The black-furred fighter started with buckshot before swapping to laser-cart. The recoil, even for his age, wouldn’t hurt, especially with Camionera bracing him. Sure enough, Corre’s little tan hands quaked when she handed him the rifle, but she quickly crouched down behind him. Her tall Amazonian frame was reduced to a comforting embrace as she guided the Indian pup’s aim. The first shot gave him a good kick, right into his mama.
“This is just to get you used to it,” the black wolf smiled, nuzzling her son. “You ain’t gotta be a lil’ crack-shot yet. Just gotta be able to handle it.”
He looked up to her, still worried, and was answered with a smile and a “you got this.” Corre drew a deep breath, let it out, and fired.
At first, the pup’s shots landed in the dirt. Then he started clearing branches off bushes. Soon, he was making his mark on the rusted tin cans lying around. Once he was swapped to her laser cartridge, the rest was a breeze. Before he knew it, Camionera’s long black index finger wasn’t wrapped around his anymore. His last shot, a streak of blue on a single faded coffee bean, was done without so much as a hand on his shoulder.
“Mi pequeño pistolero!” Camionera whooped, snapping him up in her arms. The last shot alone made the session, but the confidence the youngster showed proved promising. Content in her pupil’s success, she threw the safety on and carried him back to the truck.
“Now, when do we use it?” the black wolf asked, helping him into his seat.
“When Mama ain’t around, and only when I got something to shoot.”
“And that somethin’ being?” she quizzed again, climbing behind the wheel.
“Killers, creeps, thieves, or dinner.”
“And what’s the big rule?” she added, turning the key.
“Stay cool.”
Camionera tousled the tan pup’s scruff the pickup roaring in reply. “Speaking of,” the black wolf sighed, rubbing her hands & kicking off her sandals. “How ‘bout we get the A/C going?”
The tan-furred kid cocked his head. “But you said it was broken.”
“Who said we couldn’t make some happen?” she winked. She slapped the hand-cranks, the windows dropped, and with a slap of her paw on the gas, the freshly-stirred desert air did the rest. The next leg of the journey would be a breeze.