then said, “Now go ahead and take the safety off. Then aim and pull the trigger. Try to hit the target in the chest.”

“Shouldn’t I try and hit the head like you?”

“No. Start small. The chest is a much bigger target, and just as effective.”

I took a deep breath and then pulled the trigger.

Bang.

“Not bad for your first shot,” Ted said.

I had hit the target in more of the stomach region, but at least I hit it.

“The gun almost flew out of my hands. Is that normal?”

“You did okay. You just gotta get used to it. Every gun is gonna have a little recoil, or kick, some worse than others. It just takes practice. Go ahead and shoot off the rest of the rounds.”

“Are you sure?”

Ted nodded.

I aimed, fired.

Bang.

Bang.

BANG!

I started trembling.

I looked down at my pants.

How embarrassing.

I had wet myself. I hadn’t done that since seventh grade when a Doberman chased me all the way home from the school bus stop.

I ended up buying the Glock that day, but Ted said I had to wait three days to take it home.

Three days later, I went back to pick it up. Over the course of the next month, I would spend a lot of hours hanging out at Guns Unlimited. Ted was glad I hadn’t killed myself or someone else, and was just as glad to take my money to use the range.

My speed and accuracy was improving.

I shot many other types of guns, and was saving my pennies to buy a shotgun.

I was feeling more and more confident that when something did happen, I’d be prepared. It was like waiting for a hurricane that I knew was on its way. It was only a matter of time.

The day ended up being April 15, 2012, two months after I purchased the Glock.

It happened out on the sidewalk in front of the bookstore. One of the usual suspects attacked me from behind and pulled me down to the concrete. I quickly drew my gun, stuck it in his ribcage, and pulled the trigger.

Picture the surprised look on his face when he realized the little book nerd had gotten the best of him.

But that’s not what happened at all.

I was the one left surprised.

Turns out shooting someone in the chest wasn’t just as effective, as Ted had told me.

At least not when they’re already dead.

Also by Richard Brown

The Gift of Illusion

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