"You’re right," Erick answers. "I shot me one, but the damn thing got the slip on me." Lying to his friends is easy as long as it makes him look better. Just because Bob can admit missing his mark, doesn't mean I have to, he thinks as he sits with his buddies.
They arrive at the campsite, each making his own food. After last night, they won't trust each other again.
"Want a yummy sandwich, Bob?" Skinner asks him.
"Don't you come near my food."
"Mine either, I had enough of your cooking last night," Greg says.
"I got some more grasshoppers in the cooler," Erick adds.
Skinner and Erick laugh, but the other two are mad. Really, they are almost sick thinking about the fried grasshoppers on their food.
The four boys are hanging around the camp. One stretches out on the ground, one is sitting at the picnic table, another sits in a camp chair, and yet another is leaning against Bob's SUV. Just good old boys hanging around shooting the shit, with high hopes and great expectations for the return trip to the woods.
"Do we have any mushrooms left?" Greg asks.
"No, we ate those all last night," Bob answers, as he's chewing on a lunch meat sandwich.
"I've got a good feeling about this hunt. I know we're going to get a turkey today," Skinner says.
"I don't know about your feelings, they're usually gas," Erick jokes.
"Followed by shit!" Greg smiles.
Laughter is in the air again. It never takes these young men long to make a joke. All four are laughing and getting along, fried grasshoppers all but forgotten.
It's time to head back to the woods.
"Are you ready?" Bob asks. He gets up and stretches his legs, then he waits on the others to do the same.
Greg isn’t sure he wants to go back out for the hunt, because it’s a nice day. Actually, it's an exceptional day: warm and sunny.
"Hey, I think I would rather fish when we go back," he says to the other three. "I think that nice big lake on the other side might be worth checking out. We can get some fresh fish for dinner." He looks at Bob now, as he waits for his reply.
"Really sounds good to me. What do you guys think?" Bob looks to the other two. He knows they will agree with whatever he says.
"Sure, sounds fine," Erick says.
Skinner just shrugs his shoulders. He doesn't give a shit what Greg does. He just wants to shoot a damn bird.
They load up with more determination this time. They plan to get a turkey one way or another. They drive down the old gravel roads, watching the trees go by. The woods look unnaturally dark today. The sun is out, fully sparkling light everywhere, but the shadows in the forest seem looming.
This time they park by the lake. They exit the vehicle in the military style they do so well, as if the troops have arrived.
Greg scans the area, taking in the size of the lake.
"Now that’s a big lake," he says, with the excitement of a true fisherman. He strolls over to the dock and checks out the area as the others get their hunting gear ready.
"Here you go," Bob says, tossing the keys to Greg. "Don’t go hot roddin' her." He places his finger to his neck, sliding it from one side to the other, as if cutting his throat.
"You take the fun out of everything!’ Greg whines like a kid, then kicks and screams; he's acting the part well.
"Hey, the woods here look dandy. What to check them out?" Skinner asks, he's just itching to get on the hunt.
Bob glances around, also scanning the scene.
"They do look inviting, let’s try them out," he says.
"Worse comes to worse, there's probably mushrooms out there if nothing else. We saw that car parked close to here this morning," says Erick. He's excited when he realizes he's had another idea. Wow, two in two days, working on a record! he boasts to himself.
"Fish and mushrooms, YUMMY!" Greg says, as he gets out his fishing gear. His facial expression is sly. "If nothing else, you know I will catch a fish."
"With that note, let's hit the woods," Bob tells the boys.
After entering these rugged woods, all three decide to split up. Erick will travel south, Bob's to go north, and Skinner will head west. Each one is very much ready for his kill.
Bob scans the plot of ground he has chosen to hunt, looking for signs of his prey. He trudges across a small marshy area, slowly disappearing into the forest.
Skinner looks around, and then straight ahead. Traveling alone, he begins to travel his path. He wonders if he'll even get a chance to fire his gun.
Erick is eagerly ready to find his bird of choice. He changes his course in the direction of his area; he walks on.
* * *
Greg takes to his fishing as the woods swallow up his friends. He's enjoying his day already; second throw out he has a nice trout, a keeper.
"Now that’s some good eating," he says out loud to no one. He would rather fish any day of the week, than go in those old woods. He looks over to the edge where his friends went in. He squints to get a better look. He thinks he sees something large crawling. After he studies the tree line closer, he doesn’t see a thing. Oh well, he thinks to himself as he goes back to his fishing. He picks up his pole and casts it a good distance in the lake. It makes a light "plunk" as it breaks the surface. He forgets all about the dark figure he had seen in the woods.
* * *
"What the HELL!" Skinner yells to himself. He doesn't care if he scares off all the wildlife. He's been in the damn woods over two hours and now he's being attacked. Crawling over his entire body are small, no tiny, ticks. Turkey Ticks is what the hunter calls them. Very tiny black dots that will bury themselves in your skin, then suck your blood. This is a new one on Skinner, he's never seen so many, ever. There they are covering him, crawling everywhere. Their little legs feel like barbed wire digging into his flesh. They're also biting him here and there, pain like salt in a wound. Have to get them off, is all he can think. He strips free of most of his clothing, smacking and slapping himself, trying to be rid of the tiny crawling pests. He grabs his cell phone, types a message, hits the send button, and he's leaving these woods.
* * *
Bob is resting against a tree when he decides to move on. With his gun on his shoulder, he travels deeper in the forest. He has seen a few turkey, but nothing in range of his sights. These woods are full of hills giving way to large valleys. He senses something in the atmosphere here that is different from any woods he's been in. Not quite placing this emotion, he takes one step, stops, and then listens.
Crack!
He can hear the sound of a step, not far behind him. He steps again.
Crunch!
He hears this time.
"Shit!" he mumbles to himself. What in the heck is tracking, no, stalking me? he thinks as he's frozen with fear, can’t move, don’t let it know you’re here. He's been hunting since he was hold enough to carry a gun, and he's never seen or heard anything like it. If it is a wild canine, it should be growling or snarling by now. Deer, turkey, and anything else, these thoughts go through his mind, would run, not stalk. Minutes pass, standing there so still, afraid. Turn around and face it! He couldn’t listen to his mind, because his body's frozen. He begins to understand that dreadful feeling he had earlier.
* * *
Erick is becoming discouraged with hunting in this area. He wanders around in a valley to search for a better location. From time to time, he hears a low growl, dismissing it as a bobcat lurking around. He knows there's not much danger in one attacking, especially in the daylight. Erick walks up a rocky ravine. He wants to see how the top of the hill looks. There is lots of hiding up there for a nest or two. He has hopes of spotting a turkey, although he's about to give up on seeing one after this long. Maybe I’ll head back to the clearing and wait for my buddies, he thinks as he climbs the hill. His left foot steps down in some rocks and he hears a sound.
Hisssss!
And he knows he's in trouble. His foot settled in the middle of some
rocks, he's scared to look down, but he can't stop his eyes. Oh hell! is all he can think. A large ball of squirming snakes, not just any snakes, but copperheads. They're maybe an inch from his boot. Terror floods his soul. He's deathly scared of snakes, a true phobia. One of his worst fears is staring him in the face. He slowly reaches to get his cell phone.
* * *
Greg has caught more than enough fish for them to eat, small mouth bass, trout, and a few nice redear. For the last hour, he's been stretched out on the dock, with his shirt off to tan his muscles. He's enjoying the relaxation.
Might as well get my gear put away, he thinks as he stands up and rubs his own abs, feeling the muscles under his fingertips. He knows he looks good and he works hard to keep it that way. He's almost done putting the gear away when he gets a text message from Skinner.
Covered in ticks, on my way, shit. The message reads.
You’re a dumb ass! Greg replies to Skinner by typing, then presses the send button. He grins at the thought of his friend whining about some ticks. As he throws the last of his gear in the SUV, he sees a half-naked man stumbling from the woods. He's dropping clothing as he goes, including his gun on the ground. Nothing but fat bubbling like a pot on the stove, he knows it's Skinner.
"Damn boy, run around like that you're asking for something to bite you!" he yells at his friend.
Skinner doesn't pay any attention to his comment; he's running straight to the lake. The water rose several feet with a splash as the young man jumped in and went under.
Greg walks fast to his friend. Looking at the water, he can see the lake turning black on the surface. So much black, moving around and crawling, as the ticks struggle to find solid ground.
Skinner emerges about ten feet away from the black mess. He gasps for breath as the cold water stops the air from entering into his lungs. Running now to save his friend, Greg jumps in beside Skinner, and pulls him to the shore. He can see his friend still has ticks on his body. Both boys are now freezing, but Greg still has enough adrenaline running, so he doesn't much notice. Greg tugs at Skinner to get him to his feet. The two walk together as if they are lovers, Skinner under Greg’s arm as Greg holds him up. Slowly they move to the truck, and then Skinner opens the door to rest on the seat.
Greg goes to the spot where Skinner had dropped his items. He picks them up and looks at the woods, as a sense of unease washes over him. He spins around in the direction of Skinner and jogs back to the vehicle.
"I got your stuff, but the clothes are covered with ticks."
"Just get my cell phone from the pants and put the gun away. Leave those ticks out there, I've had enough," Skinner tells him.
Greg receives another message. He tilts his eyes down at the screen, and the word "Erick."
Snakes, help, the text states. What's happening in those woods? Greg wonders as he stares at the words. Think, he tells his brain. He knows Erick is deathly scared of snakes. This isn’t a laughing matter, not after what just happened with Skinner. He's trying to think of something to help his friend. He remembers an article he had read about snakes that might help Skinner. Noise, no movement.
Real slowly, turn on a LOUD ring tone, drop phone fast at snakes and run. Hope this works!! He employs the send button. If his friend does what he's instructing him to do, they will lose cell phone contact with Erick, but it's the only thing he can think of.
Well, I wonder what's happening to Bob? Greg thinks as the cold water is now seeping into his bones. As if on cue, he has another message, Bob, the phone screen reads. Greg opens the message.
HELP!
Oh shit, he knows what he must do. Skinner's resting in the SUV and Greg turns to him.
"Bob and Erick are both in trouble out there, but right now I got to get to Bob. Which way did he travel?" he asks.
As Skinner explains the directions, Greg puts on a long sleeved shirt. He has no time to change the wet pants. He grabs his gun, spins on his heels, and flees in the direction of his friends. His heart is pounding so fast over worry for Bob and Erick. He sloshes through the marshy area to rescue a friend, and then disappears in the woods.
* * *
Erick waits for a reply from Greg, as it seems to be taking an eternity. He hears his cell phone make that sound, that a text message has arrived. He presses the open to read button and stands there staring at the text message his friend has sent. What the hell will that do, make them crazy, or even bite me? He thinks this at the same time he is scanning for his ring tones, clicking on the first one. He turns up the volume, slowly dangles the phone over the snakes, he then drops the phone, withdraws his leg, and runs fast. He couldn’t believe what he saw, reflecting now as he slows down his speed to catch his breath. The snakes struck at the phone before it hit the ground, hissing loudly while lashing out; they looked like a gnarled punk group head banging at a rock concert. Crazy shit, he thinks, but it worked. Phoneless and not to mention half scared out of his wits, Erick begins his journey out of there. He's heading to the safety of the lake. He jumps when he hears any noise that sounds like a snake.
* * *
Greg sends a message to Bob, on my way, then puts the phone in his shirt pocket, remembering the pants are too wet.
Greg may not like hunting, but he's excellent in the woods. He can track a rabbit for a mile, his dad always told people, and he knew it as the truth. He’s always had this gift, and he loves to use it. At the edge of the marsh, he steps in the woods and begins following his friend's prints, hoping he'll find him soon. So many hills back in this section of the forest; it's making it rough to move quickly. He watches for signs of a snapped twig, disturbance of the earth, or a good old plain footprint. Tracking is nothing more then noticing an unnatural disturbance, something uncommon for an animal to have done.
Bob hears his cell phone and he knows it's a text from Greg. Fear is keeping him from looking at his message. It took all of his courage to send the first and only message. He can’t look. He knows Greg is on the way, that's what matters.
Greg and he are like brothers, always together, at either school or anything else they can find to do. Most of the time, they talk about girlfriends. Sure all four are friends, but Greg shares a bond more like a kinship. The only way to really explain is, a friendship you would die for, strong. I will stand here until Greg arrives.
* * *
Erick is wandering through the woods, which are now slightly darkened from the evening moving in. It is maybe six or seven o'clock, he didn’t have his phone to check. Not too dark if out in the open air, but in a forest thick with trees, not much sunlight can get in. His nerves are on the end of their rope after that scare with the snakes. In his run of fright, he has gotten himself turned around. Not real bad, he thinks, just a little. How does one get lost just a little? He never thinks of that. He keeps telling himself he will get on track soon. This is a big forest and he knows how bad it can be to lose yourself. It can take days to find him. He knows the rule of being lost, stop and hug a tree. Okay, that might sound dumb, but it holds true. If you stop and hug a tree, someone will come along and find you. If you stay on the move, more likely you will always stay a step ahead. That is not what you want when you're lost. He takes a deep breath, holds his gun to his chest, and moves on with hope he'll get on the right trail soon. He wants out of here, like yesterday.
* * *
Skinner rests in the vehicle, still freezing from the cold lake water. He looks at the steering column and sees the keys dangling. Thank God, he thinks, feeling relief as he starts the engine and feels the heater come on. He searches the truck, looking for something warm to put on his body. He locates a few clothing items that will work. Struggling to dress in the SUV, he finally gets it accomplished. He's tired now from the ordeal he went through, so he relaxes while waiting for his friends to emerge from the darkened woods. His body still hurts from the remaining ticks holding on to his flesh. He picks a few off that he can reach, but most are on his back. His eyelids ease shut and he begins to
sleep.
* * *
Greg is tracking and still following Bob's prints, up a hill, down a hill, through a valley. The tracks are getting fresher again, so he knows that means he is getting closer to Bob. He'll surely be stumbling across him soon. He thinks about hollering to him, but he's afraid it will spook Bob. He didn’t want to do that to a man with a gun. It looks as if Bob stayed on a small deer trail, as Greg watches for prints. He wonders what has happened to Bob out there, because his friend's a strong minded person, and not easily frightened. This is definitely out of the norm of his character; he's never asked Greg for help. I'm on my way!
Bob is standing so still, he looks as if he's taken root, now growing and becoming a part of the forest. Blood is rushing to his head so hard, the sounds of the ocean are in his brain, slapping around making him off balance. Turn and shoot, he keeps telling himself, but his body won’t listen. If you keep standing here sooner or later it will attack, then what? I don't know. Slowly he reaches for his gun hanging from his shoulder and gently slides it away, he now has it in both hands. TURN! His body finally listens this time, letting him spin. Bob aims straight ahead and pulls the trigger. He hears something running in the woods, some scared animal. He stares straight ahead at the space he released his bullet, watching in horror as someone is falling.
"GREG!" he yells.
His feet take to running, stumbling on everything underfoot trying to get to his friend.
* * *
Skinner wakes up with this awful notion of his whole body on fire. He shakes his head to remove the fogginess from sleep. He remembers where he is, and why his skin is so sore. Through the windows, he can see the moon shinning. Dark, so dark; it is too late for the boys still to be out. He grabs his phone to make a call, but he glances at the screen and sees a text message and three missed calls. He decides to open the text first. It's from Bob.
Get help Greg's been shot! The text message reads. Holy Shit, Skinner thinks wildly as he reads the message. The three missed calls are also from Bob, the last one maybe an hour earlier. He tries calling but only gets the voice mail. Next, he tries Erick, with the same result. Last is Greg's phone, he dials his friend's number, still no answer. Now he dials 911, he's trying to tell the operator where he is and what happened to his friends. The person on the other end says they got a call for that location earlier in the night from a man claiming he had shot his friend. Officers came by only to find a drunken man asleep in his truck. What the hell is this person saying, a drunk who called? And then Skinner understands. He tells the operator the drunk man is him, and his friends are really out there lost and hurt.