by Ron Foster
“He kind of looked like this.” Farley said making a blood curdling face with his gap toothed smile and his hands held out like stiffened claws.
“Stop that shit, Farley!” Becky said.
“Bad man, Farley!” Miss Feng said shaking her finger at him but still smiling at his comical character of a dead cockroach with a whistle.
“Look, what I’m telling ya’ll is that for the past couple of months I’ve been watching and looking in houses all up and down this road but I believe in my own special signs. And you know it’s a bitch, oh excuse my cussing, Miss Feng. What I meant by it’s a bitch is I’m out running trap line being good like ya’ll want me to be most of the time.” Farley said reaching over to pat Becky and giving a lopsided grin towards Miss Feng.
“And anyway the pain of it all that extra time is that I decided I needed to use the restroom. Now I know there’s plenty of woods available to do my business in but no! I got to figure out if there is an empty house close by so I can partake of a bit of civilization to use the commode and make a mark or sign. Now I occasionally think about doing it and others know to do it I think it’s so you can tell somebody’s been in there or they just said what the hell. Even once had someone come after me and leave a mark on the doorstep like an ill-trained dog that will shit in your shoes if it’s mad at you. I got me a couple of somebody’s out here tracking me once in a while that I haven’t seen yet. So we have a kind of game going on leaving signs that we’re alive and wandering in the area. And if you think about it, it’s kind of like a dog or cat goes “hi how you doing and greet you get out of your car after you been gone awhile and then run to smell the tires to see where I’ve been or who I’ve been messing with. Well, I can’t smell like a dog or a cat and I assume neither can they, but we occasionally cross paths out here so we kind of leave some kind of a sign so we don’t surprise each other, I guess you might say. Just the other day, I walked up on that big old mansion that you see across the lake from here, its got about eight rooms, and I guess for the first four weeks of this fiasco I had visited three of their six bathrooms and noticed someone else had been doing the same. Which I guess clues everybody in that we’re not the last man or woman on Earth and this is what’s what. Well, seeing that I was the first one that pilfered the house, and that place had a hell of a bar by the way, we started kind of; I don’t know how you would say it, leaving notes in passing for each other. These were subtle hints that we’re still around the area and are good humored in nature you might say. I got to admit the first time they left me a note, in the form of a bedspread over the sink, it freaked me out. I didn’t know why or what would possess anybody to do that and I was scared to look underneath to find out what it was, but I did and it was one of those boxes of instant rice that has five packs in it and they left me one. Well, I studied that and wondered if it was poisoned and had all kinds of weird thoughts in my mind until I just came to the conclusion that it was just one of those ‘hey, how you doing’ kind of things. So I took that bag of rice and replaced it like a pack rat- that’s what you are supposed to do you know, if you take something you’re supposed to put something back- and put a six pack of miniature Schnapps bottles in it. Well this horse trading went back on and off every couple weeks or so if my path brought me that way. I leave something, them they leave a little something and every time I go back there, even though I know they’ve been kind of good up to now I still poke it or shake it a little with my gun or a stick to make sure it’s safe, don’t you know? Now I got me something one day I don’t understand, a Happy New Year card. Somebody can’t draw worth a shit, but it appeared to be a baby drawn on it to my mind, so I figured they must have had them a baby and I should congratulate them. So I went way the hell out of my way and came back because I knew a house that had a box and a half of Pampers in it and put them down there. I mean the picture looked like a baby sucking a bottle or something and I thought about how nice it was we had this relationship and be nice to each other and all and I thought that was a great gift. Now whoever is over there been doing all this trading with me has a strange sense of humor because the next time I went over there, there was just a damn baby rattle and no note or nothing. I went ‘what the hell am I supposed to do with a baby rattle?’ I looked around the place and by this time I kind of knew what was there and not there a little bit. There were lots of clothes in this place one time and some were missing. But I couldn’t figure what was with the baby rattle; if they had a baby wouldn’t they need the rattle more than I did? Or there was a message to it. So I thought about it. Oh I know, it was a pink baby rattle, they were telling me it was a girl not a boy, was I was thinking, right? Now what am I supposed to leave for them instead? Well, I already stole all the champagne, excuse me, from the place, and I figured they must have found the house I stole the Pampers out of for them to leave a gift for me, so I pondered on what I could replace it with. I couldn’t figure out anything at that point available so I just drew a big question mark on the cardboard and stuck it back under there. Well I thought about this and tried to imagine what they might need and wishing them well. Couldn’t provide them no food or nothing really and I thought about prenatal vitamins and stuff but couldn’t put my hands on any of that crap and then I ran across a bunch of dolls one day and I stuck them in a big old pillowcase and toted them back with me so when they pulled off the cover on the sink they would have a basket full of dolls. Dang if I didn’t have a surprise when I came back, only one doll was taken out and a note that said “we are moving on.” Nothing else, never heard from again. I haven’t thought about what all that meant for quite some time. I am still not sure what any of it means really” Farley mused.
"Survival, with honor, that outmoded and all-important word, is as difficult as ever and as all-important to a writer. Those who do not last are always more beloved since no one has to see them in their long, dull, unrelenting, no-quarter-given-and-no-quarter-received, fights that they make to do something as they believe it should be done before they die. Those who die or quit early and easy and with every good reason are preferred because they are understandable and human. Failure and well-disguised cowardice are more human and more beloved." Ernest Hemingway
5
The Chase
Farley lay panting next to an old oak tree warily peeking around every once in a while trying to catch his breath and drinking from his canteen. He was looking to see if his pursuers had caught up yet or had given up the chase. Farley was a wise old fox and thought that there might be somebody laying in wait for him somewhere on his trap line and had been on his guard. Somebody very well could be waiting for him to come back around. It all started after trying to approach what he thought was an abandoned house in the woods and finding it was still occupied.
He had tried two days ago to stealthily sneak up on the hunting lodge in the woods in order to see if it might contain anything useful but got discovered creeping around its perimeter. He avoided direct immediate confrontation with the occupants by hauling ass and promised himself that he wasn’t going to get very close to that particular area of the woods again but now he was back. He had to come back by this way, could not avoid it for long because he had left modern conibear traps set out in the woods this way and they were a irreplaceable commodity he wouldn’t just forget about. No those things could mean survival themselves if properly deployed.
It wasn’t like only he knew where they were located at because he had marked this new territory with bright fluorescent pink landscaper tape to remind himself where he had set his body traps in the new territory. He had stayed home for a whole day and night hoping that everyone had lost interest in his ghosting around in the woods, but now he walked the game trails with great trepidation that somebody might want to find out who the hell the stranger was that they had run off from their house might be.
Those tagged traps were a dead giveaway but nobody was making modern traps like a conibear anymore and he wanted them back. He tried to get off the main trail to
approach where he thought that he might have set one for a big raccoon but being unfamiliar with this particular area he was soon forced to just follow the deer paths as best he could and slide off in the woods occasionally to get off the trail once in a while. Just as a necessary point of caution mind you in order to try to retrieve them.
Farley saw one of his tags blowing in the wind up ahead and sat and waited and listened to see whether or not the nightmare that he had been thinking about the last couple of days was possible. What Farley was particularly worried about was whether or not anybody had the extra time or inclination to see him could sit there next to one of his marked traps and lay in wait for him if they thought he was a threat or maybe wanting his goods.
Not hearing anything after listening intently and scanning the woods for about ten minutes, he carefully approached his trap set and was rewarded with “who the hell are you?” a voice bellowed out from the dark woods that he could not quite place where it came from.
“Well who the hell are you?” Farley yelled back taking cover in back of a big long leaf pine.
“We asked you first!” Another voice came from Farley’s far left that caused him to lay flat on the ground and quit peeking around a tree.
“I am just a trapper trying to get some food. Let me pass!” Farley shouted back.
“Are you the one that was sneaking around our house the other day?” Another voice called that seemed further off in the woods to his left hollered back.
“I got no problem with you boys, just let me pass on by without harm and I’ll be on my way.” Farley yelled back after a moment or two as he changed his position by low crawling to another tree so that whoever the hell it was out there couldn’t get a good fix on him.
“What are you doing moving around much? We just want to talk to you.” The voice of the man on his far right hollered back which caused Farley to start craw-fishing backwards from their voices and what he assumed was imminent danger. Modulating his voice to sound like he was farther away than he was, Farley yelled back he just wanted his trap back and they could have the hunting grounds to themselves if he was imposing.
The crack of a rifle rang out and some bark coming off the old pine tree that he had been hiding behind made Farley’s mind up very quickly that he was in the wrong place at the wrong time and commenced to slithering like a lizard towards the sound of the gunshot instead of away.
This was an ambush! Evidently they knew whoever owned the trap would be coming back this way and they were laying in wait. Farley was confused; Farley was scared. ‘What to do now outnumbered and alone?’ Farley considered.
Farley reverted to his old military training when it was ‘Nam era training and not really made for situations like this. In Vietnam, soldiers learned quickly not to dive for cover when walking into an ambush in the ditch on the side of the road or whatever because that was the V.C. plan to take advantage of what they thought you might do and they had shit-dipped pointy pungi stakes waiting in that ditch for you to belly flop on. The military had learned that the best thing during those times was do what the enemy least expected and that was to charge! Charge straight towards the enemy and fire everything you got, break through and break out of the ambush because they had already covered all oblivious manners of retreat and fields of fire in order to cause the most damage and chaos.
‘What the hell am I doing? There ain`t no platoon of soldiers guarding me or adding suppressive fire to my efforts. What the hell do I think I am doing charging at them for anyway dummy? Some bastard of a deer hunter I bet popped a shot at me, looks like I got at least three hunters to worry about that I know of so far. I am sure they all are busily scanning the woods with a damn rifle scope waiting for me to move. I need out of here and now! Those sons of bitches evidently don’t feel like talking about nothing so silence is my only friend now. Good thing I didn’t get too close to that danged traps position. I bet they got somebody zeroed in on that target. I guess it’s onwards and forwards the way I am going.’ Farley said to himself already sweating bullets and clenching his butt cheeks.
“Come on out, boy! We just want to talk to you. I’m sorry my friend took that shot at you, he’s just kind of jumpy and accidental pulled the trigger you know?” the voice from the center that he was charging called out.
Silence. Stay in place, don’t move a hair just yet, they don’t know where you’re at exactly. Two can play this game. How far are these bastards spread out? It sounds to me like they are doing the horseshoe or the horns of the bull catch me in that trap thing. Damn, if I’d just walked up on that son of a bitch without waiting and listening, I’d be dead right now! Farley considered.
“Hey, you hear me? We aren’t going to bother you none, Jeff just had him a misfire.” The man in the center tried to cajole.
“Yeah, I won’t do it again. I’m sorry.” The man on the right called out and Farley heard a faint rustling to his far left.
‘Oh, so that’s where you are you son of a bitch! Your buddy’s off to the left, let me work on how I can get the three of ya’ll to shoot each other by thinking that I am hunkered down in the middle somewhere.’ Farley scanned the whole forest and couldn’t discern any shapes or movement but decided they had planned on catching him in a crossfire and most likely no one was in back of him, but he couldn’t be sure. Now what to do? He still thought his best avenue was escape where confrontation was more controlled by him moving forward but if he could someway get them to fire some shots once again he could be more resourceful in his actions, he figured. What to do?
Evidently their leader was to his front by the hickory trees and the two peckerwoods on his right and left might just be inclined or influenced by him nudging them to start shooting indiscriminately between themselves if he could come up with something. Better yet, if he could get in back of either one of them, this little firefight wasn’t going to go the way they figured it. “Nope.. Not going to let this go the way they planned it all”.
Farley peeked up from in back of the bush he was hiding under all the while wishing that he had some better cover and decided the first thing was to move over and behind something more substantial before he let his position be known. He commenced to slowly ease himself back from the slope he was on without rustling the bush and carefully made his way towards the shelter of an old red oak.
“I see you! No need to be sneaking around. Come on out and talk.” The leader called out, Farley supposed. Nobody had seen him since he took cover he didn’t think. The guy had just attempted a bit of subterfuge to draw him out and was now searching the wood line for the man that had disappeared from their ambush.
Farley waited and he waited and then he waited some more. Who was going to win this patience game, hopefully him? Ok back to business where exactly where was them boys at and how was he going to get the hell out of Dodge? Damn! He cursed himself. I knew better than to come back after these traps but they are irreplaceable. How far away were those voices anyway, not too far but these woods sure were thick which was a good thing? Sixty, maybe seventy-five yards away? Damn them son of a bitches sure were well hidden! Oh shit! You reckon that they might be hiding up in deer stands? Farley questioned himself. No, quit sweating, they sounded like they were on the ground, but he still took considerable time to reassure himself of this fact while straining his eyes looking up towards the tree canopy for any unseen aggressors wanting to do him damage. What’s wrong with these sons of bitches anyway? Why in the hell would they be sitting on this trap line unless they considered him to be a serious threat? Farley considered before he thought “Hell don’t matter why they were waiting, I just need to get myself out of here.”
What to do? Well, I can try throwing me something out in the bushes by them and see if it draws fire. Farley considered looking around for any likely stick or rock but there was nothing to serve his purpose. What the hell do? What’s around here that I have handy to maybe fling and make some noise with? He considered.
“Damn I ain`t even got any ch
ange in my pockets to throw. Ok, that ruse ain`t going to work for me it looks like.” Farley finally decided.
Noise and confusion is what I need. Now then if I holler, they are going to maybe be able center on me better and if I keep moving around I’m bound to be spotted so I guess what I’ll do is find out how quick everybody can duck and try haul ass in the confusion! Farley said to himself getting ready for a mad dash to hell which wasn’t the best idea in the world but he thought he could pull it off ok. Lots of cover and concealment around here if he could get further into it.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! Farley decided to spray a three inch shell of 42 pellet Remington Express long range buckshot low in the direction of the leader’s location he thought was directly in front of him and then he immediately fired a second round that sent nine rounds of double ought buck to his right in the general proximity of the other voice. Then he racket the shotgun once more and sent a round of buck and ball down range towards his left and then jumped up in a crouch and hauled ass to his right as the bewildered attackers let loose a volley of shots that were confused by the whistling of Farley’s lead in their direction and the breaking of branches and the thunk of that pumpkin ball load hitting home in something solid over towards what he considered the dumber or louder aggressor to his left.