Post by morriss003 on Oct 17, 2014 19:01:16 GMT -5
Killing the Deer
By Stan Morris
Copyright 2014
“That one, Howard?”
I stared at the deer for a moment before saying, “Maybe we can find a bigger one.”
The real problem was that I did not want to kill a deer of any size. I had hunted with Jacob and Luis, and we had brought back deer that they had shot, but this was the first time I was leading the hunt. Jacob and Luis were used to this. I was not. What I wanted was to find and kill a mean, ugly looking deer that looked as if it was a threat to our camp, but we had not run across a deer that appeared villainous.
I knew we needed to kill deer to eat. Though we had a lot of food stocks due to the camp being stocked at the beginning of the year, our food would run out at some point. Killing and eating was a matter of survival. There were other teenagers counting on me. At seventeen, I was the oldest, so I felt the responsibility to provide for the rest, some as young as twelve.
“Let’s move west.”
There were plenty of deer in the forest. Before the Fog had congealed and had destroyed the Earth below our altitude, this area had been a part of the Sequoia National Park in the southern Sierra Nevada Mountains. Hunting had been rare, and before the Fog came, deer herds had moved up to high ground, perhaps sensing the coming of the alien muck.
“There’s one.”
This deer was slightly larger than the other. We watched it for a time before moving on. This action was repeated again and again during the day, until I noted with alarm that the sun was almost down to the western peaks. Unfortunately the deer, which had been plentiful up to then, had decided to bed down for the night. We searched for another hour and finally came across one. It was the smallest we had seen all day. Tomas shot and hit its leg, breaking the limb. Its pitiful cries lasted until I got close and shot it in the head, and then it emitted a loud rasping gasp and died. As Jacob had shown us, we strung it up, slit its throat to let the blood drain, and cut off the odorous patches. Then we disemboweled it. By the time we finished doing this, none of us were interested in light conversation.
When we returned to camp, Jacob studied the small carcass for a second, met my eyes with his, and then looked away. He was only fourteen, but he was already providing most of our meat. My face burned with feelings of failure and humiliation.
“Try to get one a little larger next time.”
“Okay.”
The Fog was changing us. We were children of a civilization that allowed kids to linger in their childhood. I knew that teens in other, less developed countries had to begin working at an early age for the survival of their families and for their villages, but I never thought I would find myself in that situation. I had played quarterback for my high school in our church league. That was my role; it defined me, along with my Facebook, Google Plus, and Pinterest accounts. Now I would become someone different.
I remembered reading about tribes with people that thanked the animals they killed for providing the nourishment they needed. I had always thought it to be the thinking of backward, ignorant people. Now I understood how they felt.
By Stan Morris
Copyright 2014
“That one, Howard?”
I stared at the deer for a moment before saying, “Maybe we can find a bigger one.”
The real problem was that I did not want to kill a deer of any size. I had hunted with Jacob and Luis, and we had brought back deer that they had shot, but this was the first time I was leading the hunt. Jacob and Luis were used to this. I was not. What I wanted was to find and kill a mean, ugly looking deer that looked as if it was a threat to our camp, but we had not run across a deer that appeared villainous.
I knew we needed to kill deer to eat. Though we had a lot of food stocks due to the camp being stocked at the beginning of the year, our food would run out at some point. Killing and eating was a matter of survival. There were other teenagers counting on me. At seventeen, I was the oldest, so I felt the responsibility to provide for the rest, some as young as twelve.
“Let’s move west.”
There were plenty of deer in the forest. Before the Fog had congealed and had destroyed the Earth below our altitude, this area had been a part of the Sequoia National Park in the southern Sierra Nevada Mountains. Hunting had been rare, and before the Fog came, deer herds had moved up to high ground, perhaps sensing the coming of the alien muck.
“There’s one.”
This deer was slightly larger than the other. We watched it for a time before moving on. This action was repeated again and again during the day, until I noted with alarm that the sun was almost down to the western peaks. Unfortunately the deer, which had been plentiful up to then, had decided to bed down for the night. We searched for another hour and finally came across one. It was the smallest we had seen all day. Tomas shot and hit its leg, breaking the limb. Its pitiful cries lasted until I got close and shot it in the head, and then it emitted a loud rasping gasp and died. As Jacob had shown us, we strung it up, slit its throat to let the blood drain, and cut off the odorous patches. Then we disemboweled it. By the time we finished doing this, none of us were interested in light conversation.
When we returned to camp, Jacob studied the small carcass for a second, met my eyes with his, and then looked away. He was only fourteen, but he was already providing most of our meat. My face burned with feelings of failure and humiliation.
“Try to get one a little larger next time.”
“Okay.”
The Fog was changing us. We were children of a civilization that allowed kids to linger in their childhood. I knew that teens in other, less developed countries had to begin working at an early age for the survival of their families and for their villages, but I never thought I would find myself in that situation. I had played quarterback for my high school in our church league. That was my role; it defined me, along with my Facebook, Google Plus, and Pinterest accounts. Now I would become someone different.
I remembered reading about tribes with people that thanked the animals they killed for providing the nourishment they needed. I had always thought it to be the thinking of backward, ignorant people. Now I understood how they felt.