Mack trained for the moment since he was old enough to hold up his grandad’s .22 rifle taking out bottles and rabbits. He aced the classes. Received high marks from the instructor–a retired sheriff hell bent on instilling the Second Amendment remained intact.
He positioned his feet like a boxer sparring for a title fight. Complete balance. A tank would have to come into the mall parking lot to knock him over. His sights were set. Center mass, nothing fancy. This wasn’t a video game where extra points were earned for headshots. This was reality. A reality the country found itself in since the late 1990s when a school in Colorado became ground zero for the new normal.
Mack was a senior back then. The news of the ordeal carried across television screens telling the world what school life would be like whether students were in kindergarten or college. He considered taking his talents to law enforcement. That would have made his father proud. Grandad too if he were still alive. A third generation badge. Instead Mack got a job at the packing plant. It paid more than the sheriff’s office anyway. One thing he enjoyed more than guns was money. He rose quickly through the ranks and became shift leader, freeing up his weekends. He used his time wisely. Hitting the range and heading out during the autumn and winter months bagging pheasants and deer. Honing his craft as a marksman. When life on life’s terms escalated in needing men like him to take down a lunatic in a moment’s notice, he sought the first class that handed out licenses like a doctor handing out scripts of oxycontin. A life’s calling stamped on a simple piece of paper wedged firmly in his wallet. He put the permit in front of his driver’s license. Easy access if it were called upon to prove he was the right man for the job. He felt that paper burning in his back pocket, giving him a warm sensation his training was about to pay off.
Mack waited for the scrambling of his fellow citizens to get to cover, to escape. They may have drills for these situations in schools but out in the real world there is no blueprint for survival. No teacher to direct them to take cover and stay quiet until the principal came over the loudspeaker to give the all clear.
Mack saw the man wearing no protective gear on his person. Just a flannel shirt and a beanie. His bare hands were wrapped around the handle of a semi-auto he carried out of the mall. The dumbass didn’t stay inside for cover, Mack thought. That’s what he would have done. Went shop by shop taking out anyone who crossed his path. This guy must be an amateur.
He held his breath for a moment. His training taught him to exhale as he squeezed the trigger, letting the bullet of his 9mm fly. The training worked. The amateur in flannel crumpled to his knees. Face down with his ass in the air. No longer able to dish out suffering to people shopping on a Saturday afternoon.
What that headstrong sheriff neglected to show Mack during his weekend course was what to do after he reached mission accomplished. How he should have laid down his weapon in time to explain to law enforcement the scenario that unfolded and what led to his actions. Had the sheriff done so, Mack would not be filled with piercing pain. There wouldn’t be blood spilling out of him by a deputy who pulled up to the scene to see a man laying down another. The commotion of the 911 calls didn’t give first responders enough of a description to know who the mall shooter was in the split seconds as they arrived.
The deputy did as he was trained to do. He assessed the situation of seeing a man shooting another man and took action. His job description called upon him to be a protector and he did just that. It wasn’t until witness statements poured he learned he had hammered down the wrong guy. The man’s wallet told the rest of the story.
~ fin ~
Vincent Marshall is a journalist living in Arkansas with his wife Shauna and their five children. His short stories have been in Rock and a Hard Place Press issue 10 and Stone’s Throw Anthology 2024. When he is not writing, he’s reading, fishing or out on the hiking trail and never passes up the opportunity to wear a hoodie.
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