� Left: The experimental device. Right: The experiment set up in the cabin. Note that the guns are positioned to �re out the window. The sky deepened in color as we descended the trail, but the late hour had not lessened the awful June heat. Though the glaring sun had sunk behind the mountains to the west, it was hard to feel grateful amongst the swarms of mosquitoes which came out with the start of the evening, and, in spite of constant spraying and swatting, itchy lumps already dotted my exposed calves. As the rocky descent �attened into a wooded path leading to the cabin, these discomforts were joined by an awful weight which sat in the pit of my stomach and grew until my knees buckled under the strain. Mark didn’t seem bothered. His thick frame should have been both ill-suited for heat and a tempting target for the little bloodsuckers but he never scratched nor removed his hat to wipe his brow, and he still walked with his back straight and his hands in his pockets. Once or twice he even whistled a few notes of some tune. Too casual. He’s trying to hide it, but he’s as frightened as I am. � The path turned, and we emerged from the woods into a meadow. There was the cabin, not much more than a wooden shed at the end of the path with a picnic table out front and a latrine out back. Though it was only �fty meters to the door, the strength drained from my legs and back as we approached. I collapsed onto a bench of the picnic table. “Something wrong?” Mark’s voice was �at. “You know exactly what’s wrong,” I gasped as I looked up. “I just need a minute to—to get ready.” “We should get it over with. We can only be so ready for it.” He’d removed his hat and was clutching it to his chest. “Still, it is beautiful,” he murmured, as he looked back to the peak. It was silhouetted by a glow which changed the clouds into orange streaks in the darkening sky. “Yeah, I guess. Not really the �rst thing on my mind right now.” “You can think of the guns if you want to.” He looked at my legs, which I suddenly realized were bleeding. “Or the mosquitoes. But I don’t want the last thing I feel to be itchiness.” “Easy for you to say! They haven’t touched you for some reason.” “They did. All up and down my arms.” He presented his forearm, which indeed had several raised bumps. Then he looked back up at the mountain. “But if I’m going to die, I’ll die thinking about that.” We remained there for a minute, staring at the sky, the silence only broken by the crickets and the sound of �ngernails on skin. Finally, I stood up, and we entered the cabin together and examined the scene. The interior had been fairly conventional, if a tad spartan, when we arrived that morning: a bunk bed, a folding table with a plastic tablecloth, a battery-powered lamp on the wall, and a few painted wooden chairs. ‘Budget-friendly’ was how the rental website put it. All that changed with that morning’s preparation for the experiment: �� • �rst, we nailed two chairs down in front of the window, facing into the room, and placed the table in front of them; • then we attached plywood ‘headrests’ to their backs, each with a cloth strap which could be tightened to immobilize our heads; • �nally we placed the testing device on the table, the guns mounted on their stands and pointed at the headrests. In short, the room now resembled a secret police interrogation cell, the kind of place where your �ngernails might be torn out. “Well.” Mark’s hand shook slightly as he put his backpack on the �oor. “No reason to put it o� now.” I grabbed the trigger pad and sat down on the left, sliding my head under the strap. One quick pull and it tightened around my skull, hard enough to keep my head completely still. At the edge of my vision, Mark pulled a large piece of black cloth from his pocket. He’d never liked the idea of facing the guns head-on, but I argued it was necessary to ensure the plywood wouldn’t interfere with the shots’ lethality. In the end, he decided he could accept it if he had a blindfold. I’d barely managed to stop myself from joking that he should have a cigarette too, to complete the authentic �ring-squad look. “Ready,” he said between deep, slow breaths. With trembling �ngers I �ipped the safety switch to ‘o�’. My thumb hovered over the button and my eyeballs froze in their sockets, staring at the few millimeters of visible ri�ing receding into the darkness of gun. “Three... two... one...” My eyes squeezed shut. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. �� Somewhere to my right, there was a sound like someone blowing out a candle. A second later, a strangled voice said, “It worked.” “Holy shit...” My voice was a ragged whisper and my heart seemed about to break through my ribs. My left hand lay shaking on my knee, while my right hung by my side, gripping the trigger box. The room spun. “Although, maybe it broke?” Mark gasped. “Can we check?” I blinked hard and pressed the button again. Click. Click. Click. “No, you idiot, not like that. We have to get up �rst.” “Oh right.” I �ipped the safety switch. “Safety’s on, let’s get up.” I undid the strap holding my head in place, wincing as both pain and relief �owed through my skull, stood up, and lurched out of the line of �re. Mark stumbled over and sat down against the wall with a thump. His face was white as a sheet save for a bright red stripe across his forehead, and his shoulders shook with his breathing. I �ipped the safety switch back to ‘o�’, but before I could press the trigger, Mark stopped me. “Earplugs,” he rasped, and pointed to his ears. “Oh, right.” After a moment of fumbling in my pockets, I shakily inserted them. I pressed the trigger. Click. I pressed again. The air in the room seemed to shatter into a million pieces as pu�s of powderized wood burst from the planks. The scent of gunpowder and plywood hung in the air, and the sound echoed through the mountains. We pulled out our earplugs and stared at each other. After a short silence, Mark spoke up. “You think anyone heard that?” I closed my eyes and put my hands to my temples. “I don’t know.” A deep fatigue was setting in, and my legs itched unbearably. I wanted to curl up and sleep right there on the �oor. “Let’s just pack it all up and go to bed, okay?”
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