The Hunting Trip

Mark Deloitte pressed his back against the side of the tree. He pushed so hard he could feel the bark leaving impressions in his skin, despite the three layers of shirts he was wearing. Sweat accumulated and dripped off his forehead. His jaw was clenched so hard he could hear the blood rushing through his skull.

The rifle shook in his hands. It was hard to catch his breath. His feet hurt and all he wanted to do was open his eyes and find himself waking up in his bed next to his wife, lost within the last tendrils of a fading nightmare. God, he wanted this to be a nightmare so badly.

“Gary! How’s it going!” Mark called out to his friend, Gary Joseph, who was somewhere behind him. He didn’t dare look because that would mean he’d certainly catch a bullet right in the forehead. And Mark didn’t plan on dying in this godforsaken forest this afternoon.

From somewhere in the clearing there came a low moan. That was Gary, and Mark was surprised —almost delighted— that his old pal could muster up that much of a response. Mark had seen in plenty of movies that getting shot in the stomach was the worst, but it didn’t necessarily mean you would die soon. That’s what was helping Mark cling to any semblance of sanity he might have left in the moment. The fact that, if he figured out a way to do it, he could get Gary —and hopefully some of the others— back to the truck and to a hospital.

“He’s looking pretty bad out there, Mark! Maybe you should go check on him!”

That voice belonged to another friend, Anthony Morris. Friend might be stretching it now, though. Just a few hours ago that classification would’ve been sound. Right on the nose. But now? Well, after you start shooting at those you used to call a friend, things start to fall apart.

“Shut the hell up, Tony! We need to get him to a damn hospital right now!” Mark’s grip tightened around the rifle. He’s prepared to do what he has to do to make it home, but he’s having trouble coming to terms with following through with the same intensity to save Gary. He knew his friend needed medical attention, but did that mean he needed to sacrifice his life to try and make it happen?

And where the hell were Carson, Brad, and Nick? They had all scattered once the shooting started. Once Anthony had shot Gary. But it had been a few minutes at least and Mark hadn’t seen head nor tail of any one of them.

Had they partnered up with Anthony? Were they circling through the forest right now, heading towards him to take him out and get rid of the last obstacle?

Mark wasn’t sure how he’d become the last bastion of sanity in this forest, but when the shoe fits, it fits. And that meant he had to reach out to the others, hope he could convince them to help. Help save their friend’s life.

“Just let us get the notebook, and we’ll be on our way! We’ll even give you and Gary a ride back to town!” Anthony said. His voice was far away, but not too far. Mark guessed he was on the opposite side of the clearing, maybe directly across from him. Close enough that, if Mark could line up a shot, he’d go down with one in the head for sure.

Goddamn, what is this? I’m seriously considering killing Anthony now?

He ignored the thought for now. He was mentally preparing himself for that exact possibility, but he refused to give it any real attention. Right now, he had to focus on getting the hell out of the forest, hopefully with Gary coming along one way or another.

The notebook. Mark wasn’t sure where it had come from. It was almost like it had simply manifested from nothing at all. Not there one moment, then made real in the next. Gary was the first to find it (finders keepers, thank you very much), and Gary was the one who discovered the $20,000 tucked inside it, too.

Big bills, all leading up to the ridiculous amount of money. And Gary had said he’d be more than happy to split it with the rest of the group. $4,000 each — quite the reward for what was supposed to be their last hunting trip together.

But Anthony had argued the point. He’d become a different person then, just as instantly as the little black notebook itself had manifested in the woods. He demanded Gary give him the notebook, and the two had struggled. Gary was a first-rate wrestler a long time ago, the best in the group’s high school, but Anthony had bulked up in the years since. The scrap dragged on. Eventually, Mark and Carson had decided that was enough and tried to break it up.

That’s when the gunshot went off and Gary rolled off Anthony, bleeding from the gut.

Anthony had a pistol, something that none of them had known at the time. It’s not like he needed the pistol to hunt deer. It was illegal, in fact. But there it was, smoke wafting up out of the barrel in the same way it curved out of Gary’s punctured stomach.

The group had scattered. It was only by chance that Mark had looked back towards Gary and saw Anthony still struggling with the wounded man, trying to find the notebook that must have been dropped in the fight. Without thinking Mark had lifted his rifle and fired in Anthony’s direction. He hadn’t intended on the shot being close, but sometimes fate has other ideas and the bullet winged Anthony’s left shoulder, sending him flailing.

Anthony had darted off into the trees then, hiding behind one of the large Douglas firs just like Mark. Meanwhile, Carson, Brad, and Nick were nowhere to be found.

“Who’s with you!” Mark said.

“They’re all with me, Mark! We want that damn money!” Anthony called back.

Mark had reason not to believe Anthony, of course. The man had shot their long-time friend because he’d wanted all the money to himself, the rest of the group be damned. Why would the others join up with him now? Had he quietly promised them a different outcome in the handful of minutes since the attempted murder?

Mark shook his head, then glanced around the forest. There wasn’t any movement, which was a good sign. None of the others were good trackers, and they might as well have been rhinoceros when making their way through the forest. They wouldn’t sneak up on Mark unless he let them, and he’d be damned if he was going to let that happen.

“Gary offered you the money! He found the notebook! It was his to do what he wanted with it!”

“Bullshit! So, what if he was the first one to put hands on it? We all have a right to that money!”

Mark didn’t like the fact that he was referring to Gary in the past tense, but there was no taking it back now.

“So what are we gonna do now, Anthony? You going to kill all of us and leave our bodies out here so you can get your hands on 20 grand? What’re you gonna tell our wives!”

“Hadn’t gotten that far, to be honest! All I know — all I care about is the fact I need that money! You know I’ve been out of work for months! I have bills to pay goddamnit!”

Mark noticed a change to Anthony’s voice. At first, he thought it might just be the fear and desperation, but then he realized his ex-friend had actually moved. Mark couldn’t tell if he was moving closer to Gary again, but he could tell that he was moving to the left.

Mark made sure there was a round chambered, then pressed into the tree again.

Suddenly, from off to the right, the underbrush opened up and Scott barreled through. Scott was fast, but Mark was faster. He raised the rifle in both hands, took aim, and then pulled the trigger in one fluid motion.

Scott tripped over his gravity and lack of body control, tipping forward sharply and falling face-first into the brush. He slid to a stop and remained motionless.

Mark held the rifle steady even though every neuron and nerve ending in his body was on fire. He waited, the barrel pointed at Scott’s unmoving back, for any sign of life. There was nothing.

“Who’d you shoot, Mark! Who was it!” Anthony’s voice was closer still. Mark could tell he was probably under a hundred yards away by now, and that gap was closing quickly.

Mark didn’t say anything. Just waited and listened. His brain moved a mile a minute, unable to grasp a single thought for more than a blink of an eye. He couldn’t process that he’d just killed one of his oldest friends because if he did, then he’d also have to resign to curling up into the fetal position right here and now until Anthony finally found him.

Right now, Mark had to focus on saving his life. And, if he got the chance, saving Gary’s life, too.

All at once, the forest came alive. Carson and Brad took shots at Mark, but the bullets whizzed by harmlessly. Mark crouched and then spun around the tree, letting it become a barricade between him and his attackers.

Footsteps. Two pairs. They ran rapidly in his direction, looking to close the distance and finally put an end to the madness.

Mark lifted the rifle again, pressed the stock against his shoulder, and leaned to his right to look around the curve of the large tree. There, a few steps ahead and moving directly towards him, was Carson. His friend saw him too late, though. As his eyes widened in recognition, Mark pulled the trigger. Carson grasped at his chest as he cried out, then toppled to the forest floor in a heap.

Jesus, what is happening.

Brad came around the tree in a rush and collided with Mark from behind. The two fell to the ground, scrambled and grappled, before Mark finally broke free. He found his rifle first. He came to a crouch, setting his elbow on his knee, and aimed down the pair of sights.

“Don’t move, Brad,” Mark said, loud enough that he knew Anthony would be able to hear.

“I need the money, too, Mark. You know that. We all need it! Come on, let’s just let Anthony do what he’s gonna do and we’ll get some of it.

“Go screw yourself,” Mark said. His finger squeezed the trigger carefully. The rifle jumped into his shoulder, but he handled the recoil like an expert. The bullet found its target and Brad’s body no longer had a head.

“Nice shot,” Anthony said, slinking in from behind. He pressed his rifle’s barrel against Mark’s head. “Don’t move.”

I’m sorry, Beth. I should’ve come home to you, Mark thought, closing his eyes. He waited for what was next, the final bullet in his brain he ultimately wouldn’t feel.

A shot rang out. Mark was surprised to find he could wince. When his eyes opened, he saw Anthony’s lifeless eyes staring up at him.

He turned and saw Gary in a seated position, his rifle on his lap. His chin was pressed against his chest. His chest didn’t move. His last effort had been to save Mark’s life.

Carefully, Mark walked over to his old friend’s body, found the small black notebook, then confirmed the money was still there. $20,000.

Brad was right. Mark needed the money, too. Beth would be even more thrilled to see him come home today, even without a deer.

Or friends.