As the brown beast lowered its head and flared its wide, silky nostrils, the man on his belly crawled behind the towering pines and prepared himself for the end game. Or, more aptly, the beginning of it. But it didn’t feel much like a beginning when you’d been at it for hours already and were three quarters of the way up the steep ridge.
It didn’t feel like it when your feet were frozen and snot was glued to your upper lip. Then it just felt like work, and not the opening ceremony it’s supposed to be. His stomach grumbled as the heat and thrill of the moment warmed his chest and anticipation took hold, the corner of his lip rising in an exhausted, infernal grin. The thrill of the hunt. The end result. Here it was, and he knew what to do next.
Clouds of white fluff sprayed outward as the animal exhaled, muzzling its long nose into the snow to root for twigs and bare bushes, its back turned to the man some three-hundred-fifty yards south. Its antlers were so tremendous as to resemble bone umbrellas catching the falling snow, of which it was almost to its stomach in, as it raised to snag a thin branch. At almost six foot, he didn’t have to reach far. He was a magnificent creature, and the man on his belly had him in his sights.
“Good moose,” he whispered. “Just stay right where you’re at. Eat away. Just don’t…fucking…move…”
His right arm rested on a fallen trunk for support; otherwise, with the snow so downy, he was liable to sink, slip, and miss the shot. There had to be a good four feet on the ground, he presumed, and it hadn’t made things easy thus far. There was a long road ahead, but this…just the beginning…this was hell. He couldn’t imagine why anyone would do this for fun.
The woods were as bare as they would ever be during the winter months, and the sun hadn’t yet begun to rise. It wouldn’t for a long time. Birds were silent and still, the only twigs cracking were those he and the beast were stepping on, and from across the way he watched the fog slowly roll in and make the steep peaks all but invisible. His breath reminded him constantly of the cold, and no matter how tightly he pulled the leather trench coat around him it just wasn’t enough; the cold slipped in somewhere. It always does.
The Shepherd of Ruin Description:
An isolated town in Montana overcome with a mysterious illness.
One doctor in town, out of ideas.
A last resort – to call in a specialist from The State Department.
The resident’s of Traveler’s Rest rejoice as he produces a vaccine, but who is this man? And who is the other stranger in town?
As the medicine is distributed, those won’t be the only two questions being asked. Because soon, bizarre things begin happening inside their bodies, and it becomes apparent that the illness isn’t their only threat.
Can Sawyer Langley, lifelong resident and father of two, unravel the mystery and save his family – and town – in time? Or is the macabre plot afoot simply too sinister for one man to overcome?
One thing’s for sure – it’s a hell of a ride to the end.
