Jase & the Deadliest Hunt (6 page)

“SHHHHHH.”

You’re hidden in the brush and overgrowth on the top of a bank overlooking the river. It’s not much of a river, to be honest. It’s probably only two feet deep and maybe twenty yards across. But you’re aiming the rifle at the center of the river, where you can see the same creature you’ve been watching all afternoon.

A gold duck.

You look into the Stettinga hunting rifle with its massive scope. You can see the duck perfectly. And even as you examine it, you realize you’ve never seen anything like it before. It resembles a mallard or a wild duck, but you observe some unique features in addition to its surprising color.

First off, the beak looks longer. A
lot
longer than a typical duck beak. And there’s something shiny, almost prickly, on its bright feathers. Like it’s got scales on its wings.

Then there are the eyes. This duck’s got
Mona Lisa
eyes. The kind that seem to be looking at you regardless of where you’re standing.

I gotta sound crazy.

But that’s okay. You’re not crazy. And in about five seconds, those
Mona Lisa
eyes aren’t gonna be staring at nothing.

You fire, but right before you do, it flies off.

Just like last time.

“Come on!”

“Shush,” Willie says. He’s lying on the edge of the hill, taking shots as well.

“Go ahead
 
—shoot the duck in the sky,” you tell him. You stand to get some circulation in your body.

“It’s as if it knows when I’m about to shoot,” he says.

You decide to take a break, heading into the jungle to use the bathroom. You leave the rifle propped up against a tree. Minutes later, as you’re walking back to the edge of the river, you see the duck standing right next to your rifle.

Those eyes. They’re looking at me. They’re looking
through
me.

Even though you’re walking straight toward it, the duck doesn’t budge. It doesn’t move. It just keeps staring directly at you.

You take out your handgun.

I killed a hog with a dagger. Maybe I can pop this duck with a pistol.

Six shots later, you feel like a complete loser.

“Hey, what are you doing shooting at a tree?” Willie asks.

“The duck. It was right there. You didn’t see it fly away?”

“It’s on the edge of the river. I’ve been watching it this whole time.”

“Well, then there’s more than one duck.”

Either that or you’re starting to lose your mind.

You settle down again and prepare yourself. This really should be easy, right? Sure, you’re not in a duck blind and you don’t have a shotgun. But this is target practice. The duck’s on vacation. It’s taking life far too easily. You should be able to pop it at least once. Shouldn’t you?

But you steady yourself. You lock in the rifle, and as you aim and fire . . .

Nothing.

A big splash. That’s all you get.

The duck flies up and circles above your head.

It’s totally taunting me.

Then it heads back to the river.

You try again.

Nope.

“You using that scope?” Willie calls out from his spot.

You see his shot blast a small fountain of water.

“I’m getting closer than you are!”

The boys are having similar luck, and you hear their shouts of frustration each time they miss the target.

You’re reloading once more when something waddles out of the bushes. The dark, unmoving eyes meet yours.

It’s another duck. The same kind, with its weird golden feathers and extralong beak.

You try to swipe at it with the butt of your rifle, but it’s no good.

The duck flies into the sky, then circles over you again.

“That’s it! I’m done here.” You’ve had enough taunting and teasing for now. Time to get back home, where the ducks know their place.

“Where are you going?” Willie calls out.

“I’m not going to be made a fool of all day long,” you say. “Too bad we don’t have the shotguns.”

“Yeah, great choice on the rifle, John Luke,” Willie says.

You start walking back toward the lodge, but you can hear the guys laughing at you. In a second you stop and turn around.

“
What
is so funny?”

They all keep laughing, but nobody says anything.

“What is it? I don’t see any of you hitting the targets either.” You continue walking, trying to ignore them.

“Hey, Jase,” Willie says.

“Yeah?”

“Look down at your feet.”

You stop midstride, with a bad feeling about what you’ll see when you look down.

Sure enough, it’s one of the ducks. It’s staring up at you like some kind of lost puppy.

You’re so frustrated, you try to lash out and kick it with your boot. But this only makes you stumble and lose your balance, landing on your back in the dirt.

More laughter from the gallery.

You stand and brush yourself off but can’t seem to find the duck. It’s flying again. Of course.

Soon enough, all of you will be flying too. Flying back to West Monroe empty-handed.

THE END

Start over.

Read “Let the Good Times Roll: A Note from John Luke Robertson.”

YOU’VE BEEN IN THE CABIN
of the helicopter for about ten minutes, enjoying the sense of relief and joy that comes with leaving the island. But you’re also melancholy for some reason that you can’t pinpoint.

As you glance at John Luke and Willie across from you, and then at Cole sitting beside you and staring out the window, it suddenly comes to you.

I almost lost them.

So you decide to tell them something you’ve maybe never told them before.

“I just gotta say this. I’m not trying to get overly emotional or anything like that. But I gotta say it.” You take a deep breath. “I love you guys.”

Willie looks at you as if you’ve lost your mind.

“I know it’s crazy, but I thought I might lose all of you back there on the island. And if I never get another chance to say it, I just want to let you know how much all of you mean to me. Each and every one of you.”

Willie still seems to think you’re crazy.

You keep talking. “I know I tease you a lot, but, Willie, I can’t imagine this world
 
—”

“Whoa, whoa. Hold on. Where did Jase go? What happened, and who is this guy?”

You wipe the tears lining your cheeks. “It’s just
 
—I never say these things, but I feel them.” You decide to make it even more personal. “Cole, I want to be a better father. John Luke, I want to be a better uncle. And, Willie
 
—”

He holds up a hand. “Just stop now.”

“I can’t stop. I love you, man.”

“If you don’t stop, I’m jumping out of this helicopter. Without a parachute. I’ll swim back to Wacko Island. I’ll snuggle up with a gopher.”

You reach out for Willie’s hand. “Take it.”

“Take what?”

“Take my hand.”

He folds his arms. “I’m not taking your hand.”

“Take it.”

“You are crazy. Bona fide nutso.”

“I’m proud of you, Willie. And I always will be.”

Suddenly some sweet orchestra music begins to play over
the helicopter’s speakers. You couldn’t have planned this moment better yourself.

Willie and the boys are glancing around, wondering what’s happening.

“Take me back to the island!” Willie screams. “I gotta get out of here!”

You just smile and reach out for a hug.

THE END

Start over.

Read “Let the Good Times Roll: A Note from John Luke Robertson.”

“I DEMAND TO SEE THE COUNT!”

You’ve been telling Winchester this all morning, but the older man doesn’t seem to understand the gravity of your situation. He must have been here for so long that he’s lost all perspective of what it’s really like.

“You can demand all you want, Mr. Robertson. He is not currently on the island.”

“I need to get out of here.”

“You do realize that your wife signed an agreement saying the decision for you to stay or leave would be left up to the discretion of Count VanderVelde.”

“Look. My wife might’ve signed an agreement giving away our firstborn,” you shout in his face. “I don’t know
what
she signed. All I know is I can’t take this anymore. I’m leaving.
And if it’s not by helicopter, then I swear I’ll find a boat. I’ll
make
a boat.”

“That will be impossible,” Winchester says.

You stomp out of the room and onto the porch.

I’ll show them.

You walk down the hill toward the beach.

Nobody’s keeping Jase prisoner.

Storming across the hot white sand, you search desperately for a boat. But after ten minutes, you don’t find one. Not even a raft.

You do spot four armed soldiers marching toward you, Winchester close behind. The butler
 
—or whatever he is
 
—looks strange following them. Winchester resembles some nice grandfather while the other guys look like a bunch of commandos.

A couple of them aim M16s at you.

Winchester steps forward. “Jase, please.”

“Am I a prisoner here?” you ask.

“Of course not.”

“Well, call me crazy, but when someone aims a
gun
at my head, I don’t feel so welcome. You know?”

“Absolutely. And I told the men that you were going to happily oblige them and come back to the lodge to get ready for today’s hunt.”

“What if I don’t want to go hunting?”

“I think you can be persuaded to,” Winchester says.

The two men aiming their rifles at you don’t look like the types you should mess with. In fact, they look like the types you should try to get on your side at all costs. But you don’t know how to do that.

“What if I just started swimming?”

It’s not the best idea, but I’ll try anything.

“You seem to be forgetting that your son Cole is still here. Right?”

“Yeah . . .”

Winchester just smiles. You don’t like that smile. Reminds you of the count.

“We would hate for something to happen to him.”

That’s a threat if you’ve ever heard one.

They got me now.

“Okay, okay, fine. The hunt continues.”

“Smart man. See, gentlemen? I told you Mr. Robertson would come to his senses.”

So settle down and pick a weapon for your next day! Winchester reminds you of your three options this time. Which will it be?

If you pick the crossbow,
go here
.

If you pick the shotgun,
go here
.

If you pick the sword,
go here
.