The Hunter

Fighting for food

Pyter lay prone on the ground, completely hidden in the forbidden zone. He stared intently through the scope, tracking the grey silhouette of a wolf as his father had taught him to do in the days before the revolution. The cold winter air seeped into his bones, and he felt the ache of his arthritic fingers as his trigger finger held the hard steel, he steadily exhaled to slow his racing heart.

POP.

The noise barely registered in Pyter’s mind. He stared intently at the snow covered trees where a second before had stood his wolf. He knew he had killed it without needing to check. And he knew he must hurry.

Now at the wolf’s lifeless body, he set to work. His shivering hands skinned the animal and cut the meat from the bone. He stuffed the meat into the government supply food packages he carried. Less likely to arouse suspicion if he was spotted. He scattered the remaining carcass and shoveled snow over the crimson stained spot. Such a waste to leave all this, he thought, but the risk was too great. He had to blend in, to remain uninteresting to the armies of always recording teenagers, and carrying bones or a hide would certainly stand out. No, he packed what he could hide and rushed to get back.

As he walked into the house, his wife stood waiting, her white hair disheveled from hours of worried fidgeting. She stared with tears in her eyes. “Oh Pyter, you haven’t been hunting again, have you?”

“I had to. You know this, dear.”

“You say you had to, but you know what will happen when they catch-”

“Hush my love. What would you have me do? The boy needs food. Real food, not this government pushed shit. We can’t afford the supplements. I won’t have him die like his mother did. So I hunt.” He barely thought about the words, having said them for the hundredth time over the years. This was their dance.

“Please at least promise me you were careful. That no one saw you,” she begged.

“I’m always…” he said. Suddenly he heard POP, POP, POP from outside the door. He thought that it sounded strangely like his rifle. Pyter dropped, much like his wolf had, and no more thoughts came to him. He knew what would come of the boy now. Knew he would see him again soon enough.