that afternoon they hit the range, bringing oompa along to operate the targets. i went with just to watch how she taught, i've never been good at teaching, so doesn't hurt to take notes. ringer watches zombie fire off a few rounds, then offers her expert opinion: "you're horrible."

"that's the problem. my horribleness." he gave her his best smile. that damn pretty boy smile. but it has absolutely no effect on ringer. she doesn't squint in its overwhelming luminescence. she doesn't even blink.

"your technique is good. what's going on when you shoot?"

"generally speaking, i miss."

she shakes her head. "i mean between you and the target," she says.

"well, when it pops up—"

"no. i'm talking about what happens between here," fingertips on his right hand, "and there," pointing at the target twenty yards away.

"you've lost me, ringer." yeah me too, zombie.

"you have to think of your weapon as a part of you. not the m16 firing; you firing. it's like blowing on a dandelion. you breathe the bullet out."

she swings her rifle off her shoulder and nods to oompa. she doesn't know where it'll pop up, but the head of the target explodes in a shower of splinters before it even gets upright.

"it's like there's no space, nothing that isn't you. the rifle is you. the bullet is you. the target is you. there's nothing that's not you."

"so basically what you're saying is i'm blowing my own head off." i hold back a laugh at that comment. "that's very zenlike,"

her eyebrows come together. "it's more like quantum mechanics."

he nods seriously. "oh, sure. that's what i meant to say. quantum mechanics."

she turns her head away.

"do you want to graduate?"

"i want to get the hell away from reznik."

"that isn't enough." she points across the field at one of the cutouts. "what do you see when you sight a target?"

"i see a plywood cutout of a person."

"okay, but who do you see?"

"i know what you meant. sometimes i picture rezniks face."

"does it help?"

"you tell me."

"it's about connection," she says. she motions for zombie to sit down. she sits in front of him, takes his hands. "close your eyes. oh, come on, zombie. how's your way been working for you? good. okay, remember, it's not you and the target. it's not what's between you, but what connects you. think about the lion and the gazelle. what connects them?"

"um. hunger?"

"that's the lion. i'm asking what they share."

"fear," she whispers in his ear, as if she's sharing a secret. "for the gazelle, fear of being eaten. for the lion, fear of starvation. fear is the chain that binds them together."

"i don't know what your chain is," she goes on, "it's different for everyone. they know. wonderland tells them. it's the thing that made them put a gun in your hand, and it's the same thing that chains you to the target. it isn't a line, zombie. it's a circle." he opens his eyes. "there is no distance."

she nods and urges zombie to his feet. "it's almost dark."

he brings up his rifle and tuck the butt against his shoulder. ringer signals oompa, and the tall, dead grass rustles to my right a millisecond before the target pops, but that's more than enough time; it's an eternity.

there is no distance.

the target's head disintegrates with a satisfying crack! oompa gives a shout and pumps his fist in the air. i laugh happily, zombie looks at me excitedly before grabbing me around the waist, swinging me off the ground and twirling me around. when he sat me back down, i take a couple of steps back and tucks my hair carefully behind her ears.

"that was out of line," he says. i don't know who's more embarrassed. we're both trying to catch our breaths.

"do it again," i say.

"shoot or twirl, which one?"

"twirl me again and i'll break your arms." i say sarcastically. "so shoot dumbass."