Fallout

by Derek Shupert

  “When’s the last time he came this way? Doesn’t look as though anyone’s been down here in a while?”

  “He didn’t say. Besides, that might be a good thing. More animals might be passing through since there doesn’t seem to be much human activity.”

  Not sure why, but I get an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. The whole ambience of this part of the trail is working on my nerves. The intermediate call of birds chirping, and the occasional snapping of branches stops me cold. I search for the culprit.

  “What was that?” I tremble. My fingers tighten around the Remington. My body tenses and my eyes widen.

  “What was what?” Dad responds, all calm and collected.

  “That noise. Sounded like footsteps or something over that way,” I reply, pointing to the thicket off to our right.

  Dad stops behind me and looks.

  “I don’t see anything, James. You sure you’re ok to go on,” Dad asks once more. “If you want to turn back and head home, we can.”

  “I’m fine. It’s just this creepy trail messing with me. That, and seeing that bloody back pack has me on edge.”

  “We’re fine, James. I’m not going to let anything happen to you. Just relax, and keep your eyes out for any deer. Don’t want to scare them off. Unless you just really want some of those MREs.”

  “I don’t think it will be us scaring them off. This area is doing a good enough job of that on its own.”

  Dad tries to lighten the mood some as he nudges my shoulder playfully. It does little to curb my thoughts of what could be out there lurking in the dense forest, but I hold it together and “man up,” as Dad would say. I get moving, trying to ignore the random sounds that creep into my ears.

  Images of that horrid thing from the video I watched this morning seem to catch my eye from within the thicket of trees and bushes. I really want Duke next to me.

  “Duke!” I sternly call out.

  Bark!

  Here he comes, barreling up the trail with something latched inside his mouth. Can’t tell what it is from here.

  “Let me see what you got there, boy.”

  Duke drops what appears to be a boot at my feet and sits down. His head swings around to his back and digs his teeth into his fur. I bend down and pick it up.

  I instantly look for a foot wedged inside. Fortunately, there is none.

  “I wonder if this belonged to that hiker?” I hand Dad the boot.

  “Not sure. From the looks of it, seems like it’s been up here a while.”

  The boot is dingy, covered in mud and has tear marks along both sides of the black leather. Granted, any animal could’ve had its way with it, biting and pawing with its claws.

  “Come on, James. Let’s get moving,” Dad says as he walks past me. He discards the boot without a further thought on the matter.

  I stand up, and we get back on our way. Duke’s staying close, walking right in front of me. It feels the further we venture down into the woods, the more my nerves get rattled. Today is going to be a long day. That’s for sure.

  CHAPTER SIX

  It’s been about three or so hours since we left our campsite. We still haven’t seen any deer or animals that I would want to cook over an open fire. I caught wind of a skunk that Duke wanted to go investigate. I had to hold him back by his collar until the smell dissipated. Obviously, for him, it took much longer.

  “Either Frank was blowing smoke up your butt or we’re just that unlucky today.” I toss a stick into the bushes to my left.

  “Patience, son. Sometimes, you have to let the prey come to you,” Dad calmly replies.

  “Well, I wish it would come already. My stomach is starting to rumble. Can you not hear it?”

  I turn toward him. I place my hand on my belly again. He doesn’t respond. No chuckle or laugh. Makes me think he’s getting aggravated with me about all the complaining I’m doing.

  “Sorry, Pop, for all of-”

  “Be quiet!” Dad snaps in a lone muffled tone.

  He suddenly stops and crouches down. His gaze is fixed to our left. I immediately follow his lead and hit the dirt. Duke paces about and sits down next to us.

  “What is it?” I worriedly ask, thinking of those chasers in that video.

  “Look to your left some and down a little. Tell me what you see in that cluster of trees in the clearing?”

  I follow Dad’s finger down to a clearing that has a handful of pine trees arranged in a half circle. Inside the dense foliage, I spot Dad’s target—a white-tailed deer.

  It’s hidden well. Its tan fur blends in with the trees and other foliage. Most probably wouldn’t have seen it, but Dad’s eyes are keen to the wild. I hope I get as good as he is some day.

  I keep my voice low and glance over to Dad. “How big do you think it is?”

  Dad shrugs. “Not sure. Can’t get a good enough look from here. Let’s move down this hill some, so we can get a better view.”

  Duke’s been trained for this most of his life. He doesn’t need any coaching or being told to be silent. He instinctively stays by our side and his body low, waiting for me or Dad to give him the green light.

  We stay within the thick brush and trees as we come to the edge of the clearing. The deer pauses. Its head points straight ahead in the opposite direction of us with its ears standing on end.

  “Is he picking up our scent?” I whisper softly.

  “Maybe, but the wind is blowing out of the other direction. I don’t think it’s us he’s worried about.” Dad pulls his binoculars from his pack. He scans over the area for any other hunters or predators that might be lurking about. “I don’t see anything that would be scaring it. Go ahead and take it down.”

  “Ok.” I remove the Remington from my shoulder and take aim. Taking a deep breath, I wait for the deer to show its head, and preferably, face me.

  Dad taught me that it’s always better to try and kill the deer in one shot. Doing so helps in preserving the meat, and keeps the deer from spooking any others that might be in the area.

  There are too many branches in the way. I’m still learning to take my time and wait for the shot to present itself. I want to impress Dad by nailing this deer between the eyes. I haven’t been able to do it yet, but practice makes perfect, right?

  “That’s it, James. Wait for it to give you the shot. Don’t force it.”

  The wind is picking up some. It feels as though it’s changing direction. I’m trying to keep my arm steady, but it’s being slightly pushed to the left by the gust of wind blowing through.

  Hurry up already. Let me kill you so we can move on.

  “Don’t get impatient, James,” dad calmly coaches.

  He must’ve heard me breathing hard, then sighing. It’s my telltale sign that my patience is wearing thin. I don’t like to wait. I want it to happen immediately. But Dad’s right. If I wait, the deer will give me my shot. Patience is key.

  After a few more minutes of watching it graze in the thick brush, and poke about the foliage, it finally moves enough to give me a chance at a clean shot.

  “There it is. He’s almost ready. You got this, son.” Dad places his hand gently on my back.

  Duke moans and groans, whining some from the anticipation of tracking the animal down. Duke and I are like two peas in a pod. Impatient. Not sure how Dad stands it sometimes.

  I keep pace with the deer, the crosshairs hovering about its head. My finger hugs the trigger. I don’t want to jump the gun, but I totally want to nail this. Rub it in Dawson’s face. Not that he’d care or anything, but it’d be nice to have a kill shot like that under my belt.

  The deer looks up at me, grass hanging out of its mouth. Here it is. I fire.

  A single shot rings out. The sound crackles in the clearing as the deer jets out of the thicket of trees and grass in the opposite direction.

  “Dang it, I missed!” I snarl.

  “No, you didn’t. Looks like you got him in the chest area. Come on, let’s see if we can trac
k him down.”

  Dad gets his feet under him, and straps his binoculars back to his pack. I sling the Remington over my shoulder and stand up. Duke’s panting hard, and moaning between breaths.

  “Come on, boy. Let’s see if we can track down that deer.”

  Duke springs to his feet and takes off into the clearing with me and Dad following at a much slower pace. He darts into the woods on the opposite side, disappearing from sight.

  “Guess I need to practice a lot more, huh?” I pose to Dad as we follow after Duke.

  “Practice does make perfect, but that was still a hell of a shot,” Dad replies. “You’re getting much better and with time, and patience, you’ll slip right into those shots.”

  I think Dad is being nice, and padding my self-confidence here, but I’ll take it.

  I point to the ground where the grass and dirt is stained red. “Is that the deer’s blood?”

  Dad stops and stoops down. He brushes his hand over the green and brown blades of grass, and rubs one of the blades between his fingers, smearing the dark red over them.

  “Seems to be bleeding pretty well. It shouldn’t get too far.” Dad is a pretty good tracker. He’s been showing me the ropes for some time now. Actually, since I’ve been coming with him on these hunts. It’s been years now, I think. He’ll show me what to look for, and has always made it a point to pay attention to everything.

  The moment you get careless, you can miss the smallest detail that can make or break finding your target, he would say.

  I’m still learning, but getting better with time. Just like everything else, I guess.

  The sun has peaked in the sky, and is now heading down. The day has slipped away from me, the hours ticking down like minutes. The cool air is creeping its way back in.

  We’ve tracked the deer’s hoof prints, and Duke’s paw impressions, which follow right in line, well into the woods. With us losing daylight, and the darkness taking hold, it’s becoming increasingly harder to track the deer. The impressions slowly morph to black, concealing the animal’s movements from our eyes.

  “Where has the day gone?” I ask.

  “When you’re up here, time can slip away faster than normal. It’s not like being in the normal everyday hustle and bustle of life.” Dad bends to go under a branch.

  My stomach has been growling at me for a while now. I ate my care package Mom stowed away in my coat when Dad wasn’t looking. It didn’t fill me up by any means, but somewhat curbed the rumbling.

  Duke barks repeatedly, which doesn’t sound too far away. Dad has me as the point man, letting me track my deer. I’m not sure how much farther I want to go as the dense woods and us losing the sun is not setting well with me. I would much rather be back at camp sitting around our fire with Duke and Dad, eating on whatever we caught in our traps. At least, I hope there is something in our traps.

  “There’s Duke,” Dad says as he comes up alongside me.

  Duke bolts around a set of boulders, and quickly rushes to my side. He licks my hand and wags his tail fiercely.

  I knead his head for a moment and pat his side. “Where’s the deer at, boy?”

  Bark! Duke takes off again, but this time at a much slower pace so that we can keep up. There is no trail, just more rocks and massive tree limbs that litter the thick grassy area. Duke stops up ahead. He turns back to us.

  Dad places a restrictive hand on my shoulder. “We need to approach quietly. We don’t want to spook it again, and have it run off.”

  “Well, if that happens, I’m done.”

  Dad and I lessen our pace. We creep up to where Duke is. He’s crouched down in the grass, looking straight ahead.

  “Good job, boy.” I rub his head, thankful that he found the deer. I dig out some treats from my pack.

  He scoops up the jerky style meat from my hand, and wolfs them down. I don’t think Duke had time to savor any of the flavor. All that running around must have zapped his energy.

  Dad points down into a small opening in a cluster of trees and rocks. “There it is, James.”

  The deer is laying on its side. Its body twitches from the wound. Its breathing appears to be labored. Its body is illuminated in the dying light as it kicks its legs wildly and thrusts about, but the wound from my gunshot keeps it down.

  I remember the first time I came with Dad, and he shot a deer. It made me feel bad, watching another living creature dying from what we had done to it. But Dad explained to me that it was only wrong to kill these animals for fun. Meaning, not taking the animal for the meat it would provide. Still, it was rough for me. Now, it has become second nature. I don’t feel bad anymore, just thankful.

  “Do you want me to finish it off?” I ask.

  Dad nods. “Yes. No need to let it suffer any longer.”

  I remove the Remington from my shoulder, and take aim at the deer’s head. Dad grabs the barrel of my gun and pushes it down.

  “What’s wrong?” I inquire.

  Shush!

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Dad presses his index finger to his chapped lips. He doesn’t speak a single word. His eyes narrow and fix on me, and a look of concern floods his face. He leans in closer to whisper in my ear.

  “Don’t move or make any sounds what-so-ever.” He grabs my chin, and turns it to the right. A figure looms in the shadows of the brush. He doesn’t appear to be a hunter or hiker. There’s no visible weapon or backpack that can be seen.

  He stays low, crouched within the thicket of foliage. He slowly advances forward, taking great care to not alert the injured deer to his presence. His precise movement’s mimic that of a cougar watching its prey. Dissecting and plotting his point of attack from his concealment.

  After a few moments, he sprints out of the darkness, and stumbles into the little bit of light that remains.

  He stops at the deer, his hoodie concealing his face.

  The deer continues to thrash. It kicks its legs wildly. It struggles to get off the ground as the man looms over the animal like the grim reaper.

  The woods around us are silent. It’s almost as if the other animals in the area know an apex predator of some sort was lurking in the shadows.

  “Dad, I think we should leave. I’m not getting good vibes from the creepy guy.” My heart pounds harder.

  Dad doesn’t respond. His attention is focused on the mysterious person.

  One last yelp of pain is all the deer can muster as it falls to the ground. The man buries his head into the deer’s throat. Like a wild animal, he bites and tears into the deer’s hide.

  Its legs stop moving. Its body is now motionless. Its eyes are wide and full. The man pulls chunks of meat from the deer’s throat, and shovels it into its mouth.

  I place my forearm over my mouth and nose. My stomach churns from the ghastly sight. I feel as though I could toss my lone candy bar and breakfast at any time.

  The man pauses with a portion of the deer’s insides dangling from his blood-soaked hands.

  Dad grabs the top of my head, and shoves me down closer to the ground. “Damn it.” Dad’s voice is thick with frustration.

  I peer through the blades of grass and find that the man is looking in our direction. He throws the grimy hoodie back and reveals his face.

  A sudden jolt of terror floods over me. The man looks like the psycho from the video. Half of his face is severely injured; a small portion of his right jaw is showing through the missing flesh. I can’t make out anything else, but to be honest, I really don’t want to.

  “What are we going to do? He’s just standing there looking this way,” I frantically whisper as I try to move.

  Dad stays silent as he palms my back, keeping my body prone to the dirt.

  Duke growls, his side vibrating against my hand. I gently rub the crown of his head, whispering to him to settle down.

  “Get ready to move back to camp,” Dad flatly orders as he grabs a rock from the ground. “Be quick. Don’t stop for anything. Am I understood?”

&nb
sp; Through chattering teeth and in a timid tone, I acknowledge, “Yes sir.”

  The man peers to his left for a brief moment, allowing Dad to chuck the rock toward the trees on the opposite side. It clatters along the ground. The man springs to his feet, honing in on the disturbance. He dashes away from the deer to investigate.

  Dad whispers low in my ear, “Ok, let’s go.”

  I quickly but quietly get my feet under me, and head back to camp. Another figure emerges out of the trees near us, and tackles me. We both hit the ground hard, the wind pulled from my body. Duke growls, and I catch sight of him biting the man’s leg and pulling.

  “James!” Dad smacks the man in the temple with the butt end of his gun. His bulk presses down on me. I push up on his torso with all of my might. The blow rattles him enough for me to get back to my feet.

  “Take Duke and get your ass back to camp. If I’m not there shortly, get to the truck and go home,” Dad orders as he points back the way we came.

  “Dad, I’m not leaving you up here.” My hand brushes over my face, wiping the dirt free of my skin. Shadows plague the thick brushes and dense foliage that encompass us.

  Dad snaps back with a horse growl.

  “Don’t argue with me, James. Now get moving!”

  The figure lunges for me again, but Dad tackles him this time. Both of them disappear from sight as they fall into the trees and bushes.

  “Come on, boy, let’s go.” My boots punish the ground as I leap over rocks and dart around the trees that are in my way. My legs are on fire, and my heart is beating a million miles a minute. I can’t remember the last time I ran this hard. Duke keeps pace with me, staying right by my side.

  The image of the enraged man attacking us, and Dad tangling with the voracious individual, has me worried about him.

  My fearful eyes strain to probe the ether of darkness in search of any more of those chasers. Perhaps that is what’s driving me on. Dad better be on his way right now. I can’t believe I just left him there with those chasers. Regardless if he ordered me to go, I should’ve stayed. I should’ve helped.