First of all, listen to THIS music while you read this story: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WYv1HT_eXdQ&feature=related
It was a cloudy morning. Just like it had been 6 days prior. When this all began. The same time of day. The same kind of way: with some killin needin to be done.
The rebels infiltrated the perimeter that day, and got two of our youngest recruits. A couple of chickens who weren't chicken at all. Their lives snuffed from them like a weedwacker to a newly-opened flower. Now it was going to be THEIR turn. To feel what it's like.. To be hunted..
I set out as soon as I could get to it, armed to the teeth. I was wearing a savage Rambo-esque headband, as I anticipated spraying bullets as well as sweating them. With conventional arms: a .22 magnum rifle with a 3X7 coyote-scope, and plenty of hollow-point coyote killin power. Chemical arms: some varmint gasbombs that claim to work on skunks and everything if you throw it in their den. (I know this may be against Geneva Convention, but, honestly, an enemy like this has to be attacked where they live without prejudice to archaic rules written without full consideration or understanding of what future warfare would look like...) And beer.
I set out following the trail I'd discovered on a recon mission the day before. The Pacific Northwest wilderness is thick. Travel was slow and deliberate. Like a bug navigating through a dreadlock. Reminded me of north danang... danang north c.... goddamn auto-correct... I meant, it reminded me of dang north california back in the dang day. Fuck. Back in the shit.
I quickly realized the previous day's mission was incomplete. There were plenty of indications the enemy had been moving about at will. Constantly. And that it would take my keenest instincts to be sure I was on the right trail. So, I took a left. Up the hill. Into the shit. No, really, it's a cattle ranch, so, although there's all kinds of cowpatties everywhere, the cows make some pretty good trails to walk on, so...
I pressed onward and was rewarded almost immediately: Feathers! A big pile, which indicated I should consider their steps in a new light: holyshit there's more fucking coyotes out here than I thought. I mean, if they're dragging chickens back to two separate dens, then I've got a buttload more ground to cover...So I kept going. And found more signs. Of more death and torture. It looked like they've been catching the neighbor's chickens and maybe a couple grouse. Grouses? Grice..? Anyway, I trecked on.
Up one hill. Down another. Down into the valley. Steep and unyielding. More piles of feathers. I was getting closer. I could sense it. From every vantage point I could feel they had been there. WERE there.
I mean, there were trails everywhere fer christ's sake and piles of shit that had all kinds of different things in it. I had to be getting REALLY close. I was almost sure of it..and then BAM! Red poking fire burning like a hotcoal sharkbite. Fire climbing up my leg! Goddamn stinging nettles. I shouldn't have worn shorts, but it was hot and shit.. so, i went looking for the antidote plant. Which I learned about in my life training. I found one near a patch of clover, so, while rubbing in the soothing goodness of my broadleaf savior, I searched for the elusive goodluck fourleaf bastard. It remained elusive. (Y'know, I've spent hours over decades looking for them sumbitches, and I think it's a snipehunt. Everyone who claims they've found one must have macgyvered some shit to look like it) Anyway..
All the way down in the gulch now, I crossed, on a fallen log, a tributary of the mighty Columbia river. It was only a foot wide, but I'm sure it eventually makes it there, and there was lots of mud, so...I made it across and jumped down off the log then CRASH! CRACKLE! It sounded like a bull elephant rampaging through the trees and brush only tens of feet away! It turned out it was just a regular bull, but that's enough for me, so, I decided I'd just go the other way, as I had a whole lotta ground to cover...
Marching. Plodding. Sometimes crawling. I had checked many optimum hiding places at this point. Had spent hours sweating through my savage headband, and carrying at least 10 cobwebs- with spiders dangling- from my beard and clothing, which was now soaked as well. I had one un-used option at my disposal. Then it happenned: "GRRRUUMMBLBLE!!" Shit. I should have brought a sandwich. My growling stomach would surely scare any enemy away. And I was out of beer. So I started the long haul back.
But, a while ago, I'd managed to acquire a small bottle of coyote urine by using the X-mas GI Joe's sporting goods giftcard my old boss gave me before the place went out of business. And, on the way back to homebase, I squirted the stuff on the original trail I'd identified as being used by the bastards during my recon mission. So, this mission wasn't another info-gathering trek after all. I set the bait all the way to a field where I hope to now have a clear view of the adversary. Tonight....
TO BE CONTINUED...
