sawhorse exploded as well as the sawhorse itself. “That’s right— that’s right! Fuck you! Fu-uck yeeeeeeeeeeeew !”
The gunner swigged another Hamm’s and caught a moving speck in the sky. He used his Rangefinder binoculars to observe it, and it wasn’t one of the local birds. It was a white and gray hawk. It resembled a bald eagle, but the wing and feather pattern was different.
“Whatever it is, it’s begging for a good shootin’.”
He took aim and fired immediately, but the shots went wide. The hawk arched its wings and swooped down at him as soon as he’d opened fire on it. The hawk landed on his head. Judd was knocked onto his back, frightened and flapping his arms at the bird. Jagged talons dug trenches into his scalp. Quarter-inch lacerations bled fervently. He flailed and screamed at the attack, blood filling his eyes, now blinded.
Shrack! Shrack! Shrack!
The hawk’s beak pecked at his forehead, each connection issuing a loud “thuck.” Judd reached up to rip the wings from the infernal creature when the bird’s beak pierced his right eye. His vision was replaced with darkness and electric lances. The next eye was immediately gobbled, and the bird took off again in retreat.
Judd randomly shot the M-16, unable to see. Before Judd bled to death from his injuries, a stream of M-16 bullets had connected with the hawk’s chest and it burst into bloody feathers—including Judd’s eyes stored in its gullet.
3
Andy pulled over to the side of the road, curious at what caught his eye. The red truck was parked behind a set of trees half a block from his house. It was the truck Jimmy Jennings drove up yesterday afternoon in.
“Mr. Jennings?” He called out, peering through the dense oak and maple trees and spotting no one. He expected to hear footsteps nearby, or a voice to shout back at him from a distance. “Do you need help with your truck? Did it break down? Hello? Anybody there?”
If it broke down, why the hell wouldn’t it be out on the road instead of hidden like this?
He waited five minutes before giving up the search. Jimmy was close enough to home, perhaps he parked it off the road so nobody would crash into it, and then he walked to retrieve supplies for repairs.
He let it go at that, satisfied.
Andy drove home and stored his groceries in the refrigerator inside the garage. Then he checked his watch. It was noon. “Damn, half the day is gone already.”
He brought in a frozen pepperoni pizza with him, the roil in his belly insatiable. The breakfast with Walter was all he’d eaten, and he was starving. The strange day in Anderson Mills occupied his mind as he prepped the oven in the kitchen to three-hundred and fifty degrees. Everyone in town condemned the Ryerson name. Men like Ed Gein and Ted Bundy probably caused the same problems with their family members. How long did it take for a town to move on from a string of brutal killings? It was a good question to pose in a documentary. The theme would be an investigation of how a crime of such a magnitude could affect the small town of Anderson Mills. He considered pitching it to Professor Maxwell and seeing who he could talk to and maybe raise the funds and interest to green light the project.
The oven’s timer dinged.
“Huh?” He opened the oven, confused. “It can’t be preheated already.”
The oven was hot enough to convince him it was ready for the pizza. “I hope this thing isn’t broken.”
He shoved the pizza inside and hoped for the best despite his reservations. Andy set the timer for seventeen minutes and wandered into the backyard. Rows of silky red, white and yellow daisies bobbed in the soft wind. They surrounded an oak tree that was hundreds of years old. The branches extended across the yard, and one had grown over the roof of the house, resting on top of it. The garden buzzed with yellow jackets and moths sucking the nectar from the tulips. He kept to the stone path and
The gunner swigged another Hamm’s and caught a moving speck in the sky. He used his Rangefinder binoculars to observe it, and it wasn’t one of the local birds. It was a white and gray hawk. It resembled a bald eagle, but the wing and feather pattern was different.
“Whatever it is, it’s begging for a good shootin’.”
He took aim and fired immediately, but the shots went wide. The hawk arched its wings and swooped down at him as soon as he’d opened fire on it. The hawk landed on his head. Judd was knocked onto his back, frightened and flapping his arms at the bird. Jagged talons dug trenches into his scalp. Quarter-inch lacerations bled fervently. He flailed and screamed at the attack, blood filling his eyes, now blinded.
Shrack! Shrack! Shrack!
The hawk’s beak pecked at his forehead, each connection issuing a loud “thuck.” Judd reached up to rip the wings from the infernal creature when the bird’s beak pierced his right eye. His vision was replaced with darkness and electric lances. The next eye was immediately gobbled, and the bird took off again in retreat.
Judd randomly shot the M-16, unable to see. Before Judd bled to death from his injuries, a stream of M-16 bullets had connected with the hawk’s chest and it burst into bloody feathers—including Judd’s eyes stored in its gullet.
3
Andy pulled over to the side of the road, curious at what caught his eye. The red truck was parked behind a set of trees half a block from his house. It was the truck Jimmy Jennings drove up yesterday afternoon in.
“Mr. Jennings?” He called out, peering through the dense oak and maple trees and spotting no one. He expected to hear footsteps nearby, or a voice to shout back at him from a distance. “Do you need help with your truck? Did it break down? Hello? Anybody there?”
If it broke down, why the hell wouldn’t it be out on the road instead of hidden like this?
He waited five minutes before giving up the search. Jimmy was close enough to home, perhaps he parked it off the road so nobody would crash into it, and then he walked to retrieve supplies for repairs.
He let it go at that, satisfied.
Andy drove home and stored his groceries in the refrigerator inside the garage. Then he checked his watch. It was noon. “Damn, half the day is gone already.”
He brought in a frozen pepperoni pizza with him, the roil in his belly insatiable. The breakfast with Walter was all he’d eaten, and he was starving. The strange day in Anderson Mills occupied his mind as he prepped the oven in the kitchen to three-hundred and fifty degrees. Everyone in town condemned the Ryerson name. Men like Ed Gein and Ted Bundy probably caused the same problems with their family members. How long did it take for a town to move on from a string of brutal killings? It was a good question to pose in a documentary. The theme would be an investigation of how a crime of such a magnitude could affect the small town of Anderson Mills. He considered pitching it to Professor Maxwell and seeing who he could talk to and maybe raise the funds and interest to green light the project.
The oven’s timer dinged.
“Huh?” He opened the oven, confused. “It can’t be preheated already.”
The oven was hot enough to convince him it was ready for the pizza. “I hope this thing isn’t broken.”
He shoved the pizza inside and hoped for the best despite his reservations. Andy set the timer for seventeen minutes and wandered into the backyard. Rows of silky red, white and yellow daisies bobbed in the soft wind. They surrounded an oak tree that was hundreds of years old. The branches extended across the yard, and one had grown over the roof of the house, resting on top of it. The garden buzzed with yellow jackets and moths sucking the nectar from the tulips. He kept to the stone path and
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