Themis rode through town tailing Carmen, maintaining a comfortable yet disappointing speed to stay behind her. The borrowed helmet was the wrong size for her head and her eyes were exposed to the wind, losing precious visibility in the case of an emergency. She wasn’t even wearing gloves, her hands slipped against the bike’s controls ever so slightly. She’d have to shop for gear as soon as possible, lest stupidly risk an accident.
Despite the crippling anxiety of danger looming in every traffic light and intersection, cruising through the town had never felt so good.. It felt like a brave new world, the town sprawling out in front of her. She could do anything, go anywhere she wanted and had no one to answer to for it. As long as she didn’t cross any red lights or go faster than the speed limit, at least. With Garcia having such a hardon for her she’d have to keep her eyes open and avoid any and all trouble.
Carmen led them out of the town, to an old warehouse out north of the highway to San Luis Obispo. It was remote as all hell, so much so Themis wondered if the club used it as a stash or safehouse. A perfect piece of scenery, hidden in plain sight. It didn’t get much better than that. They parked the bikes at the front and dismounted. Carmen looked around, scouting the area until she was sure they were alone. Themis approached her as she looked through her saddlebags.
“Hey, where are we?” she asked, as the Captain found what she was looking for.
She pulled out a gun, a revolver with a stubby barrel. Pointing it to the ground she popped the cylinder and inspected the chambers, making sure it was empty, before grabbing by the back and handing it to Themis. She didn’t let go of it as the younger woman put hands on it and tried to take it.
“You know how to use this?” she asked.
“It’s a gun,” Themis shrugged. “You point it and you squeeze, don’tpull the trigger.”
“It’s not a toy,” Carmen said. “You haven’t seen what it can do. You never store it loaded, you never point it at yourself, you never pull it out unless you are willing and ready to use it.”
“I know, dude,” Themis scoffed. “My dad had one, I had to pry it out of Artie’s hands once, when she thought it was a pacifier and had half the barrel down her throat.”
“Jesus, that’s one fucked up family memory,” Carmen chuckled. “Well, alright. Show me what you got.”
She took her inside, to a makeshift firing range. The floor was lined with duct tape, each line one foot apart from the others. There was an old cabinet with fresh ear and eye protection and paper targets. At the edge of the room one of those targets was hanging from two simple pieces of rope with hooks at the ends. Next to it was a white board with the names of the club written next to numbers. Carmen was on top, followed by Dinah and, with a wide margin between them, Katrine. Then was Odin, the others, Artie and finally Minhua. Themis was not sure what the numbers meant, but she could inquire given the context. At least Artie was not last.
Themis weighed the gun in her hand as Carmen looked through the cabinet for ammo and returned, holding two pairs of goggles, earplugs and a handful of bullets. It was light, easy to handle, easy to move. It wasn’t the first one she had held, beside the aforementioned family heirloom she had some experience with more modern handguns, the perks of being childhood friends with an army brat. How’s Flora? Themis suddenly thought. But she pushed it out of her mind, focusing on the task at hand. With Carmen’s assistant she loaded the chambers, closed the cylinder and gave it a roll that earned her a glare. No vocal reprimand, though.
The Captain took Themis to the firing range, counting fifteen tape markers. The women put the protection on, and Carmen said: “Alright, show me what you’ve got.”
Themis’ posture was wrong in all the usual ways for an amateur who had never shot a gun before. Weak stance with poor balance, arms bent and a truly atrocious grip, as she would soon find out for herself. Carmen could say something, but the gun wasn’t big enough to seriously hurt her and a good spook taught longer lasting lessons than empty words. Plus she wanted to see her younger club mate eat shit. Which was not exactly the best stance for a teacher, but this was not the army. If anything Themis should be thanking her she wasn’t being drilled like if it was.
Themis took a deep breath, pointed the gun at the target and pulled, not squeezed the trigger. The bullet missed the target entirely, the uncontrolled recoil sending tremors down her whole body. The gun shot upward, almost jumping out of Themis’ hands. Carmen had to stifle a laugh.
“Alright, bad start but-” the Captain began to say, before Themis started shifting on her own. She extended her arms, locking her elbows and spread her legs, opening her feet. She held the gun firmer with her main hand and moved the second hand further up the frame. The second pull was very rough as well, but at least the bullet hit the target, still missing the human silhouette at the center but not by much. The recoil was absorbed much better, the stronger stance keeping Themis’ body from being hurt by it and holding the gun’s barrel fixed towards the same general direction, at least. Minhua had screamed the first time she shot hers, which to be fair was larger than Themis’. Gail had managed to jam hers, somehow, and Maki had emptied her whole clip without hitting the target once. Themis was not bad. Not bad at all, Carmen thought.