We cross the field and enter the woods and reach the pavilion with its targets and cans. The sun is high in the sky, directly overhead. No wind, everything silent, the tall grass unmoving, the small pond with hardly a ripple on its glass-like surface. Jason says something and I stare at his lips without hearing a word. I’m still worried about my mom. I set the box with the gun on the ground and look out over the woods. Everything still. A discordant tranquility. I wipe the sweat from my eyes. Jason sets up a couple of one-gallon jugs full of water on the rickety stand and walks back. I remove the loaded gun and pull the slide. A bullet clicks into place. Jason stands behind me. I aim at the jug on the right and then unload all eight bullets into it. Water gushes out of it as it sails through the air. I release the clip and catch it in my left hand, hold it out to Jason, and tell him to refill it without looking behind me. He crouches down and reaches into the shoebox. “There aren’t that many bullets left,” he says.

“Just fill it,” I reply.

He does as I’ve asked and hands it back. I slap it in the gun, pull back the slide, and again fire until I’m pulling the trigger and hearing nothing more than hollow metallic clicks. The jug has completely disappeared.

“You alright?” Jason asks.

I shake my head. “Something doesn’t feel right.” I stare at the woods, but they offer no answers, unmoving, indifferent, the jug lost somewhere in the thickness of them. “Something doesn’t feel right at all.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “I’m going to go home, though.”

“You want me to come with you?”

“Nah, I’m sure I’m just overthinking it. Probably nothing.”

I reach down and grab the box to reload the gun just as I had found it, but then I realize there’s but a single bullet left.

“Did I really use them all?”

“All but one.”

“Shit. I don’t even know where to buy ammo. Eh, whatever, just another thing my dad can be pissed about,” I say, sliding the last bullet directly into the chamber.

“Well, good luck.”