I Never Miss

Adiel eases over the speed bump and into the trailer park. His Chevy pickup is a little old, but well cared for, and laden with all the instruments of the hunt. Twenty-Three belongs to his sister, Tamra.

She said they were about to move into a proper home without axels but when Derek got his third DUI, his license went away, his job with it. She said the job market in Sheridan is tough on guys in Derek's position. She said he's really a nice guy and he promised they would have kids after their fifth anniversary. She said he only drinks because his knee hurts and is depressed for not being able to play college ball. Says her family never sees his sweet side and they never really gave him a chance.

What she doesn't say is that he’s abusive. That he is a bully who peaked in high school as a popular jock and is now a fat, sloven, self-absorbed pig. She doesn't say he hits her when he drinks too much. Doesn't say a lot of things that should be said. But Adiel knows...

The last-minute rain checks for important family events. The nervous phone calls. Her self-doubt that didn't exist in the years before Derek. Surely she would be happy with it over but never is that an option for the loyal and loving Tamra. So if she sticks it out, then Adiel would have to respect that. This trip is about having that man-to-man talk to make things right. He didn't savor the thought of sharing his pastime with the man who used to trip him in middle-school hallways and opened all those little wounds again by marrying his baby sister.

Tamra answers the door and brightens. "Hi, Ade!" They hug, tighter than normal.

“Come in. I baked meals to go. Cabbage rolls without the cabbage, just how you like it!”

“Ok.” He has been up since four. Hates to be late to the hunt and hates, even more, being around Derek. He wants to get going. They already missed dawn. By the time they get into the Bighorns, the game will be bedded down and near impossible to spot.

“What's up,” Derek asks without taking his eyes off his video game. He is still in his underwear.

“Not much, Derek, how are you?”

“Nada, bro.” He didn't look up.

“Ready to go?”

Ten seconds of silence before Derek lets out a dramatic sigh. Wiggles and gyrates all 275 pounds to a sitting position, gets up, and saunters to the bedroom. “I was born ready, dude,” he says with his back to Ade.

“Are you ok, sis," Ade whispers.

Tamra doesn't answer right off, continues to pack lunch. Eyes downcast, slumped shoulders, she finally replies, “Sure, Ade, I'm fine.”

Her eyes say otherwise.

“Ready, dude.” Derek is wearing sneakers and jeans. He holds his rifle by the barrel and rests the stock on his shoulder.

“No boots, Derek? I might have an extra pair.”

“Ha, with your tiny-ass feet? No way. Besides, I ain't no pussy.”

Ade forces a laugh.

The trip to the walk-in area is only an hour away, but in spent-with-Derek time it feels like ten hours. Derek is holding his rifle between his knees, barrel up. He tinkers with the radio, only staying on one station for a few minutes. Ade bites his lip, focuses on the road.

A conversation is necessary, the only point of the trip, really. But he postpones it. Derek has been intimidating Ade since the 8th grade when he moved to Sheridan from Bakersfield. He hates him for it. But hates himself worse for allowing it to happen every school day for years. Being outweighed by 100 pounds didn't help. Derek being an all-state linebacker and wrestler made it worse. The only consolation was Derek's large muscular frame turning to fat. Ade lettered in swimming and cross country. At least he could outrun him if necessary, though the thought of running away disgusts Ade.

“So, how is everything going?”

“Eh, not bad, my unemployment bennies got extended again,” Derek says while rubbing his thumb over the muzzle of his rifle.

“How about you and Tamra?”

“Oh, you know how she is, fuckin' nag, nag, nag. 'Derek, get out of bed.' 'Derek, get out the classifieds.' 'Derek, don't track in mud,' blah blah. She can be such a bitch---.”

“Don't say that about my sister,” Ade growls through his teeth.

Derek doesn't respond. Like all bullies, he senses the line where the bullied reach a point of fighting back. Following a tense moment, Ade passes the olive branch. “What kind of rifle did you bring?”

“Um, Ruger I think.”

“What caliber?”

“Don't remember,” Derek says, as he peeks down the barrel, waiting for the gun to whisper an answer.

“The caliber is stamped into the left side of the barrel, just in front of the receiver.”

Derek fumbles with his rifle, clanging the barrel against the window. Ade cringes. “Ah, it says .22-250.”

“Damn it! Damn it!”

“What!?”

“You can't hunt big game with that caliber!” Ade blusters, as he digs his fingers into the steering wheel.

“Shit, dude, have a hissy fit about it.”

“It's illegal,” Ade replies, his deepening shades of blush exposing rising anger close to boiling.

“Oh what, you gonna tattle? You gonna sniiitch?" Derek is in his element with a sneer plastered on his face.

“Well no, but it's not fair to the animal. The smaller calibers are more likely to maim and not kill.”

“Jesus, dude, you a liberal or something?”

“Do NOT say that!”

“What, that you're a liberal?”

“No, do not take the Lord's name in vain. And you know damn well I'm not a liberal.”

“Jesus, dude,” Derek responds under his breath, still searching for that line.

KHRW finally comes in clear enough to keep on. Derek leaves the station alone and slumps down into his seat. Ade doesn't care for rock, but he is thankful for it all the same.

Derek is dead asleep by the time Ade pulls off Poison Creek Road and onto the dirt lot at the entrance to a public hunting area. As a naturally active man, he can't fathom how Deadbeat Derek could be so tired. Ade ponders leaving him in the truck to sleep, but no, this miserable day must be seen through, for good or ill.

“Let's go, dude,”—Ade loves calling him dude, synonym for tenderfoot, greenhorn, city slicker, with the crucial benefit of Derek not knowing he is being insulted---, “Come on.”

Derek stumbles out holding his rifle like it was a Raggedy Andy doll. Ade suspects the rifle is loaded with a round in the chamber. He didn't care when he was driving because the muzzle was pointing at Derek's head, but on the trail, that rifle will be pointed at his back.

“It's not loaded, is it?

“Ah, I don't think so.”

“Can you check, please? We are going into rough country and it would be real easy to trip or something. Especially since you don't have a sling for your rifle.”

“If it puts you at ease,” Derek answers, rolling his eyes.

SNAP

“Oh God, what the hell are you doing!? That coulda been loaded." Ade's heart is beating like a war drum.

“That's why I pointed it up in the air. You are way too dramatic, dude.”

“Whatever. Are you ready? Grab your orange.”

“What orange?”

“It's illegal to hunt rifle without some orange clothing. It protects you from other hunters thinking you are game.” He can't tell if Derek is really that ignorant or if it's theater.

“Well, I don't have any.”

Ade wears expensive hiking boots treated for water resistance. Over that winter-camouflage snow pants and gaiters. On top he wears a long-sleeved moisture-wicking shirt under a light jacket, all topped off by a thick wool vest with sewed-on loops for his extra rounds. On his head, a bright orange winter cap.

“I have a vest you can use.” One of those cheap plastic vests from Walmart. He tosses the small pouch to Derek who opens it and tries it on, challenging the one-size-fits-all claim.

“I look like a faggot.”

“Well, you can look cool or stay alive. There might be a dozen hunters up there.”

“Fine, whatever man. Let's go kill something. I'm bored as shit,” Derek says as he opens the pedestrian gate.

“You have your tag?”

Derek drops his head, sighs, and turns back to Ade. “What are you going on about?”

“Your elk tag. The one Game and Fish mails out. You tie it to the leg when you harvest your cow.”

“Cow?! I'm gonna kill an elk, not no cow. Jeez, man.”

Ade stands befuddled. He knows his brother-in-law hails from California, but he can't fathom this level of urban buffoonery. “Cow elk, Derek, cow elk. As in a female elk.”

“Well, ah, yeah, I was just messing with you, Addie.”

Adiel purses his lips and fights off a cringe. Friends might call him Ade. Bullies called him Addie to make it sound feminine. Bullies are usually short on creativity. None more so than Derek in high school.

“Do you have the damn tag or not?”

“Yeah dude, calm down. It's hanging up on the fridge.”

Ade's cheeks flush. His lips clamp together to fight off a string of expletives. You fat-stupid-fuckin-bastard-tenderfoot-sonofabitch-california-greenhorn, he hears clanging around in his brain. “Derek, you can't hunt without a gal-damn tag. They can revoke your hunting rights for that, maybe mine too just for being with you!”

“Ok dude, calm down. I'll just have Tamra drop it by. Then if we see the game warden, we will say we accidentally left it in the truck. Problem solved, dude.”

“Oh sure, have Tamra do it. Doesn't she do enough for you already!?”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Derek's eyes go stone cold and narrow. He knows he is lazy. He knows that Ade knows that he knows. But an unwritten code of in-law social decorum states that such unseemly facts do not show up in conversation.

Ade balks. “Sorry, your plan is fine. Let's go hunting.”

The first hill to climb has a gentle slope. Ade enjoys the warm-up before reaching rougher country. He can hear the huffing and wheezing twenty yards behind. If they are lucky enough to get within a mile of a herd the elk are sure to be scared off by Derek's warthog call. If he is winded on the foothills of the mighty Bighorns then he is really in trouble when they reach the base of Hazelton Pyramid. Or, more accurately, if. Up ahead they see a hunter working his way back to the road without a quarry.

“Hallo.”

“Howdy. No luck?”

“Plenty, but I'll be damned if I'm gonna pack one out all the way back from the spring of Crazy Woman!”

“You see some up there,” Ade asks while Derek catches his breath.

“Ya. A young bull five-by-six, a spike, half a dozen cows. I left them alone for you young bucks to chase after,” the hunter says with congeniality.

“Well, I thank you for that.” Not mere idle talk, just one rifle blast and those public elk would have been spooked onto private land and out of reach.

Derek, hands on knees, manages a nod at the passing hunter.

“Heard some mighty strong howls back there as well,” the hunter says over his shoulder, more as an afterthought than a warning.

When the hunter is out of hearing distance, Derek asks, “We aren't going too far, are we?”

“Naw, just five or ten miles, a stroll really.” Ade almost feels guilty for jabbing at Derek's weakness. Almost.

As they continue to climb, a light powder begins to fall. The wind picks up, just a breeze, but noticeable. They are downwind and concealed by snow. All the better to stalk. Ade looks to the sky and nods thanks for his fortune. Derek curses the wind for his light coat, curses the snow for his ankle-high socks. Derek curses almost everything. Except Derek.

They reach the top of the smallest hill they will trek for the day. Below is drainage. The middle fork of Crazy Woman Creek reaches her headwaters right between Hazelton Peak and Hazelton Pyramid. Must've killed a few dozen Indians to get two place names, Ade muses. He considers sharing such thoughts with Derek, build a bond maybe, but Ade knows his brother-in-law would find a way to ruin it.

“Let’s…take…a break,” Derek wheezes.

Ade doesn’t fight him on it. He is liable to spook the whole valley with his labored breathing. Ade leans his rifle against his pack. Derek lays his on the wet grass and sprawls out. The snow is coming down harder now. Ade gets out the cabbage rolls and offers one.

“I can’t move,” Derek says. Ade places a roll on his chest and sits down. He drinks from his Camelback. “I need some water,” Derek says, as he munches on his roll, without bringing his head up. Ade shakes his head and with an audible sigh wipes the rubber nozzle and hands the tube to Derek. Ade had to acknowledge to himself that he knew that Derek would be completely unprepared for the hunt. He allowed the trainwreck to happen unimpeded because it made him feel superior. He should have made sure Derek was ready. Selfish.

All is quiet but Derek masticating like a cow chewing cud. It is broken by a deep, guttural howl. Solitary. Another long howl. More in response. Ade’s trained ear hears four, maybe five.

“The hell was that,” Derek asks, bringing up his head. He has a scared stupid look on his face. Ade was not without concern, but feigned boredom for the effect it would have. The truth, well concealed from Derek, is that Ade has shot about a dozen coyotes in his life, and never has he heard such a howl.

“Aw, it’s nothing.”

“Nothing!?”

“Derek, it’s nothing, nothing more than wild dogs the size of a border collie and scared to death of people to boot. Tamra has killed more ‘n a few.” Veiled emasculation steels Derek’s nerve a bit. “Besides, it sounds like it’s coming from Hazleton Peak. They’ll be pushing game right to us.”

Ade gets up and reaches for his pack. Derek is still holding the hose. Ade grabs air as Derek pulls the nozzle back. “Funny, Derek, lemme have it.”

“Or what?”

“Come on man, quit,” Ade replies as he reaches for it again. And again Derek pulls back.

“Listen, I’ll wrestle you for it. Stop acting like a bitch like your sis--”

He bull rushes the bigger man. Derek hooks Ade's ankle and drives his shoulder into Ade’s knee. He is thrown down and Derek is already straddling him before he can get over the shock.

“Goddammit, get off me, you fat sonofabitch,” Ade shouts as he digs his heels and thrusts his hips.

“Ah come on, Addie, say please,” Derek replies, pinning down his arms.

“Let go of me!” Ade fights off tears and Derek, both in vain.

“Say please, Addie.”

Ade kicks and strains, tossing his head up for momentum, tears rolling down his reddened cheeks. “PLEASE.”

Derek stands up and offers his hand. Ade refuses it and gets up on his own. He turns away, not wanting to give Derek the pleasure of seeing any more tears. He picks up his pack and rifle and moves off.

“Ah, I was just kidding, Adiel; don’t be mad, buddy.”

Ade stops and turns, looks at Derek through puffy red eyes, “Talk like that about my sister again, I’ll kill you.”

Ade walks down the hill at a quickened pace. He doesn’t look back, indifferent to whether or not Derek follows. His mind flashes to the teasing he took at school. Worse than that was the thought of taking the Lord’s name in vain. Derek draws the worst out of him, and Ade hates himself for it.

“Ok man, I’m sorry. Ok?” Derek kicks into a trot to catch up. His jeans are wet and will soon freeze and stiffen.

“Fine! Whatever. Just keep quiet,” Ade says much louder than he wishes. He continues at a clip just slower than a jog. Moves down into the drainage, concealing himself in the brush. Despite the snow, there is still an open trickle to Crazy Woman. He moves up the valley like the stalker he is, a veteran of a hundred hunts. Despite it all, Ade has high hopes. Staying between the Hazelton twins nearly makes the hunt Derek-proof as well.

A grove of aspens serves as a gateway to the pines higher up. Ade sits on a felled quakey and watches Derek fumble and stumble his way to the base of the steep valley. He is sucking air as he reaches Ade, who ignores him. He is glassing a rocky outcropping halfway up the Pyramid. Forming a plan of action, though difficult with Derek's theatric gasps breaking his concentration.

He lowers his binoculars with a sigh. Derek is supine again, this time in four inches of snow. Ade looks him over, watching his big belly heave. Derek keeps his eyelids pinched. Something is off. Something is missing.

“Derek,” Ade whispers. Receives a labored grunt in response. “Where the hell is your rifle?”

“I…left it. I…tried to tell you. You…left too fast.”

It is quiet for a moment, Ade trying to form the right words but says nothing. Better off with a disarmed Californian. “Ok, Derek, that’s ok. You coulda got in a lot of trouble with that gun if a game warden came along.”

Derek wheezes.

“Stay and rest. I’m going to work my way up to that rocky cliff. You can follow my trail, or follow our tracks back to the truck. Either way is fine.”

“Ok…I’ll just rest a little.”

Ade trudges into the pines above. Pauses, looks back and rasps, “Keep the orange on and stay quiet,” and disappears into a wall of spruce. The pines close in around Ade, the world suddenly much smaller than it was moments earlier. The quiet stillness broken up by random zephyrs sweeping through the scrub made things eerie. Ade curses himself for having a fear more animalistic than logical. All the same, he drops to one knee and swings around his pack. Pulls out his holstered 1911 and hooks it to his hip. He palms it, pulls the slide back and releases, ramming home a .45, reholsters.

Awwwwooooooo. Yip yip. Awwwwwoooo.

Ade feels tingles run up his neck. He loads a round into the rifle’s chamber, opens the action again to double-check before again pushing the bolt home. He stays crouched, slows his breathing. Like a figurine in a snow globe, he sits, flakes of snow coming to rest on his shoulders. Fear beckons a return to the safety of civilization. Only pride keeps him pointed deeper into the wilderness. He stands up slowly and moves toward where he believes the rocks will be once he gets further through the carpet of pine. He steps, equal parts predator and prey, with near-silent stealth, allowing the soft snow and gentle breeze to cover his ascent.

Ade moves quicker than he is accustomed, like a child scampering out of a dark basement, but forgives himself some trepidation. His path crosses another, maybe a few hours old. Too much fresh snow has fallen to read much of it, but Ade follows it to the base of a large lodgepole pine, twisted and menacing from unrelenting winds. Less snowfall here, Ade sees clear footprints, fresher than he cares for. Big. Too big, and Ade figures the odds of it coming from a pet St. Bernard to be slim to none, favoring none. Once more he checks his rifle. Checks his pistol. And for the first time, pulls his razor-sharp Buck knife from its hard plastic sheath. He looks at himself in the mirrored blade. Freckles won in the field, a quarter-circle scar above his shooting eye from firing a magnum rifle when he was twelve and “scoping” himself, chapped pale lips, and a sharp gaze.

“I am the predator,” he whispers to himself and rams the knife home.

His internal compass doesn’t fail him. High above, a cliff of granite comes into view. He walks along its base and finds a game trail leading up on one edge. The going is slick. Ade slings his rifle and uses branches and rocks to pull himself up. He loses his footing and keeps to a crawl halfway up.

He clambers high enough to be on par with the rocky outcropping. Unslings his rifle and belly crawls out to the edge. He stays low so he won’t present an unnatural outline. The pack is placed ahead with the rifle resting on top.

Ade sits Indian-style and absorbs his surroundings. From his vantage point, he can see the road, his truck- safety. He can see the bare hilltop, and closer, the aspen grove where he left Derek. Higher up the valley stands Hazelton Peak, solitary and majestic. Across to his side of the gap, Ade can see the left third of Hazelton Pyramid, bold and barren against the skyline. He glasses both, keen for color and movement. His scan stops just below the skyline on the pyramid, a dozen brown rocks to the naked eye. The kind of rocks that move and bugle. He smiles. Elk.

Now, the hardest part of the hunt- the wait. Ade knows better than to push his luck moving further up the valley. Elk spook easily enough and could be in the next county before they stop running. No, Ade will wait. Wait for dusk, when the elk drop back down into the drainage for water and bedding. He starts to mark various openings in vegetation for distance and etches the numbers in his mind. Hold high here, dead center there…

Below and to his left, Ade sees bright orange streaking out of the grove- Derek. Ade never fathomed he could move that fast. He tumbles down and jumps back up. When he starts running up the hill, the danger becomes apparent. Two wolves come out of the quakies at a trot. They are in no hurry, content with pushing the prey in the direction of their choosing, no different than sportsmen pushing game to others lying in wait. Further down three wolves at a dead run loop above Derek, stopping on the hilltop where they ate their cabbage rolls.

“Addieeee. Heeelllp.” The screams bounce off the rocks and echo back. Another wolf appears from the left, a hand bigger than the rest. He ventures closer than the others. All of them yip and bark, giving commands or following them. All while circling. Hungry or full of blood lust, Ade doesn’t know, but he has read the horror stories in the sportsmen magazines. He drops to his belly and thumbs off the safety. Six hundred yards. He places his mark three notches below center.

In the scope, Ade can see Derek on his knees, waving his arms and screaming himself hoarse. Some of them lie down, others ruffle and snarl. The big one stands tall, panting, licking his snout. As the alpha moves forward, the others come to their feet and yip, moving forward also, but not daring to get closer than the pack leader.

“Noooo. Get Baaack.” The screams make a few stop and lower their heads before a growl from the alpha steels their resolve.

Adiel Booth slows his breathing, cuts off all nervous signals from below his chest cavity.

“Get baaaack.”

He wills his heartbeat to slacken its pace. His left eye is free for gross correction while his trigger eye becomes one with the bullet path. A deep inhale through the nostrils.

“Adddiiieeeeee.”

A deeper exhale out of his mouth, holds. The pad of his index finger flattens on the trigger.

He whispers, “I…Never…Miss.”