A Hunter's Legacy

One could say it was a good sad day for a funeral. The clouds rolled in, as the droplets began to hit my face. I didn’t notice at first as my face was already wet from the tears. Everyone else had already left or in their carriages about to leave. I stood frozen, unable to move. Staring blankly at the head stone in front of me. The name of my father etched into its porous surface. It finally hit me all at once, and I dropped to my knees. Being all alone I couldn’t hold it in and started sobbing uncontrollably. I can’t believe my father is gone. All I had left of him was his last gun and belt. I embraced the belt tightly as my forehead rested on the stone tablet.

My father was a hunter. A hunter of the lawless. When ever the marshals needed help tracking down or taking out a piece of wretched villainy. They would message my father. He was the best of the best, the one who stood outside the law only to protect the law. His last mission had him traveling to the deserts of Sector 7. He was to track down an old Aussie sniper. This guy was able to sneak in a steal some new type of bullets from a small military base. My father was able to get the drop on him, but not before the sniper was able to get off one last shot. This stolen tech was some sort of advanced bullet. It was able to ricochet around the room. It was able to strike my father in the back of the head. He was so focused on the Aussie he didn’t even notice the bullet going around him.

Exhausted from the trip home, and still saddened by the loss. I kicked off my boots and plopped onto my bed. I didn’t want to move or go anywhere. I picked up his gun belt. I examined every inch of it. You could see the age of the belt with every wrinkle and crack in the leather. On one of the holsters was burnt an image of a bull. The villagers saw this as a reference of his strength and determination to get the job done. The other holster was an image of an owl in reference to his wise planning with each and every job. Finally, a cunning fox carved into the shiny metal of the buckle to bring them together. This was his lucky belt. No matter how worn it seemed to get, he would not do a job without this belt. I always wondered what happened to the second gun. My father loved these guns just as much as this belt. I asked the Marshal who gave me the belt back. All he could say was this is what they gave him to give to me. He assume the second gun was lost that day during the struggles.

The more I thought about this case the more and more something didn’t add up. My father taught me everything I know about being a hunter. He was the best of the best. If this is such an open and shut case. Then why did something feel so wrong? As I laid in my bed pondering why it feels so wrong and what could it mean. I heard a knocking at my door. I quickly rose to my feet and rushed to the door to see who it could be. “Who’s there?” I shouted as I got closer.

“Dispatch service, we have a package for…” I opened the door before the friendly female face could finish her sentence. I glanced at the package she was holding. “Yes that me, do you know who it’s from?” I questioned

“I’m not sure sir. I’m just the messenger sent by the office. I have a package and envelope tied together here.” I gripped the items as she handed them to me. Curious as to who sent them I inquired again. “So you have…”

“I’m sorry sir, these were dropped off at the office with instructions to deliver these after this date. You were not home on this date yet, so I am here today for our second attempt. Can I get your signature here please?” She was very stern with her answer. I got the feeling If I were to attempt to ask again. She may not be so nice.

I took the items from the messenger and closed the door. The two items I received were an envelope and a box. The envelope was pretty basic and addressed to me with no return sender. The box was wrapped in some brown unmarked paper. Twin was used to securely tie the envelope to the package. I untied the package and opened the envelope. Inside was a letter which looked like my father’s handwriting. I paused for a brief moment. I was not expecting a letter at all. Especially a letter from my father who passed away. Hopefully I can get some better answers straight from the horse’s mouth. It took me a while to gather my emotions, when I felt more calm I began to read.

"My dearest son,

If you are reading this then I am afraid that this job got the best of me. I want you to know that I will always be proud of the man you became. As hunters it’s not easy for us to express our feelings. I know my father seemed like a damn rock most of the time. I wanted you to have the same skill set as me, but I was hoping to train you to trust in your emotions as well. They can be just as much as a strength as they can be a weakness.

As you know our job consists of receiving and executing orders given to us by the marshals. These last couple of months something didn’t seem to sit well with me. Working with the Marshalls I almost started feeling like their personal errand boy. You could say I allowed my emotions to follow my gut feeling. I started to take a closer look and just what these guys are up too.

By you reading this I can only assume that I got too close to the answers, and I was taken out. Or I guess I could’ve gotten sloppy in my old age… Yeah right. It’s up to you now, my son. I’ve trained you well. Finish my work, and figure out what is going on before it’s too late…”

Oh dad, what did you get yourself killed over?