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ISBN
13:
978-0-9916159-5-7

ISBN
10:

0-9916159-5-6

Libra
r
y
of
Cong
r
ess
Catalog
Ca
r
d
Number:
pending

Sinclair Publishing

P.O. Box 2052

Rancho Cordova, CA 95741-2052

All of the persons contained within this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to any persons, either living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
No giant spiders, sea monsters, or bigfeet were harmed in the writing of this work.

Chapter 1: Hunter

hunt·er -
noun
\ˈ
hə
n-
tə
r\: One that searches for something.

His finger twitched on the trigger, but didn’t pull. Morgan stared through the scope mounted on his rifle and into the brush at his prey standing on the other side. There he was. The biggest eight-point buck he’d ever seen. The animal stood in the glen, tall and proud. It had no idea its head would end up as a trophy on some human’s wall, stuffed and staring through glass eyes for all eternity; a testament to one man’s hunting ability.

“Quick! Hide! Maybe we can lose the little pain-in-the-butt.” Ian burst into the thick brush and crouched behind a large bush. He peered through the dark green leaves back at Hunter. Raising his index finger to his lips, he motioned for his friend to be quiet.

“No,” Hunter said. “We can’t leave her.”

“Why?”

“Because she’s my little sister— she’s only ten.”

“So?” Ian shrugged at Hunter’s lack of response. “I don’t know why she had to come along anyway. She’ll just ruin everything. Girls always do.”

“Hunter! Ian! Where are you?”

“See.” Ian jumped back out. “Shut up, stupid! You’ll scare all the animals away.”

“I am not stupid!” Aeryn turned to face her brother’s best friend. “And if you had any intelligence whatsoever you would know that, if you hadn’t run away from me, I wouldn’t have to call you to stop, therefore
not
scaring the animals away.” She stood her ground, feet firmly planted, unmoving, face upwards toward her taller opponent. “It’s all
your
fault.”

“And if
you
,” Ian loomed over her, “had any intelligence whatsoever, you would know when you are out in the woods hunting, you have to be
quiet. Stop screaming
!” Ian inched closer to her, bulking up his height as much as he could.

“Don’t leave me again,” Aeryn demanded. “Or else.”

“Or else what?”

“Or else, Ian. I mean it. I will not play your childish games. And if you think - - -”

“Stop it!” Hunter snapped. “You’re both making too much noise.”

“Shut up Hunter. You’re not in charge.” Ian turned on his friend now. “You don’t even know what you’re doing.”

“Yes, I do.” His face flushed.

“Oh, really? Then where’s your dad?”

Hunter squirmed. His eyes darted from the trees to the ground and back again, searching for any sign of his father. His palms began to sweat, but he dared not wipe them. Ian and Aeryn could not know they were lost. Hunter could feel his heart racing. Dizzy, head spinning, he staggered, but just one step. What had he gotten them into?

“You’re no big game hunter, you just think you are,” Ian laughed. “Just ‘cause your dad can hunt deer and elk doesn’t mean you can.”

“Yes, I can.”

“Yeah? Then do it.”

“I will.”

“Go ahead and find one— just one. I dare ya.”

Hunter looked around, trying to decide which way to go. He hesitated just a split second, but it was too late.

“Go ahead,” Ian taunted. “I’ll just wait here with the little sissy.”

“I am not a sissy! I’m warning you, Ian.”

“Shut up!”

Morgan blinked hard, trying to focus his blurred vision through the thick morning mist.
Wait.
He’s gone.
He shifted slightly from his hiding place in the low brush.
Was that real? Did I really see
—
Yes, there he is.
He took aim again. Morgan kept his gun trained on his trophy, his finger still twitching on the trigger.

It was unseasonably warm. His nose filled with misty morning dew with each breath, making it run. He dared not move to wipe it. There was a slight rustle in the bushes to his side, but Morgan remained taut. He kept his gun trained on his eight-point prize.

The deer heard the rustle, too, and froze. It raised its head, huge rack hoisting in the air, and turned toward the noise. Nervous eyes darted from one spot to another in the dense brush, then settled on the spot where Morgan lay, staring straight at him, unmoving. Morgan stared back, stunned. He couldn’t believe his eyes. He released the trigger, pulled back from the scope on the rifle, wiping his nose and rubbing his face. He put his eye back up against the scope again, and stared back into the impossible; purple eyes. It was a deer with dark, royal purple eyes. What kind of genetic mutation was this, he wondered, taking a firm grip on the trigger again. Bracing the barrel against his shoulder, Morgan tried to contain his excitement. The crosshairs of the gun scope trained on the chest of the large deer, centering near its heart. It’s one of a kind, he thought, a purple-eyed, eight-point buck; one of a kind. He squared his shoulder and seated the rifle hard against himself.

One deep breath, and hold—

The rustle to his side turned into a crash. Morgan swung the gun to his left and tried to take aim at the noise, but saw nothing clearly.

“Stop,” someone squealed— a female voice; a small female voice.

“Shhhh,” shot the harsh reply, but it was too late. The buck bolted from its feeding spot and disappeared in a flash into the dense underbrush.

Morgan turned in his fury toward the intruders who took from his grasp his once-in-a-lifetime prize. “Who’s there?” he demanded.

There was no reply.

“Come out!” The brush rustled and parted as three young figures emerged.

Morgan looked down into the faces of his two children, and their friend.

“You said you were going to get a Bigfoot,” Hunter said. “I’ve never seen one, Dad.”

“That’s because there’s no such thing. Bigfoot isn’t real.” Morgan clicked the safety on his weapon and lowered it.

“They do so exist,” Ian huffed. “I saw one once. He was watching me through my bedroom window.”

Morgan glared at Ian, but said nothing.

“Then why did you say you were going to get one?” Hunter turned away.

“Why do you have to shoot animals, Dad?” Aeryn looked up at her father. He hated those pleading eyes. She didn’t even need to say what was on her mind. He could see her disappointment written all over her face.

“I hunt for meat, Aeryn. You know that.”

“Can you eat a Bigfoot?” she asked.

“Yeah, sure. I hear they taste like chicken,” Ian snickered. “Hey, if there’s more than one do they call them Bigfeet?”

“There’s no such thing as a Bigfoot.” Morgan shot a sharp glare at his son’s close friend. “Does your father know you’re out here?”

“He knows I spent the night at your house.”

“And you don’t think he would be upset about you wandering around the forest with hunters shooting all around you?”

“Oh, not at all, Mr. Welch,” Ian smiled. “He trusts you to always take good care of me.” The lilt of sarcasm and glint in Ian’s eye was unmistakable.

Morgan turned back to his own two children, Hunter and Aeryn. “You three should not be out here. It’s dangerous.”

“Then why are you here, Dad?” Aeryn was pouting now.

“Because, I’m a trained outdoorsman.” Morgan sat down and beckoned his daughter to his side. He put his arms around her. “I’m perfectly safe out here because I know how to take care of myself in the wild. You and your brother don’t. You shouldn’t be out here unless you’re with an experienced hunter.”

“I do so know how to take care of myself. I took the hunter’s safety class last summer.”

“That’s for gun safety, Hunter, not safety in the wild. You still have a lot to learn.”

Hunter clenched his jaw and turned away, eyes flaring. Morgan could see he was incensed. He would have to deal with this later. “Come on,” he motioned to the kids. “Let’s get back home. The sun’s almost up. It’ll be breakfast time soon.”

Morgan turned back to the clearing where the buck had stood only minutes before. “I’ll be back later,” he whispered. “I’ll see you again.”

“Did you see that big buck, Mr. Welch?”

“Yes, Ian, I did.”

“It had
huge
antlers. How many points were there?”

“Eight,” he sighed. “It was an eight-point buck.” Morgan looked back at the kids. “It’s starting to rain. Let’s get back before we’re all soaked.”

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