‘What are you doing?’ she eventually asked him once she’d made and drunk a very necessary mug of coffee.
‘I found this earlier,’ he replied, stifling a yawn. ‘Thought I’d have a go at cleaning it up.’
‘What’s it for?’ Carl asked. Those were the first words he’d uttered since coming downstairs.
Michael shrugged his shoulders. Deadpan, and with a complete absence of any sarcasm or humour in his voice he replied.
‘Shooting things,’ he said. ‘What else you going to use it for?’
‘I know that,’ he snapped, annoyed, ‘but what are we going to use it for?’
He put the rifle down and looked up at Carl.
‘Don’t know,’ he replied. ‘Bloody hell, I hope we never need it.’
The rifle was clearly of interest to Carl. He sat down next to the other man and picked it up. Having spent all morning working on it, Michael seemed annoyed that someone else had dared to interfere.
‘Put it down,’ he said. ‘I haven’t finished with it yet.’
‘You ever used one of these?’ Carl asked, suddenly much more animated.
‘No, but…’
‘I have,’ he continued to enthuse. ‘Used to do some work for a bloke that used to shoot.’
‘I don’t like it,’ Emma said from across the room. She was standing next to the sink. She couldn’t have been any further away from the table. ‘We don’t need it. We should get rid of it.’
‘I don’t know. We don’t even know if it’s going to work yet…’
‘Can’t see any reason why it shouldn’t,’ Carl interrupted. ‘Mind if I try it out?’
‘Yes I do,’ Michael protested. ‘Bloody hell, I’ve spent bloody hours trying to get it…’
Carl wasn’t listening. He jumped up from his seat, grabbed a handful of ammunition and headed for the front door. Michael looked over towards Emma. Surprised by his sudden disappearance they both stood still for a second before following him out.
By the time they reached the front door Michael could already hear the rifle being repeatedly cocked and fired. Fortunately Carl had been sensible enough to try and fire it before loading.
‘Is he safe with that thing?’ Emma asked quietly as they stepped out into a cold grey morning.
‘Don’t know,’ Michael replied under his breath, still fuming that the other man had dared to take the rifle from him. He stared with piercing eyes as Carl loaded it.
‘This is okay you know,’ he babbled excitedly. ‘This is just what we needed. You never know what’s round the corner these days…’
‘Don’t know what frightens me more,’ Emma mumbled, ‘the fact that there are dead bodies walking round the countryside or him with that fucking gun.’
Michael managed half a smile which quickly disappeared when Carl lifted the rifle up and held it ready to fire. He pressed the butt hard into his shoulder, closed one eye and aimed into the distance.
‘What the hell are you doing?’ Michael demanded. ‘Are you fucking stupid? All we need is for that bloody thing to blow back in your face and you’re history…’
‘It’s okay,’ he answered without moving or lowering the rifle. ‘I know about these things. It won’t blow back.’
‘Just put it down will you?’ begged Emma.
‘Watch this. I’m going to get him…’
Puzzled, Michael stood behind him and looked along the barrel of the rifle. Carl was aiming through a gap in the trees, out towards a ploughed field a few hundred metres away. He squinted towards the horizon and saw that a lone figure was tripping clumsily through the uneven mud.
‘Leave it, will you?’
‘I’m going to get him,’ he said again, shuffling his feet and getting the figure square in his sights. ‘What’s he going to do about it? Christ, he probably won’t even know he’s been shot.’
‘You’ve got to hit him first,’ Emma hissed cynically.
‘Oh, I’ll hit the bastard,’ he said and, with that, he squeezed the trigger and fired.
For a long second the deafening sound of the shot rang out and echoed through the otherwise silent countryside.
‘Missed him,’ Carl spat, annoyed.
The figure in the field stopped moving.
‘He’s stopped,’ Michael gasped. ‘Fucking hell, he heard the shot. It’s got to be a survivor.’
Stunned, Carl let go of the butt of the rifle and it swung down heavily to the ground. Still holding the barrel he took a few cautious steps forward.
‘I didn’t get him did I?’ he asked anxiously. ‘Shit, I was only trying to…’
‘Shut up,’ Michael snapped. ‘You didn’t get him.’
