The Hunter

The Hunter by Christopher Void The boy was awakened by his father. He rose up into darkness and smelled the gunpowder that lingered on his father's hands. Are you up, his father asked, Yes I'm up sir. I just need to get ready, Well then get to it and come on down to the truck. The boy nodded and his father left the room as his footsteps quivered the wooden floor with resonance. The boy stayed seated for a moment before he shook his head. He pulled the blanket off of his legs and jumped off the bed and started towards the closet to find his clothes. He walked through the darkness like a fish swims in a reef, weaving through the dark coral on memory and instinct--finding the avenue out just as the boy found his jeans and socks and boots without the slightest misstep. He put his clothes on without making a sound so he wouldn't wake his sister. When he finished he walked over to the foot of her bed and looked at her for a moment as he had watched his father do many times. He saw that beside her was his hat so he carefully reached over her and got his hat and placed it over his ruffled brown hair. The boy turned around and walked out of the room

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and down the stairs--his footsteps echoing throughout the house. When the boy reached the floor below he found his father at the table with a pot of coffee. His father motioned for the boy to sit down and as the boy pulled up a chair his father poured a second cup of coffee and laid it in front of his son. Thank you, said the boy, and he lifted the cup to his mouth but before he could drink his father said, Thats real hot you know, I know it's hot but I can drink it, Well alright then. I just got it from the store and the owner said it was new but much better than his other coffee. I haven't drank mine yet but why don't you tell me if its as good as the owner said it was or if I just got swindled out of a dollar. The boy nodded and drank the coffee and burned his mouth. That's hot, the boy said, yelling in pain while he brought his hand to his mouth, Be quiet or you'll wake the girls, But it burns pa, I thought you said you knew it was hot, Yeah but I didn't know it would be that hot, You should have listened, his father said calmly, I'll never set you on the wrong. Well how did it taste, I didn't even get a chance to taste it it was so hot. The boy's father laughed and then asked his son Well how you going to tell me if I got swindled or not, I'm still planning on telling you sir but I just need a minute before I do it, Well that's good, his father said, standing, I'm going to finish packing the truck so you just set there. The father walked to the door and opened it and set out into the dark morning. As the boy sat in the chair he noticed the kitchen stove and the oven and the black pots that hung on the shelves. He realized his father was not about to fix him breakfast and that only provoked the hunger inside his stomach. He usually would have had breakfast when he woke. He thought about this and figured he probably didn't need to eat because he was becoming a man that day and men don't need to eat like boys do. He smiled at the

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thought and tired to fill his mind with things other than hunger. He surveyed the kitchen and tried to discern its contents through the dark. He was able to place the kitchen's general layout with his eyes but soon after he discovered that he couldn't actually see much else. The kitchen's small novelties and ornaments were invisible under the blanket darkness however the boy still knew where everything was. His mind painted a picture of what he remembered the kitchen had looked like--negating the confusion caused by darkness. *** The boy is sitting in a corner of a derelict and roofless bakery. The sky above him is opaque and frigidly hyetal. The enemy had wiped out the boy’s comrades and he figured he would join them relatively soon. They had been twelve in all--separated from their individual companies because of failed assaults and surprise attacks. They started as two and gained in number over the course of a few weeks, taking in anyone friendly. They had become a band of survivors--that is until they found the boy unconscious underneath a stone slab and treated his wounds. Two days later all but the boy were dead. But that is how things had gone his entire life and as he sat in the corner of the bakery the boy remembered the first time he went hunting with his father and how it was the last time he ever saw him. It had taken him a day to walk back home and another day to walk back with his mother and sister to where his father had died just to find that nothing was left of him. The truck wasn’t even there. It took one more day to go back home. Several months later his sister contracted polio and died within a year. Her death hurt as much as his father's--once again he couldn't do anything to stop it. For the next eight years however, he lived a secluded and tranquil life with his mother, unaffected by the world

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around them until he received a letter from the army and his mother died in his arms the next day. She told him it was heartbreak. The boy sat in the corner and recollected his miseries for two days before coming to the realization that the vicissitudes of life can never be undone so he decides to stand up and get what's coming to him. He starts to walk out of the bakery but before he takes three steps he notices an unbalance in his pants. His stasis over the two previous days had left him with a pair of pants that had been soiled frequently. All hell, the boy yells, and he takes off his boots and soiled pants and walks over to a corpse. As the boy unstraps the soldier's belt he hears the faint whispers of a harsh language. He stops moving and concentrates his ear on his surroundings. He hears the harsh Siroc coming from the south. The hunter closes his eyes and starts to feel the wind as it carries to him the sounds of his surroundings. From the southwest he could feel the hawthorn's vibrations and convulsions as if he were at its core. From the southeast he could feel the falling plaster from a devastated building as though it were right above him. And directly to the south he could feel the garrulous banter of two men on patrol. The hunter instinctively forgets that he isn't wearing pants but instead he picks his gun out of the corner and steps to his side to where the wall had been destroyed and only stood three feet high. He crouches down and brings the rear sight of his M1 Garand to his eye. He finds the first man in his sights and fires a bullet into his head. He pulls the operating rod and releases the spent shell and pushes the operating rod back in and fires a second bullet before the shell hits the ground. The wind must have plumed before the bullet hit the soldier because it hit four inches lower than the hunter intended--putting a whole in each of the man's cheeks. The soldier screams in pain and spins around looking for his

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assailant but a bullet cuts through the headwind and passes the hawthorn and infiltrates the back of the man’s head before he even hears the sound of it firing. The hunter remains standing on the decrepit and broken wall on which he had climbed to angle off his final shot. He looks down upon the corpses to make sure they keep motionless. Satisfied, he steps off the ledge and hurries to put on his new pants. After he laces up his boots the boy grabs his gun and walks two hundred yards to the spot were the two soldiers lay and he looks down at them inquisitively, as though he does not know what happened to them. The boy looks around and finds their guns--Karabiner 98ks. He picks one up and inspects it. The boy finds that the Karabiner is not as heavy as his M1-in fact it weighs about the same as his old Springfield. He checks the feed and then decides that his M1 is probably more reliable. He also doesn’t feel like taking off his scope and putting it on a new gun so the boy throws the Karabiner onto the dust laden floor after taking out the striper clip. He bends down and scavenges the bodies and discovers about a dozen full clips and two loaves of bread so he puts them into his sack and stands up. He observes his surroundings and concludes that it would be best to drag the bodies into the corner--using the wall as a screen. And it is a good thing he did because as soon as he finishes hiding the bodies the afferent wind brings him another sound from the south like a nerve sending impulses to its brain. The boy hears the faint creak of a chain and the reverberating grind of metal on rock. He runs. Sack over his shoulder and gun in hand. Dodging boulders and bushes the boy flails--moving his entire body as fast as possible in order to get to the hawthorn before the tank comes over the hill. The sound of it is louder now. Painful. The boy runs faster. His long strides create the illusion of

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flight as does an antelope. He glides over the dirt and pebbles and every blade of grass as if they refuse to let the boy touch them--unworthy of his contact. He is fifteen yards away from the hawthorn when the tank rolls over the hill and shines its light down onto the small village. The boy dives before the light hits him and soars through the air and into the hawthorn barely rustling a branch. The boy stands inside the shroud the tree provides as he watches the tank come over the hill. He shivers as he sees two more tanks and around seventy-five infantry. The platoon follows the main road into the village and the boy swears when it turns right to avoid a fallen church tower in the middle of the road and although the bell had cracked and would never work again, the boy swears that he had heard the sound of a knell. The boy becomes helpless as he watches the platoon heading towards the hawthorn. He stands without movement as he rejects the impulse to twitch his finger or blink his eye. He doesn't even think or pray, fearing the very presence of God will draw the enemy to his tree. Regardless, that is were they are headed and when they are ten yards away the boy draws in a final breath as a last straw of hopeful asylum. He holds for two minutes as the platoon passes twenty feet in front of the tree. The boy makes the mistake of thinking he is going to get away cleanly and as soon as he does two infantry men straggle away from the line and head over to the tree. They stumble as they attempt to walk, talk, and open their belts simultaneously. They get to the hawthorn with their pants down and start relieving themselves onto the tree and the boy's pants. He flares but is thankful for the smell of alcohol and the blindness it gives its drinkers. Wir zerstört diesem dorf der vergangenen woche, Ich kann sehen, Dass. Es ist direkt vor mir, Nein, die Stadt ist vor Ihren Arsch und der Baum ist vor Ihren der Schwanz, Mein Arsch hat Augen, Ach

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wirklich? The boy knows none of their language and even if did, not much more would be discerned because the irascible Siroc, seemingly taking pity on the boy, releases an inexorable squall that sends the two men running back to the line. The boy holds still for five minutes until the platoon ascends up and over the next hill, leading them away from the village. When he feels it is safe he manoeuvers out of the hawthorn and into the open. His pants are once again sodden and the boy is more exasperated by this than he is elated by his exiguous escape. He treads back the way he came, trampling over the grass and brush like an elephant with an itch. When he reaches the two dead soldiers he pulls one out from the corner and unbuckles the soldier's belt and pulls off his pants. The boy does the same with his own pants and throws them onto the soldier's face, There you go. Hope you enjoy that. The boy pulls on the soldier's pants and buckles them and walks back into the open. He stops...He turns around and goes to the second soldier and pulls off his pants and stuffs them into his sack. I havnt had more shit than luck when it comes to pants, he says, smiling, and he closes his sack and takes a few steps and as he walks his hand slips against the bottom of his coat. The boy stops. His coat is wet. He huffs twice and turns around and looks at the krauts. What the hell, the boy says, I already got the pants. I mightaswell make the whole damned set. The boy throws off his coat and takes one of the soldiers'. He begins to walk away but once again turns around and glances at the soldier whom he threw his soiled pants on. He walks over to the man and picks up his pants and throws them to then side then he walks back into the open and heads west towards the hawthorn and into the darkness that lies over the hill. ***

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The boy awoke and the sun roared with crimson fire. The light came up from the horizon like a wave, undulantly draping the darkness with myriad torrid colors while he sat in the passenger seat of his father's blue truck as it rolled over the mountains. Mornin again, the boy's father said, I don't suppose that coffee affected you much did it, No sir, it tasted good though. The man wasnt lyin. His father nodded and smiled and looked at the boy and saw that he was looking out the window again. The sun was draping the mountains with a red veil and the ocotillo that ran down the precipice were dancing in the gentle breeze. Some view, his father asked, Yessir. What makes it look like that, I dont know son. Ive found that nature is randomly beautiful, It sure is now, Well we can come out here more if you would like, You said this is where your dad first took you hunting, I did, Then I think I'd like to come here a lot. They sat in silence for a couple of minutes before the boy asked, Can we come back next weekend, How do you know you will even like huntin, I dont know but I know you like it, Well we can come up here any time you want. Not next week though. Your mother will have a fit. You just tell me when you want to come and I will take you. A few hours passed and the landscape developed vibrancy with the heightened elevation. The sun was nearly at its apex when the boys father brought the truck to the right of the road and stopped it at the top of a hill that gradually sloped down hundreds of feet before it leveled off into a vast steppe. The boy could not believe his eyes when he jumped down from the truck and looked into the distance. Below him was a red and grey bowl that was surrounded by sporadic instances of juniper, mesquite, and acacia. The crater was immense and although its rim had enough vegetation to fill the bowl, it was voluminously filled with nothing but dust and stone. As far as I know not many people

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know about it, his father said. You cant see it from the road because the hill slopes up twenty feet or so before it drops, Is this where we gonna hunt, asked the boy, Yes it is. This is where my pa took me when I was your age, Where are all the elk, the boy asked, Theyll be here. They have to go across the crater to get to the other side because goin around takes too long. Usually my pa and I would be here earlier than this but we didnt live so far away then, Why did you move, the boy asked his father while looking up at him. His father paused and looked down the steppe and then looked at his son and said I’ll tell you that when youre older. Now go get the guns from the truck. The boy and his father walked beside each other down the slope, each carrying a gun and some food and some water. They walked for two miles before the boys father spotted a small plateau to the left. When they reached the ledge they both put their articles down and sat beside them. His father pointed to a spot a few hundred yards away and said, For whatever reason they always come from there and once they come out they will make their way down to that spot over there. Mostly theyll wait around there for two or three minutes or so and then they usually move on, So we have to be quick, Yes, we will have to fire at the same time, What if I miss, You never missed a can in your life and the elk are bigger, But theyre far, As long as its straight youll hit it dont you worry. The bullet goes a long way before it falls. Quick too and fastern you can hear it, So they dont know it then, Know what, That theyre dyin, Not if the shots perfect but sometimes it takes moren one and they know it between the two, Okay. *** The boy had managed to find a small hollow under a hill and had slept a few hours before the sun glitters in the east and wakes him. It is still early and cool and dew

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sits at the tip of each blade of grass like some terrified animal grasping at the edge of a cliff. The boy rolls out of the hollow and as the grass springs back from under his body it releases a cloud of moisture into the air and through this cloud comes a bullet that tears through the earth beneath it. The boy rolls backwards and stands with his back leaning on the face of the hill in one motion. He becomes flush and his assailant looses sight of him even though he is on higher ground. Damn it where’d you go, he yells. Are you American, the boy asks. Yes holy shit I am. I nearly killed you. The boy stepped away from the hill and looked up at the American soldier who couldn’t have been older that sixteen. When he saw the boy’s outfit, the soldier aimed his gun at him and said, What’s with the uniform? I’m American. Arizona. My uniform got messy so I took this one. I got an extra if you want it. The soldier lowered his gun and said, No thanks, you’re likely to get killed wheren that thing. Well I suppose it’s a good thing you can’t hit a standing target from twenty yards. I guess you’re right. The boy turns around and starts to walk away. Where are you going? What are you doing, the soldier behind him asks. Leaving. Why? There are three hundred men a half mile behind me. I’ll take you to them and get you set up with some appropriate clothing. I bet you haven’t had a good meal in a while.

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Thanks guy, but no thanks. I’m bad luck and I’d rather not spread it around any more than I already have. Suit yourself, but you sure don’t want to go that way. That’s where we’re headed tomorrow. What’s there? Over that hill there’s a minefield guarded by snipers all around. General apparently got a map of the field but the only safe zone is a two-foot wide line right down the middle. It’s even marked out on the field. Creates a bottleneck for the snipers. How many snipers are there? They say six to ten. Why not go around? That’s where they got us. They know we can’t go around unless we want to cover ten times the land. The Ofanto is right behind the minefield and this bridge is the only one big enough to hold tanks. Thanks, the boy says, and he walks away from his fellow soldier. Where you goin’ fella, the soldier asks, but he gets no response. Understanding what the boy is about to do, the soldier runs around and down the hill to catch up with him. Hey, wait for me, he yells. I’m coming with you. No you’re not, the boy responds as he takes a hard glance over his shoulder. You go back where you belong. Why don’t you go back where you belong? The boy laughs and doesn’t stop walking—recognizing the callowness of the soldier’s demand. After a moment he suddenly stops and slowly turns around to face the

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soldier. He looks upon a younger version of himself. Seemingly gentle and innocent but there is an air about him, a certain look in his eyes. The boy asks him, What’s your name? Wesley Staunton. You hunt Wesley? All my life. The boy pauses. Okay. *** The elk had come out into the steppe just as his father had said they would. Twenty of them traversed down the slope tentatively because it was much steeper than the slope that the boy and his father had previously descended. The two hunters did not need to look at each other for any sort of acknowledgement. An understanding was created in the silence. Rocks and dust slipped down the slope as the elk herd gradually and slowly slid down the hill. A few slow and supine minutes passed before the herd reached flat land and stopped before the would start the ascent up the other side. The two hunters saw their targets as if distance did not exist. Each saw his own target and could feel its warm breath on his skin as though it was right in front of him. Two bullets were released simultaneously and flew side by side until they drew and faded to their respective targets as if their flight paths had already been written. The two elk that had been hit fell without even a thought about why. The rest of the herd vanished up the slope and out of the bowl as if they had the wings of an eagle making a sharp climb up a mountainside. The boy and his father looked upon the remaining elk with complacency. Now we have food for a while, his father said, How are

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we going to get them back to the truck, We will go get the truck and drive it to them. The boy nodded and they both stood up and slung their rifles over their back and started the ascent up the hill. *** Down the hill lies two boulders, each large enough to hide a medium sized person. Before the boulders are a couple of rows of willow that had provided the boy and Wesley a much needed veil to get to the boulders. Fifty yards beyond the rocks is the minefield that stretches for about a hundred yards. Behind that is a wooden structure, two stories high and as wide as the minefield. Wesley manages to count four men on the right side and three on the left but he misses the two men on the lower floor. Count again, the boy says. And this time Wesley spots the two men he missed before. Got ‘em. Those two first? Yea. Stay to your side. Work in after we get those two. We both fire first. You fire two more. Then I’ll fire two. By then they’ll see us both so use that smoke grenade and we’ll hide in the willows. After that it’s all luck so get back to the rocks. Oh, and pray they don’t have a 34. The two boys nod toward each other and then each closes his eyes and starts to feel his surroundings. The willows are close and the wind is making them appear like a massive mound of swooning grass—loud and overbearing, but the hunters’ senses negated the willows and took them past a patch of dancing wheat, and over the crawling sand of the minefield, and right into the room where two men were conversing. The hunters shoot and the wind hurls their bullets toward their victims’ chests. The boy hides

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behind the rock and looks at Wesley on his left as the seven men on the top floor of the structure start to scramble. The hunter doesn’t blink. He doesn’t miss either. With incredible speed and unimaginable precision he finds his target, breathes in the air around him, and then exhales while simultaneously pulling the trigger as if he is breathing death unto his victim. In less than a half second a new bullet is ready to be fired and a new target is found. The process repeats itself. Perfection is illuminated in repetition. The hunter decides to take one more shot even though bullets are making their way to him. Two men are hit simultaneously as both hunters’ bullets pierce through their targets. Wesley pulls his body to the ground and takes cover behind the boulder as it gets riddled with bullets. He looks to his right as the hunter fluidly shoots two men before their comrades realize that there is a second shooter. Wesley breaks for the willows and runs through them to the side that the boy is on and takes a shot but it misses. Come on, let’s get out of here, Wesley yells as he lifts his gun up to provide the boy with cover fire but when he pulls the trigger he gets an unresponsive click. The boy, not expecting to be without cover fire, leaves the protection of the boulder and runs for the willows just as the hunter on the other side of the minefield expected him to. *** The boy and his father walked out of the steppe and ate their sandwiches on the way. The sun was now redder than ever and infused its color with the sky and ground like a dark and blood-saturated deluge. They came upon the car just as they had left it. The boy’s father put the key in the passenger side door and turned it. The boy opened the door and said, I will take your gun papa, Okay. The boy climbed into the seat with the two guns and shut the door while his father walked around the backside of the truck. He

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reached into his pocket for the keys because he put them back in there when he had given the gun to the boy. He grasped them and then fumbled them onto the ground. He bent down on his haunches to pick them up and thats when he saw it. As soon as he saw its yellow eyes they were all that he could look at. They invaded him, saw through him as the beast used its giant paws to inch its way to him with its hind in the air—ready to make its attack. Its tail was as thick as his arm and it waved sporadically. Finally it settled, and the hunter sprung for its prey and tackled him onto his back. The hunter reached for its prey’s neck and instantly destroyed an artery. The boy remained inside the truck and watched as his father died. He couldn’t move. A few minutes passed and he knew what he had to do so he handled his gun and opened the door and shot the mountain lion once in the stomach and once in the head. The boy walked over the mountain lion and shot it again. He looked at the mess that he had been made of his father. He fell to his knees and placed his head against his father’s and started to cry. He stayed there until the sun set. He didn’t know how he was going to get back home. He knew he couldnt drive, he wasnt big enough to see over the wheel. He tried to lift his father into the back of the truck but that didnt work. He resolved to sleep the night lying with his head on his fathers chest. In the morning he awoke and started his journey home down the dust laden road from which he had come.

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