circle around so he can’t smell you, you might get close enough to get a good shot.” When Matt made no move to start closing on the prey, Bill’s voice hardened slightly, leaving no room for argument. “Just because it’s your birthday doesn’t mean you’re entitled to do any damn thing you want. It’s time for you to grow up. And it’s time for you to bag your first trophy. Understand?”
Matt’s face burned. All he’d wanted to do was talk to his dad, to try to straighten things out. But —
But the hell with it!
Without a word he disappeared into the woods.
* * *
A QUARTER OF an hour later Matt was on the other side of the thicket. For the last two minutes he thought he could hear the deer moving restlessly in the underbrush, and now, as he moved slowly toward the sound, the big buck came into view.
It was standing about forty yards away, its head up, its ears pricking as it tried to pick up sounds that might indicate danger.
Matt eased his rifle — a brand-new Browning BAR 30-06 with a Bushnell sight — off his shoulder and flicked the clip and chamber open. Putting one shell in the chamber and four more in the clip, he snapped the clip closed and released the safety. His fingers tightening on the satiny maple of the Browning’s stock, he braced its rubber butt firmly against his shoulder. His right forefinger curled around the trigger as his left hand steadied the semiautomatic rifle.
He squinted, peering through the sight.
The deer’s head appeared in the crosshairs.
Matt hesitated.
It was such a magnificent creature — why should he shoot it?
Then, as he gazed at the buck’s uplifted head, he became aware of a strange scent on the morning air: a scent that jerked him out of the brilliant morning light and plunged him back into the depths of last night, when he had wakened in darkness.
The scent grew stronger, and now he heard the voice whispering to him.
“You know what you have to do, Matthew.”
Darkness began to close around him, until all he could see was the head of the deer.
The deer, and something beyond . . .
“Do it, Matthew,”
the voice whispered.
“Do it for me. . . .”
The darkness deepened.
“No,” Matt whispered.
The shroud of darkness tightened, and now he felt the touch, the same touch he’d felt last night, stroking his arms.
Moving over his hands.
Curling around his fingers.
“Do it,”
the voice whispered once more.
“Do it
. . .
”
A shot sounded.
Then another.
And another.
Matt, lost in the darkness, was utterly unaware that the shots echoing through the morning had come from the weapon in his hands. . . .
* * *
“MATT? HEY, MATT!”
Matt jumped at the sound of Eric Holmes’s voice.
“What’s going on?” Eric asked, approaching and cocking his head as he looked at Matt. “You okay? You look — ”
“I’m fine,” Matt said, the words coming quickly. But he wasn’t fine. He felt strange, almost as if he’d been half asleep and Eric’s voice had jerked him out of a dream. But that didn’t make any sense — he was still standing in the same spot as when he caught sight of the deer a few minutes ago, the Browning still in his hands. And you couldn’t sleep standing up.
Could you?
Of course not! So Eric’s voice must have just caught him by surprise. Except nothing looked quite the way that it had a minute ago. The light filtering through the trees was different, and —
And the sun was higher than it had been.
A lot higher!
“You sure you’re okay?” Eric pressed. “I’ve been looking for you for an hour!”
An hour? What was he talking about? It hadn’t been much more than half an hour since he and his dad had crossed the stream
Matt’s face burned. All he’d wanted to do was talk to his dad, to try to straighten things out. But —
But the hell with it!
Without a word he disappeared into the woods.
* * *
A QUARTER OF an hour later Matt was on the other side of the thicket. For the last two minutes he thought he could hear the deer moving restlessly in the underbrush, and now, as he moved slowly toward the sound, the big buck came into view.
It was standing about forty yards away, its head up, its ears pricking as it tried to pick up sounds that might indicate danger.
Matt eased his rifle — a brand-new Browning BAR 30-06 with a Bushnell sight — off his shoulder and flicked the clip and chamber open. Putting one shell in the chamber and four more in the clip, he snapped the clip closed and released the safety. His fingers tightening on the satiny maple of the Browning’s stock, he braced its rubber butt firmly against his shoulder. His right forefinger curled around the trigger as his left hand steadied the semiautomatic rifle.
He squinted, peering through the sight.
The deer’s head appeared in the crosshairs.
Matt hesitated.
It was such a magnificent creature — why should he shoot it?
Then, as he gazed at the buck’s uplifted head, he became aware of a strange scent on the morning air: a scent that jerked him out of the brilliant morning light and plunged him back into the depths of last night, when he had wakened in darkness.
The scent grew stronger, and now he heard the voice whispering to him.
“You know what you have to do, Matthew.”
Darkness began to close around him, until all he could see was the head of the deer.
The deer, and something beyond . . .
“Do it, Matthew,”
the voice whispered.
“Do it for me. . . .”
The darkness deepened.
“No,” Matt whispered.
The shroud of darkness tightened, and now he felt the touch, the same touch he’d felt last night, stroking his arms.
Moving over his hands.
Curling around his fingers.
“Do it,”
the voice whispered once more.
“Do it
. . .
”
A shot sounded.
Then another.
And another.
Matt, lost in the darkness, was utterly unaware that the shots echoing through the morning had come from the weapon in his hands. . . .
* * *
“MATT? HEY, MATT!”
Matt jumped at the sound of Eric Holmes’s voice.
“What’s going on?” Eric asked, approaching and cocking his head as he looked at Matt. “You okay? You look — ”
“I’m fine,” Matt said, the words coming quickly. But he wasn’t fine. He felt strange, almost as if he’d been half asleep and Eric’s voice had jerked him out of a dream. But that didn’t make any sense — he was still standing in the same spot as when he caught sight of the deer a few minutes ago, the Browning still in his hands. And you couldn’t sleep standing up.
Could you?
Of course not! So Eric’s voice must have just caught him by surprise. Except nothing looked quite the way that it had a minute ago. The light filtering through the trees was different, and —
And the sun was higher than it had been.
A lot higher!
“You sure you’re okay?” Eric pressed. “I’ve been looking for you for an hour!”
An hour? What was he talking about? It hadn’t been much more than half an hour since he and his dad had crossed the stream
Similar Books
