The Vivisectionist by Ike Hamill

friends.
    “He’s got big earphones and yellow glasses on,” Ben reported.
    “Yeah, ear protection, and those are shooting glasses, I’ve seen those before,” said Jack. “What’s that target look like?”
    “Hold on a second,” said Ben. “It’s got three black rings and then the center ring is white. It’s got a yellow spot on it.”
    “I bet he’s sighting-in his scope,” said Jack. “That target turns yellow where it’s been hit so he can adjust.”
    The man shot again and the boys flinched.
    “Could he hit us up here?” asked Stephen.
    “If he wanted to,” said Jack. “But I bet he’s okay though. He’s just target shooting.”
    “Hey look!” said Stephen, pointing back to the ‘Big Rock,’ “I told you they’d come that way.”
    At the far end of the pit they saw the two older boys from the other day. The one they referred to as “Smoker” swaggered ahead of his companion. He approached the crouching shooter and stood behind him as the man was lining up his third shot. Ben couldn’t tell if the target-shooter knew the Smoker was behind him.
    “That guy has another brown-paper bag with him,” said Ben, referring to the man hanging back.
    “I wonder what they’re talking about?” asked Stephen.
    The target-shooter took his third shot, set the safety, placed his gun down on a case at his feet, and removed his earphones while turning to Smoker. They talked and pointed in the direction of the target. Smoker put his hands in his back pockets and tilted his head, while the shooter crossed his arms. The boys were dying to hear the conversation, so they peppered Ben with questions he couldn’t answer.
    “What does it 
look
 like they’re saying?” asked Jack.
    “How should I know?” countered Ben.
    “Shut up!” hissed Stephen. “They’re going to hear us.”
    Stephen, Jack, and Ben were all silenced by sudden action below. Smoker reached back and pulled out a large pistol from his waistband. The shooter’s arms came up and he took a half-step backwards. Smoker extended his pistol at arm’s length and took aim at the target. The boys saw the gun jerk and then an instant later were buffeted by the sound of four shots in rapid succession.
    “Whoo!” yelled Smoker below. He put his arms up in a “V,” pointing his gun to the sky.
    The target shooter removed his yellow glasses and took a careful step backwards. He knelt next to his case, but never took his eyes off Smoker. While he stowed his gun, he watched Smoker trot down to the target and hold it aloft. Smoker yelled something back to Bag Man, but the boys couldn’t discern what he was saying. Smoker threw the target up in the air and then started walking back to the careful target-shooter’s position.
    Still kneeling, the target shooter was closing his gun case and latching it. He had tucked his ear protection into a bag and slung it on his shoulder as he stood. Taking a path angled away from Smoker, the targt shooter exited the pit at a measured pace.
    “That Smoker guy’s a psycho,” exhaled Jack.
    “No shit,” whispered Stephen.
    Back at the floor of the pit, Smoker had been joined by the guy carrying the brown-paper bag. They were huddled close together and gesturing slightly towards the retreating target shooter.
    “Maybe we should get out of here,” said Ben in a low voice.
    As if he could hear them, Smoker suddenly turned in their direction and shielded his eyes with his hand. Ben lowered his binoculars instinctively.
    “The sun’s in his eyes,” said Stephen, barely audibly. “He can’t see us.”
    “Quiet,” said Ben.
    Smoker continued to look in their direction for three long seconds. Turning back to Bag Man, he pointed down-range to where the shooter’s target had been. Cradling his bag, the other guy headed off. When he was about forty paces from Smoker, he set the bag down and pulled a length of rope from his rear pocket. He tied one end of the rope around a large, watermelon-sized rock, and