by James Hunt
The moment he had his hands on the gun he was out the door and running for the woods. He had to try it out, see how it felt to finally go shooting.
Ken had been hunting with his father before but was never allowed to actually shoot anything. His father told him he had to earn that right. Once he did, he would be given his own gun.
He learned everything he could in those lessons with his father. He watched how he walked through the forest, the way he carried his gun, his alertness, and the way he noticed even the smallest detail.
As much as Ken hated his father, he did give the old man one piece of credit. He wouldn’t have become the hunter he was without him.
Ken’s dad taught him how to track anything and everything. He always told Ken that any fool could aim a gun and shoot an animal, but it took a hunter to find them.
Hunting wasn’t luck. It was a skill, one which Ken had been mastering for the last forty years.
That first day when he was in the woods by himself, he ran across a pair of deer tracks. As soon as he saw them, his face lit up. He kept himself upwind, maneuvering through the forest, tracking the animal.
It was almost an hour before he finally came across them. A mother and her baby were grazing between the trees. The fawn must have only been a few weeks old. Its legs wobbled underneath it.
He knew the .22 wouldn’t be able to bring the mother down, but he knew he’d be able to take the fawn.
Then he remembered what his father told him about the hunting laws, how you could only shoot a deer that was a certain size. He was conflicted. He knew what he wanted to do, but he also knew what he wanted was wrong.
The fawn pranced around its mother aimlessly. Ken could feel the itch of the trigger, just waiting to be pulled. He wanted to do it. He wanted to show his father that he was just as good as he was. He wanted to prove that he could do it, that he was worthy.
When he finally squeezed the trigger, the mother ran and the fawn collapsed to the ground.
It took him nearly twice as long to get back to the farm, dragging the deer carcass with him. He left the deer outside by the gutting station and rushed inside to find his father.
When Ken brought his dad outside, the look on his father’s face was one he never forgot. His father was disgusted. He snatched the rifle from Ken’s hands and told him that he wouldn’t get it back until he learned that hunting was a privilege, not a right, and that he had to learn and understand the laws and abide by them.
The surge of pride he felt from killing the deer deflated out of him and was replaced with anger.
His father taught him something very valuable that day. No matter what you do or how you do it, there is someone out there who can always take away the thing you want the most. And at that moment, he vowed to never let anyone take away the things he wanted ever again.
***
With all of the chores done for the day, Billy came back into the house. His mother was in the kitchen, getting dinner ready.
“Mom, have you seen Joe?” Billy asked.
“I think he’s with your father.”
Billy lingered in the kitchen. He wanted to speak with his mother, try and get some perspective on everything that was happening, but he knew she would always side with his father.
“Mom,” Billy said.
The knife sliced through the carrots, each time a thud hitting the cutting board in a melodic rhythm.
“What?” Beth asked.
“I think Dad’s wrong.”
The chopping ceased. Beth wiped the blade clean on her apron and set it on the counter.
“They haven’t done anything to us. Hurting them could hurt us in the long run,” Billy said.
“Billy, your father made his decision. Now, drop it.”
She went back to preparing dinner and dumped the carrots into a boiling pot of water.
“And you agree with him?” Billy asked.
Beth was a small woman, but when she was mad about something she looked larger than her size suggested
“Listen to me. The decisions your father makes are to keep us alive. That’s what he does. You may not like it or agree with it, but it’s something that has to be done. All you have to do is have the backbone to go through with it, because if you don’t, then it could be your brother who dies. Is that what you want? To place other people above your own family?”
“No… I… that’s not what I want, but there has to be a better way.”
“What makes you think they won’t try and steal from us? You think they’re better than us? Is that it?”
“Mom, no, that’s not what I’m saying.”
“That’s because you don’t know what you’re talking about. Listen to me, Son, if you don’t wipe that idealistic bullshit from your mind, then the only thing that you’ll get in return is a bullet from somebody who knows how the world works. How it really works.”
Billy didn’t have a rebuttal, no counterpunch. He was stuck in a world that he didn’t understand. Whatever he thought was bad before all of this happened wouldn’t hold a candle to what was going to happen moving forward.
Night of Day 13 (the Town)
The Jeep bounced back and forth as Jung maneuvered the dirt road. He was going faster than what was safe, but he didn’t care. He wanted to put as much distance between himself and the cabin as possible.
The headlights on the Jeep illuminated the path through the winding trees. It was pitch black, with the trees blocking the light from the moon. The headlights were the only guidance that Jung had.
Jenna’s head bobbed back and forth from the dips and curves of the road. Her whole body was limp.
“Hang on, honey,” Jung said.
When Jung finally saw the road ahead, his heart lightened. All he had to do now was follow the road, and the signs would take him to Cincinnati. He turned west onto the highway. He was going to make it. His wife was going to live.
***
Mike could taste the metallic fluid filling his mouth. He spit the blood on the ground and forced himself to stand up. The biker gang circled him. He could see his daughter, his father, and Mary tied up on the ground watching the beating.
Frankie and Jake had taken turns with him. Whenever one got tired, he would tag his partner in to take his place.
Mike landed a few blows in the beginning, but the arthritis in his hands was starting to get the better of him. He could barely form a fist, and each time he did, it felt like jagged glass digging into his joints.
Frankie danced around him, throwing a few jabs, causing Mike to back up. A sharp pain shot through his left side any time he took a deep breath. He figured one of his ribs punctured his lung.
Mike wasn’t sure how much longer he was going to last. This was a fight he was going to lose, but he needed to make it last. Every punch he took was one his daughter didn’t have to take.
“C’mon, daddio,” Frankie said. “You’re not getting tired on me, are you?”
Mike forced his hands up. He saw three of Frankie, so he aimed for the one in the middle. He moved in and threw a right cross. Frankie dodged and countered with his own right across Mike’s chin.
More blood and a tooth flew from Mike’s mouth. Mike shook it off. He hit Frankie with a three-punch combo, knocking him to the ground.
“Oh-ho! Looks like the old man’s got some spunk left in him, Frankie,” Jake said.
Frankie wiped the blood from his nose and jumped back up. He slapped Jake’s hand and retreated from the ring.
Jake walked in with a swagger, taking his cut and shirt off and tossing it to one of his guys. He was a lot faster than Frankie was, and he worked Mike’s face like a punching bag.
Mike’s stance started to waiver. He was losing his balance. Everything was starting to fade in and out of darkness. The more he tried to fight it the harder it became.
“C’mon, Jake! Finish it already!” Frankie shouted.
Jake moved in, and with one massive haymaker, Mike hit the ground.
Mike’s whole body was numb. He couldn’t move. This was it. He couldn’t go on any longer.
“Pick him up,” Jake said.
When they moved Mike, he felt like he was floating. He looked down at this feet and saw himself standing, but he couldn’t feel the ground.
Jake walked up and patted Mike’s cheek.
“Hey, fun time’s over. Wake up,” Jake said.
Mike’s head swayed back and forth, looking left, then right, until his eyes finally focused on one thing; his daughter. When he saw her, a surge of strength ran through him.
Keep going. Keep going for her.
“As much as I’ve enjoyed beating the shit out of you, it’s time to take care of business. Since neither of the girls confessed to murdering our brother, and since the two of you have killed some of our club members tonight, you’ll be facing the death penalty,” Jake said.
The bikers grunted in agreement.
“Now, since there are ten of us and only four of you, we can’t all kill you, so I thought it would be better to watch you kill each other,” Jake said.
“What?” Mike asked.
“You’re going to duel.”
“No.”
“Then you watch me kill her.”
Jake pointed to Kalen tied up on the ground. Mike struggled against the bikers holding him, but couldn’t break free. Jake moved in close. His voice dropped to a whisper.
“Or maybe I have some fun with her first. How does that sound, Dad?”
Mike’s mind wandered to when Kalen was a little girl. She was riding her bike for the first time. She kept screaming for him to let go, but he didn’t want to. He wanted to keep her safe, protect her. It was the same instinct guiding him now. After all these years he still hadn’t let go.
“Okay,” Mike said.
“Bring the old man and the girl,” Jake said.
Kalen was tossed over to Jake while Ulysses was shoved into the circle with Mike.
Two pistols were emptied with the exception of one bullet. They spaced Mike and Ulysses ten feet apart.
“The first person to shoot wins, then dies, so take your time,” Jake said.
The gang laughed.
“Oh, and if either of you get any ideas about who you’re going to shoot, let me present to you my insurance,” Jake said.
Jake took out his pistol, cocked it, and put the barrel to Kalen’s temple.
One of the bikers shoved the pistol into Mike’s hand. He gripped it loosely, keeping it at his side; Ulysses had one as well.
“You only get one shot, so make it count!” Frankie said.
All of the bikers placed bets on who would shoot first, laughing, egging both of them on to get it over with.
“Don’t be a pussy!”
“C’mon, pull the trigger!”
“Kill him!”
Mike couldn’t lift the pistol. It was dead weight in his hand. Across from him was the man who raised him. His father was the one who taught him wrong from right. He was the one who made him the man he was today—a good man.
There were times when Ulysses was harder than the steel that poured from Pittsburgh’s mills, but he could say one word to make everything all right.
If Mike didn’t shoot his father or his father shoot him, then his daughter would die. He struggled, trying to bring the pistol up from his waist. His entire arm was shaking.
“I’m getting bored, boys,” Jake said.
Mike finally forced the gun up. His index finger went to the trigger, barely touching the small sliver of steel. Ulysses’s head was lined up in the sights. Tears started to well up in Mike’s eyes. They streamed down his face. He couldn’t keep the gun steady.
“Dad,” Mike said.
“It’s okay, Son.”
Mike’s knuckles turned white against the black composite of the handle. He squeezed the grip so hard he thought it would crush in his hand. He knew what he had to do, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it, and as the gun dropped to his side, he stood there crying, shaking his head.
“I’m sorry. I can’t do it. Dad, I can’t do it,” Mike said.
His father’s figure was blurred through the tears pouring form his eyes. Mike looked to Kalen, who was sobbing. His family was falling apart. He couldn’t save them. Everything he’d done, all he had sacrificed was for naught.
“Michael,” Ulysses said.
His father looked calm. A faint smile grew on his face. It wasn’t a smile of happiness, but one of pain.
“I love you,” Ulysses said.
Mike couldn’t hear his own screams above the sound of the gun when Ulysses put the pistol to his temple and squeezed the trigger.
***
Ulysses lay collapsed on the ground. He was nothing more than a pile of flesh, lifeless and motionless. Everything was silent with the exception of the high-pitched hum of the ringing in his ears from the sound of the pistol.
Frankie ripped the pistol from Mike’s hand and put the barrel to the back of his head.
“Congratulations. You’ve moved on to the next round. Too bad it’s sudden death,” Frankie said.
Mike saw Kalen, who was crying hysterically, crumpling to a heaped mess on the floor. This was the world now. This was what happened to people when they had something of value; it was taken from them.
“Good-bye, asshole,” Frankie said.
Before Frankie could squeeze the trigger, the ringing in Mike’s ears was replaced by another sound. He turned his head to the east, and he could see lights in the distance, moving quickly toward the town.
Mike felt the barrel of the gun removed from his head.
“What the hell?” Frankie said.
“Move some of the cars, block the road!” Jake shouted.
Frankie started to run off, but Jake called him back.
“Secure them first,” Jake yelled.
A few of the bikers helped Frankie drag them back to the sheriff’s office, tossing them in separate cells.
Jake’s crew managed to move four cars, staggering them across Main Street.
“When it slows down, aim for the tires,” Jake ordered.
“It’s a Jeep!” Frankie shouted.
When the Jeep came within shooting range, it didn’t slow down. It sped up.
“Fire!” Jake said.
The Jeep smashed through the first car, the front crumpling, but still moved forward. It swerved to try and miss the second, but was met by the gang’s gunfire.
The bullets blew out the driver’s-side tire, and the Jeep lost control, flipping onto its side, and skidded into another one of the parked cars.
Tank was the first person who made it to the Jeep. When he looked inside, he saw the kids crying in the backseat. Jung was stirring awake, and Jenna was motionless.
“There’re kids in here!” Tank shouted.
Tank unbuckled Claire first and then grabbed Jung Jr. Both of them were screaming for their parents as Tank set them on the sidewalk, making sure they were okay.
He pressed his finger to Jenna’s neck, trying to feel a pulse, but there was nothing. The side of her head was covered in blood. He unbuckled her and pulled her from the Jeep, laying her away from the kids.
Jung was starting to regain consciousness when Tank got to him.
“W-where’s Jenna?” he asked.
“Just hold on, pal,” Tank said.
Jung was bleeding from his forehead, and a shard of glass stuck out of his arm.
“What are you doing?” Jake asked.
“They’re hurt,” Tank answered.
“I know. Now finish the job. Let’s get this Jeep flipped over and see if it’ll still run. It could come in handy.”
Tank pushed Jake in the back, sending him to the ground. When Jake got up, he pulled his gun on Tank.
“You gonna make them duel too?” Tank shouted.
“You’re way out of line, brother,” Jake said.
“We can’t keep going down this path, Jake. We don’t kill kids.”
�
��We’ll go down whatever path I take us.”
“We’ve killed a lot of people since this shit went down, Jake, but we’ve never hurt kids before. It’s not something I’m going to start doing now.”