Wanted: Sharpshooter

by Florence Witkop

CHAPTER 20

  From the trees, through the air and straight towards Max, with no scream to broadcast its intentions, in a series of huge bounds. At first I thought it was a night bird, an owl perhaps, until my mind registered that it was too large for any bird.

  It flew like a hurled javelin towards Max, in huge leaps that gobbled up the ground between them. Because the deer carcass belonged to it and Max was in the way.

  I screamed, an incoherent sound that broke the silence of the night.

  Max was ahead of me. He swung the thirty-ought-six in place and fired in one motion. The cat screamed in agony, hit and hurting, pausing, but still coming, lessening the distance to Max with each leap.

  Max shot again. But nothing happened. I heard him swear even as the cat finally screamed, and I knew the gun had jammed. It had happened once when I was a child but my father had handled it for me, taking the bullets out carefully, one by one, so the gun wouldn’t explode in his lap. It had taken a long time. Minutes.

  The cougar made another leap. One more and he’d be on top of Max. I raised the shotgun, knowing it wouldn’t be enough but not knowing what else to do. I squeezed the trigger.

  Both barrels went off at once. It happens sometimes. The force of two barrels going off simultaneously sent it rocketing from my hands, over my head and onto the ground behind me where I couldn’t reach it in time to shoot again.

  Max was as good as dead.

  But the cougar didn’t reach him. Instead, in the middle of that last jump, it crumpled and fell to the ground.

  Max threw the useless thirty-ought-six to the ground, then ran to the shotgun and scooped it from the ground, grabbing shells from me and shoving them into the chamber as fast as possible. Then he returned to the cougar and pumped both barrels into its body. Then he repeated the action. Then he did it again. Then he turned to me and said quietly, “It’s dead.”

  We stood for a long time staring down at the body of the cougar. It was much larger than I'd have thought possible. Huge. An anomaly, like the warden suspected.

  Then, as minutes passed and nothing happened, as the cat stayed dead, we went to the kitchen where we made coffee and spent the rest of the night on the porch sitting on the floor and leaning against the walls with our feet stuck out in front of us, not talking, not needing to, but needing to be together because there was no way either of us could sleep. Even Max, the hardened Ranger, would not sleep that night.

  As we sat, I started shaking. Couldn't help it, couldn't stop. I pulled slightly away from Max so he wouldn't know.

  "What's wrong?" He was puzzled. "Am I now on the don't-touch list?"

  "It's not that." I was shaking so hard that anyone listening could know.

  An arm came around my shoulders. "Damn!" Then softer, "You are reacting to what happened."

  "It's over." I fought to hold back tears. "No reason to be scared now."

  "That's when fear is the worst. When the 'what-ifs' and the 'might-have-happened' take over. When your body realizes what it's been through and reacts. Violently."

  "I don't want it to happen. I want to be done with the whole thing. To forget it ever happened."

  A snorting sound told me what he thought of that idea and, moments later, I was pulled close to his warm, no-nonsense body. It was only then that I realized the shaking was from cold as well as fear. "I’m freezing. But it's warm out."

  "You're in shock." Max pulled me into his lap, and then he wrapped both arms around me and held me tight. "It happens sometimes."

  "But it shouldn't happen. The horses are safe. We're safe." I did my best to crawl right inside of him. To find the heart of that warmth that was beginning to push the cold and fear away. "I feel so foolish." I wanted to sit up all alone, to be independent and strong. But when I tried to move away, I only shivered harder and felt like ice was entering my veins.

  "Hush." He settled me more comfortably in his lap and leaned both of us back against the wall. Keeping me in his arms the whole time. Warming me. "By dawn you'll feel better."

  "Morning is too far off."

  "No matter how long, I'll keep you warm. I'll keep you safe."

  I moved my hands, slid them inside his shirt the better to feel his chest, his warm skin, his steadily beating heart.

  I heard a sound near my head. Realized it was coming from Max himself. A moan. "Are you hurt?"

  A long silence. Then, "Not the way you're thinking."

  I tried to see him in the dark and failed. "Then how?"

  "Never mind."

  "Tell me, Max."

  A low chuckle without mirth. "Nothing for you to worry about."

  "I can't help you if you don't tell me what's wrong."

  "I'll tell you later." Then, oddly, "Maybe."

  "And that's all you'll say? Later? Maybe?"

  "That's all I'll say here and now." He held me closer if that was possible. "Now try to get some sleep. We have a big day ahead of us."

  "Doing what? The horses are safe."

  "Returning Green Forest Stable to normal."

  He was right. I lapsed against him, my hands still against his chest, and let his body warm mine. And we stayed that way until the sun was high and hunger drove us into the kitchen.