Hunters by Chet Williamson Page A

clearly through the forest died away like the
sounds of a great buck running fast and far. Ned listened in the
growing silence, but heard nothing, not the crackle of boots on
dead leaves, nor the apologetic cry of a hunter. There was only the
memory of the gunshot ringing in his ears, and the thudding of his
heart.
    Ned took a deep breath, stood up in one quick
motion, looked to right and left, in front and behind him. There
was not a glimpse of movement, of blaze orange flitting through the
trees. "Hey," he called, and found the word caught in his throat.
He called again, " Hey! ," loud enough this time to be heard
by someone within range. There was no answer.
    Ned stood for a long time, listening and waiting.
But he heard only one shot, and that was from miles away.
    J umpin' hell ,
Sheldon Lake thought as he ran almost silently through the woods,
clutching his daddy's old .30-06. I almost had him . Ned
Craig's head had been lined up perfectly in Sheldon's crosshairs,
but he had missed him. On purpose.
    At the last split-second before his finger
tightened on the trigger, Sheldon knew that this wasn't the way to
do it. It was too late to stop the shot, but it wasn't too late to
pull just a bit to the right so that the bullet zinged past Craig's
head.
    Craig had gone down so fast that at first
Sheldon thought that he had hit him. But then he realized it had
been instinct rather than his bullet that had dropped the man, and
he knew he had to run. He hadn't seen a sidearm, but WCO's wore
their pieces under their coats, and Sheldon didn't want a
showdown.
    Especially not now, not after he'd been
struck with the tremendous epiphany that had jerked his shot wide.
He had been vouchsafed a vision, not the vision of Ned Craig's head
flying apart, but of Ned Craig dying as he, Sheldon, might die, had
he not already made up his mind to take his daddy's way out.
    No indeed, Mr. Ned Craig, Sheldon
thought, trotting through the woods, heading toward his pickup a
mile and a half away over on Burdick Road. No quick death for
you. Instead you're gonna know what's coming. You're gonna watch
for it, and get your tests, and pray to the Lord every time you
visit the doctor, and then someday you're gonna be that
HIV-positive, and then you'll know yeah, it's coming sure enough.
And finally you'll have it, and maybe you'll be man enough to blow
your brains out and maybe you won't. Maybe you'll just die slow and
painful, the way most of those faggots do. And maybe you got a
girlfriend or a wife, and maybe I'll pay her a little visit too. Oh
hell yeah, we got a long way to go, you and me, Craig. I'm gonna
pay you back good for sending me to prison. Good and long.
    Sheldon didn't know how he was going to do it, but
he was going to if he had to die in the attempt. Come hell or high
water, he was going to give both Ned Craig and whatever woman he
loved AIDS. He was going to do it with his own blood, and he was
going to laugh and laugh while he did it.
    T im Carlton looked
up at the sky nervously. He could see little enough of it beyond
the tops of the pines, and what he could see he didn't like any
better than the surrounding trees that seemed to press in on
him.
    Tim was not a hunter, but the senior partner
in his Altoona law firm was, a rabid one, and if Tim ever hoped to
become a junior partner, he had to at least make a noble
effort to kill a deer and show Walter Matthews "what he was made
of." It wasn't enough to have the most profitable client list of
any of the younger men, he also had to shoot a goddam deer ,
for crissake.
    Not that he had any compunction about
blasting one of the things. If a buck popped up in front of him
now, he'd fire away and hope for the best. What he was afraid of
was that he was going to spend all week getting his feet frozen
traipsing through these stupid woods and never see a thing.
    He had to confess, though, that his feet
didn't feel at all cold. Walter had supplied him and the four other
attorneys well. The