Free Eden's Root by Rachel Fisher

flipped to the article on the gun. At home Fi had worked with all the moving parts, learning her way around the weapon. Now, for the first time, she was going to load it.
    Fi cleared the snow and sat down beside her pack, cross-legged. She balanced the tablet on her lap and murmured to herself as she went through the steps to load the ammunition. Her hands shook with cold and anticipation as she carefully loaded a single round into the chamber. She got up and walked to a spot opposite the dead tree and slowly removed the safety. Holding her arms at shoulder height as she had seen in the videos, she took a deep breath, cemented her aim, and fired. A deafening explosion of sound erupted and the gun slammed into the meaty pad at the base of her thumb.
    “Ow!” Fi yelled as she dropped the gun. Wow, that hurt, she thought as she shook out her firing hand. And it had been so loud. Her ears were practically ringing and she was thankful that she had come so far from town. She examined her hand, convinced that she must have done something wrong. Or maybe it was just a matter of toughening up, she thought. Fi retrieved the gun and loaded it again. She went through the same ritual of getting ready to fire and took a deep breath. She fired again and the gun leapt into the meat of her hand in the exact same spot.
    “Ow-ha-how!” She squealed in pain. “Ooooooooof!” She breathed through her teeth as she set the gun down again. This time it hurt twice as much because she was already sore. It reminded her of the way it had felt when she’d fallen once on rocks. A large round rock had sunk into her palm as she’d caught herself. She squeezed her sore hand, shaking it out and peering at her palm. A small bruise was starting in the crook of her thumb. There as no way she was just doing something wrong. It had to be something else. She sat down with her tablet again to do some research, pulling her gloves back onto her icy hands. She searched and flipped through articles until she found one on the proper “fit” for a handgun. Even though she had never thought about it before, it made sense that a gun would need to fit your hand.
    After more study, she decided that what she really needed was a smaller .22. It was just as deadly and the ammo would be very available. She could even get the hollow point type. The article said this type, ‘doesn’t blow a hole through somebody, it just ping-pongs around inside them, tearing them up’. Yikes, she thought, nothing like a reminder that she wasn’t planning to fire at a tree trunk forever.
    Suddenly she remembered the tree trunk. With care, Fi set down her tablet and rose, her feet crunching on the snow and the small shrubs underfoot as she approached. When she drew near, her eyes searched the dark folds. Two feet into her search she stopped and threw her arms in the air. She found it! Surrounded by a bright patch of shredded wood, she could see the small hole.
    Wow, she thought. I actually hit it. She estimated that she’d been about fifteen feet away. Not bad. It looked like she had only scored one hit, but her hand had been pretty sore when she’d fired the second one. She definitely needed a new gun and now she knew what she had to do. Fi gathered her stuff together and headed back out of the woods. She was scheduled to practice her bow hunting again that afternoon with Margie and Ross. It was time to sneak home and ice her hand while she waited for Margie.
    Later that afternoon, Fi decided that she was pleased with the progress of the bruise on her hand. It was sore, but she could still practice. She would just make something up if they asked about it, she thought. It was frigid and she paced while she waited on the next street over for Margie’s car. They’d arranged for Margie to pick her up and Fi figured she might as well take the ride. She was getting more comfortable with the lie she was living every day. Even if she couldn’t really practice, it didn’t matter, she