"My name is Katrina," the petite ex-student said to Rufus's back before turning to the firing range and slowly moving a little closer. She reached for the pistol that he had set on the table for her to use, her hand stopping an inch or so from the weapon before she could take hold.
Something was holding her back, as if she was standing on the borderline between two states of being. Katrina suddenly got an image of that idea in her mind, looking at each side in turn. On one side, that which lay ahead of her, was everyone else on the team that Emerson had assembled. They had their weapons, their knowledge; they were confident in their abilities.
The other side of the scale... that was Katrina's happiness and strength. She still retained a sense of something... she knew not what, but it was like a box that contained all her memories of peace, love and joyfulness. Those were not things that she was willing to give up.
Then she looked back at the first side. Another image appeared to her: the printed letters stating that her father and fiancé had been reported dead in the France conflict. Katrina hated war, and despised it even more for what it had done to her. But this was a necessary act, which needed to be done if she were to make a difference in the fighting, rather than just being a coward who hid in a basement at the first sign of danger. No-one in her family - past, present or future - would want that.
That final thought sealed the deal. Bringing herself back to the present - with no idea of how long she had spent in hesitation - Katrina picked up the Glock, its unexpected heavy weight forcing her to use both hands just to hold it, let alone keep it steady. As Rufus had suggested, she tried to aim at the target set up a fair distance away.
BLAM - she pulled the trigger, flinching again at the noise the weapon produced. Taking one hand from the pistol to shake out the fingers, having no experience with the recoil, Katrina peered down at the target. Its head had been turned into a mess; clearly that had been a shot of pure luck rather than any matter of skill.
Nonetheless, she took the Glock in both hands again, trying to aim this time before she fired.
