deer.
“ Dammit!” I yell out. This is a small island, but they’re too fast. Without a gun, which I would never fire for fear of drawing attention, and without professional traps, I don’t see how we could ever catch them.
Suddenly, Ben steps forward, takes the bow from my hand, and one arrow. He takes three steps forward in front of me, holds the bow expertly, strings the arrow, holds out his chest, and then bides his time, following the deer, which now must be a good fifty yards away and bounding off. They are also zigzagging in and out between trees. It’s an impossible shot.
Ben releases, and the arrow goes flying through the air.
And then, to my amazement, there is the distant sound of arrow piercing flesh. I’m completely shocked, as I watch one deer fall.
I turn and look at Ben, my mouth hanging open. He stands there, not moving, and slowly lowers the bow. He looks sad, as if he regrets what he’s done.
“ You didn’t tell me,” I say in a hushed tone, “that you’re an expert shot.”
He turns and shrugs, as he hands back the bow.
“ You didn’t ask,” he says nonchalantly.
Ben turns and walks off, in the direction of the deer. I stand there, too frozen in surprise to know what to say.
I follow him, still trying to comprehend what just happened. I had no idea that Ben had any skills—much less, hunting skills. That was an unbelievable, one-of-a-kind shot. I had written him off, but now I realize how valuable Ben is. And as I watch him walk with a new bounce to his step, I realize that this episode did something to him. It seems like maybe it helped snap him out of it, give him a sense of pride, of purpose. For the first time, I feel as if he’s back with us, finally present, as a member of the team.
We both reach the deer, and stand over it. It lies on its side, blood oozing out into the snow, its legs still quivering. It was a perfect shot, right to its neck.
After several seconds, it stops quivering, dead.
Ben reaches down, slings the animal over his shoulder. He turns, and together we walk back to the cave. As we go, I grab kindling, dry branches everywhere, filling my arms. Then I grab wide pine branches, gathering what will be a huge blanket and pillow for Rose.
My heart fills with optimism. The skies grow darker and the snow stronger and the wind whips at full force, but I don’t care. We have shelter—real shelter—with fresh food for all, and wood for fire. For once, I feel things are going our way.
*
Finally, a sense of peace has settled over us. We all sit huddled together, deep inside the cave, spread out around a roaring fire. It turned out that the matches I salvaged from dad’s house were invaluable, as was the kindling I brought in from outside. It all helped to get the fire going, and once it started, we all took turns going outside, finding small logs that were as dry as possible, and throwing them on the ever-growing fire. dad’s tools even came in handy, as I used the hammer and screwdriver to chip off the wet bark, get rid of all the wet layers and get the wood as dry as possible. Now the fire is roaring, giving us all the desperately needed warmth we’ve been craving for days.
As I sit there, holding my hands out before it, rubbing my palms, I slowly feel my limbs begin to relax. I didn’t realize how tense they were, how frozen up I was. I feel like I’m de-thawing, getting back to myself again. It’s amazing how warm it’s becoming in here. With the roaring fire and the shelter from the wind and snow, it’s almost like being inside.
As I glance outside, at the mouth of the cave, I see that it is dark. The storm has gotten worse, much worse, and continues to fall heavily, silently, ominously piling up outside the cave, now nearly a foot high. The wind whistles, and occasionally, a particularly strong gust sends a few flakes into the cave. But mostly, we are well sheltered. This place is a godsend. I don’t know how we would have survived
Angela Andrew;Swan Sue;Farley Bentley
Reshonda Tate Billingsley