Post by Rock114 on Jan 17, 2014 22:10:55 GMT
“Check your weapon, son?”
“Yes Uncle Pete.”
“The safety’s on, right?”
“Yes Uncle Pete.”
“Hand it over, boy. Let me have a look at it.” Nick sighed, handing the rifle over. It was always the same thing with Uncle Pete. Every time before they went out, Pete had to ask him if he checked his weapon, then ask again, then check it himself, then ask again right before they left. It was almost routine now, a ritual that he suffered through before every hunt.
That didn’t mean he liked it. Pete handed the rifle back, confirming that the safety was on. As his uncle turned back to the trunk where they kept their, now somewhat small, cache of ammunition, Nick spoke up. “Uncle Pete, why do you always do this?”
Without looking up, Pete answered, fishing another bolt for his crossbow out of the ancient wooden container. The wood was mostly rotted from years of exposure (they had found it outside the shed when they stumbled upon the cabin, and hauled it inside to use as storage), and the metal on the hinges and the lock had rusted itself into a permanent state of limbo, where the chest could be neither opened, nor closed completely. The condition forced them to, ironically, store the container which had been designed to keep people out of it, in the cabin’s attic because people could so easily get into it. This wouldn’t have been a problem for most of them, but Carlos was adamant about the extra security measures. He didn’t want Sarah getting into it and hurting herself. “Do what, son?”
“Every time we go out, you always keep askin’ me if I’ve checked my gun. And every time I say ‘Yes, Uncle Pete,’ but you ask me again, and again, and again. I’m gettin’ sick of it.” Pete gave no response as he continued rummaging through the ammo chest. Before Nick could ask again, Luke retorted.
“Yeah, Pete. You don’t need to check Nicky’s rifle for him. Everyone knows he paid the utmost attention in his gun safety class,” he said, grinning ear to ear as he inspected his machete. “And he especially didn’t use that time to catch up on his fifteen daily hours of sleep that you so cruelly deprive him of.” Luke and Pete both chuckled, continuing to arm themselves for the excursion from the cabin.
Nick’s face reddened as he turned to Luke, and he held up his hand as he counted out his points on his fingers. “Number one: Nobody calls me Nicky, so you can shut up. Number two: you can take your jokes and shove’em up your ass, Mr. Comedian,” he growled. “And Three, I-“
“Nick! What would your mother say if she heard you swearing?” Pete was looking at him now, eyes narrowed as if waiting for Nick to fire back another insult. The younger man scowled for a moment, mouth beginning to form a suitable insult, but then he thought better of it. He looked at the floor, cowed by his uncle’s warning.
“Sorry Uncle Pete,” he groaned, with an inflection in his voice that made it clear he was not pleased with having to apologize. He gave himself a quick check over as the three went back to work. Ok, ammo: Rifle full, five round clip. Right pocket, two rifle clips, total fifteen rounds. Revolver, fully loaded with six shots, in waistband. Safety is ON, Uncle Pete... Left pocket, twelve loose rounds, total is eighteen bullets for the six-gun. His hand drifted down to his hunting knife, secured to his belt with a sheath, and he gripped the hilt for comfort. Right hip, knife in sheath, ONLY use on animals for gathering meat. No lurkers. He always mentally recited his load out before leaving the safety of the cabin, continually from the time he took his munitions out of the chest to when they reached the trees that marked the end of the clearing their cabin was located in. It helped him take his mind off of the impending danger until he couldn’t see their haven anymore, when he finally managed to get into the necessary state of mind for their hunts.
Downstairs, prepared to leave, the trio said their goodbyes to the group. Well, not Nick. He always stuck with a more optimistic “See ya later,” because he just couldn’t stand goodbyes. Goodbye was permanent. It sealed the deal, so to speak. Luke’s hand was around the doorknob when he felt a great force wrap its arms around him from behind.
“Nicky!” the woman’s voice cried. Nick barely managed to turn himself around, such was the intensity of her hug. The woman spoke again, with mock anger. “You weren’t going to leave without saying goodbye to your mother now, would you? What kind of boy have I raised that he can’t give his own mother the time of day, I ask you?”
Nick returned the hug after she let go, slinging the rifle over his shoulder before he did so. “Sorry mom,” he said. “It slipped my mind.”
“Seems mighty suspicious that it seems to slip your mind every time we leave, Nicky,” Luke teased. “What’s the matter? Tough guys like you,” he said, snickering, “can’t love their mothers?’” Nick’s mother brushed her long hair behind her ears as Nick turned to Luke.
“Fuck you Luke, what did I say about calling me-“
“NICKY!” His mother’s voice rose, shocked. “What have I told you about that kind of language? Do I need to wash your mouth out with soap like I did when you were younger? It is NOT okay to use those words!” she scolded. “Now apologize to Luke.”
“What? But, Mom, I-“
“No buts! I said apologize.” She had a way of making her voice sound like ice when she wanted to. It was a talent, Uncle Pete had told him. Uncle Pete, thankfully, interrupted before his Nick could be demeaned any further in front of his fellow survivors. “Kate, mind if I take the boy for a bit? We’ve kind of got something to do here, in case you hadn’t noticed that these implements of destruction of ours ain’t just for decoration.”
Kate embraced her boy one last time, so tight that Nick thought his circulation had been cut off for a second. “I love you, Nicky,” she said, and embraced him one last time. “Be careful out there, okay sweetie?”
“I love you too, Mom,” Nick impatiently muttered. She turned back to Pete, already halfway out the door, following Luke.
“You’ll take care of him, won’t you Pete?” she asked. She always asked that. She asked it in the same way Uncle Pete had to check his rifle every time they did this. It was ritual for her.
“Don’t I always, Kate?” he said, smiling back. “Everything’s gonna be fine.”
“Remember what I said about your language, Nicky!” she yelled from the cabin door as they made their way to the edge of the trees.
Something inside Nick, however, told him that it wouldn’t be fine. He brushed the feeling off, and it disappeared as quickly as it had arrived. The three hunters set off into the forest.
“Yes Uncle Pete.”
“The safety’s on, right?”
“Yes Uncle Pete.”
“Hand it over, boy. Let me have a look at it.” Nick sighed, handing the rifle over. It was always the same thing with Uncle Pete. Every time before they went out, Pete had to ask him if he checked his weapon, then ask again, then check it himself, then ask again right before they left. It was almost routine now, a ritual that he suffered through before every hunt.
That didn’t mean he liked it. Pete handed the rifle back, confirming that the safety was on. As his uncle turned back to the trunk where they kept their, now somewhat small, cache of ammunition, Nick spoke up. “Uncle Pete, why do you always do this?”
Without looking up, Pete answered, fishing another bolt for his crossbow out of the ancient wooden container. The wood was mostly rotted from years of exposure (they had found it outside the shed when they stumbled upon the cabin, and hauled it inside to use as storage), and the metal on the hinges and the lock had rusted itself into a permanent state of limbo, where the chest could be neither opened, nor closed completely. The condition forced them to, ironically, store the container which had been designed to keep people out of it, in the cabin’s attic because people could so easily get into it. This wouldn’t have been a problem for most of them, but Carlos was adamant about the extra security measures. He didn’t want Sarah getting into it and hurting herself. “Do what, son?”
“Every time we go out, you always keep askin’ me if I’ve checked my gun. And every time I say ‘Yes, Uncle Pete,’ but you ask me again, and again, and again. I’m gettin’ sick of it.” Pete gave no response as he continued rummaging through the ammo chest. Before Nick could ask again, Luke retorted.
“Yeah, Pete. You don’t need to check Nicky’s rifle for him. Everyone knows he paid the utmost attention in his gun safety class,” he said, grinning ear to ear as he inspected his machete. “And he especially didn’t use that time to catch up on his fifteen daily hours of sleep that you so cruelly deprive him of.” Luke and Pete both chuckled, continuing to arm themselves for the excursion from the cabin.
Nick’s face reddened as he turned to Luke, and he held up his hand as he counted out his points on his fingers. “Number one: Nobody calls me Nicky, so you can shut up. Number two: you can take your jokes and shove’em up your ass, Mr. Comedian,” he growled. “And Three, I-“
“Nick! What would your mother say if she heard you swearing?” Pete was looking at him now, eyes narrowed as if waiting for Nick to fire back another insult. The younger man scowled for a moment, mouth beginning to form a suitable insult, but then he thought better of it. He looked at the floor, cowed by his uncle’s warning.
“Sorry Uncle Pete,” he groaned, with an inflection in his voice that made it clear he was not pleased with having to apologize. He gave himself a quick check over as the three went back to work. Ok, ammo: Rifle full, five round clip. Right pocket, two rifle clips, total fifteen rounds. Revolver, fully loaded with six shots, in waistband. Safety is ON, Uncle Pete... Left pocket, twelve loose rounds, total is eighteen bullets for the six-gun. His hand drifted down to his hunting knife, secured to his belt with a sheath, and he gripped the hilt for comfort. Right hip, knife in sheath, ONLY use on animals for gathering meat. No lurkers. He always mentally recited his load out before leaving the safety of the cabin, continually from the time he took his munitions out of the chest to when they reached the trees that marked the end of the clearing their cabin was located in. It helped him take his mind off of the impending danger until he couldn’t see their haven anymore, when he finally managed to get into the necessary state of mind for their hunts.
Downstairs, prepared to leave, the trio said their goodbyes to the group. Well, not Nick. He always stuck with a more optimistic “See ya later,” because he just couldn’t stand goodbyes. Goodbye was permanent. It sealed the deal, so to speak. Luke’s hand was around the doorknob when he felt a great force wrap its arms around him from behind.
“Nicky!” the woman’s voice cried. Nick barely managed to turn himself around, such was the intensity of her hug. The woman spoke again, with mock anger. “You weren’t going to leave without saying goodbye to your mother now, would you? What kind of boy have I raised that he can’t give his own mother the time of day, I ask you?”
Nick returned the hug after she let go, slinging the rifle over his shoulder before he did so. “Sorry mom,” he said. “It slipped my mind.”
“Seems mighty suspicious that it seems to slip your mind every time we leave, Nicky,” Luke teased. “What’s the matter? Tough guys like you,” he said, snickering, “can’t love their mothers?’” Nick’s mother brushed her long hair behind her ears as Nick turned to Luke.
“Fuck you Luke, what did I say about calling me-“
“NICKY!” His mother’s voice rose, shocked. “What have I told you about that kind of language? Do I need to wash your mouth out with soap like I did when you were younger? It is NOT okay to use those words!” she scolded. “Now apologize to Luke.”
“What? But, Mom, I-“
“No buts! I said apologize.” She had a way of making her voice sound like ice when she wanted to. It was a talent, Uncle Pete had told him. Uncle Pete, thankfully, interrupted before his Nick could be demeaned any further in front of his fellow survivors. “Kate, mind if I take the boy for a bit? We’ve kind of got something to do here, in case you hadn’t noticed that these implements of destruction of ours ain’t just for decoration.”
Kate embraced her boy one last time, so tight that Nick thought his circulation had been cut off for a second. “I love you, Nicky,” she said, and embraced him one last time. “Be careful out there, okay sweetie?”
“I love you too, Mom,” Nick impatiently muttered. She turned back to Pete, already halfway out the door, following Luke.
“You’ll take care of him, won’t you Pete?” she asked. She always asked that. She asked it in the same way Uncle Pete had to check his rifle every time they did this. It was ritual for her.
“Don’t I always, Kate?” he said, smiling back. “Everything’s gonna be fine.”
“Remember what I said about your language, Nicky!” she yelled from the cabin door as they made their way to the edge of the trees.
Something inside Nick, however, told him that it wouldn’t be fine. He brushed the feeling off, and it disappeared as quickly as it had arrived. The three hunters set off into the forest.