La Resistance Lives on!

4: Normally Homeschoolers are Really Socially Inept but this One is Only Mildly.

         "Come with me," Mark says as soon as I approach. I oblige and follow his lead as he walks out back. It's bitterly cold and the wind nips at my cheeks and nose, but I grit my teeth and bear it. At least inside shielded me from the wind. I'm led to a bunch of crumbling grey haybales with paper cutouts attached somehow. The cutouts seem like they've been through hell, with bullet holes and burn marks, and even a few arrows embedded in them.

"Should we be shooting while it's dark out?" I ask.

"I'd say no, but I've learned to follow Gregory's orders," he replies in a tone that implies the last time he disobeyed something bad happened.

"...Why?"

He rolls his eyes. "I was taped to a bench."

Oh. That was... not the response I expected. I bite my cheek in attempt to stop the smirk that spreads across my face. He side-eyes me, his eyes narrowing. "That wasn't the first time, either."

I arrange my face into a neutral expression. "Wow. That's... That's sad," I murmur. I assume we're shooting soon, so I cover my ears with the muffs.

He inspects the gun, then passes it to me. "You don't need to lie; it wasn't terribly sad– what could you expect from Damien? Now, your safety is on, but keep your finger off th–"

"What?" I ask. "I can't hear you." His eye twitches a bit. He points to his own earmuffs, which are around his neck. "Oh. Sorry."

I take the earmuffs off for now. He continues, "I said to keep your finger off the trigger until you shoot."

I inspect the gun, turning it around at all different angles.

"Don't aim it if you're not going to shoot," he states suddenly. I don't want to get on his bad side so soon, especially when he has a gun, so I hush up and keep the muzzle pointed down.

"What do I do now?" I take my eyes off the gun and back up to him.

He pulls out his own gun and aims at the haybale, holding the gun with his right hand and clasping his left around it to hold the weapon steady. He looks at me. "Put your hands like mine. Keep your safety on until you've got it right."

I examine his hand placement and, to the best of my ability, copy it. My dominant hand grips the firearm firmly and my free hand is placed on top of it. I look to him for silent confirmation, to see if I was doing it right.

Mark shakes his head. He comes over to me and pries my hands off the pistol, adjusting my grip so my thumb wraps around the back of the grip. He takes my free hand and places it where my thumbs are together. He also places the earmuffs back over my ears. "There you go," he says and steps back to his original spot.

"Now do we shoot?"

"We aim," he answers. He puts one leg forward and leans his body forward slightly. "Lean forward when you shoot. Aim using whichever eye you're most comfortable with because it's hard aiming with both eyes open. See?" He pulls the trigger. A loud pop and a piece of paper flies off the hay. "Try that."

I lean forward some and close my eye. I disengage the safety, pull the trigger and BANG– a bullet pierces the target. It hit the arm, so not a fatal blow by any means, but I'm very pleased I didn't miss. Mark seems satisfied. "That was a good shot," he says with some pride. "Keep doing that."

So I do. I spend well over an hour emptying magazines with his guidance. My fingers lost feeling a while ago, even when we took a short break inside, but at least I now know how to shoot!... Mostly.

I sit at one of the foldable tables, sipping warm water from a mess kit mug. The water tastes stale, but I'm beyond the point of caring. I'm cold, hungry, tired, and terrified of my parents finding out I lied about my location. A chair next to me screeches against the floor.

"How are you feeling?" Gregory asks. He folds his hands on the table casually, or about as casually as someone like him can get.

"Tired," I reply. I decide his blue-eyed person is too unsettling and decide to look back at the mug in my hands.

"Reasonable," he says. "Would you consider coming to more meetings? This one was more of a split-off meeting, as most of us did our individual things, but normally we're more conversational. It was of course more of a struggle with one of our... well, important members, not being present tonight."

"Who?" I ask with piqued interest.

Gregory purses his lips, a slight grimace gracing his features. "Damien Thorn. You've met him before, if I'm right."

Wait what huh. Damien, of all people? "Damien?" I look back at him confusedly.

"Yes, I would say unfortunately, except he's been frustratingly useful. If he wasn't such a nuisance, I'd call him a friend." Gregory looks to the ceiling. He runs a hand through his meticulously styled hair, somehow not messing it up. His hands return to their clasped position.

"Isn't he, like.... Satan's kid?" I question. He nods and looks back at me.

"That's why he's been useful. He knows what's going on in hell."

That makes sense. I guess. "Couldn't he just... like, tell his dad to stop?"

He shrugs. "He has. It hasn't done a thing, evidently."

"...Huh. Alright. So... When are you all meeting again?"

He thinks for a minute. "Normally, we try to meet monthly at the very least. I try to schedule according to everyone's schedules, but since you're joining... You are joining, aren't you?"

Nod.

"Since you're joining, you're going to be a bit of a variable until you're settled in. Obviously not everyone came, and you're not obligated to come to every meeting, but it'd be extremely helpful." He clears his throat once he finishes.

We're silent for a minute. I watch the room and the members interact with each other. Thomas and Gary chat eagerly on the couch. Gary has a book open and looks like he's showing Thomas something. Rebecca speaks quietly with Mark, gesticulating wildly as she mutters. Mark nods on occasion and gives his input. Christophe sits on a stool against the wall staring at a trinket in his hand. I can't make out what it is, but it glints in the dim lighting. Metal, maybe. A tall Hispanic kid plays on his phone in the corner and an even taller buff kid leans against the wall as he sharpens a knife.

I look back at Gregory. "Will it always be in the evening?"

"Evenings work best to avoid extracurricular activities, but we have had a few afternoon meetings."

Hm. I weigh my choices. Would I rather:

1: Be a good kid, avoid trouble, and don't do dumb shit that'd likely get me disemboweled?

Or

2: Take part in a kick-ass teenage rebellion and fight demons in a coming-of-age YA cliché?

"...Can you let me know when the next meeting will be?"

He smiles. "I'll add you to the group chat."

A/N:

MARK FANS I HOPE YOURE HAPPY BECAUSE I HAD TO RESEARCH GUN SAFETY AND HOW TO USE A GUN ON MY SCHOOL COMPUTER

I FINALLY FINISHED A CHAPTER!! THANK YOU ALL FOR BEING PATIENT WITH ME I LITERALLY LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH ALSO I THINK IT'D BE FUNNY IF I MADE GREGORY SPEAK WITH LIKE,,, NORMAL ENGLISH RATHER THAN AMERICAN ENGLISH (IM AMERICAN I JUST THINK AMERICAN ENGLISH IS WEIRD DESPITE ITS HISTORICAL REASONING FOR OMITTING LETTERS AND CHANGING LETTERS AND SUCH)

KK LOVE YALL IM ON A 20 HOUR ROAD TRIP SO IVE GOT A TON OF WRITING TO DO