It was cold up on those hills.

There wasn’t enough mulled wine in the world that could make me any less unconfortable. Leaning on a rock, by myself, with my Ranch Hand rifle strapped to my back. Without even being able to see past my own nose, it was so dark. The night seemed to be back with a vengeance.

My hands were shaking, and I couldn’t even light up a smoke without risking a very real case of frostbite. The only thing that differentiated that place from a grave, other than the harsh wind, was the faint smell of the sunflower field nearby.

In my mind’s eye, I could see myself earlier in the day, sitting untroubled ‘round the fire, picking my guitar and having a blast. But my name was high up on the list. I knew what was coming.

It was my turn to keep watch. Kids hadn’t been able to fall asleep without, at least, one person doing it.

Damn’ pack of jaguars kept creeping up on the camp for a little while now. I just wish them kids would stop telling each other horror stories about being eaten alive in the woods.

Until now, no one had really been attacked, though. Just ol’ Tom had seen a couple of them drinking by the pond and freaked everybody out. At first I thought he was full of crap, but the cats kept showing up again and again, first two of ‘em, then four.

My dad gathered everybody who could handle a weapon and conducted a search ‘round the camp, twice a day, for a whole week. We obviously never saw a single jaguar, those things have a staggering sense of hearing. And a group of hillbillys jerking around with guns are not exactly the stealthiest of bunches.

Those goddamn cats. I hadn’t need to touch a single firearm in over three years, and I was really happy about that, too. Couldn’t stand all that “John Wayne” bull that everybody fell for once they were old enough to learn how to shoot.

Anyway, not only did we had to worry about the whole camp being terrified, we also found out that the police couldn’t help ‘cause the jaguars, apparently, were a protected species.

Jesus H. Christ...

The last thing we need in here is a bunch of suits telling us we screwed up by putting down a rare specimen or something. The city folk already doesn’t care for us. Just a little bit of bad publicity could just about bring this whole thing down. Our home, our way of life. Our identities.

Not saying I wouldn’t rather be in a heated apartment right now, other than freezing my ass on one of the coldest nights of the year. But I had a responsability. And there was no way in hell I would just sit there while my family was in danger.

At the first glance of yellow eyes in the darkness, I will most certainly put a bullet in them.