Sneaking around the bushes there is the target twenty feet away, partially hidden behind another clump of scrub oak. Moving to a better position, there is the sound of a branch breaking from behind. Turning to look. Blat, blat, blat. Can’t even see who fired the shots because of the paint splattered across the face mask. The lack of vision and the sting in the chest says it loud and clear… You’ve been hit!