What Remains Here

Chapter 11

November 19

Today was almost unbearable.

I suppose it's the fact that I'm still uncomfortable around guns. Even when Mira carries her pistol holstered on her waist with the safety on, I'm still worried that it might just randomly go off, take out my foot or my leg. While movies make it seem like a shot to the leg is harmless, I remembered reading that if it hits this certain artery that you'll actually bleed to death with virtually no chance of survival typically. And in these conditions, well, it's a death sentence.

That's why I was completely unenthused by the prospect of spending an entire day with Dean and the silent gun guy, James, I believe. To make matters worse, while I was walking up to them as they were chatting, leaning against the beginnings of the car wall fortifications, I noticed that they both had massive rifles (or were they shotguns? I'm not too sure) slung across their shoulders. I suppose that it's extremely irrational to still be uncomfortable around guns, but I guess that's the part of the old world that I'm still clinging to.

The only thing that kept today from being a complete mess was that Caspian was scheduled to head out with me today. A minute or so before I reached the car wall, I heard him call my name, so I slowed down and turned around, seeing him jogging to catch up with me. When he reached me, I had to wait for a long minute for him to catch his breath before he could speak.

"You doing better today?" I asked.

"Yeah, why would I be," he said, and I furrowed my eyebrows because he obviously wasn't fine yesterday, so I didn't expect him to be at a hundred percent. "If you're thinking about yesterday, I just want to say thanks again. It was really helpful, like it helped a ton, but I just want today to be a new day."

I couldn't tell whether he was faking his optimism like usual or whether he's actually telling the truth. I suppose the fact that I couldn't figure it out probably means that what he confessed helped, at least to some degree, even if the way he's dealing with this is awfully roundabout. But I guess I'm like this too, so maybe the stories that promise a type of linearity, well, maybe they're just trying to tell a nice story.

So I didn't push further, not like I had time to since as soon as we reached the car wall, Dean began barking orders at us, telling us that we'd better hurry up and walk to the woods otherwise we'd be left behind (as if that was an option). I don't think this particularly bothered Caspian, though for some reason, it particularly irritated me.

When we got to a bit of a small clearing, a small picnicking area surrounded by lichen crusted fences, Dean and James began placing tin cans on top of stumps, tables, and on the floor, seemingly randomly. After both of them finished placing down the cans, Dean turned towards us, placing his hand on the pistol holstered on this waist.

"Alright, we're first going to get some practice hunting any small game that we may encounter," Dean said. "This should be very easy, so I doubt that we're going to stay here for long unless either of you have no aim.

James then pulled out a pistol from his holster, and Dean did the same thing, placing them onto an old bench for us to observe. While I stayed back, eyeing them warily, Caspian went forwards without hesitation to grab the gun, which surprised me a bit since I never expected him to be so gun-friendly. I guess I've always associated gun ownership with anything else than his usually sunny personality. James stopped him before he could touch it though.

"We're not shooting it," James replied. "We'll just practice your stance and safety and give some tips for emergencies. There's not enough bullets to justify a live round practice. After that, we'll train you to use slingshots that Dean and I made."

"Shouldn't we focus on the slingshots first because it's something that we'll need to master first?" I said. "Things like bullets will eventually run out but not stones."