be standing behind me I fling around, scanning the area. All I see is a brilliant green field dotted every so often with small mounds of rocks. A smell of salt and dirt wafts through the air. I didn’t bring a bag and bat as Joseph requested because I’m not going to be made a fool.
Seconds later I sense someone behind me. I turn, feeling reactionary. My defenses lower as soon as I face a meek-looking Samara. “Hey there.”
“Hey,” I manage back at her.
“You forgot your gear,” she says, holding up a burlap sack and a small bat.
“Oh well, I guess I’ll be the referee,” I say.
“There’s no need for referees in snipe hunting,” Joseph says at my shoulder.
“Well, I guess I’ll just sit out.” I stick my tongue out at him. His blond hair is brighter in the Icelandic sunlight.
A slapping sound behind me arrests my attention. I turn to find Trent smacking his bat into his outstretched hand. “Let’s get this party started already!” A dreadlock falls into his face as he holds up both his arms victoriously. “I’m ready to beat all you fools.”
“Nice spirit, T,” Joseph hoots, looking around. “We’re just waiting on Captain Emotions and we can get started.”
George materializes beside me, bringing with him a soft smile. “I prefer Mr. Emotions,” he says, glancing down at me.
“Noted,” Joseph says, scrutinizing George with an irritated look. “Here’s the game. Y’all will be catching snipes, which are notorious for inhabitin’ this area. They respond to sound and vibrations. Additionally they live in the ground. Here’s what you gonna do: take your bat and beat it on the ground. I suggest doing it rapidly as that usually gets a better result. You’ll wanna keep your eyes low to the ground and peeled on the earth because if you’ve been successful a small, cuddly little creature will come tearin’ out of the ground looking for shelter. These are snipes. They won’t hurt you one bit. Once you spy them, though, you’ll wanna make haste and catch and put ’em in your bag. The person who catches the most snipes will win tonight’s games. How does that sound for fun?!”
“Man, I’m going to school you peeps!” Trent shouts, pointing his bat at Samara and George, who look less than enthusiastic.
“I think I’ll let you,” George says, adjusting the mail bag lying across his chest. “I’ll watch the first round.”
“There will be no watchin’, Anders,” Joseph says, heat in his tone. “Stark is the only one allowed to watch and that’s only because she’s lousy at following directions.”
“And besides, if you aren’t playing, I’m not either,” Samara says, pushing the burlap sack further into the back pocket of her jeans. “Trent is scaring me. I don’t want to be alone with him out there.”
“It’s called zest,” Trent says. “It’s a key ingredient in my irresistible charm.”
“Why exactly do we want to catch these innocent creatures?” Samara asks.
“They’re not innocent,” Joseph says, suddenly offended. “They’ve overpopulated this area and are killing the natural vegetation. You mess with that and it affects the temperatures which in turn affects the icebergs, et cetera, et cetera. What you’re doin’ is saving Iceland. And we’re not going to hurt them. I have a buddy in Georgia that runs a snipe ranch. He’s taking them in…if you all ever get your asses out there and catch them, that is.”
“All right,” Samara says, timidly. “I’ll do it if George does.”
George glances at me and then to Joseph. “Sure,” he says with a shrug.
“Good! This is a prime snipe hour, so let’s not waste it,” Joseph says. “The first round will be one hour long and starts now!”
The three of them scatter across the rock-filled meadow. Trent wastes no time, sliding down onto his knees and wildly beating the bat against the soft earth. It looks like he’s trying to kill a million fire ants. He stops every thirty hits and
Seconds later I sense someone behind me. I turn, feeling reactionary. My defenses lower as soon as I face a meek-looking Samara. “Hey there.”
“Hey,” I manage back at her.
“You forgot your gear,” she says, holding up a burlap sack and a small bat.
“Oh well, I guess I’ll be the referee,” I say.
“There’s no need for referees in snipe hunting,” Joseph says at my shoulder.
“Well, I guess I’ll just sit out.” I stick my tongue out at him. His blond hair is brighter in the Icelandic sunlight.
A slapping sound behind me arrests my attention. I turn to find Trent smacking his bat into his outstretched hand. “Let’s get this party started already!” A dreadlock falls into his face as he holds up both his arms victoriously. “I’m ready to beat all you fools.”
“Nice spirit, T,” Joseph hoots, looking around. “We’re just waiting on Captain Emotions and we can get started.”
George materializes beside me, bringing with him a soft smile. “I prefer Mr. Emotions,” he says, glancing down at me.
“Noted,” Joseph says, scrutinizing George with an irritated look. “Here’s the game. Y’all will be catching snipes, which are notorious for inhabitin’ this area. They respond to sound and vibrations. Additionally they live in the ground. Here’s what you gonna do: take your bat and beat it on the ground. I suggest doing it rapidly as that usually gets a better result. You’ll wanna keep your eyes low to the ground and peeled on the earth because if you’ve been successful a small, cuddly little creature will come tearin’ out of the ground looking for shelter. These are snipes. They won’t hurt you one bit. Once you spy them, though, you’ll wanna make haste and catch and put ’em in your bag. The person who catches the most snipes will win tonight’s games. How does that sound for fun?!”
“Man, I’m going to school you peeps!” Trent shouts, pointing his bat at Samara and George, who look less than enthusiastic.
“I think I’ll let you,” George says, adjusting the mail bag lying across his chest. “I’ll watch the first round.”
“There will be no watchin’, Anders,” Joseph says, heat in his tone. “Stark is the only one allowed to watch and that’s only because she’s lousy at following directions.”
“And besides, if you aren’t playing, I’m not either,” Samara says, pushing the burlap sack further into the back pocket of her jeans. “Trent is scaring me. I don’t want to be alone with him out there.”
“It’s called zest,” Trent says. “It’s a key ingredient in my irresistible charm.”
“Why exactly do we want to catch these innocent creatures?” Samara asks.
“They’re not innocent,” Joseph says, suddenly offended. “They’ve overpopulated this area and are killing the natural vegetation. You mess with that and it affects the temperatures which in turn affects the icebergs, et cetera, et cetera. What you’re doin’ is saving Iceland. And we’re not going to hurt them. I have a buddy in Georgia that runs a snipe ranch. He’s taking them in…if you all ever get your asses out there and catch them, that is.”
“All right,” Samara says, timidly. “I’ll do it if George does.”
George glances at me and then to Joseph. “Sure,” he says with a shrug.
“Good! This is a prime snipe hour, so let’s not waste it,” Joseph says. “The first round will be one hour long and starts now!”
The three of them scatter across the rock-filled meadow. Trent wastes no time, sliding down onto his knees and wildly beating the bat against the soft earth. It looks like he’s trying to kill a million fire ants. He stops every thirty hits and
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