"Here," he said, snapping her back to the present. He was holding what used to be a vacuum cleaner. He flipped a switch on its handle. The air around them popped and ozone quickly filled the tiny space. She could feel the device's hectic whine in her fillings and she withdrew a bit. He reached over and took her left hand in his own. He put it on the stock. Then he wrapped her right hand around the handle, guiding her index finger to the trigger. His hand lingered there.