No. 14: Hunting Gear
Characters: Scott, Virgil, OCs
Warnings: Guns, Hunting, Shooting an animal
There was a chorus of clicks and 'shucking' noises as the men in the room checked their rifles over. Bolts were checked, triggers tried, scopes tested until everyone was happy with their guns. Some had knives that were carefully cleaned before being sheathed.
Coffee drunk, one last pit stop before lightweight jackets and orange vests were donned and boots laced tightly. Some of the men and women smeared camo paint on their faces but they all had one goal in common.
Looking to the man who had called them all together, the group looked expectantly at him.
'You know why we are here. There have been increasing sightings of the big black wolf again. Now…there haven't been sightings of this wolf for over 8 years. Our fathers may have failed to kill the wolf years ago, but there is no way we will!. Everyone ready?'
Voices all took up the affirmative.
'You all have your assigned quadrants. Let's go!'
They all piled out of the barn they'd gathered in and loaded into four trucks, splitting up to get to their assignments, all eager and virtually baying for blood.
For the black wolf's blood.
...
Virgil had been grounded for six weeks now. Broken ribs take a long time to heal, but these last two weeks he'd at least been able to roam the Tracy range in freedom. Gran Roca was a large ranch house, and while no longer a working ranch they still owned the huge acreage it came with.
Running through the dust of the desert. The reddish sands soon gave way to scrubland, and Virgil often paused to capture images that teased the artist in him. Scrubland soon gave way to forest that clothed the small range of mountains that half-ringed the ranch.
A couple of mornings he'd headed up to the highest point, every morning getting easier to move than the last, and this morning had been no different, but at the moment Virgil's excitement was more to do with the visitor he was awaiting.
True to his reputation as Scoff Tracy, his brother turned up just as Virgil finished cooking. Being a man down had been difficult, and Grandma had insisted Scott take a couple of days off and spend them with Virgil.
The sun was low on the horizon when the two set off, Virgil loping through the grounds until they reached the treeline while Scott flew lazy circles as he followed the wolf's progress, his powerful sight keeping easy track of Virgil even through the forest.
A movement in the forest caught Scott's eye and he changed direction to investigate. His wolf senses must have told Virgil that there was something was amiss because as Scott flew ahead Virgil hung back, pausing with one front paw raised and sniffing the air cautiously.
A crack split the air and had Virgil bolting in fear, but not before a bullet had embedded itself in his flank. Running became suddenly hard, and as he surged forward the big wolf had to fight the pain and sensations in his hind leg.
Another bullet scrapped his side and brought Virgil down, and his last sight was of a man in camo gear, feet right in front of his nose and the man's rifle carefully prodding him as spoke into a comm.
'We got him.'
The angry screech of his eagle-brother was the last sound Virgil heard.