The Hunter (1136 words)

    "Oblong rock formation, fallen limb, muddy puddle," I mutter to myself in disbelief.  It's the third time I've passed these landmarks.  My breath starts to catch at the realization.  Twilight is only an hour away; how could I have strayed this far?  I look around desperately, trying to find my error.  I'm a hunter.  I don't get lost.  Pick a landmark, walk to it, pick another, walk to it.  You don't go in circles that way. I'm a hunter. I can't be lost.

    Stopping for a moment to check my supplies, I reach into my pack and another pang of anxiety rips through my chest. The bounty inside includes a knife, quart of water, one pack of cheese crackers, a lighter, a Slim Jim.  I 'm not prepared to stay overnight.  No sleeping bag, no tent, no phone.

    "I'll be okay," I affirm aloud. "One night in the woods is nothing; I've done it many times."  But then other thoughts creep into my head. My ripped poncho that is now letting the cool rainwater seep through. The fact that Oregon's fall is cool and wet and it's going to get colder when the sun goes down. And the fact I am in a foriegn wilderness with many more dangers than in good old Indiana. 

    "Block them out, John. Thoughts like that are what get people killed  Stay calm. Think." I command myself.

    Getting myself under control, the first thought that comes to mind is fire. I have to get one started before nightfall. Cougar live in these woods. A few wolves even. But the most worrisome is the black bear; the reason Dave and I came here in the first place. 

    "I brought my 12-gauge, shouldn't be so worried about them," I reassure myself, "but one can't be too careful."

    As I dig in my pocket I realize I have only three extra shells.  I left the box back in the truck with Dave. I could use them to signal for help; three shots in a row.  But that would only leave the one slug I have in the chamber.  A pang of fear hits me in the chest, again. "Why do I only have three shells!"

    Thoughts keep racing through my head, but I have to get it together. Start the fire, figure the way out in the morning.  Dave has got to be looking for me.  I only left him for a minute to take a leak.  How in the hell did this happen?

  Everything is wet.  The rain hasn't been heavy but it's been persistent.  I'll have to try to cut into a thick branch for dry wood.  Pressing my knife deep into the bark of a poplar, I hear a rustle behind me.  Turning my head, I see nothing.

    The light is waning now.  Thirty minutes go by, but I've finally gotten just enough dry scraps for kindling.  Clicking the lighter, I hear another rustle. Or did I?

    Grey smoke, tiny flame, light. Just in time for nightfall, I heave a sigh of relief.  At least I did this right.  Warming my hands over the bantam flame, I notice the eye shine in the tree line.  Rising to grab the gun, a twig cracks, the eyes disappear.  Maybe I'm just imagining things; it's getting late and I'm hungry, cold, and my head's pounding.  Have to make the fire bigger before I get some rest.  Taking out my knife again, I walk a few steps over to the poplar I gashed earlier.  Chipping away at the wood, I again hear the rustle in the leaves.  Lifting my eyes to the source of the sound the knife slips, slicing skin and meat.  I hear the blood dripping before I feel the pain. 

  Don't panic.  Tearing off a piece of my shirt, I wrap the wound tightly.  I can smell the metallic scent of it as it seeps through the cloth.  Rustle, crack.  Again, I turn my sight to the trees and see two pairs of eyes shining back at me. This time they don't retreat.  Turning, reaching for the gun again, I feel them watching me.  I am now the prey.

    I fire a shot to scare them off and quickly reload in case I've failed.  The light is nearly gone. I must renew the fire or I'll be done for.  Awkwardly using my left hand, I carefully scrape the wood into chips. Thankfully, the rain has ceased for the moment.  Piling the chips, I add a few small branches.  The fire is hot enough to dry them out now. 

    My attention draws back to my hand again.  Not to the pain as much as to the smell.  If the scent is noticeable to me, it must be overwhelming to whatever stalks me out there.  "Now I'm just overreacting," I console myself.  "My head is pounding and I'm hurt and tired.  Of course I'm Imagining things."

    Just as I calm down again, the light of the fire grows brighter, revealing all that lurks in the shadows. Eyes all around me. Silhouettes slinking through the brush.  I start to hear their pants, their mouths watering.  My heart races, I fire another shot.  It does nothing to detour them.  Drawing closer, their shadowy forms begin to solidify.  I can see their sinewy muscles, their sharp fangs.

    Last shot, have to make it count.  Just as I load again, one leaps towards me.  I don't even get off the shot.  Hot breath in my face, claws digging in my flesh. I thought it would hurt more, flesh ripping from bone. How did it turn out this way?  I just walked away for a moment.  I told Dave I'd be right back...

    Shaking.  I feel someone shaking me.  "John, you okay,"  I hear in the distance.  I never thought God would call me by name.  I have to thank him.  Dying like that wasn't as painful as I thought it would be.

    "John, wake up."  I hear louder this time.  "John!"  I open my eyes to a clouded vision of my buddy, Dave. I feel sad that they got him too.

    "John, you took a heck of a fall there man."

    "What," I manage to whisper.

    "You fell man, when you went to take a leak.  I went to look for you when you didn't come back. Hit your head on that weird looking rock there."

    Then it started coming back to me.  Those rocks looked stable, then I saw a bear off in the distance.  Turned too fast to grab my gun and down I went. In disbelief, I feebly brought my hand up to examine it.  Nothing, not a scratch.

    "You don't know how glad I am to see you Dave. I thought I'd never see your ugly mug again."

    "Let's get you out of here..."