Chapter 8

“Okay, take it out. Remember, don’t put your finger on the trigger until you’re ready to shoot.”

For half an hour, Max practiced with the stationary target. Then, Deacon had him move down to the last of the four lanes, where he’d set up moving targets.

“Damn, this is impossible,” Max said after trying, and missing, hitting them dead-on.

“Stop trying to focus on the chest or head and aim for the whole area, so to speak. Even if you hit an arm or shoulder, you’ll stop your assailant momentarily, giving you time to shoot again before he can recoup. Make sense?”

It did. By the time that lesson ended, Max was hitting at least some part of the target each time. Exhausted, both physically and mentally, he asked if they could quit for the night.

“Of course. Make certain there’s not a bullet in the chamber, set the safety, and put the gun away.” Max did as he was told, then they returned to the shop.