Rachel slipped her cell phone into her pocket and peered around the library where she sat at the counter of her work-study station. She lifted her backpack onto her lap, the heft of the handgun in it reassuring. If anyone knew she had the gun, security would be called, she’d likely be arrested, almost certainly expelled. It was worth the risk.
The past three days fear had hijacked her routine, her life. It had killed her appetite and tattered her sleep, left her body exhausted and her mind jagged.
No more.
She was done with darting from class to class like a mouse skittering atop the snow.
No more. Her plan incubated in her mind. The gun shifted her instincts, from flight to fight.
She’d selected the .38 revolver because it packed punch but its recoil was manageable. The gun shop owner had invited her to shoot several boxes of rounds in his range in the rear of his shop, the ammunition on the house.
She’d also signed up for the personal defense classes. Her shooting needed to be better. Much better.