They weren’t landing in one area, so I couldn’t tell if the scope was sighted in. “Let me try it real quick,” I said, and added quickly, “if you don’t mind.”

“No, that’s okay. I’d like to watch you shoot,” Misty said, and scooted over on the blanket.

I eased myself down next to her, grateful that I was lying on my stomach and could hide the growing bulge in my crotch. I loaded the rifle, then pulled it up tight into my shoulder.

“You’re putting the crosshairs right in middle of the can, right?” I asked.

“Of course.”

Through the crystal clear Zeiss scope, the red and white can looked enormous. I settled the crosshairs right into the center of the huge “B,” let my breath out slowly, and squeezed. The gentle snap of the trigger was like touching a DaVinci sketch.

The can rocked slowly, but it wasn’t hit. I searched through the scope until I found the bullet hole—directly under the can, about a foot down, a small fresh hole in the barrel. I brought the crosshairs back up and fired again. Same thing. The bullet struck the oil drum just to the left of the original hole. A third round. This time, the bullet nicked the edge of the first hole, nearly grazing the second. All three holes could have fit inside a dime. Okay.

The rifle was sighted in. It was shooting low for me simply because the drop was different. In other words, when my cheek was settled on the stock, my eye occupied a different point in space than Misty’s, but it should work fine for her.

I found the can in the crosshairs one more time, then raised the barrel until I was pointing somewhere above the can, about the same distance from the can to the holes in the barrel. I squeezed the trigger, and the beer can popped off the oil drum, spinning end over end until it disappeared behind the barrels. I’d hit the bottom edge, and that had knocked it into the air.

“Nice shot,” Misty said. She sounded genuinely impressed. “Now let me try.”

I loaded the rifle and handed it back to her. “Just breathe nice and easy. Squeeeeeeze that trigger, real gentle like.” I propped myself on my elbows, bringing the binoculars up.

Her first shot was low, second shot high, but the third shot sent another can bouncing off into the gravel. “There you go.” Misty nailed two more cans, whispering, “Fucking A plus, you little cocksuckers,” then reloaded.

There was something sweet, almost delicious in hearing her smoky voice wrap around a word like “cocksucker.” It was almost more than I could handle. I thanked God again for being able to lie on my stomach, hiding an erection that would not be denied.

A sniggering voice floated out across the Quarry to us. “Well, well, isn’t this just cute as a goddamn button.”

My erection died faster than if I’d seen Fat Ernst naked. I’d heard that voice all night, in my nightmares. I glanced over my shoulder and saw them. Junior and Bert, standing in front of their truck in the middle of the road at the top ridge of the Quarry, silhouetted against the gray sky. Bert waved.

Oh, shit, I thought. The goddamn Sawyer brothers found me again.

“Don’t stop on our account,” Junior hollered. “Just pretend we ain’t here. I gotta say, though, I’m downright impressed here, Archie. We been trying for years to get some of that sweet pussy, and you just slid right on in there. Didn’t think you had it in you.”

“Yeah, Archie,” Bert echoed. “Way to go, man.”

Something flared in my chest.

“Go back to fucking chickens, dipshit,” Misty called out, still concentrating on the remaining beer can.

Junior ignored her. “Hey, Archie, you mind if we get sloppy seconds?”

I got a bad, scared feeling about all of this, overriding my anger. We were out in the middle of nowhere, hidden even from the highway. If Junior and Bert took it into their heads to really give Misty a hard time, nothing was going to stop them.

“You don’t mind, do ya, Archie? You sure as hell ain’t gonna satisfy a woman like Miss Misty Johnson. I think me and Bert might just have to help ourselves, show this cunt what a real man can do.”

“I think we’d better get out of here,” I whispered to Misty, but she was already pushing herself to her feet, handing me the rifle.

She stepped forward, hands on her hips. “If you pencil-dick motherfuckers think you’re man enough to try it, then you just come on down.” Misty’s voice sounded confident, tough. I was close enough to see the apprehension in her eyes. It wasn’t fear exactly, but Misty wasn’t as clueless as I had thought. She knew exactly what kind of mayhem and cruelty the Sawyer brothers were capable of inflicting. Still, she yelled out, “You couldn’t satisfy a fucking flea, cocksucker. Go on home and let your mama suck you off if you’re in the mood.”

I wished she hadn’t mentioned Pearl. The air sparked and crackled with charged electricity and the almost playful nature in Junior’s voice sharpened into something far more serious. “So. The cunt’s got a smart mouth. Let’s see how fucking smart your mouth is with my dick in it.” I couldn’t see the exact expression on his face—they were too far away—but I could tell that Junior meant it. He turned, heading back to the driver’s side of the truck.

I still don’t know why I did it. Maybe I wanted to impress Misty. Maybe I wanted to simply scare them off. Maybe I just wasn’t thinking. I don’t really know. All I know is that calmly, almost like a casual reflex, I pulled the Anschütz to my shoulder and blew the tip of the left horn of the bull skull off into nothingness.

Junior and Bert froze.

I jerked the bolt back, slammed a new round into the chamber. “Get the hell out of here,” I shouted, hoping my voice sounded braver than I felt.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me. You didn’t … You didn’t just shoot at me, did you? Did you?” Junior hollered.

I yelled back, “I wasn’t shooting at you. I hit what I was aiming at. When I’m shooting at you, motherfucker … uh … you won’t know nothing; you’ll be fucking dead.”

Junior’s open mouth snapped shut. “Well, well … You just fucked up seriously, Archie,” he said. “We’re gonna be seeing you later.” I could almost feel the hatred rush across the quarry and wash over me like the putrid water from the pit.

Misty laughed. “Get the fuck out’ve here, you pussies.” She laughed again, a cruel, heartless sound.

Oh, please don’t laugh at them, I thought. Things are bad enough.

Junior just nodded. “Be seeing you. Be seeing both of you.” He jerked his head at the truck, and Bert climbed in. Junior nodded at us again, then walked around the front real slow, taking his time. He fingered the broken tip of the bull horn briefly, then climbed into the driver’s seat, gunned the engine, and whipped the truck around in a spray of mud and gravel.

“Oh, my God. That was fucking great!” Misty giggled, and hugged me tight before I had a chance to react. “You were perfect,” she whispered, and gave me a quick kiss. Right on the lips. It was the first time I had ever kissed a girl, and I gotta say, it felt so good I wished the Sawyer brothers would come back so I could shoot at their truck some more.

Then she kissed me again, longer this time.

It finally started to rain and somehow we ended up on the blanket next to the rifle, giggling, whispering, and panting. I don’t remember much, just distinct flashes and sudden sensory impressions. It was the contrasts, I think. The way she tasted sweet and salty at the same time. The hard, unyielding surface of the rocky ground and soft flesh. The way the rain made her skin seem slippery, yet almost sticky.

Her breasts were the smoothest things I had ever touched, smoother than glass, than silk, than oil.

Misty pulled out a condom from somewhere. I remember clothes being pulled off, the rough dampness of the blanket, and the strength of Misty’s arms and legs pulling me close, closer than I’d ever been to another human being.