The Searcher

The Searcher by Simon Toyne Page B

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Authors: Simon Toyne
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everything slow, like he was underwater. Still couldn’t hear a damn thing, what with that howling. He’d heard something like it before and the memory of it needled into him shaking with more than cold.
    When he was eight his daddy had taken him hunting. They’d tracked a big old mule deer out into the desert for almost three hours and when they caught up with it, his daddy had handed him the rifle. It was that old Remington, the one that hung above the fire, with the walnut stock worn smooth at the neck by the bristled cheeks of his daddy and his daddy before that: beautiful rifle, but heavy, and tight on the trigger.
    Maybe it had been the weight of it or the excitement of being handed something he’d only ever seen in a man’s hand before, but when he beaded up on that big old bull his heart had pounded so hard he felt sure the deer must be able to hear it even with him two hundred yards away. It had lifted its head and sniffed the air, its haunches tightening as it readied to run. He snatched the shot just as it moved, missed the heart, and punched a hole right through its belly. Gut shot or not, that thing took off, blood pumping out all over the desert, innards flyin’ out behind it like streamers. His daddy said nothing, just grabbed that rifle back and took off after it, carrying it as easy in his hand as it had sat so heavy in his.
    The blood trail was wet and bright against the dry orange earth. And the deer howled as it ran, a great bellowing noise, like fury and pain mixed together. Ever after, when he sat on the hard wooden pews in the cool dark of the church and heard the reverend deliver his hell and damnation sermons, he would remember that noise. It was like he imagined hell must sound, the echoing tormented howl of a soul trapped deep underground—the same thing he was hearing now.
    The doctor leaned in again, swimming down through the milky air. He still couldn’t catch what he was saying. He tried to tell him he couldn’t hear above the howling, managed to snatch a ragged breath and the noise stopped. He made to speak and it started up again even louder than before, so loud he could feel it deep within his chest. Then he realized where the sound was coming from, and began to cry.
    They had caught up with the deer not so far up the track from where he’d shot it. It was down on its front knees like it was praying. He wanted to shoot it and put it out of its pain, but his daddy had the gun and he daren’t ask him for it. They stood a ways back, watching it trying to get up and run, eyes rolling in its skull, and that awful sound coming out of it. He had turned his head to look away but his daddy put his hand on the top of his head and twisted it back around again.
    You need to watch this , he’d said. You need to watch this and remember. This is what happens when you don’t do a thing right. This is what happens when you fuck somethin’ up .
    The jolt of him cussing like that, his best-suit-on-a-Sunday daddy who he’d never even heard say damn before that day had been more shocking than the sight of the dying deer or the noise it made while it was about it.
    I’m sorry, Daddy , he whispered now, and the faces moved closer as the howl took the rough form of his words.
    I think he’s calling for his daddy , the doctor said.
    Bobby, we’re doing everything we can for you, okay? Just hang in there.
    He had been trying to steer away from the fire but the damn grader could only run over the flat land and the contours had kept him too close. He’d seen a place to turn ahead of him and he’d kept his eyes focused on it, too focused to notice the wall of flame sweeping in from his left. He could have jumped and run but he didn’t. He knew they needed the grader to draw the fire line and help save the town. Might be Old Man Tucker would show him some respect if he came out of this a hero.
    The heat had closed around him like a fist,

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