The Vegan's Hunter (3 page)

He zipped up his pack with extra force, slammed it over his shoulder and stomped down the hill. He was annoyed that she ruined his moment but he was even more annoyed that he wished she would’ve been here to share it with him.

The bull had disappeared for two days. A storm was brewing and Tyler was about to give up and head back home when he heard the elk’s distinct cry. It was close. Close enough to give him shivers. He slid off his pack slowly and placed it on the ground as softly as if it was made of glass. He noticed the game trail about twenty yards away by the hard packed earth and set up his camera placing himself between it and the trail. He positioned himself, leaning against a tree, and cocked an arrow. He turned to the camera and made sure the red light was lit. He put the call in his mouth and blew. It took only a few seconds for the bull elk to respond to his cow call. He raced into view right up the game trail just as Tyler had expected.

The camera was set up perfectly. It would make a beautiful shot for his viewers. All ten of them.

Tyler slowly raised his bow and pointed at the wild beast. The bull stood facing him, watching for any signs of movement. He was close enough to shoot, heck he was close enough to toss a rock at, but he wasn’t in the right position. Tyler’s arms strained holding back the ninety pound bow. The string dug into his finger.

The elk let out a shriek, frustrated that the imaginary cow wasn’t calling him back. He stepped to the side and lowered his head pretending to eat. Won’t fall for that trick. Elk could only see movement. Sometimes they would pretend to be eating but when you look at their eyes they are still looking trying to see if a predator is there. Tyler held the string back. His forearms burning. His heart pounding.

The elk bolted away running straight away from him. Tree branches cracked and fell as the large antlers smacked into them. Tyler sighed and lowered the arrow. Most hunters would’ve took the chance and shot anyway, hoping to slow the bull down enough for a second shot but Tyler let him go. He was always striving for a quick, clean, ethical kill and never wanted to see an animal suffer. “Damn,” he muttered. He turned to the camera. “Unfortunately he didn’t turn exposing his flank. It sucks but sometimes that happens. Always make sure that he is in the angle where you’re sure that he’s going to die quickly from one shot. The last thing anybody wants is for the bull to get away injured and starve to death.”

Black clouds were racing into the afternoon sky. Have to head back to camp. No second chance today. I hope Al is not too upset. His show Bow Hunter hadn’t been doing well in the ratings and the producer Al was always quick to remind him of that. “You need to get more kills,” he would say. “People want to see successful hunts with lots of kills.” Tyler tried to explain to him that ninety percent of bow hunts ended with no kill and that was the reality of the sport. “I’m not going to fake it,” he would argue. He wanted to keep the show authentic and real. If that meant that most episodes didn’t result in a kill than so be it.

This is bigger than you he had to remind himself as he slung the pack over his shoulder and headed back to his camp. If the show gets canceled you lose the park. The thought of that made him shudder. He looked back at the silent trees where the elk ran away and considered chasing after him. Lightning lit up the sky in a flash followed by the boom of thunder. The sky was getting blacker by the second and the wind was picking up. He followed his gut and headed back. It was the smart move. And Tyler always made the smart move in the wilderness. Maybe Al will understand. His pack felt heavier than ever as he hiked back. He never felt so weighed-down. Al never understood.

Tyler picked up his pace as the rain started to increase. I hope the cameras don’t get wet. They were wrapped up in two waterproof plastic bags but he was still paranoid. I can’t give Al any excuse to cancel my show. A lost episode would definitely push him over the edge. An edge that he was barely hanging onto.

His camp was still about forty five minutes away if he kept up this brisk pace. The nearest road was at least twelve miles. I’m sleeping outdoors tonight.

Tyler was backtracking along the same game trail that he used that morning. The tree branches had been snapped off and the ground packed hard by the hundreds of elk that strutted down it through the years. A splash of red on a rock caught his eye. Blood? He knelt down closer and swiped it with his finger. It was definitely blood. He jumped up, darting his head from side to side. Maybe a mountain lion attack? A grizzly bear?

He just wanted to lie on his cot and pass out for the night. Fighting with a mountain lion was not on his list of desires right now. He noticed more dark spots in the dirt and splattered on nearby trees.

He pulled an arrow out and cocked his bow, ready for something to jump out of the bush. He continued down the path careful not to make any sounds. The blood spots were getting more frequent the further he went. His jaw was clenched. His heart rate quickened.

Something a few yards away caught his eye. A dead bull lying on the ground like a piece of thrown away garbage. Tyler stalked closer, his bow still ready in case the predator was still around.

The bull had no antlers.

He arrived at the dead elk and it was riddled with bullet holes. Twenty. Thirty. He lost count. Tyler picked up a brass cartridge off of the ground and inspected it. Automatic weapons. He hurled it into the brush. The antlers were hacked off the head, taken for a trophy, but everything else was left to waste. Left to rot.

He wished he was around earlier to catch these cowards in the act. What he would do to them. Heat flushed through his body even though the cold rain had seeped through his rain coat.

Empty beer cans were spewed around the area along with cigarette butts and Twinkie wrappers. It was people like them that gave hunters a bad name. And people like Kayley who just lumped all of us together.

An empty bottle lay on the ground. Suntory Yamazaki 12 Year Old Single Malt Whiskey from Japan. He kicked it into the brush and it landed with a clink.

He unzipped his pack and and retrieved the camera in the two layers of plastic. If he couldn’t get a kill at least he could get this on tape. He was always trying to foster respect for nature from his viewers. He wanted to teach them the right way to do things. The ethical way.

The knot on the bag was tied too tight. He dug into it with his finger and didn’t hear the mountain lion creep up until it was too late.

This was not the first mountain lion that Tyler had encountered but the other ones had never been so close. They often came when they heard the cow calls. To them it sounded like a dinner bell.

The monstrous cat was less than three yards away stalking towards him slowly. The rain bounced off of his silver fur. Even the rain drops wanted to get as far away from the deadly predator as possible.

The mountain lion’s harsh eyes stared at him like he was made of hamburger, which for the mountain lion he was. Tyler dug his feet into the muddy ground and stood up slowly. Don’t run. Whatever you do don’t run. If he ran the cat’s instinct would kick in. He would chase him down and pounce on his back. At that point no man would be a match against his razor claws and dagger teeth.

Tyler knew that unlike encounters with bears, you should not act timid or play dead in front of a cat. He had to maintain eye contact, which was easier said than done. The fierce green eyes were making the hair on his neck stand up.

He slowly unzipped his coat and raised his arms. The coat opened up, which made him look bigger. He waved his arms slowly. “You don’t want to mess with me cat,” he said speaking firmly. “Leave now and I won’t put an arrow through your ass.”

The lion lowered his head and let out a low pitched growl. “Beat it,” Tyler yelled taking a step forward. The cat flinched back. He bared his fangs and hissed.

Don’t run.

The mountain lion took a step to the side and walked around Tyler, giving him a wide berth. Tyler pivoted, always facing the cat, still waving his hands in the air. The cat hissed and continued past him, heading straight for the dead elk.

The mountain lion buried his face in the large carcass and tore off a chunk of hide. He glanced back at Tyler, his face now blood red, as he chewed. Tyler slowly walked to his pack and gathered his things, never taking his eyes off of the predator. He felt much better once he had his bow in his hands.

“Bon appetit,” he said to the cat and crept off.

“Some hillbilly dropped off two tigers yesterday,” Frank said, as Tyler was getting out of his truck.

Tyler sighed. “Bad shape?”

“You can say that.” Frank took his baseball cap off, stroked his greasy hair and put it back on. “They’re both underweight. The bigger one has some sort of skin infection. He’s going to need some antibiotics.”

Tyler flinched just thinking of the cost. The conservation park was already tight as it is. “Did this guy donate before he left?” He asked, already knowing the answer.

“No he just pulled up in his pickup and dropped them off. They were in a cage in the back. Damn things were frantic in there.”

He never understood why people wanted wild animals as pets. They were cute as tiger cubs but then they grew up and caused the owners more hassle than they were worth. They usually always ended up dead or discarded like unwanted trash in a place like Tyler’s.

“I’ll take a look at them. Where are they?”

“In Sparky’s old cage.” He pointed to a smaller building off of the main one.

“In the dog pen?” he asked, shocked. “Come on Frank. What were you thinking?”

Frank shrugged. “There was nowhere else. The tiger pen is already overflowing and I didn’t know if the skin infection was contagious.”

“What about the grizzly enclosure? It’s empty.”

“The fence is broken. I told you that last month.”

Tyler sighed and walked towards the dog pen. Three tiles on the roof were cracked and a few were missing. The roof needed changing. He would have to change it before winter.

He could hear the dogs barking as he got closer. He opened the door and it was almost deafening. There was a pug in the cage in front of him barking. The smell of the tigers were driving all of the dogs crazy. Tyler leaned down and stuck his finger into the cage. “It’s okay buddy. They wouldn’t stand a chance against you.”

The dog backed away into the corner and was shaking. He growled at Tyler. Poor guy. Someone had found the pug in an alley two weeks ago shivering and lying on the cold pavement, barely moving. He had one eye missing and was covered in cigarette burns. Tyler took him in and nursed him back to health but the dog was petrified of people. Chances are he would never be adopted into a home. Tyler knew what had to be done but couldn’t bring himself to do it. No animal had ever been euthanized in his center since the opening five years ago and he wasn’t about to start now.

His conservation center, Harry’s Homes, was originally only meant for abused wildlife that needed a home but he had another wing to the center built when people kept dropping off abandoned and abused dogs, cats and farm animals. Tyler couldn’t turn any animal away.

Tyler moved down the hall and stopped at a dog enclosure with two tigers pacing in circles. A wooden sign with
Sparky
painted on it hung crookedly on the door. Tyler straightened it. What am I going to do with you two?

“We can build a second tiger enclosure,” Frank answered as if he was reading his mind.

“We don’t have the money for that,” Tyler said, not taking his eyes off of the tigers. The large one had patches of missing fur all over his legs and under his belly. His back leg was bleeding. Probably from gnawing on it. “We barely have money to keep the lights on.”

“You should ask the government for more funding.”

Tyler shook his head in frustration. He had been down that path so many times that it was worn to the ground. All he ever got was empty promises from greedy politicians. In the end very few checks arrived and when they did they were way too small. The only funding he received was some monthly donations from some kindhearted people, which was just enough to cover the food for all of the animals. Everything else came from the profits of his show. Every penny that he made from Bow Hunter went into medicine, equipment, repairs, taxes, electricity and hundreds of other things required, and which cost a fortune, to run a conservation center.

“Better get the tranq gun,” he said to Frank. “I’ll check his skin.”

Tyler sighed. A tranquilizer dart cost him $47 each.

“I’ll get two,” Frank replied. “We’ll have to tranq them both.”

“Give me good news Nate,” Al said, from behind his huge oak desk. “Tell me you got something. A kill, an animal attack, you shot an arrow into your foot. Anything.”

“I got this,” Tyler said opening his laptop. He knew Al wouldn’t be impressed but he tried to act excited about it anyway. He pushed play and the large bull elk walked onto the screen.

“Great a kill,” Al said, sitting up in his seat. “Finally.”

“Well not exactly a kill,” Tyler corrected.

Al’s smile faded. He looked at him over his glasses. “What do you mean? You’re right there,” he said, pointing at the elk. His finger pressed into the laptop making the screen ripple look like water. “I could kill that thing with my pen from that distance.” He picked up his pen and pointed it at Tyler as if it was a knife.