There's a strange sound, like SPANG!, and the paper target shakes wildly at the far end of the range.
Trevor jerks back and sits down hard on the floor.
"What was that?"
There's a splotch of metal on his sleeve.
"What the hell?"
He frantically brushes it off, as if it was a spider.
"Whoa, that was a bullet," Jude says.
"I've been shot."
"You should keep that. You got shot with it." Jude starts looking around on the floor for it.
Trevor pushes up his sleeve and we can see a round mark underneath. It's deep blue, like it's been drawn on with a magic marker. Is there a little blood welling up as well? Is that an actual gunshot wound? Is it a bruise? Trevor keels over to one side. Peter dashes off to get help, Mike tries to move him, and Jude frets about whether he can remember CPR.
And now we're standing around wondering what to do, waiting for Peter to come back with someone in charge. The three other guys at their booths come running over.
"Give him some air," I say. "He fainted."
"Put a pencil under his tongue," one of the shooters says.
"He doesn't need a pencil under his tongue," Mike says, putting a jacket under Trevor's head.
"What are you doing?" Trevor says groggily to Mike, opening his eyes. We're looking down at him, along with the other gun guys. He rolls to the side and tries to get his legs under him.
"What happened?" he says, listing dangerously with his legs not quite under him yet.
"Maybe you should sit down for a minute. I think you fainted."
"No, I think, I think the bullet, it gave me a concussion. I might have a concussion."
"It hit you in the arm."
He lurches a bit to one side from trying to get up too fast, losing his two-front war against indignity and gravity. Various hands shoot out to steady him.
"I'm going to sit down for just a minute," he concedes.
He looks up at us standing around him. The color is returning to his face. "How long was I out?" he asks.
"I don't know. About, maybe fifteen seconds."
"Did you think I was dead?"
"No, you were still breathing."
"It didn't feel like fifteen seconds. It felt like no seconds."
Ricky comes in and says the ambulance is on the way.
"Ambulance?" Trevor says. "I don't think I need an ambulance."
"We have to call anyway," Ricky says. "Insurance."