1989

Veronica

Outside of the cabin, the unmistakable sound of a gunshot echoed through the woods like a roaring thunder.

"What the fuck is your problem, Ram?" Veronica heard Heather Chandler's scream, as soon as she stepped foot on the porch.

"What is going on?" she asked.

"I saw a squirrel," Ram explained. Seated on the porch stairs, with the hunting rifle in his hands, he stared frustrated at the spruce tree fifteen feet away from him. "Tried to shoot it but it ran away."

"Since when do you know how to use a gun?"

"He doesn't," Chandler snarled. "Now put it away, Ram. It's not a fucking toy."

"I just don't understand why we're here eating plants when we have a gun we could be using," Ram argued.

"Because none of us know how to use it," Heather Duke chimed in. After finding the dead guy in the basement three days before, she grew hesitant to stay inside the houses, even after he was buried. More often than not, Veronica would find her under a tree reading her copy of Catcher in the Rye, only coming inside once it got dark.

"I do," JD said, coming up behind Veronica, probably drawn outside by the commotion just like she did. Veronica turned her head to look at him.

"Are you seriously thinking about doing this?"

JD lifted his shoulders in a half-shrug. "Ram is right. We're out of food, and we're all already," he said. "Luckily, my dad used to take me hunting when I was a kid, so I know my way around a rifle."

"It could be dangerous," Veronica said, her heart tightening inside her chest at the thought of JD wandering around the woods by himself.

"What other choice do we have? Sit here and starve?"

"Then let me come with you," she said, the words coming out of her mouth before she even had time to think them through.

"Have you ever hunted before?" JD lifted one brow, already aware of the answer.

"No, but you showed me how to use your dad's handgun last summer, remember? It can't be much different."

"You know how to use a gun?" Duke filed to hide her judgy expression as she asked the question.

"We were just shooting targets in my yard, nothing more," JD dismissed her with a wave of his hand. He then shifted his gaze from Duke to Veronica. "Trust me, Ronnie, shooting empty beer cans is very different than shooting living animals."

"Ok, so show me."

***

Jason

Before the cabin, JD hadn't touched a hunting rifle in years. But the feeling of the cold gun against his fingers, of its heaviness weighing him down as he held it, was still very familiar.

The memory came back instantly; how could it not? In the blink of an eye, he wasn't a seventeen year old in the middle of the woods anymore, he was a young boy again, freshly turned eleven. He could still smell the scent of dirty oil that always emanated from that house, thanks to the embodiment of health hazard violations that was the restaurant in front of his house; because of that, the entire neighborhood always smelled like old fried chicken. Thank God -or rather, thank mom- they only stayed there for five months.

"Do you want to hold it? To get used to the weight and everything," JD handed the gun to Veronica, who accepted it with caution.

"Please, be careful," Betty Finn offered as a way of goodbye. She looked so scared JD felt like Veronica and him were being shifted off to war.

"We'll be, don't worry," Veronica reassured her, putting her right arm inside the leather sling of the rifle.

"Ready?" JD asked her, receiving a hesitant nod in response, and they made their way into the forest.

"So, what exactly do we do? Just walk around and hope to find something?" Veronica asked around 10 minutes into their walk.

"Pretty much," JD answered. "Be on the lookout for scratches on the trees, antler marks, things like that..."

"I didn't know your dad used to take you hunting."

"Every Thanksgiving, since I was eight," JD said.

"Do you still do it?" Veronica asked, under the sound of the fallen leaves crunching against their shoes. After almost a year of dating, JD could read his girlfriend pretty well, and he knew her attempt at small talk was a way to avoid thinking about what they were about to do; she always got a little more chatty when she was nervous.

"No, "he said. "We stopped when I was eleven."

The year Mom died, JD decided to not say that last part. But Veronica's quiet "Oh" was enough indication that she knew exactly what he meant.

They walked a few more miles, very close to giving up and walking back to the cabin until they heard a noise. Veronica stopped in her tracks as she stared at a beautiful deer, less than 50 feet away from her.

"You got this, right?" JD whispers, careful not to startle the animal who was yet to notice their presence. The presence of the two people who would strip it of its life, and it had no clue, chewing its food with its back turned to them, in blissful ignorance.

"Maybe you should do it," Veronica whispered back to him, hesitant. She made a motion to hand him the gun, but he stopped the gesture with his hand.

"You can do it, ok?" He reassured her. She was right, he did need a partner in this, and he would never choose anyone else but her.

He went behind her, his nose merely an inch away from her neck, and he felt the hairs on her neck rise up when he exhaled. They were so close he could smell her, and she still smelled like vanilla, and old books to him, somehow. His hand touched hers, and slowly, he lifted her arms until the barrel of the gun was aimed at the deer."Turn off the safety switch."

The gun felt a lot heavier when he was eleven, heavier than it had been all those years before during the turkey hunts. That wasn't because of the fact they had been eating less that year —Dad's drinking had gotten more and more frequent, and that left little money for food, or clothes, or anything else really.

"Get away from her!" He remembered yelling, gun aimed fiercely at its target, the one much less majestic, much less innocent than the deer.

"Jason!" his mother had called out, her voice muffled from the crying and the broken nose.

Just like the deer, Dad had taken a while to notice his presence. Big Bud Dean —so nice, so fun to be around, all smiles and pats on their backs when he was around the clients. Why couldn't he be like that behind closed doors?— finally let go of his wife, hands in front of him as a sign of surrender.

"Easy there, buddy," he had said like JD was some kind of wild, damgerous animal. The only dangerous person inside that house was his dad. "We were just having a conversation, nothing more."

"Get away from her!" JD had snarled, his blood boiling at the sight of his mom on the ground, hurt after their little conversation.

"You ain't gonna shoot me, Jason, so put the fucking gun down."

"Yes, I will," the young boy had said. He wanted to. He had been wanting to for a long long time. Just one click, and it would all be over. One finger on the trigger and bang, no more screaming, no more drunken fits of rage in the middle of the night, no more Mom being beaten black and blue. "I will shoot you!"

"Alright, then do it," his father scrutinized him. Behind his had, his mom begged for the both of them to stop. "What, you're chickening out now? If you're man enough to make a threat like that, at least be man enough to actually go through it! Do it. Shoot! I fucking dare you!"

Jason —he was still Jason back then, because Mom had chosen that name and she always talked about how pretty it was— closed his eyed and pressed the trigger. He wait for the gun to go off, for the bullet to lodge itself in his dads head. But nothing happened.

His dad's hoarse laughter made him open his eyes again. Jason looked at the gun, not comprehending what had gone wrong.

He knew how to use a rifle. He knew you had to turn the safety switch off. How had he allowed himself to mess up that badly?

Dad snatched the gun from the little boy's trembling hands. "That was very good, Jason. Just one little thing, don't forget to change the switch before you fire, sport," he mocked him. "See? Look at that. On. Off. On. Off. You fucking idiot."

Mom died five months later. JD never forgot about that little detail –on, off, on, off, on...— but after she was gone, he didn't have anyone to protect, so what was the point.

"Good," he whispered in Veronica's ears once he heard that so familiar noise. "Now do it."

Do it! Shoot! I fucking dare you!

"You can do it."

Bang.

The deer tumbled on the ground, dark red blood oozing from its head.

They weren't going to starve after all.