The forest green pickup truck rolled into the gravel parking lot of the outdoor gun range and rolled to an easy stop. The parking lot held a few cars but not many. It was still early and mist rose up from the grass lawn around the small gun shop as the morning sun shone clear and bright in its blue sky. Gavriil stepped out of the truck, listening to the sound of his boots crunching gravel. A bird called from somewhere unseen in the forests surrounding this little spot.
This was his favorite place to shoot, aside from his own property. What with his daughter having a hunting party, however, he thought it best not to be at home. Instead, he drove down into the valley, and down the long winding drive that deposited him into this picturesque little place. There was nothing here but forest and this gun range. Not for miles, which made it ideal. Because of this, that meant that the range boasted quite a number of options, from rifles and pistols, to being able to shoot the more powerful firearms.
He reached into the bed of his truck and shouldered his rifle, tucked into its strapped case. He also grabbed the ammunition he’d need for it. In a holster on the belt of his jeans, he had a pistol. Today, he planned to be here for quite a while. After he’d used up his own ammo reserves, he’d buy more and just continue until he felt like leaving. In his pocket were his earplugs, and, because of the gun range’s policy, he also had safety glasses.
“Mornin’ Gavriil.”
“Mornin’ Sam,” he greeted as he opened the glass door of the shop and headed inside. He paid for his targets and the space, made small talk with Sam about Sam’s wife and Sam’s mother in law, then went out to the range. It was nothing but a long concrete slab that stretched on and on, covered by a metal roof and further shielded by a tarp that could be let down if needed.
There were a few people already there and Gavriil passed most of them with a word or two but mostly, though he knew nearly all of them, he kept to himself. He had to walk quite a ways down but at last he found himself a place several stalls away from anyone else. Unshouldering his rifle, he set it up on the narrow wooden counter to get it ready. As he did so, he glanced around and noticed a young man who looked very out of place. It was not in his nature to just greet people but this boy looked to be having a tough time.
Still, Gavriil could not quite bring himself to say anything or lend a hand. No, it was easier and far more comfortable to see to his own firearm and ready it. While the young man was still loading his weapon, Gavriil was done and had the butt of the rifle against his shoulder. He stared down the barrel at the target, braced properly for the recoil, and pulled the trigger.
Had he not had his earplugs in, the explosion would have been deafening and a ringing would be resounding in his ears. As it was, he simply lowered the weapon enough to reload, cocked, aimed, and fired again. He did this in rapid succession until the rectangle of paper out in the distance had to be riddled with holes. In order to check his progress, he’d have to wait until time was called so that he could go check, but he took the opportunity to watch the young man’s progress. ….or maybe calling it progress was a bit generous.
This was his favorite place to shoot, aside from his own property. What with his daughter having a hunting party, however, he thought it best not to be at home. Instead, he drove down into the valley, and down the long winding drive that deposited him into this picturesque little place. There was nothing here but forest and this gun range. Not for miles, which made it ideal. Because of this, that meant that the range boasted quite a number of options, from rifles and pistols, to being able to shoot the more powerful firearms.
He reached into the bed of his truck and shouldered his rifle, tucked into its strapped case. He also grabbed the ammunition he’d need for it. In a holster on the belt of his jeans, he had a pistol. Today, he planned to be here for quite a while. After he’d used up his own ammo reserves, he’d buy more and just continue until he felt like leaving. In his pocket were his earplugs, and, because of the gun range’s policy, he also had safety glasses.
“Mornin’ Gavriil.”
“Mornin’ Sam,” he greeted as he opened the glass door of the shop and headed inside. He paid for his targets and the space, made small talk with Sam about Sam’s wife and Sam’s mother in law, then went out to the range. It was nothing but a long concrete slab that stretched on and on, covered by a metal roof and further shielded by a tarp that could be let down if needed.
There were a few people already there and Gavriil passed most of them with a word or two but mostly, though he knew nearly all of them, he kept to himself. He had to walk quite a ways down but at last he found himself a place several stalls away from anyone else. Unshouldering his rifle, he set it up on the narrow wooden counter to get it ready. As he did so, he glanced around and noticed a young man who looked very out of place. It was not in his nature to just greet people but this boy looked to be having a tough time.
Still, Gavriil could not quite bring himself to say anything or lend a hand. No, it was easier and far more comfortable to see to his own firearm and ready it. While the young man was still loading his weapon, Gavriil was done and had the butt of the rifle against his shoulder. He stared down the barrel at the target, braced properly for the recoil, and pulled the trigger.
Had he not had his earplugs in, the explosion would have been deafening and a ringing would be resounding in his ears. As it was, he simply lowered the weapon enough to reload, cocked, aimed, and fired again. He did this in rapid succession until the rectangle of paper out in the distance had to be riddled with holes. In order to check his progress, he’d have to wait until time was called so that he could go check, but he took the opportunity to watch the young man’s progress. ….or maybe calling it progress was a bit generous.