Gasoline | Ben Parish

26

THAT night, Ringer accompanies a good half of the squad at the firing range. Flintstone, Oompa, and Poundcake stay behind. They're in the middle of an intense card game when we leave.

The skies are brighter than usual. Dumbo, Teacup, and Nugget lay on the strange mix of asphalt and grass to star gaze. I wish I could join them. But this isn't what we came here to do.

Besides, Croak isn't supposed to give a damn about the stars.

I sit against the building, legs out and arms crossed. My hair is down, a mess tickling my shoulders. It's freezing. I only wore my t-shirt. I wiggle my toes and fight the shivers that want to rack my body.

To take my mind off the numbing chill, I turn my focus on Zombie. Ringer's helping him first since he's the worst. So far, it's not going too well.

He fires off a few rounds, back muscles taunt in a delicious way. I force myself to look at Ringer when she deadpans, "You're horrible."

"That's the problem. My horribleness." I can almost hear the grin in his voice. I snort. Ringer just blinks.

"Your technique is good. What's going on when you shoot?"

"Generally speaking, I miss."

This time I can't hold in the laugh, so I have to cover my mouth with my hand.

Ringer looks over at me. She's not smiling – she never smiles – but there's amusement on her face and in her eyes. "Don't encourage him."

"Won't make a difference. He thinks he's hilarious."

"Hey," Zombie turns to look at me. "I know I'm funny."

"Funny-looking, maybe." I bite my lip hard to keep from grinning.

Ringer rolls her eyes. "You two can flirt later. Right now we need to figure out what's going wrong between Zombie and the target."

"You're right." Zombie turns back towards her – but not before giving me a wink.

"The key to shooting," Ringer begins. "is thinking of your weapon as a part of you. It's not the M16 firing. You are firing. It's like blowing on a dandelion. You breathe the bullet out." She glances over at me. "Croak, come work the target controls."

I give her a goofy salute before pushing myself off the icy ground.

The control panel is fairly simple, I think. The red button makes the targets rise. The yellow switch changes the rotation. The blue button makes the targets go down. Easy stuff.

I glance at Ringer, waiting her command. She swings her rifle off her shoulder and nods to me. I activate one that I think might challenge her, but the thing's head is in splinters before it's even all the way up.

"Damn," I remark.

Ringer continues her explanation. "It's like there's no space, nothing that isn't you. The rifle is you. The bullet is you. The target is you. There's nothing that's not you."

"So basically what you're saying is that I'm blowing my own head off. So Zenlike."

I snicker, turning quickly so he doesn't see. I can almost feel Ringer giving me an exasperated glare.

"It's more like quantum mechanics." Ringer corrects his joke.

"Right. That's what I meant to say. Quantum mechanics."

She sighs. "Stop. I know you're just putting on a show for Croak. Be serious for five seconds."

Damn.

The yard goes quiet. Zombie doesn't say anything in his defense.

Ringer's the one to speak again. "Do you want to graduate?"

"I want to get the hell away from Reznik." Zombie answers. He's serious now. No silliness.

"That's not enough." Ringer shakes her head. She pauses thoughtfully for a moment before pointing at the target she destroyed. "What do you see when you look at those?"

"I see a plywood cutout of a person." He says. It's a simple answer that could easily be taken as sarcasm or a joke. But his shoulders are tense and his expression is intent.

"Right," Ringer agrees quickly. She presses further. "But who do you see?"

Zombie holds his rifle at rest. "I don't know. Sometimes I picture Reznik."

"Does it help?"

He shrugs.

"It's about connection," she stresses. Then she gracefully sinks to the ground. "Everyone circle up."

We all come to sit.

"Take each other's hands."

I'm between Dumbo and Teacup. They both look at me, unsure. I roll my eyes and hold my palms out. Their hands are warm and small.

"Now close your eyes."

I stare at her. "What?"

"Oh, come on, Croak. How's your way been working for you? How has any of your ways been working?"

She's got me there. I huff and shut my eyes.

"Good. Okay, remember: it's not you and a target. It's not what is between you, but what connects you. What connects a lion and a gazelle?"

Nugget speaks up. "Um... hunger?"

"That's just the lion. I'm asking what they share." Ringer says firmly.

I feel Teacup fidget next to me. "Gazelles get hungry too."

Now Dumbo's speaking up. "Yeah, every living thing is hungry. They have to eat to survive."

Ringer sighs. "But that's not what connects them. It's fear. For the gazelle, it's the fear of being the lion's dinner. For the lion, it's the fear of going hungry. Fear is the chain is what binds them together – what binds all of us together."

We're all quiet as we take what Ringer is saying. It's deep stuff, something I would've never thought would matter when it came to firing a rifle accurately.

"Do you understand?"

A chorus of "yes."

"Who wants to try firing now?"

Zombie volunteers. Ringer goes to work the controls. The rest of us stand a safe distance away.

He firmly plants the butt of the rifle against his shoulder. His face is determined, eyes narrowed as he looks down the barrel. His finger stays off the trigger, waiting.

Then the target pops up, quick. It rises but loses its head when Zombie shoots it.

It's safe to say we all fucking lose it. Dumbo starts pumping his fist in the air. Teacup is screaming. Nugget is jumping up and down. Ringer even manages the tiniest sliver of a grin.

"You did it! You did it!" I cheer, shoving his shoulder. "I knew you could, you slick bastard!"

He's smiling. It's blinding and brilliant and beautiful. That's probably what made me the happiest, as cheesy as it sounds. It's not that Zombie actually hit the target. It's the joy on his face when he finally did.