Xperience Fiction – I Hate Shootin’ the Young’uns

Xperience Fiction – I Hate Shootin’ the Young’uns – Story by Liam Sweeny.

Earl tipped back a Pabst Blue Ribbon as he ran a rod down the barrel of his Winchester .308. They were hunting from the porch of Earl’s tattered shack in the middle of Hicksville, the town name, if not its one-word description. The cemetery was across the street. They liked to go there for some reason. Earl and Ronnie could hunt ’em from the porch. Ellie was playing in the sandbox, with a toddler bracelet connected to the rust-tinged metal pipe that served as a porch column. She was laughing and throwing sand all around, makin’ a fuss, like most kids her age do. She was three. She was bait.

Ronnie leaned back in his rocking chair. “Slow today…” He said.

“Ayup’… I saw two earlier, but I didn’t have a good shot. Ya’ know, ya’ don’ wanna’ be pissin’ em’ off…” Earl said. He kicked open the front door with his foot.

“Maggie! We need beer, baby.”

Maggie’s voice wafted through the cabin. “Two?” She asked.

“Nah, just bring out the case,” he said. “We’ll have ’em drunk before they lose their cold.”

Maggie popped out and tossed the case on the table between them.

“Hey! Ya’ done shook up all the Blue Rib’s!”

“Well, don’t drink so fast, asshole.”

Maggie closed the door and walked away. Earl made a back-hand motion, Ronnie let out a laugh.

“I heard that!” she said.

Earl turned back to Ronnie. “How’s Sue?”

“Six months…” Ronnie said… “Gonna be hard to find baby clothes…”

“I hear ya’.” Earl replied. “Gettin’ hard to find ammo too. Stuckey’s is runnin’ low on .308… I might buy an odd-six just cause there’s more ammo for it.”

“You can hit pretty good with an odd-six.” Ronnie said. “I got one, and a shitload of ammo in the basement. We could hunt for a year off what I got, assumin’ ya’ don’t get sloppy drunk and shoot trees.”

“Fuck yourself.” Earl said. Then he squinted into the woods.

“There’s one… See him?”

Ronnie looked to where Earl was pointing. “Where?”

“On the tree-line, next to the mausoleums.”

Ronnie squinted. “There he is.”

“That one’s a man-eater.” Earl said. “You can tell because he’s comin’ for us. The other ones hide from us.”

“You’re takin’ it?” Ronnie said.

“Wait till he gets a little closer to the road.” Earl said. “Ya’ remember back in the day when you couldn’t shoot across a street without the Dee-E-Cee and En-Con throwin’ cuffs on ya’?”

“Yeah…” Ronnie said. “Couldn’t bait either.”

“Fuck those pricks.” Earl said. “They ain’t nowhere now…”

They watched the beast as it sniffed them out, sniffed Ellie out. It was near the main road of the cemetery. It started toward the entrance, and Earl pulled up, eye to the scope, right hand thumbing in a round and slamming the bolt. He flipped the safety, and took the kill breath. He fired, reloaded with the speed of a life spent on the hunt, and fired two more rounds. The beast flayed, wobbled and dropped.

Earl slapped Ronnie on the back. “Let’s go get a look. Bring your bag.”

They high-tailed it to the kill. Earl and Ronnie stood over the corpse, at a good distance. Ronnie had a round ready in case it got a final bit of steam. But Earl landed two head shots and a chest shot.

“Damn.” He said. “Tainted meat.” He pointed to the chest wound. “Formaldehyde. He must’ve come from the funeral parlor. Couldn’t a’ been dead more than a week. He’s was a townie. Musta’ been.”

“So what, we keep the head?” Ronnie asked as he reached into his bag for the bone saw.

“Yeah, but we don’t stuff it… Just keep the skull.” Earl said.

“He was a young’un…” Earl added as he stared over the re-killed young man.

“I hate shootin’ the young’uns….”

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