Instead of the gun, maybe I should have gone for the candy bars. The whole situation might have come out a little differently, maybe. The four that stood in front of me were men, their markings over their head and groin areas were more pronounced than that of the females. The one in front had a balding head, and many scars on his arms and shoulders. He was the one who stood erect and addressed me, hands in the air, pawing, like a trained house cat.

“Awch aw arroaa…” was as far as he got before another male from behind him pushed him away and moved in front to address me. This one wasn’t the friendly sort and bared his teeth and began howling. As he did so, the other three sort of submitted and began the intimidation dance to match suit. They were very slowly fanning out around me, trying to make a net to capture and kill me.

Fuckin A.

My .357 held seven shots. The first one went through the head of the leader and created a red, gray, and black splash on the tree behind him. As he was leaning towards me, facing up the hill, the force of the impact brought him up fully perpendicular to the ground, and then in an almost slow motion effect, he fell backwards into the snow… The echo of the report rolled through down the slope and slowly brought back ghost echoes from in and around the area.

Fuckin A.

A shot from a .357 does a lot to a very quiet morning. I hadn’t noticed the sounds of the chipmunk and grackle and various other wildlife that surrounded me, but after a gunshot, when everything is quiet, you sure notice the silence. It lasted for the eternity of 45 seconds until a hawk broke the silence with a “creeeee” and one of them made a dash for me. Two in the chest. He’s down. I didn’t want to wait so I just blasted the other two before they could come at me. I had emptied all the rounds.

Fuckin A.

I got the speed loader from my belt and chambered up the next batch of bullets as quick as I could. I was a bit deaf, but I could tell that all was quiet except for the old one. He lay on his back. I had punctured his lung and the wheezing was rattling his chest every time he inhaled. He was crying, looking at me, with an outstretched arm.

“Awch aw arroaa…” I knelt beside him with my bowie knife and put it in his hand and helped him bring it into his throat. The questions in his eyes died with him.

Fuckin A.