Target Practice: A Byler Short
(Tags: Short, Short One Shot, Language, Mild Violence, Non-Graphic Violence, Guns, Shooting Guns)
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With the final mission around the corner, Mike heads out to find him.
Will stands in the forest clearing, practically glowing in the golden hour. He shoots at the empty cans on the tree stumps, striking each one with precision. Mike's jaw falls open at his accuracy. He swears Will finds a new way to impress him every day.
Will takes out the final can with a metallic clang.
“Hey Mike,” he says, turning to look at him.
Mike flinches a little. He didn't think Will had noticed him off to the side.
"Hey," Mike says.
"You wanna try?" Will asks.
“Uh, sure,” Mike says. It's probably a good idea to learn how to use a gun.
After setting up more cans, Will passes his gun off to him. Mike has never held a gun before. He pauses, carefully examining the weapon. As he turns it over in his hands, he thoughtlessly looks down the barrel.
“Mike…” Will sighs, “Never point a gun at yourself…or look down the barrel.”
“Right,” Mike says, feeling ridiculous. He points the gun toward the cans, unsure of himself. “Am I holding this right?” He asks.
“Almost,” Will says. He gets close to Mike, too close. “Separate your feet more–shoulder–width apart.” Will taps Mike’s hip, encouraging him to spread his feet.
“Oh, um, okay,” Mike says.
“Extend your elbows more,” Will says, as he adjusts his arms like a rag doll, “But don’t lock them.”
“Uh-huh.” Mike nods, struggling to focus.
“Lean in toward the target more,” Will says. He sets his hand on Mike’s lower back, pushing him forward slightly. “When you’re ready to fire-” He places his hands over his own, correcting his aim, “-Pull back the trigger.”
Will drops his hands, much to Mike’s disappointment. But he remains pressed into his back, which has Mike’s heart pounding in his throat. Impulsively, he turns to look at him and realizes their faces are mere inches apart. As soon as Will’s gaze meets his, Mike’s hands slip and pull back the trigger.
The loud blast scares away a flock of birds, followed by a man’s scream echoing through the woods.
“SON OF A BITCH!” He hollers.
“Oh shit…” Mike whispers. He recognizes that voice.
“YOU IDIOTS!” Hopper screams. He hasn’t been shot since ‘Nam.
“Dude, run!” Mike says, tugging at Will's sleeve.
Mike and Will take off in the same direction.
