Chapter 145: Hit the Target

In the brightly lit huge warehouse, a hound lay at the doorway, its curious eyes watching David Robbie and Murphy among the four inside.

Dozens of well-maintained shotguns quietly lay in the oak cabinets. Murphy and Carey Mulligan followed behind David Robbie, slowly walking past the gun cabinet to select their preferred shotguns.

"Murphy stopped and said, "I heard you're a great shot, even hit a stag once?" Opening a cabinet in front of him, he took out a small-caliber single-barrel shotgun. "David, I've never fired a gun. Can you share some tips?"

Margaret, picking a smaller caliber shotgun, inspected it closely while exposing David Robbie's lack of skill, "He just got lucky. I've seen him shoot hundreds of times since we were kids, and the game he hit..."

She held up a hand, sighed heavily, and shook her head, "You could count on one hand."

Embarrassed, David Robbie, along with Murphy and Carey Mulligan, laughed it off.

"Just you talk too much!" After inspecting the gun for Murphy, David Robbie took the gun from Margaret's hands, gave it a serious look, and asked Carey Mulligan, "How about this one?"

Carey Mulligan nodded, "That's the one!"

She took the shotgun, aiming at an empty spot, recalling the shooting theories David Robbie taught the night before. The practice and theory were worlds apart, and Carey Mulligan's posture looked awkward.

"Do you know how to use a gun?" Margaret frowned.

Carey Mulligan shook her head, "This is my first time holding a gun."

Margaret asked, puzzled, "Don't Americans often go hunting?"

In North America, it's common for teenagers to hunt, with media occasionally reporting on kids hunting bears.

"I'm not American..." Carey Mulligan shrugged, "I'm British."

Noticing Margaret had no intention of choosing a gun, she asked, "Aren't you coming with me? Don't you need a gun?"

"The recoil is too strong; it hurts my shoulder," Margaret turned and walked to the warehouse door, patting the hound's head, "I have Bob, a top-notch hunting dog."

As if to respond, the hound barked.

David Robbie whispered, "My parents strictly forbade Margaret from using guns before she turned fifteen."

After all, a shotgun is still a weapon, and Margaret is just a child.

Picking their shotguns and suitable ammunition, they left the gunroom not for hunting immediately but for David Robbie to take them to an open grassland in front of the farm to practice shooting and emphasize safety precautions again.

It's unrealistic to expect two novices to become sharpshooters in a few hours. Murphy understood this was more about the experience and fun than the quantity of game killed.

After practicing shooting all morning and having lunch, David Robbie drove a large pickup truck, taking them to the hunting ground.

Describing it as a hunting ground, it was actually the farm's pastureland, with the grass already harvested, leaving only some roots shivering in the wind.

Australia's vast lands and sparse population preserve many natural species. Due to the absence of large carnivores, ecological crises often arise due to overpopulation of certain animals. Except for a few species, hunting on private land is not strictly regulated.

Parking by a small road, they carried their guns and gear into the pastureland. The thick boots crunched on the short grass roots, making a rustling sound.

Margaret, wearing a cowboy hat, led the hound in front; Murphy and David Robbie followed with their backpacks and shotguns; Carey Mulligan, hiding her blond hair under a baseball cap, carried a small-caliber shotgun, excitedly looking around.

Finding game wasn't as easy as imagined. After wandering the harvested pasture for over half an hour and only seeing two rabbits sprint past, there was no sign of the legendary deer.

"Bad luck today," Margaret said, taking a water bottle from her backpack and drinking, pointing towards the eucalyptus forest, "A few herds of deer used to run out from there, and we couldn't drive them away."

Carey Mulligan removed her cap, looking in the direction Margaret mentioned, "Didn't you say the farm's deer are overpopulated?"

"Indeed!" Margaret pushed her cowboy hat back, revealing her blond curls, "These deer are our most hated animals, eating a large amount of crops every year!"

Ignoring the girls' chattering, Murphy used binoculars to scan the forest.

This vast field, hundreds of feet across, connected to a hill covered in trees, with a small river about twenty feet wide on the left. Besides a few hay bales and low grass, the end was almost visible at a glance.

"The number of deer near Australia's beaches has skyrocketed in recent years," David Robbie also raised his binoculars, "They often eat crops, threatening the local ecosystem."

"Hey, look there!" Carey Mulligan suddenly shouted, pointing ahead.

The hound Bob barked deeply, and Margaret hurried to calm it.

Murphy turned, following Carey Mulligan's direction. Near the sparse eucalyptus trees, a herd of deer passed by, starting to graze, with a few stags occasionally lifting their heads, vigilantly scanning their surroundings.

"Shh..." David Robbie gestured for silence.

He led the way, crouching towards the deer, followed by Murphy, with Carey Mulligan and Margaret at the rear.

They stopped fifty feet away, hiding behind a large cylindrical hay bale, within shooting range.

Murphy and David Robbie loaded their shotguns, each taking a side of the hay bale, aiming at the deer.

Kneeling down, Murphy recalled the morning's shooting tips, assuming a standard kneeling position, silently estimating the distance to the deer. His finger rested on the trigger.

As a bird chirped in the eucalyptus forest, the deer lifted their heads, looking around. Murphy's finger tightened, and a few dry grass strands drifted from the hay bale.

As one fell on his shoulder, Murphy pulled the trigger. Three clear gunshots rang out, followed by David Robbie and Carey Mulligan firing. Amidst the chaotic sounds, the deer scattered.

"Bob, go!" Margaret patted the hound's neck. The long-suppressed hound barked wildly, chasing after the deer.

With the pungent smell of gunpowder in the air, Murphy stood up, first checking on Carey Mulligan, who was rubbing her shoulder, clearly pained by the recoil as before.

Seeing Murphy's concerned look, Carey Mulligan smiled, "It's okay, it'll pass."

The hound's barking grew louder as Bob returned. Margaret tossed it a piece of jerky, "Let's go, we didn't hit anything."

Their score of zero hits wasn't surprising.

They circled the hay bale, heading towards the eucalyptus forest. Suddenly, Bob barked again. Murphy quickly grabbed his shotgun. Directly ahead, a disoriented hare charged towards them.

Perhaps scared by the gunshots or visually impaired, the hare seemed unaware of the four people and the hound, recklessly running towards Murphy.

"Load your gun!" Carey Mulligan shouted.

With the hare less than twenty feet away, there was no time to reload. Margaret and Bob were on the other side, equally unprepared, and David Robbie's gun was also empty.

Even with bullets, their shooting skills and the hare's speed made hitting it unlikely.

Murphy expected the hare to turn away. Wild hares, unlike domestic rabbits, should fear humans.

But the hare didn't change course, seemingly panicked by the gunshots, running straight towards him. In a split second, Murphy felt like a tree stump waiting for a rabbit to bump into.

The phrase "standing still for a rabbit" crossed his mind, but Murphy's actions were swift.

The hare, panicked, wouldn't collide with him directly. He quickly changed his grip on the gun, clasping the barrel with both hands, feeling the heat through his gloves. Then, with a strong thrust...

In that moment, the shotgun became a bat. As the hare neared, Murphy timed his swing, hitting it with the solid walnut stock, heavy and forceful. Lucky enough, the stock hit the hare's head like a heavy mountain.

"Bang!"

The stock hit the hare and then the ground, making a dull sound.

"Wow..." Margaret adjusted her cowboy hat, mouth slightly open, "Can it work like that?"

"Hit it! Hit it!" Carey Mulligan cheered, rushing to see the hare but quickly bending over.

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