A quick glance at his digital watch revealed the time: 5:35 am. The faint glow of the numbers made it easy to see in the pre-dawn darkness.
The buck had become the focus of his attention, and he’d been following its tracks through the frosty mornings. Bucks were usually shy and didn’t appear until the sun was above the horizon, around seven am, but this particular buck was different. No, this buck’s rut left signs, the tracks he left behind clearly visible in the soft earth of the early dawn.
Huddled in the shadows of his hiding place, he meticulously checked his hunting gear, preparing for the day’s hunt. The Winchester his father used for hunting lay in his hands, the wood smooth and worn, as he retracted the bolt and carefully slid the ammunition into place.
His fingers moved with practiced ease, sliding the bolt into its forward down position, but the safety remained engaged, a reminder of his father’s teachings - to only fire when the buck was in the crosshairs.
From his chair, he remained vigilant, his eyes scanning the forest floor, listening for any sound that might break the silence. It was just a silent waiting game. A game he excelled at.
His neighboring cousin, who usually joined him on his hunts, was absent today. His eighteen-year-old cousin was given the task, or rather, voluntold to help his Grams and aunts get the ranch ready for the family reunion, which was happening later that day.
On their sprawling 145-acre property, the family of twenty-eight lived in harmony, each home a testament to their self-sufficiency, built from the earth and sustained by their farming and hunting skills.
He spent the past two weeks tracking and monitoring signs of this specific buck, meticulously following his trail, searching for any sign of him. His family did not expect him to help with the preparations until after his birthday next year, and he was perfectly content with that.
The buck was his for the taking, and he reveled in the thrill of the hunt. The clock ticked just past six-fifteen when he noticed something moving in the shadows to his left. The moon, high in the sky, cast an ethereal glow, illuminating the rough outline of a buck as it cautiously emerged from the dense brush.
Drawn to the sight of the numerous berry bushes laden with ripe fruit, the buck ambled around the area. As the moonlight illuminated it, he saw four standing points, perhaps eye guards, adorned the buck’s head, but he wasn’t sure.
Slowly, he unzipped the window, careful not to make any noise, and raised his rifle. He moved the barrel just far enough to keep the mesh from catching fire, securing the butt in his shoulder pocket, and removing the safety with one eye through the eyepiece.
With a deep exhale, he carefully aimed just behind the front legs of his target. He held his breath, his finger tightening on the trigger, his heart pounding with the memory of his father’s lessons.
The recall does not affect his shooting; a clean shot. He watched the buck lurch away, its hooves crunching on the dry leaves as it vanished into the shadows of the bushes.
He packed up his rifle and prepared to track down the buck when a loud explosion-like sound from his left rattled the trees and made the ground tremble beneath his feet. His eyes scanned the area, searching for any sign of movement or color, but the dull gray landscape offered little distinction.
The flickering glow just above the treetops, a strange, ethereal light, set his heart racing. With a desperate urgency, he abandoned his rifle, supplies, and even the freshly killed buck, running towards his family’s farm, every muscle screaming in exertion.
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The pre-dawn light, tinged with orange, painted the smoke billowing into the sky, making it seem almost otherworldly. When he burst through the treeline, pushing aside branches and leaves, the clearing came into view. The charred remains of his aunts’ and uncles’ homes stood as silent monuments to the fire, which raged across the fields of scorched crops.
He sprinted toward the empty lot where his house had once stood, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He leaps over the piles of crumbled rubble, dodging flames that lick at the walls of what were once secure hallways.
His hunting moccasins, designed for silent stalking and gripping the earth, offered little protection against the jagged edges of the rubble. His parents’ room was the easiest to get to, being closer than his, his sister’s, or his Gram’s.
Quickly finding the yellow door, cracked and splintered, sticking out of the fallen roof, he began lifting away any debris he could grab. He reached down and, with a grunt of effort, used his shoulder and thighs; Parts of the roof and brick from the walls fell away as he twisted the beam away, revealing the body of his father in his flannel pants on the broken bed.
The bland, chalky texture of the energy bar he’d eaten that morning made its way up his throat. His father’s head was a gruesome sight, one side of his jaw crushed inward, blood pooling from his mouth, and a large piece of brick wall had cracked open the back of his skull. The fallen wall, a heavy slab of stone, crushed his mother, leaving her no chance of survival.
Heart hammering in his chest, he rushed to the general location of his sister’s room. His hands flew over the dirt, digging frantically. His sister, eight years his senior, was the one he always turned to for help and guidance.
She was his rock, his source of strength, always there for him. Her advice was always wise and insightful, guiding him through life’s challenges. The thought of losing her filled him with dread, but the horrifying sight of a body buried in the ground shattered his composure.
With each heave, he pushed more rubble aside, and as he did, a wave of relief washed over him. Hector, his sister’s fiance, lay before him. Although guilt gnawed at him for a brief moment of relief, a flicker of hope, like a fragile flower, bloomed within him.
His hands shook uncontrollably as he dug, the soil cold and heavy against his skin, but his sister’s body was nowhere to be found. That seed of hope grew.
His clothes were thick with dust, each particle clinging to his skin as he considered a plausible alternative. His sister was so dedicated to her work that she would often stay late at the office- especially follow the recent months.
He prayed fervently that she didn’t make it home the prior night. He frantically dialed the emergency line, desperate for help. The operator’s voice was grim as he informed him that his home wasn’t the only one targeted by the terrorists, a chilling realization.
Two hours. It took him over two hours to search the other homes for any survivors. The shock of the event left him dazed, his movements clumsy and uncoordinated.
The homes nearest to the impact zone, including the family barn that housed all their livestock, were reduced to nothing but charred debris and scorched earth. With no survivors in sight, he was forced to head to the nearest military research base, a grueling thirty-five minute drive away.
The facility was the place where his sister worked. His heart ached for the presence of his sister. He frantically grabbed his phone, urgently calling for an Uber.
Time seemed to stretch and blur. The driver’s incessant droning was nothing but a haze. He’d given the officer his sister’s badge number and name for the gate entrance, but when he arrived in the lobby, it wasn’t his sister who met him.
A man, whose salt-and-pepper crew cut and crisp dress uniform, with a prominent badge hinted at his years of service, greeted him by his name, Andrew Worthington, looking older than his own father.
With a confident swagger, the man introduced himself as Richard Murdock, the one in charge. His hands, white-knuckled and trembling, clung desperately to the plastic chair, but Andy couldn’t summon the strength to pull himself upright.
Murdock’s hand rested heavily on Andy’s shoulder as he knelt, his gaze intense as he met Andy’s eyes. Murdock explained that the Earth was suddenly attacked by a new intergalactic enemy.
Andy’s sister was working on a classified project involving weaponry to combat the new enemy. For her safety, she was sent into hiding with a handful of other scientist.
He fixated on the black polished military dress shoe, his eyes drawn to the scuffs that marred the smooth leather of the toes. His tears, heavy and hot, coursed down his face, leaving a glistening path on the floor in front of the shoe.
Murdock received no hint that Andy had been listening, except the moment he offered Andy revenge. Andy’s eyes, filled with a seething hatred, met his gaze.